THE WORKS OF LUCIUS ANNAEUS SENECA, Both Moral and Natural. CONTAINING, 1. His Books of Benefits. 2. His Epistles. 3. His Book of Providence. 4. Three Books of Anger. 5. Two Books of Clemency. 6. His Book of a Blessed Life. 7. His Book of the tranquility of the mind. 8. His Book of the Constancy of a Wiseman. 9 His Book of the Shortness of Life. 10. Two Books of Consolation to MARTIA. 11. Three Books of Consolation to HELVIA. 12. His Book of Consolation to POLYBIUS. 13. His seven Books of Natural Questions. Translated by THO. LODGE, D. in Physic. LONDON Printed by William Stansby. 1614 ILLUSTRISSIMO HEROI, AC DOMINO SVO OBSERVANDISSIMO, D. THOMAE EGERTONO, DOMINO DE ELLISMERE, SUMMO ANGLIAE CANCELLARIO, MAIESTATIS REGIAE à Secretioribus Concilijs omni virtutum genere ac Doctrina Clarissimo, Almae Academiae OXONIENSIS Cancellario, bonorumque studiorum omnium Moe●enati praestantissimo, THOMAS LODGE Doctor Medicus, Salutem. CVi potius liber iste dicari velit, vel ego debeam dedicare quam Honori tuo (vir omnibus nominibus Honorande) deliberanti diu & multum cogitanti, plane non occurrebat. Etenim cum Philosophia ipsa inculta prorsus sit, & ab omnibus neglecta fere, tum si à plerisque ut horrida conspuatur, non est sane mirandum: Quo magis veteri quidem debet, ne temere cuivis sese offerat, ne forte in eos incidisse videatur, qui cuticulam curantes ipsi, nihil admirantur ultra cutem; quorum oculis nihil placet, nisi quod externa specie, & lineamentorum harmonia se commendet; quorum aures omnia respuunt, nisi quae cum voluptate quadam influunt: quod si contingat, quomodo non contemptui apud omnes esset liber is, qui apud eum ipsum quem patronum sibi delegit potissimum, sordescat? Quod si ioculare quiddam & molliusculum in publicum proferendum statuerem, quod voluptate nescio qua, mentes hominum titillaret tantum, Introrsum turpe & speciosum pelle decora, (Vt inquit Poeta) non deesset hercle, qui Fautor utroque meum laudaret pollice ludum, Nec certe — Navibus atque Quadrig●s peterem.— Mihi patronum aliquem Quoi donem lepidum nowm libellum. Opprimerer eorum multitudine credo, qui occurrerent mihi naenijs hisce patrocinaturi: Cum autem res serias tantum tractet author hic noster, idque serio; quae tantum ijs arrident, quibus leviora illa arrident minus; tum eos qui subtiliori quodam oculo, & mentis, acie, venustatem Philosophiae illam intueri possunt, (quae si corporeis oculis cerneretur, mirabiles amores excitaret sui) nescio quod fatum contraxit in compendium. Et certe quamuis eorum numerus tantus esset atque talis, quorum in sinum hic noster posset tuto Conuolare, ut delectus ipse delectum fere tolleret, nescio tamen an cuiquam ex omnibus deberi se magis agnosceret, quàm Honorituo, qui cum in eam opinionem iam diu veneris, ut inter prudentissimos, & virtute quam maxime excultos, principatum quendam tenere videaris; tum etiam ita ad certam authoris huius normam vitam direxisse, & momenta officiorum ea perpendisse videris omnia, quae ab ipso in ●apiente requiruntur; ut si in eadem tempora incidisses, ille ne praecepta ad exemplum tuum, an tu vitam ad ipsius praecepta conformâ●is, esset vehementer dubitandum. Qua de causa quidem, in spem maximam venit, aditum ipsi apud te patere; quôd ea afferat potissimum, quae si tibi placeant, (quod non desperat) nemini quidem à tuae vitae ratione non alienissimo, poterint displicere. Quid quod & eum sibi Patronum deligendum censet, qui ipsa authoritate possit eam ab aliorum iniurijs vindicare! quod cum ita sit, nullius quidem iniurijs in eo locus erit, quamdiu totus ipsi apud te suerit, cuius potentia, & authoritas, cum sit maxima, talem tamen intuemur, ut maiorem indies & auctiorem fieri velimus omnes, qui videmus. Inter Ajacem, & Vlyssem, litem nonnullam apud Poetas legimus interiectam de Achillis armatura quondam, uter indueretur● ipsa; de facto non disputo. Poetarum mens ea fuit, ut cum prudentia polleret alter & concilio; lacertis alter atque robore; apud quem tandem armorum eorum ius resideret, eumne qui prudentissime ijs uti posset, an qui robus●issime eluceret: quod si ex iure manu consertum vocaret authoritas sapientiam, & sapientia authoritatem, ad quem tandem Senecae nostri patrocinium aequius pertineret, haud esset difficile quidem ad judicandum. Tu vero vir Honorande cum tanta sis sapientia, ut ab authoritate quantumuis maxima vinci non possit, & authoritatem tantam nactus es, ut ne sapientiae tuae quamuis eximiae & illustri velit loco cedere, facilè controversiam ●anc omnem dirimes; in quo cum utraeque summae de paritate contendant ad quem patronum potius accurret, quam ad te, qui & propter sapientiam singularem optimè consultum voles libro non insipientissimo, & propter egregiam authoritatem effectum dabis, libro malè ne consulatur (dico confidenter) egregio. Ad me vero quod attinet (Illustrissime Moecen.) cum multa alia perpulerint, ut te potissimum seligerem sub cuius nomine prodeat hic labor in Seneca transfere●do meus, tumista inprimis quae dicturus sum. Nempe ut ad senem ille de senectute senex, & amicissimus, scripsit ad amicum de amicitia, ita & ego (illud sileo quod quam vellem ut possem attexere) Philosophiae libros hos (quam sapientiam dixere veteres) ad te sapientissimum & Philosophorum Oxonij studentium omnium Patronum primarium inprimis statui dedicandum. Quo quidem in loco non possum illius non meminisse, (quod praetermitti sine scelere nefario non potest) quodque gravissimi est instar argumenti, cur tibi vel soli, vel certe potissimum omnium nostrûm qui Oxonienses audimus in gratae mentis testimonium, labores & studia inseruiant; qu●d per te effectum est fere, ut studijs nostris ibi locus sit, ubi cum floruere maxime, tum maxime eiecta inde voluissent ij, qui minime debuissent: per te vero iam effectum id videmus, ut qui fontes illos limpidissimos conturbarunt, quo minus haustus inde puriores essent, iam tandem adversum Musarum Alumnos utcumque coaxant fortasse, tantum tamen coaxare possint. De hoc autem ni grati simus omnes, omnium erimus ingratissimi. Quin quod magis me ipsum spectat, illud Cardinale quiddam est, quod cum benevolentiae erga me tuae vestigia semper vidi non leviter impressa, mihi nun quam satisfacio ipsi, priusquam tibi (non dicam satisfaciam de animo erga me tuo) at agnoscam certe quantis nominibus obstrictum me & obaeratum sentiam: quin attexo, ideo tibi lubens dico, quod cum mihi benevolus semper extiteris, tunc etiam & ab ijs qui ex me emanârunt utcumque, animo esse non poteris alieno. Hac spe fretus (Honorande Maecenas) hosce meos labores, quales, quales tibi trado in manus, quos aequi si consulas, conditione haudquaquam iniqua susceptos existimavero: Deumque rogabo Opt. Max. ut tamdiu nobis te conseruatum volet, quam-diu te virtutum tuarum minime poenitebit. Dignitatis tuae, Obseruantiss. THO. lodge. D.M.P. REVERENDISSIMIS DOCTORIBUS, CAETERISQVE IN STADIO LITERARIO OPTIME EXCERCITATIS LECTORIBUS; THO. LODGE D. Medicus Phisicus. Salutem. cum nulli magis opprobrijs alios conscindunt, & lacerant maledictis, quam ij qui in opprobrium ipsi facillime incurrunt; tum plerumque id evenit, ut exilis cuiusdam ingenij ipsi sibi conscij, nihil sapere videri se credant aliis, nisi plane desipere se probent; dum ea carpunt omnino, quae non Capiunt. Ex quo evenit, ut nihil egregium ita & excellens in publicum emanarit unquam, in quod dentes isti mordaces non impegerint. A quo hominum genere cum ego me facile vindicare nesciam, apud vos (Viri Doctores doctoresque p●estantissimi, politioris literaturae alumnos, qui quales erga vos ipsi velitis alios esse, tales estis erga omnes) praefatione uti nonnulla haud absonum fore existimavi, ut rationem consilij de Seneca in nostrum sermonem transmittendo mei, vobis explicem. Video autem multis id displicere quidem, idque vehementer, quod authores ita Latini transferantur, & in sermonem nostrum migrent Anglicum: cum multa alia tum illud inculcantes, iniuriam lite●i● insignem invehi, quod ea quae literatorum deberent esse propria, nunc denuo prostituantur & omnibus contrectandam prowlgentur: Qui cum id agunt quid aliud agunt, quam ut nostri ad unum omnes, a virtutum scientia ut profani quidam arceantur, veluta Dianae sacris? De quibus illud est Calimachis 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉. Hi dum a se scientias omnes velut a Chaldaeis dies postulari volunt, quid aliud agunt quam quae ipsi vident ut caeteris omnibus invideant? Quae simens eorum fuisset qui ista primo literis mandaverunt, quomodo tandem egregia illa ingenij eorum monumenta ad nostra haec tempora permanare potuissent? Nec vero nios ille priscis inolevit, ut cogitata illa sua praeclara caeteris inviderent, qui per se minus acie valerent & ingenio, & ex omnibus certe vix paucos reperias qui vel Graeci Latine, vel Romani Graece scripserint, quo minus suis innotescerent ea quae libri sui praeclara continerent: ex quo effectum, id est ut quantum bruta intellectu caeteri, tantum ipsi ingenio caeteros antecesserint. Neque vero non laudare possum Sapientissimum illum apud laertium, qui cum de tribus Diis ageret gratias, quod homo esset natus, non brutum; quod vir, non foemina, tertium id erat quod Athemensis esset, non Barbarus; non quod solus inter eos sapere visus est, sed quod ex infinitis unus esset, qui non nihil sapere didicisset: Et recte ad Amicum scribens M. Tullius monet, ut ubivis esse malit, quam ubi sit, propterea quod multo rectius illic vivendum sit ubi aliquo numero siet, quam illic ubi solus sapere videatur. Et sane si aequi rerum aestimatores velimus esse, facile quidem inveniemus excultiores multo nostros, & limatiores quam antea extitisse, ex quo doctrina illa veterum, & historia Romanorum vernacula ipsos alloquente lingua perpoliri caeperunt. Quo in curriculo labores mei cum non nihil desudarint, tum facti mei tamdiu me non paenitebit, quamdiu publicae utilitati & honori patriae inseruire intellexero: & quanquam omnes reclamantes videro Comici, tamen illo me facile consolabor & recreabo, quod nihil in animo magis habeam, quam ut pluribus prosim. Quin illud fortasse non recte quod 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 occurrunt Senecae nonnulla, quae celari multo possunt honestius, quam in apricum protrudi, lucem non ferentia; & male locatam operam eam omnem clamabunt omnes, quae in re non bona. Habet etiam 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 quam plurima, quae si recte ediscantur nihil illa nocebunt: quanquam quid egi? Aut in quo evigilavere curae & cogitationes meae, nisi ut lectorem pro virili praemonerem, & ad scopulos eos digitum intenderem, ad quos si adhaeserit fortasse, naufragium illico facturus sit? Nec vero defuerint ij, qui id vitio mihi vertendum senserint, quod in omnibus non verbum verbo respondeat, quin infidus interpres sit ille necesse est, & ubi fide est opus vel maxime, fideliam adhibebit, qui ita interpretem agere edidiscit. Quin ille rectissime. Non verbum verbo curabitred dere fidus Interpres— Ne poterit quidem; quod tum eo res deducetur, ut dum in verbis se torquebit nimis, sensus interim elabatur omnis. Quis autemita inscius erit, ut illud non intelligat in omni sermone, idiomata loquendi quaedam apparere, & flores elegantiarum, quae si verbis alienis efferantur, illico pro ridiculis habeantur? Longum esset huc omni● convertere quae salsissime a Latinis dicta, a nostris enuntiata verbis ijsdem, appareant insul●a. Quò facilius adducor, ut eius omnia sic interpreter, ut quae proprijs verbis enuntiari non possunt, enuntientur quibus possunt aptissimis: Hic ego, si reprehensionem incurro iustam, exemplo me consolabor eorum, qui cum in hoc genere palmam ferant, crimen commune mecum sustine bunt, nec nostrorum solum, sed & eorum etiam omnium qui in Hispania, Gallia, Italia communem mecum in eo genere navarunt operam. Agnosco vero libentissime errata huc irrepsisse nonnulla, quae ut homini cuivis in summo otio non vigilantissimo, facile possunt obrepere quaedam, ita si mihi in hoc opere frequentiora visum est quam erat aequum, facile ignoscet, qui rem ipsam ut acciderit cognoscet prius. Cum enim primo statuerem ita in hoc opere meam operam posuisse, ut nequid per incuriam elapsum mihi videri possit, in medio operis a me suscepti nescio quomodo in medium rerum omnium certamen incidi; Praeterquam enimillud quod fratre charissimo pientissimoque essem orbatus, ita ut studijs nullus in me locus esset relictus, quem dolor universum occuparat, accidebat id etiam, ut turbis ijs forensibus, & molestijs undique circumfrementibus opprimerer ita, ut dum illius omnia (iam cum beatis illis incolis agente aewm) componere studeo, ne subcisivas horas certe mihi relinquo ullas, quibus huic operi iam inchoato supremam manum imponam. Interim ista dum aguntur annus fere integer elapsus est, &, adhuc tamen. — pendent opera interrupta minaeque Murorumingentes.— Vt Poetae verbis utar. Interea fremere Typographus, & de praelo tantum non praelia movere, quae nactus est typis excudenda curare sed citra curam: hoc modo ad imprimendum solum licentiam fortasse nactus, qui me premit semper nec pensi quid habet, quid imprimat. Quin tandem ut molestijs hisce me euoluo, colligo me ut possum ex magna iactatione, & dimidium Senecae alterum quod imperfectum reliqueram, quanta possum absoluo celeritate, nec typographo satisfacio tamen inhianti suo semper luero, quin quae manus prima coniecit in chartulas, subinde arripit ipsa impressione peiora facta emissurus, quae prius acceperat omnino non optima, quip quibus ipsius festinatio praepropera, ad ornanda se melius ne minimum quidem indulsit temporis. Ita fit ut quod mensium nonnullorum opus esse debuerit, diebus haud ita multis absolutum prodierit, atque utinam absolutum. Quod si minus conceditur, non despero tamen quin per meum dehinc otium quae rudia iam excidere, limentur accuratius, & quae obscuritate nonnulla videbuntur laborare, fiant etiam illustriora cum proxime emanabunt. Obijcient alij (qui reprehensionis ansam undique arripient:) quod versus eius quosdam, una cum Apocolocynthesi, & Epistolis quibusdam ad Diwm Paulum exaratis (ut non nemo retulit e Patribus) omnino praetermiserim. Sed parcent mihi facile spero, qui prius norint, quibus rationibus adductus, huic ego labori pepercerim: Primo quidem de Apocolocynthesi cum liber is totus dicterijs in mortem Claudii C●saris sit refertus ne alienus a se noster Seneca videretur, qui ubique severus & gravis, & ab hoc genere quam maxime videtur abhorrens, inutili labore potius supersedendum statui, quam ea attexenda, quae labem nonnullam operi toti possent ●f fricare. De reliquis autem id tantum dico, quod cum authoris huius an sint a multis in dubium vocari video, tum an a me sint interpretanda vehementer dubito. Habetis iam tandem (Doctores & lectores benevoli) quae ego dicenda habeo, quae si vobis candidioribus arridere perspicero, tum ut iis placeant quibus omnia displicent, vehementer non contendo. valet. To the Courteous Reader. IT was well done by Nature (gentle Reader) to give time, but ill done by men not to apprehended the same: How much thou hast lost in life in begetting vanities and nourishing them, in applauding follies, and intending them, read hear; and begin now to apprehended this, that it is but lost life, that men live in entertaining vain things, & that no time is better spent, than in studying how to live, and how to die well. This shalt thou learn in our Seneca, whose divine sentences, wholesome counsels, serious exclamations against vices, in being but a Heathen, may make us ashamed being Christians; when we consider how backward a course we have run from the right scope, by being buried in vain readings, besotted with self opinion, by apprehending virtue no more, but in a shadow, which serves for a vail to cover many vices. It is lost labour in most men nowadays whatsoever they have studied, except their actions testify that readings have amended the ruins of their sick and intemperate thoughts: and too pregnant a proof is it, of an age and time ill spent, when as after a man hath summed up the account of his days that are past, he findeth the remainder of his profits, he should have gotten in life, to be either ambition unsatisfied, or dissolution attended by poverty, or vain understanding boulstered by pride, or irksome age called on by surfeit; I must confess that (had I effected it) I could have picked out either an author more curious, or a subject more pleasing for common ears, to allure and content them. But seeing the world's lethargy so far grown, that it is benumbed wholly with false appearance, I made choice of this author, whose life was a pattern of continence, whose doctrine a detection and correction of vanities, and whose death a certain instance of constancy. Would God Christians would endeavour to practise his good precepts, to reform their own in seeing his errors; and perceiving so great light of learning from a Pagans' pen, aim at the true light of devotion and piety, which becometh Christians. Learn in him these good lessons, and commit them to memory, That to be truly virtuous is to be happy, to subdue passion is to be truly a man, to contemn fortune is to conquer her, to foresee and unmask miseries in their greatest terrors is to lessen them, to live well is to be virtuous, and to die well is the way to eternity. This as often as I think upon, I find an alteration in my resolution, which heretofore hath too long time surfeited upon time-pleasing; I am armed against all worldly contempts, wherewith Envy may pretend to load me. My soul and conscience bearing me witness that my intent and scope was only to draw men to amendment of life, & to root out vain customs, that are too much engrafted in this age; What care I for detraction? which rather barketh for custom sake, then baiteth at me for fierceness. No Soldier is counted valiant, that affronteth not his enemy; no Philosopher constant, that contemneth not Fortune; nor writer understanding, that scorns not detraction; I had rather be condemned for confirming men in goodness, then flattering the world in folly. Gentle Reader for thee I laboured, for thy good have I made this admirable Roman speak English, if it profit thee I have my wish, if it displease thee, it is thy want of judgement. Farewell. In Momum. SI tamen usque juuat quae sunt bona carpere, Mome, carp haec, ut morsu sint meliora tuo. Quae liber iste tenet forte ignorare videris, Quin lege, mox fies forsitam ipse bonus. Non in bicipiti quae vidit somnia narrat, Parnassus, antony's vanis ludit imaginibus: Nec prius usque, novem nisi quae docuere sorores Castalis unda tuae, nil docet iste liber Vera sed hic rectae promit dictamina vitae, Et sapiens narrat quae bene dixit anus. Si malus ista leges, pote●int non ista placere Nec non ista probes, qui legis, ipse bonus: Vel non ergo legas quae sunt benedicta, pudendis Nec lacer a verbis, quae minus ipse capis, Vel lege, nec carpas; ut non male prodita: dentes jamque tibi gratulor Mome perire tuos. THE LIFE OF LUCIUS ANNAEUS SENECA, DESCRIBED BY JUSTUS LIPSIUS. CHAP. I. Of his Country and Parents. IT hath been an old custom to publish the lives of worthy men, and those whose wisdoms, writings and actions we admire it doth not a little content us to know such other things as concerned or appertained unto them. I will therefore speak of Seneca as far as may be, and will collect and dispose all those things that concern this matter, both out of himself and divers other writers. It appeareth that he mas borne in Corduba, an old and flourishing Colony in Andalouzill in Spain, and besides that, the chiefest in those Regions. This doth Strabo testify in these words: Amongst all other Cities of Hispania, Batica, or Andalouzie, Corduba i● enlarged both in glory and power by Marcellus means: Lib. 3. as also the City of Gaditana, the one by reason of Navigations, and the society's o● the Romans: the other, because of the goodness and greatness of the country; the river Babs likewise conferring much hereunto. They praise it, and therewithal prove it to be ancient, because it was Marcellus work: which of them, was it his that was Praetor, or the other that was Consul? For Marcus Marcellus the Praetor governed Spain, as Pliny testifieth in the year of the City DLXXXV. although, Lib. 43. as it seemeth, in peace and quietness; by which means the rather this Colony of his countrymen was drawn thither, and happily the City both increased and adorned. For that it was not built anew, it appears by silvius, who even in Hanibals time called it Corduba. I had rather therefore ascribe it to him, then to the Consul Marcell●s, who in the year DCI governed the hither part of Spain, as it appears in the Epitome, and thou mayest gather out of Appian ● and having worthily executed his charge in that place, triumphed Celtib●rs. He had therefore at that time nothing to do with Baetica, or our Corduba, which is in the farther part of Spain. But Strabo addeth more, The most chosen Romans and Spaniards inhabited this Corduba from the beginning, and into these places did the Romans sand their first Colony. Note this word Chosen; for it was so indeed: and thereupon afterwards, as I suppose, it obtained this privilege, that it was called Colonia Patricia. Pliny testifieth it most plainly; Corduba (saith he) named the Patrician Colony, and in Augustus' stamp of money, Permissu Caesaris Augusti, Lib. 3. cap. 1. with his head on the one side, and then on the other side, Colonia Patricia. The cause of which title, in my opinion, is, because that being both a fair and a rich City, it supplied the Roman● Commonwealth with Fathers and Senators. For now in Augustus' age they made choice of men out of every Province to make up the Senate. Furthermore, Strabo saith, That the first Colony was sent thither, which read thou with circumspection. For Carteia in the same country of Bae●ica, before this time had a colony planted in it by Lucius Canuleius Praetor: but because they were not of the better sort, it was called Colonia Libertinorum, or the colony of the Libertines. Thou shalt read it in Livy, in the beginning of his 43. book: yet mayest thou, and happily oughtest thou to defend Strabo, that those inhabitants were not sent from Rome or Italy, but that they were begotten by the Roman soldiers upon the Spanish women; and by the permission of the Senate the Bastards had their liberty given them and were planted in a colony. But Strabo expressly writeth, that a colony was sent thither. Enough of Corduba, and this was his country; but who were his parents? It appeareth that they were of the Annaean race, whose name seemeth to be given them in way of good fortune, ab Annis. The surname of Seneca likewise was fortunate. For the first, in my judgement, had this name given him, although Isidore think, that he who was at first so called, was borne grey headed. Undoubtedly Seneca, or as the Ancients writ, Senica: (for Senecis is derived à Seine) signified 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, as Senecio doth. Let Nonius be seen in Senica. Hereunto I add that in another kindred also I find this surname; as in Accia in an ancient stone M. Accio Seneca. Manlio Plauta 11. virg. Quinq. But whether those of the race of Annaea were of the Spanish race, or were sent out of Italy in a Colony, I dare not affirm; this only I say, that they were of the order of Knights: for so Seneca himself speaketh of himself in Tacitus. Lib. 14. Am I he that sprung from the order of knight, and in a provincial place, numbered amongst the chiefest Peers of the City? Can it be amongst the Nobles, that boast themselves of their long worthiness and antiquity, that my novelty should shine? his father therefore, and happily his grandfather were Knights, and not above. For he presently maketh mention of his novelty; which he would not have done, if any of his Ancestors had attained unto honours. But his father was known both by himself and his writings, to be Lucius Annaeus Seneca, whom for the most part, they distinguish from the son by the title of Declaimer, in which kind he excelled. divers Declamations are extant, which were not his own but another man's, digested by him, which he distinguished by some titles and Annotations, and by this means sufficiently expressed his mild & happy wit: he had to wife one Heluia a Spanish Lady, a woman of great constancy and wisdom as her son sufficiently describeth her in his consolatory book unto her. The father came to Rome in Augustus' time, and presently after his wife with her children followed him; amongst which was this our Seneca, as yet but very young. In that place lived he long, and followed his affairs with the favour and good report of all men, and I think that he lived till about the later time of Tiberius; and hereunto am I persuaded, because he maketh mention of Sejanus conspiracy in his books, and of other things that appertain hereunto. I let him pass, and return unto his son, of whom I have intended to speak. CHAP. II. Of Lucius Annaeus Seneca himself and his brethren, where he was borne, and when he was brought to Rome. IN Corduba was he borne, and was translated from thence to Rome when he was a child; Co●s. ad Hel. cap. 16. which he himself testifieth thus, where he praiseth his Aunt: By her hands was I brought into the City, by her pious and motherly nursing I recovered myself after my long sickness. If he were carried in her arms, it must needs be that he was but an infant, and thou seest that h●e was sick at that time likewise and was recomforted by her care and diligence. This think I happened in the fifteenth year or thereabouts, before Augustus' de●th, the argument whereof i● Senecaes' young years in Tiberius' time, whereof I must speak hereafter. The father therefore not long before that time came to Rome: he had two brothers, and no sisters; which appeareth by his words unto his mother; Thou bu●iedst thy dearest husband, by whom thou wert the mother of three children. Ad Hel. c. 2. And these three were M. Annaeus Novatus, L. Annaeus Seneca, L. Annaeus Mela; all borne in such order as I have set them down. This appeareth by the inscriptions of the Controversies, where they are so set down, although by their surnames. But the eldest of these brethren presently changed his name, and was c●lled junius Gallio, because he was adopted by him. Which Gallio is oftentimes named by Seneca the father in his declamations, and is called ours, either by reason of their common country Spain, or of that friendship which was between them● were they not likewise allied and a kin? I know not, yet suspect 〈◊〉, by reason of this adoption. And this Gall●o it is who is called Father by Quintilian and Tacitus likewise, in the sixth of his Chronicles. But this our adopted Gallio in the Eusebian Chronicle is called junius Annaeus Gallio, Senecaes' brother, and a worthy Declamer. Was it by the name of both the Families (which was rare amongst the Ancients; nay more, never heard of) that it might appear into what family he entered by adoption, and in what he was borne by nature? It appeareth manifestly, if the name and title be true. He it is to whom our Seneca both sent and wrote his books of Wrath, in which he calleth him Novatus: yet the same man in his title of blessed life calleth he his brother Gallio, and likewise in his Epistles his Lord Gallio ● and that honestly as him that was his elder brother. Observe this therefore that he seemed not to be adopted at such time as his books of Anger were written, that is, when Caius was alive, but afterwards, and that then he changed his surname: but his youngest brother was Annaeus Mela, so called by Tacitus Dion and Eusebius, who was only a Roman Knight (for he that was the elder was a Senator) who begat Lucan a great access to his greatness, as Tacitus saith. These therefore were the three brothers, of whom martial witnesseth, And learned Senecaes' house, That is thrice to be numbered. He calleth him learned, (I mean, the Orator) his treble-house; his three sons called his families. CHAP. III. His youth, his Masters and studies. He came therefore to Rome when he was a child, Epist. 113. and in that place ripened he his excellent wit in the best studies: his youth happened in the beginning of Tiberius' government, as he himself confesseth, and about that time, when foreign sacrifices were removed and abolished. This was in the fift year of Tiberius, Lib. Annal. 14. in fine. & of that of the City Dcclxx●●. which appeareth manifestly by Tacitus, who writeth, that the sacrifices of the Egyptians and jews were abolished. Seneca therefore about that time grew to man's estate, & was about some twenty or two and twenty years old. For that he was well stepped in years in Augustus' time, hereby it appeareth; because he observed a Comet or a flame before his departure; Qu●st. 1. c. 1. of which he saithe We saw before the death of Augustus such a kind of prodigy, which children could not so curiously observe. His father, in my opinion, was he that first instructed him in eloquence● & this do his books of Controversies & their Praefaces testify. For why should not this worthy old man, who both directed & taught others, direct and instruct his own children in that kind. He did it, and left two of them most excellent & exercised in eloquence, Gallio, and this our Seneca, for I have read nothing of Mela. This is that Gallio whom Status commendeth for his sweet discourse. And thus much more, that from his happy line He blest the world with Seneca divine, And brought to light that Gallio, whose grace And fluent speech the commons did embrace. He that was the author of the book Of the causes of corrupted eloquence, said, that he had a certain resounding and pleasing eloquence, which he calleth the resounding of Gallio, meaning it by the son and not by the father. But our Seneca, besides his eloquence, addicted himself to Philosophy with earnest endeavour, and virtue ravished his most excellent wit, although his father were against it. He himself divers times saith, that he was withdrawn from Philosophy, and that his wife was she that dissuaded him; yea, and that she hated it, he openly writeth in another place: yet did the sons desire and forwardness get the upper hand, so that he diligently and carefully heard the most famous and serious Philosophers of that age, and namely, Attalus the Stoic, Sotion one of the same sort, although he seemed to follow Pythagoras and Papirius Fabius, apost. ●9. which he names likewise, and praiseth with a grateful memorie● he was Sotions scholar in his younger years, and he writeth, And now, though a child, I sat and heard Sotion. Moreover, he admired and honoured Demetrius the Cynic, conversing oftentimes with him in his elder days, and at such time as he served in Cour●, both privately and publicly. For he made him his companion both in his walks and travails. Such was his forwardness in honest studies, yet his father broke him off, and in the interim caused him to follow the Courts and to plead causes: which course, as it appeareth he continued long, yea, even in Caius time, being greatly favoured and famed for his eloquence. Epist. 49. Undoubtedly there are no Philosophical treatises extant, that were his before that time. CHAP. FOUR His honours and civil life. HIs father likewise persuaded him to affect government, and to make suit for honours: he therefore first of all was Threa●orer, in obtaining which office, he acknowledgeth what helps his Aunt had procured him: Cons. ad Hi●. cap. 16. She (saith he) tried all her friends in my suit for the Threaso●ership, and she that scarcely would endure to be conferred withal, or publicly saluted in my behalf, overcame her modesty by her love towards me. What woman this was, and what husband she had thou shalt learn by my notes: but when he was treasurer I do not certainly know: for his years, it might have been under Tiberius, or it might be under Caius, but I intent not to define the matter. This had I rather say, that by Agripinals' means presently after his exile he got and exercised the Praetorship. For thus saith Tacitus: Agrippina got at her husband's hand, not only a release of Annaeus Senecaes' banishment, but also the Praetorship, supposing that it would be pleasing to the common sort by reason of the fame of his study, 12. Annals. and to the end that Domitius childhood might be the better ripened by such a master, and that he might use his counsels, under hope to attain the sovereignty. Thou see●t that he was suddenly made Praetor, and ●earest what praises and endowments Tacitus unfeignedly honoureth him with. The love of the commons was gotten by that means. Because Seneca now was accompanied with every man's good words and favours, by reason of the excellency of his studies, and was desirous that under such and so great a Master, that their Domitius should be brought up, and should be addressed (and herein note his civil prudence) both to obtain the Empire, and to govern it. He was therefore Praetor the year of the City DCCII. and was he not afterwards Consul? The Law books affirm the same to S.C. Trebellian, as Ulpian. In the time of Nero in the Octaves of the Calendss of September, when Annaeus Seneca and Trebellius Maximus were Consuls, it was made irrevocable. The same is written in the elements of justinian's institutions. But they that made our holidays, make these substitute Consuls (for ordinary they were not) the year of the City DCCCXV. which should be the year, and some few months before Senecaes' death. Some men perhaps will doubt of the whole matter, because Ausonius in his thanksgiving s●ith openly, The rich man Seneca, but yet not Consuls Seneca likewise himself never maketh mention of this honour, although he wrote many Epistles at that time. I answer, for Ausonius it is to be understood, that it seemed to him to be an ordinary Consulate; for our Seneca, that a silence is no denial. Furthermore, ● add this likewise, that the Chronicle-makers seem to have digested their relations badly; for in that year undoubtedly he was not. For see here in the very beginning of the year, how Tacitus maketh mention of his cold entertainment by Nero, Annal. 14. and how his detractors had diversly injuried him, and how he himself with a confident Oration came unto the Prince, and desired viaticum, and resigned his substance: yet Caesar permitted it not, & yet Seneca from that time forward, as Cornelius saith, changeth the prescripts of his former power, forbiddeth intercourse of Courtiers, avoideth attendants, is seldom seen in the City, and as if over-tired with sickness, keepeth himself at home, intending only the study of wisdom. These are no proper actions of a new made Consul or a Candidate, and his death that followed presently afterwards, forbiddeth us to consent hereunto. But what was it that learned men suspected thus? That which Tacitus writeth in that year was done by the consent of the Senate, jest a feigned adoption should in any sort further a public Office, & lest in usurping heritage's, it should profit. But this appertaineth nothing to that of Trebellian, it hath another reference: if a man do examine those things likewise that are in Tacitus. I therefore consent that he was Consul, but in another and a former time, the certainty whereof I will not set down. But the perpetual honour of this man, and how he was both the teacher and governor of a Prince, undoubtedly worthy as long as he addicted himself to his counsels and admonitions● Tacitus concealeth not, and nameth two, to whom the Prince was well inclined for his own profit. Murders had prevailed except A●ranius Burrus and Annaeus Seneca had withstood them. These were the Governors of the Emperor in his younger years, and con●formed in that equal society they had in government, and in diu●rs sorts they had equal power. Burrus in his charge, in regard of warlike affairs and severity in his manners. Seneca in his precepts of eloquence and honest affabilitie● assisting one another, whereby they might more easily restrain the tender years of the Prince if he despised virtue, by granting him ple●sures● O laud●ble endeavour and consent, which is too ra●e in Court, where ●uery one for the most part will desire to be so eminent that he desireth no second. But to Seneca. CHAP. V His private life, his wife, his children, his banishment. WHether he acted any other thing in public, I know not; Consola●. ad Helu●am. cap. 21. but privately I found, or at lest wise I collect, that during his younger years he was in Egypt upon this occasion; because his Uncle was P●ae●ect t●ere: for he writeth of his Aunt to his Mother, She will show th●e her example, whereof I was an eye-witness. An eye witness? he therefore associated his Aunt in that Navigation (of which he speaketh in that place) when as his Aunt returned from Egypt. And how could this be, except he himself likewise had been in Egypt? Undoubtedly it was thus: and this is the cause why he curiously intermixeth many things of Egypt and Nilus, especially in his books of Natural Questions. Lib. 6. c. 17. Perchance he trau●iled out of Egypt into ●ndia by the read Sea, and therefore would he comment upon ●ndia, upon that which was written by Pliny. But now he married a wife at Rome, which though it be uncertain to be so, yet the reason he had children do approve it: for he maketh mention of Marcus a wanton lad, with much praise and affection to his mother Heluia: neither is it to be doubted but that he was his son, at lest wise his own verses will approve it, where amongst his vows, So may young Marcus, who with pleasing prate Contents us now, in eloquent debate, Provoke his uncles, though in being young In wit, in wisdom, and in fluent tongue. For should I give way to those who attribute this to Marcus Lucanus, I find no reason for it; yet maketh he no mention o● his former wife: not in these books, I confess; what then? nor o● his brother Annaeus Mela by name, had he not therefore a brother? Notwithstanding thou art to consider whether thou understand not this by his first wife: Thou knowest that Harpastes my wives fool remained as an hereditary burden in my family: 3. de Ira. c. 1. what wife? his first wife? for the books of Anger seem to be written in a place well known to us. But he married Paulina after his exile, a woman of great Nobility, which, as I tell thee, married him when he was old & powerful in the Court: which very thing Dio likewise, or whatsoever he were in Dion, thought good to object against Dion; which is, that being s●ept in years he had married a young wench. Such were both of them, and Seneca himself, testifieth it. This said I to my Paulina which commends my health unto me: Epist. 104. it came into my mind, that in this old man there is a young one that is forborn. A young one? he means Paulina herself: for undoubtedly she loved her husband, as there in many places he boasteth, and that unfeignedly, which she expressed in his death, when in as far as in her lay, she sought to accompany his soul with hers. Hereafter we shall see it. And these were his wives. The rest of his life quiet, and without offence, excepting only that grievous accident of his exile. For under Claudius the first year of his reign, when julia the daughter of Germanicus was accused of adultery (Gods and Goddesses by Messalina?) and was driven herself into banishment: and Seneca, if he had been one of the adulterers, was exiled and sent into Corsica; I will not say whether it were upon a just cause, I could wish it were not, and happily Tacitus with me, who when he speaketh of his banishment. Seneca was angry with Claudius, it was supposed by reason of the injury that was done him. Note this ●niurie: he therefore had received some. For who would otherwise be ignorant to interpret the accusations of that impudent Harlot (I mean Messalina) and that my son beast Claudius? For, for the most par●e they practised no mischief but against good and innocent persons. He lived about some eight years or thereabouts in exile, I, and constantly too; yea, if we may believe himself, happily intending only the best study's, and the wholsomest meditations. For thus writeth ●e to his mother; That he is blessed amongst those things which are wont to make other men wretched. And afterwards (but I pray thee observe him) he worthily Philosophieth, he addeth in the end, and rouseth himself; Conceive what thou shouldest, think me to be joyful and addressed as it were in the best fortunes. Cap. 4. But they are the best, when as the mind, devoid of all thought intendeth himself, and sometimes delighteth himself in lighter studies, and sometimes mounteth into the consideration of the nature of himself, & the whole world being desirous of truth. O man, O honest words, which the Author of Octauia's Tragedy would imitate● for it was not he (God forbidden) in these Verses in the person of Seneca; far better lay I hid: removed far From envies storms amidst the Corsic shores, Whereas my mind was far from any jar, Fixed on my studies, not on earthly powers: O what content had I? (For never nature Mother of all things, Mistress of each creature Can grant no more) then to behold the heaven, The suns true motion, and the Planets seven. These are better, yea, far truer than he hath written in his consolatory book to Polybius, over-basely and humbly. And is it impossible that our Seneca should writ it? Oftentimes have I doubted it, and almost durst forswear it. Howsoever, he was a man, and happily that writing was enlarged and published by his enemies, and happily they corrupted it: yet note this in Senecaes' words abovesaid; That there he delighted himself in more slighter studies likewise, which I suppose should be Poesy: & amongst them is Medea, which I am half assured was written in his exile, at such time as Claudius conquered Brittany; and therefore made he choice of that argument of jason, that he might intermix somewhat of the Ocean that was subdued. Is it possible that those verses in the Chorus should have relation to any but Claudius? Spare me, O gods, I do entreat for grace, Long let him live secure that hath subdued. And again, The Seas— Enough already O you gods, you have Revenged you on the Seas, now spare the power. Which he applied to Cla●dius, although he were living, and will have the gods to spare the god in his Poetical fiction. CHAP. VI His riches, his granges, his lands, his usury. But presently after he returned from his exile, he grew again into reputation, being both at that time, and before his advancement in Court plentifully enstated, for his father had left him rich: Cap. 2. neither oweth he all his wealth to his industry and forwardness. Hereupon to his mother; Thou being the daughter of a family, didst freely bestow thy bounty on thy wealthy children. And he praised her liberality the rather, as he saith, because she bestowed it on her wealth sons, and not such as were needy. This before he came to Court; but when he lived there he got mighty riches, or rather admitted them which thrust themselves upon him before he sought them. For he got much by the Prince's beneficence; for thus speaketh he unto Nero in our Tacitus: Thou (said he) hast given me great grace, and innumerable treasure; so that oftentimes I myself turn ●t oftentimes by myself: where is that mind which contented himself with a little? Doth he plant such Gardens, and doth he walk about these manors without the City? and is he stored with so many acre● of land, and with such mighty usury? Note Gardens, Manors, Granges, Fields, and Usury, & all these bountifully and abundantly. Will you hear Tacitus words once more, but from another man's mouth, and in another sense: Lib. 14. Senecaes' calumners, saith he, accuse him of divers crimes; as that he, as yet increased his mighty riches, which were raised above any private fortune, that he won and drew the Citizen's hearts unto him, and as it were exceeded the Prince likewise in the annuity of his Gardens, and the magnificence of his Manor houses. And Suillus in the same Tacitus expresseth the measure of his riches likewise, with what wisdom, with what precepts of the Philosophers during th●se four years that he was in the Prince's favour, had he gotten three thousand HSS. that in Rome, whole Testaments and Inheritances were taken and got hold on by his cunning and search; Lib. 13. that Italy and the Provinces were exhausted by his immeasurable usury. His estate amongst us should be seventy five hundredth thousand crowns. These riches were almost regal, I confess it, but I condemn that which he annexeth, that it was gotten by unlawful means and deceit. Before he came to Court, as I said, he had a great revenue, and what wonder is it that he increased the same in so mighty a Court, and so great felicity of the Roman state? But he saith likewise that Italy and the Provinces were exhausted by his usury: his meaning is, that he had money at use in divers places, and I suspect it likewise in Egypt. This gather I by his Epistle, Epist. 77. wherein he writeth that the Alexandrian Fleet suddenly arrived, and that all men ran unto the haven and to the shore; but I, saith he, in this general hasty running of all men, found great pleasure in my slackness, that being to receive my Letters from my friends I made not haste to know in what estate my affairs stood in that place, and what they had brought. For this long time I have neither won or lost any thing. He had there his Brokers or Factors, who followed his business; it was therefore in some great stock of money or in lands. For to have possessions beyond the Seas was no new matter in that age wherein he lived, and in so great abundance. Verily Dion amongst the causes of the war in Britain, reckoneth this up likewise, That when as Seneca had upon great interest trusted the Britons with four hundredth HSS. which in our reckoning amounteth to the sum of ten hundredth thousand crowns: he called in for that whole sum of money at one time. Whether he spoke this truly or no I know not; for every ways he was a mortal and professed enemy of our Seneca. Yet telleth he no untruth, for there likewise had he money. Why now Gardens and houses of pleasure? he had divers, and differently beautified. Iwenall toucheth it, The Gardens of most wealth Seneca. He himself likewise maketh mention of his houses; Nomentanum, Albanum, and Baianum, and without question he had many. He likewise had a house within the City, which continued the name for many years after, and was called Senecaes' house in the Region P. Victor. His household-stuff also was envied at, and Dio objecteth, that he had five hundredth tables of Cedar with ivory feet, all of them alike and equal. This was a great matter if truly great (for this always aught we to be wary in dion's objections) that he had so many tables, whereof any one is usually taxed and prised at the rate of an ample possession: for they must not have been so choice and so rare; but what if they were not? I deny not but that it was the custom of dissolute and lavish men to have such: for thus speaketh Martial of one of these: A hundredth Moorish tables stand about, With Libique teeth, and golden plates do crackle Upon our beds. For in great banquets they set a Table before every several man, (which is elsewhere to be noted) and to this end therefore they had divers. I do not therefore say I deny or doubt hereof. But because Seneca himself toucheth and reprehendeth this madness oftentimes, yea, at such time as he was in Court, and in his old age, in those books of Benefits which he then wrote. What doth he not in his book of tranquility, about the beginning, openly deny that he took no pleasure in those Tables that were conspicuous through variety of spots. Nor was wont to use them? Wonderful is this impudence, in a matter so evident and object to the eyes of that age, to dissemble or to lie so openly. I cannot think it; especially if Dion report the same, or any other to whom Dion assigneth this office. For in another place have I noted, that these things seem to be deduced and urged against him in some invective Oration; and there by the way have I acquit him of the crime of his riches, which any man may read if he please. But rather let him read Seneca himself, who about this time published his book of Blessed life, in which his project is to defend himself from those aspersions, wherewith his enemies would have attainted him. O excellent, O wise book, and more allowed in this behalf was the reproof, that was the mean to bring it to light. CHAP. VII. His Manners, and first his Abstinence, his Truth, his Safety, and Piety. But his very manners refu●e this objection of his riches, and justify his use, and not ab●se of them. For what hath he offended in pride, excess, and pomp? Let them tell us it, and we will be silent. What was he happily lavish, either in his diet or feasting? Let us hear himself professing openly; When as I heard Attalus declaiming against vices, Epist. 108. errors, and the infirmities of life, oftentimes ha●e I had compassion of mankind, and have bel●●●ed that he 〈◊〉 sublimed and raised above human●●each. When he began 〈◊〉 traduce our pleasures, to praise a chaste body, a sober ●able, a pure mind; not only from unlawful pleasures, but al●o ●ro● superfluous, I took a liking to temper mine appetite and bel●● Of these instructions some have sithence dwel● with me my L●cillius; for I came with a great alacrity to all things. Afterwards being reduced to a civil life, I stored up som● few of these ●hy good beginnings. Hereupon for all my life time after, I renounced all Oysters and muhrooms. Ever since for my whole life time I have abstained from injunction; since that ●●me my stomach hath wanted wine, neither have I ever since, vouch sa●ed to bathe myself. Where was ever any such frugality in any other place, or by what name is it called? And this have I written of, in my commendation of Seneca, so let us no● repease it he●re, now as touching the rest of his life it was both serious and severe. 11. de Comment. The Court corrupted him not, neither inclined he v●●o flattery, a vice almost familiar, and allied to such places. Not: he unto Nero. Suffer me to stay here a little longer with thee, not to flatter thine ears, for this is not my custom: I had rather offend thee by truth, then please thee by flattery. And being now ready to die, in Tacitus he willed them to make known to the Prince, 15. Annal. 3. de Ira. That his mind was never inclined unto flatrerie●●, a●d that this was known to no man better than to Nero who had more often made use of Senecaes' liberty than he had experience of his servitude. Moreover, what exaction and examination of his manners and life? Again he himself, I use this power, and daily examine myself when the light is out and my wife is silent, which is now privy to my custom. I examine the whole day that is passed by myself, and consider both mine actions and words. I hide nothing from myself, I let nothing slip: for why should I fear any of mine errors? When as I may say, See that thou do this no more, for this time I pardon thee. Can the study of wisdom appear either more greatly or more clearly? Finally, how often appeareth his piety and submission towards God? I will set down one thing that I gathered from him. Epist. 96. If thou believest me any ways, when I discover my most inward affections to thee, I am thus form in all occurrents, which seem either difficult or dangerous. I obey not God, but I assent unto him; I follow him from my heart, and not of necessity. There shall nothing ever befall me that I will grieve at, or change my countenance for when it happeneth. I will pay no tribute unwillingly, and many such like observed by me in my Manuduction or Phisiologie. Yea, some of that unstained piety that Tertullian and the Ancients call him Ours. I have in my Fragments set down some of his counsels, let them make use of them. Furthermore, Otho Frigensis affirmed, that Lucius Seneca was not only worthy to be reputed a Philosopher, but also a Christian. And for these his eminent virtues sake, even in that age there was a great good opinion held of him, yea and they destinated him to the Empire. Tacitus plainly writeth that this was set abroach, 15. Annal. that the Empire should be delivered to Senecaes' hands, as to one that was guiltless, being chosen, by reason of the excellency of his virtues, to the highest dignity. O Rome thou wert unworthy of this felicity; neither did God respect thee so well otherwise. Juvenal satire. 10. If all the people might have leave to speak, What one of them (how desolate soever) Would fear or doubt to honour Seneca far more than Nero. Yet some there are that doubt of the reality of his virtues, and think them rather words and ostentation. Did he not therefore in his death make it manifest how slightly he esteemed all human things, how he addicted himself to God? CHAP. VIII. His Manful and Constant life, set down out of Tacitus. AND let us see the commodity thereof, but from whence should we gather it rather than from Tacitus, the most faithfullest of all other Writers? Behold, I set thee down his own words: Hereafter followeth the slaughter of Annaeus Seneca, most pleasing to the Prince, not because he had manifestly found him guilty of treason, but to the end he might confounded him by the sword, since his attempt in poisoning him, so badly succeeded. For only Natalis discovered no less. That he was sent to Seneca at such time as he was sick to visit him, and to complain why he barred Piso of access unto him, that it would be better for them if they should exercise their friendship with familiar intercourse. And that Seneca answered, that mutual discourse and often conference would be profitable for neither of them both, yet that his safety depended on Piso's security. This was Granius Silvanus, the Tribune of the Praetoriall Band, commanded to relate unto him, and to inquire whether he knew these speeches of Natalis, and acknowledged his own answers. He either by chance or wittingly had returned that day out of Campania, and remained in a house of pleasure of his in the Suburbs, above four miles off. Thither came the Tribune about the evening, and beset the Village with a troop of his soldiers. There discovered he unto him whilst he sat at supper with Pompeia Paulina his wife, and two other of his friends, what the emperors command was. Seneca answered, that Natalis was sent unto him, and that he complained in Piso's behalf, that he had been debarred from visiting him, & that he by reason of his infirmity, & love of his quiet, had excused himself. But why he should prefer a private man's security before his own, he had no cause; nor that his mind was inclined to flattery, and that the same was best known unto Nero, who had more oftentimes made proof of Senecaes' liberty then service. When as this answer was related by the Tribune, in the presence of Poppea and Tigillinus, which were inward Counsellors to this merciless Prince, he asked him whether Seneca had prepared himself for a voluntary death. Than did the Tribune confirm, that he discovered no sign of fear, nor appearance of dismay, either in his words or countenance. He is therefore commanded to return, and to tell him of his death. Fabius Rusticus reporteth, that he returned not by the same way he came, but that he stepped aside to Fenuis the Praefect, and told him● what Caesar had commanded, and asked his counsel whether he should obey him, and that he was advised by him to execute his charge, which was the fatal cowardliness of them all. For both Silvanus was one of the Conspirators, and increased their heinous offences, to whose revenge he had consented; yet spared he both his speech and presence, and sent in one of the Centurions to Seneca, to signify unto him the fatal sentence. He no ways dismayed hereat, called for the tables of his Testament, which being denied him by the Centurion, turning himself towards his friends, he testified unto them, that since it was not permitted him to remunerate their kindness towards him, yet testified he, that he left them yet that which of all others he esteemed most worthy, namely, the image of his life, whereof if they were mindful, they should carry away the fame of good learning, and of so constant friendship. And therewithal recalleth their tears, and calleth them to constancy now by speeches, now by expostulations, after a more intended manner; ask them, where are the precepts of wisdom? where that premeditated resolution, which you have studied for so many years against imminent dangers? For to whom was Nero's cruelty unknown? Neither remained there any thing after the murder both of his mother and brother, but to annex the death of his Governor and Master? When as he had in general said these or such like words, he embraced his wife; and having somewhat tempered her against the present fear, he prayeth and entreateth her to moderate her grief, and not to make it continual. But in contemplation of her life that was virtuously led, to endure the lack of her husband with honest solaces. She contrariwise alleged that herself was sentenced to die also, and calleth for the executioners help. Than Seneca loathe to obscure her glory, and loving her entirely, lest he should leave her to the injuries of others, whom he so dearly loved, said, I have showed thee the proportions and images of life, but thou hadst rather have the glory of de●th● I will not envy thy example. Let the constancy be equal in us both in this so short a death, but thy renown will be far greater. After which words, both of them ●ut their veins at on● time. Seneca in that his body was old and lean, by reason of his sparing diet, and that by this means his blood flowed more slowly; cut the veins of his legs and hams likewise. And being wearied with cruel torments, jest by his pain he should weaken his wives courage, and he by beholding her torments should fall into some impatience, he persuaded her to step aside into another chamber. And in the last moment being no ways disfurnished of his eloquence, calling his writers about him, he delivered many things, which being discovered to the world in his own words, I intent not to altar. But Nero that had conceived no private hatred against Paulina, and being afraid jest th● odiousness of his cruelty should increase the more, commands her death to be hindered. By the exhortations of the soldiers, ●er slaves and bondmen bind up her arms, and stop the blood, the matter being yet uncertain whether it was with her consent. For amongst the common sort (who are readiest to speak the worst) there wanted not some that believed, that during the time that she feared that Nero was implacable, she sought to accompany her husband in the same of his death: but when more apparent hopes were offered, that then she was overcome with the sweetness of life, whereunto she added a few years after, with a laudable memory towards her husband. But her face and other parts of her body were grown so pale and discoloured, that it easily appeared that her vital spirits were much spent. In the mean while Seneca seeing the protraction and slowness of his death, besought Statius Annaeus, a man well approved unto him, both for his faith in friendship, and skill in Physic, to haste and bring him that poison which in times past was provided, and by which they were put to death who were by public judgement condemned amongst the Athenians; and having it brought unto him he drunk it, in vain, by reason that his limbs were already cold, and his body shut up against the force of the venom. At last he entered into a Bath of hot water, besprinkling those his slaves that stood next about him, saying that he offered up that liquor to jove the deliverers Than put into the Bath, and stifled with the vapour thereof, he was buried without any solemnity of his Funeral: for so had he set it down in his William. Even then when as being very rich and mighty, he disposed of his last Will. Hitherto Tacitus. Neither will I repent myself i● I insist lightly, and examine and illustrate his sayings: He saith, that this slaughter of his was most pleasing to the Prince. For of long time he was aggrieved against this Master & Teacher of his in goodness and equity, and his intent was to shake off that Rain of reverence once whereby he was restrained against his will, by cutting him off; yet had he otherwise sworn, as Suetonius witnesseth: He compelled Seneca his Master, saith he, to choose his death, although when he oftentimes sought for a viaticum at his hands, and surrendered up all his goods unto him: he had solemnly sworn that he was suspected without cause, and that he had rather die than that he would hurt him. He swore, that is, he deluded the gods also: he saith, When as his intent to poison him succeeded not: for he had attempted it; for so saith the same Tacitus in a former place, Some delivered poison unto Seneca by Nero's command, prepared by the hands of one of his free men, called Cleonicus, but that it was avoided by Seneca, by the discovery of his Libertine, or through his own fear, whilst he sustained his life with a spare diet with wild apples, and if he were athirst with running water. He goeth forward: Or knowing of it; as if he had knowledge of the conspiracy, and the prefixed time. Likewise, he returned out of Campania, from some Lordship of his there. And there truly oftentimes before his death lived he solitary, and in that place wrote many of his Epistles to lucilius. Four miles off, in some Manor of his likewise, what was it Nomentanum? This did Xitho Polentinus writ, but upon mere conjecture, as I think. Neither doth Tacitus admit it, who speaketh of some four miles of the City; but Nomentum is at lest twelve miles off. Not signs of fear. Behold a death both worthy of a Philosopher and a Stoic, which those things that follow commend. The image of his life: if Seneca I pray you were so absurd a fellow, as Dion speaketh, should this be spoken of his life in the shutting up? Would he thus dally and deceive his friends, and delude his familiars? Sometimes with speech, that is, gently and familiarly, Being hardened against present fear, I writ it not again rashly, yet some man may doubt, should it not be Molitam that she was mollified, having relation to his wife? That which followeth seemeth to infer the same, when he requireth her to temper her sorrow; and that which he annexeth: Thou seest, saith he, the portraiture of life. These, and divers others are Senecaes' own words, or very like unto them, which were extant and well known, as presently after he saith: his aged body. By my reckoning he was some threescore and three, or four years old. For that he was not elder, Nero's words to Seneca convince, not spoken long time before that in Tac●tus. But thou art both ripe in years, and sufficient for affairs, and the fruit of them, which thou canst not truly speak of the elder. Calling his writers about him. O man. O mighty mind? To dictate that when he was a dying that might help posterity. For it is not to be doubted but that they were such, and mere precepts both of constancy and wisdom. The argument is, because they were published; which should not be except they had been excellent. And because they were published, Tacitus omits them. O improvidently done? O that we likewise had but a touch of these Swanlike songs. A Bath of hot water: he meaneth some Bathing-●ub, and then first used he cold water when he should use it no more. Carried into his Bath; that is, into his Stove or dry Bath, as I think: for he showeth that by the vapour and acrimony of the heat, he was strangled. Even then when he was most rich and mighty: this is somewhat wherein Tacitus seemeth to carp at him, yet, if I conceive him rightly, Tacitus meant his funeral, and that he forbade the solemnities thereof, but how in that He made his last William. What, would Ner● have broken his Testament? who happily was appointed heir of the greatest part thereof, and would suffer himself to lose nothing through negligence. Or doth he touch Senecaes' parsimony herein? But dead words pass not far. Another man may find it. CHAP. IX. His body, his sicknesses, his form. I Have ended, except it please you that I writ somewhat of his body: for men delight, if I may so speak it, to take notice of the habitations and receptacles of great wits: his body from his childhood was but weak. This saith he of his Aunt, after he was brought into the City. By her pious and motherly care, Cons. ad Hell cap. 16. Epist. 54. after I had been long time sick I recovered my health. And in a certain Epistle: Sickness had given me a long safe conduct, and suddenly invaded me. In what kind, sayest thou? And not without cause dost thou ask me this, since that there is not any one that is unknown to me. But to one kind of sickness I seem as it were destinated; which why I should call by a Greek name I know not, for it may aptly enough be called Wheosing or Astine. And presently after he addeth, All the incommodities or dangers of the body have passed by me. Behold an old man well exercised, when likewise being a young man, was exercised with Distillations and Rheums, by means whereof he seemed to be inclined to a consumption. Himself again: That thou art troubled with often distillations & agues: it grieves me the more, because I have had proof of that kind of sickness, which in the beginning I contemned; Epist. 78. for at first my youth could wear out the injury, & oppose itself boldly against infirmities, at last I was mastered, and was brought to that pass, that I myself was consumed by distillations. I was brought to an extreme leanness, and oftentimes had I a mind to shorten my days, but my careful and loving fathers old years restrained me. He writeth expressly enough of his leanness and consumption. Neither is it to be wondered at, that Caligula was so persuaded by a woman: for Dio writeth, When as Seneca had worthily and happily handled a certain cause in the Senate, that this Prince waxed mad red with anger, who only would seem to be eloquent, and bethought himself of taking away Senecaes' life, which he had done if one of his Concubines had not told him this, That in vain prepared he a death for him that was already dying, and was spent with a consumption. He gave credit to her; and this was the means of Senecaes' safety. So true is that which he (what was a looker on?) wrote. Many men's sickness deferred their death, and it was a means of their security, that they seemed ready to die. But till his last hour he had but a dry and decayed body, why wonder we when either it was thorough his infirmities or his studies? Epist. 45. And Tacitus likewise addeth a third cause, That his body was attenuated by a slender diet. And that it was not beautiful, Seneca himself expresseth in another place, That thou requirest my books, Epist. 104. I do not therefore think myself more eloquent, no more than I should judge myself fair because thou requirest my picture. He toucheth that he was not, and that image, which is discovered of him by Fuluius Vrsinus, Lib. 3. cap. 7 showeth not a countenance worthy that mind; yet confirmed he his body, though weak, with more harder exercises, as in tilling the fields, and in digging of Vineyards, whereof he maketh mention in a certain Epistle of his, and in his natural Questions, where he called himself A diligent digger of Vineyards, and generally likewise of Gardens, Epist. 112. which he termeth his cunning. CHAP. X. Those books of his that are extant. THus of the body only; neither had we any fruit by it, but great from his mind, and let us see them by an Index. His Verses and Poems, which undoubtedly and plentifully he wrote, he himself showeth that he penned them in his exile: Lib. 14. and Tacitus then likewise when he was stepped in years, and lived in Court. For thus do his calumners' object against him to Nero; For they objected against him that he got the praise of eloquence to himself only, and wrote verses very often, a●ter that he knew that Nero was in love with them. Orations of Declamations he made many & worthy one, yea, even in the Senate, besides those which he wrote to the Prince, to be received likewise in the Senate; neither doubt I but that the Edicts unto the people, and the graver Epistles were written or Dictated by him. His book of Earthquake, which, as he testifieth, he wrote when he was young, in the sixth of his Natural Questions, chap. 4 Thou shalt not want, for he hath handled the same matter again in the same Questions. That of Matrimony, whether it were a book or an Epistle I know not, but S. Jerome citeth it against jovinian, lib. I His History or Compendium out of Lactant. the 7. and 15. Chap. His books of Superstition was undoubtedly one of his best ones, S August. in his book de Civitate Dei praiseth it, and culleth somewhat out of it, and Tertullian maketh mention thereof in Apologetico. His Dialogues, which Fabius nameth, and no more. His Moral books, Lactantius citeth them in his eleveth book, Chap. 11. and in other places, and Seneca himself in his hundredth and sixth Epistle in the beginning, and his Epistle 109. he wrote it in his later time, as it appeareth there. O worthy work? And it grieves me that it is obscured. His books of Exhortations: for there were many of them, as may be gathered out of Lactantius, and see our Fragments. Who thinketh that this likewise is not to be numbered amongst his best works? There are other, yet such that thou mayst not confidently ascribe to this man, as his books of notes, which seem rather to be his fathers. Likewise of Causes; for so an unknown Chronicler among the Britons testifieth; He maketh mention of Seneca de Causis, wherein he saith that Cato defined the office of an Orator thus: An Orator is a good man that is, exercised in eloquence. But this belongeth to the father also, and they are the books of Controversies; in the first book whereof, and in the very preface thou shalt find that this of Cato's is cited there: and except I forget myself, thou shalt find it likewise in my Fragments, although these smaller things do not so much overslip me, as I suffer them to pass by me. But hark you Sir, make we no reckoning of his Epistles to S. Paul? Those that are now extant are not so much worth, nay, it is most certain, that they have all of them the same author, and that they were written, but by some scarce learned Clerk in our disgrace. He traveleth and attempteth to speak Latin, whosoever it was that was the Author: did they not therefore writ one unto another? a De scriptorib. ecclesiasticis. S. Jerome, b Epistola 53 ad Maced. & de Civitate Dei. cap. 10. S. Augustine, and Pope Linus more ancient than them both aver it, and it is a passive opinion. And john of Salisbury likewise confidently writeth, They seem to be foolish, who reverence not him who, as it appeareth, deserved the familiarity of the Apostle. De passione Di●i Pauli. Lib. 8. Polycar. cap. 13. I therefore dare not wholly reject and contemn this; it may be there were some, but others then these, if theses I required the judgement of the best Fathers. The end of Senecaes' life, written by Lipsius. LUCIUS ANNAEUS SENECA. Of-Benefits. THE FIRST BOOK. The Argument of JUSTUS LIPSIUS. I Place these Books amongst the last of his Philosophy, although they have been planted in the forefront. But so it is if you consider the time; They were all together written under Nero after Claudius' death. A certain argument whereof is, in that in the end of his first Book he writes very contemptibly of Claudius, and traduceth his slight judgement: which he would not have done had he been living. The Books are good; but in faith confused in order and the handling; which a man though circumspect shall hardly expedite: yet will we do our best. The first Book beginneth with a complaint of Ingratitude which is usual, and yet greatest amongst vices. Therefore saith he, That he will writ of Benefits what their force and property is. This handleth he until the fift Chapter. Than defineth he, that a Benefit consisteth not in the matter, but the mind of him that bestoweth it, and hath his weight from him: He diduceth it by examples and arguments until the eleventh Chapter. There proposeth he two members to be entreated of. What Benefits are to be given; And how: The first he performeth in the end of the Book; the other he deferreth till the Book following. CHAP. I AMongst the many and manifold errors of such as both rashly and inconsiderately lead their lives, men's indiscretion in giving & receiving benefits maketh ingratitude so frequent. there is nothing for the most part (most worthy Liberalis,) that in my judgement is more hurtful; than that we neither know how to bestow, or how to receive Benefits. For it consequently followeth, that being badly lent, they are worse satisfied, and being un-restored, are too lately complained of; for even then when they were given, even than were they lost: neither is it to be wondered at, that amongst so many and mighty vices there is no one more frequent than that of Ingratitude. For this in my judgement proceedeth from divers causes. The first is, because we make not choice of such (on whom we are to bestow our benefits) as are worthy to partake them; but being to take bonds of any man, we diligently inquire after his lands and movables: we sow not our seeds in a fruitless and barren ground, and yet without any election we rather betray, than bestow our benefits. Neither can I easily express, whether it be more dishonest to deny, or redemand a benefit. For such is the nature of this debt, that so much is to be received thereof, as is willingly repaid: but neither to will, nor to be able to perform a man's promise, is most loathsome, A ●ood intent is a kind o● satisfaction. in this respect, because to discharge a man's credit, the mind sufficeth, though the means be deficient: For he restoreth a benefit that willingly oweth the same. But if there be a fault in them who are ingrateful even in confession of a favour, there is also some defect in us. By experience we ●inde many ungrateful, and make more; because somewhiles we are grievous upbraiders and exactors: otherwhiles full of lenity in our liberality, and such that as soon as we have lent, repent us of the deed doing: otherwhiles complaining of men's faint correspondence, & accusing them of some fault & offence they do unto us, how little soever it be. Thus corrupt we all thanksgiving and remuneration, not only after we have given our benefit, but whilst we are in giving of it. For which of us was content either lightly, or at one time to be required? The errors of ●hem ●hat give. which of us (when he but suspected that something would be demanded at his hands) hath not disdainfully frowned, or turned away his face, or pretended some business, and by long discourses, and purposely-produced speech without head or foot, forestalled the occasion of demanding a favour, and by divers subtle devices deluded hasty necessities, but being cunnngly encountered in such sort as he must needly answer, hath not either deferred (that is) fearfully denied, or promised but difficultly, but with bended brows, and strained and reproachful words? But no man willingly oweth that, which he received not voluntarily, but extorted violently. Can any man be thankful unto him, who proudly either reproacheth a benefit, or wrathfully fling it to him, In●or●ed and extorted favour is n●t ●●ank●sworthy. or (being overwearied) gave it him to the end to avoid his further trouble? He is deceived whosoever hopeth to have a satisfaction at his hands, whom he hath dulled with delay, or tortured with expectation. A benefit is acknowledged according to the intent wherewith it is given; and therefore we aught not to give negligently. For every one is indebted to himself, for that which he receiveth of a neglectful debtor. Neither must there be slackness in our liberality, because whereas in all offices the will of the giver is highly esteemed, he that hath been slow in benefiting, hath been long time unwilling. Neither aught we to bestow our benefits contumeliously; for whereas by nature it is so provided that injuries leave a more deep impression in our minds, than good deserts: and the last are suddenly forgotten, where the first are continually reserved in memory, what expecteth he who offendeth, whilst he obligeth an other? His satisfaction and gratuity is sufficient if any man do but pardon his benefit. The multitude of error aught not to extinguish a virtue. Neither is there any cause why the multitude of ungrateful men should make us slower to deserve well: For first of all, (as I said) we increase the same: Furthermore, neither are the immortal Gods deterred from their plentiful and ceaseless bounty: notwithstanding the sacrilegious & neglectful behaviours of men. They use their nature, and infuse their bounty on all things, yea even on those amongst the rest, that use the worst interpretation of their benefits & largesse. Let us follow these as our guides, (as far as our human frailty will permit us) let us give benefits, not lend on usury. That man is worthy to be deceiued● who thought upon requital when he presented his courtesy. But it was ill employed. A laudable action must be continued without exception. Both our children and wives have deceived our hopes, yet do we both bring up the one, and marry the other: and so obstinate are we against experiments, that being overcome in war, & shipwrecked by sea, we give over neither: How much more becometh it us to be constant in giving benefits? which, whosoever giveth not, because he hath not received, gave that he might receive, & makes the cause of the ungratful receiver justifiable, to whom in that sort at length it is absurd not to repay, although he hath power. How many are unworthy the light, and yet the day riseth to them? How many complain that they are borne? Yet nature increaseth mankind, and suffereth those to enjoy life, who loath to possess it. This is the property both of a great and good mind, not to follow the fruit of Benefits, but the benefits themselves, and after the evil to search likewise some good. What bounty were in this, to profit many, if no man were deceived? Now is it a Virtue to give benefits, A virtuous man in his good action is not deterred by any occurrent. whereof there is no hope of recompense again, and of which the fruit is already received by a worthy man. So far should this thing be from deceiving us, or making us flow to perform so worthy a thing, that although my hope were utterly cut off for ever finding a grateful man, yet had I rather be exempted from receiving benefits from any man, than not to bestow them. Because that he which giveth not, is more faulty than he which is ungrateful. I will speak what I think: he that requiteth not a favour done him, sinneth more; he that giveth not, sooner. CHAP. II. If thou profusely will't thy goods bestow Accius' the Poets saying. On every vulgar Person thou dost know, Full many favours must thou needly loose, That one at length thou justly mayst dispose. IN the former Verse thou mayest justly reprehend both these two clauses; for neither must our benefits be profusedly lavished on every man, The nature of a Benefit is changed by the use. neither can the prodigality and largesse of any thing be honest: especially that of benefits. For if thou givest them without judgement and discretion, they cease to be benefits, and admit any other name whatsoever you will give them. The sense following is wonderful, which repaireth the indemnities of many benefits ill employed and lost, with one well bestowed. See, I pray you, whether this be not more true, and more correspondent to the greatness of a Benefactor, to exhort him to give, although he were assured that he should employ no one gift well: For that is false. That many things are to be lost, Nothing is lost that is rightly given. because nothing is lost; the reason is for that he who looseth, had numbered it already amongst his desperate debts. The respect and manner in employing good deeds is simple and plain, they are only delivered out; if any one to whom they are trusted restore any thing, it is gained, if no man yield satisfaction, there is nothing lost: I lent the same to the only intent to give it. No man registereth his good deeds in his book of debtors. Neither is there any exacting Usurer (how extreme) soever he be) that punctually impleadeth his debtor on the day and hour of his payment. An honourable Benefactor never thinketh on the good turn he doth, Only satisfaction refresheth memory in a good Benefactor. except he that hath received the same, refresh the memory thereof by repaying him: Because otherwise it ceaseth to be a benefit, and becometh a debt. To bestow a favour in hope to receive an other, is a contemptible and base usury. How badly soever thy former favours have fallen out, yet persever thou in bestowing upon others. They are best hoarded in the hands of the ungrateful, whom either shame, or occasion, or imitation, may at length fashion to be grateful. Persever continually, and cease not to be bountiful: Accomplish that good work which thou hast begun, and perform the duty of a good man. Relieve this man with thy goods, an other with thy credit, that man by thy favour, this with thy good counsels, and wholesome precepts. CHAP. III. Willed Beasts (yea even they that are most savage) acknowledge the good that is done unto them. Neither is there a●y living creature so untamed and untractable, that with gentle handling, and careful nourishing, is not made gentle and familiar. Such as have the keeping and charge of the Lions, may muffle and handle them without harm or danger. Benefits redoubled animater the most ungrateful to satisfaction. Meat so much humbleth the fierceness and haughty courage of Elephants, that they refuse no servile and base burdens. Finally, all these brute beasts, so deficient in understanding, and esteem of the benefits they receive, at length are tamed and made humble by the frequent and daily access of the same. Is he ungrateful for one good turn? happily he will acknowledge a second. Ha●h he forgotten two? the third may perhaps bring him to remembrance of all the rest: He looseth the good that he doth, that believeth that he hath over-quickly lost the same. But he that persevereth in well-doing, and redoubleth his benefits one upon the neck of the other, exhorteth an acknowledgement from the most obdurate and forgetfullest receiver. He dare not lift up his eyes against many good turns. Wither so ever he turneth himself in se●king to betray his own memory, there let him see thee beleaguer him on every side by thy bounty: The force and properties whereof I will discover unto thee, if first of all thou give me licence to expalliate in a word or two, and to touch certain things impertinent to this matter. Why is it that the Ancients have feigned that there are three * The Poet's fain● the● to ●e thr●e Maiden's, wh●●h as ●hey say wer● Daughter's o● IVP●TER, and V●NVS, The Greckes call them Charites, and ●he ●a●●nes Graces. CHRYSIPPUS opinion. Graces, that they are Sisters, having their hands in hands? and why are they pictured laughing, young, and tender in years, Virgins, attired in lose garments, clear and transparent? To this some answer, That there aught to be three, because the one of them representeth him that Bestoweth; the other, him that receiveth; the other, him that gratifieth and remunerateth the Benefit. Others say, that there are three kinds of benefits, the one of those who bestow the same, the other of those that restore the same, and the third of those that receive, and therewithal requited good turns. Of these things judge as thou pleasest, the knowledge hereof full little profiteth us. What meaneth this dance of theirs, in which hand in hand they trip it always in a round? To this intent it is, Because the order and process of benefits (that pass through their hands that give the same) is such, that they return again to the giver, and should wholly lose the grace of all which they should effect, if ever they should be interrupted: contrariwise, that they always retain their beauty, when they are united and hand-fasted together, and when they are restored and acknowledged in their time. Therefore paint they them laughing, Because the countenances of those that will deserve well at any man's hands, should be smiling and pleasant, such as theirs is, who are wont to give or receive benefits. They paint them young, because the memory of benefits should not wax old. They feign them Virgins; because they are incorruptible, sincere, holy, and profitable unto all men; Their garments shining, Videant opera vestra bona, and transparent, because good works would be seen. Let him that will admire this miracle, invented by the fabulous Grecians; let him, that list, maintain that they are necessary and profitable: yet is there no man that will justify, that the names which Hesiodus hath given them are any ways pertinent to this fable, or that purpose; or that knoweth why he termed the eldest of them Aglaia ● the second Euphrosyne; and the third Thalia. Each one hath thought good to wrist the interpretation of these words according to his own fantasy, and hath laboured to fashion them, and conform them to some congruency of reason. Notwithstanding Hesiodus hath given these young Maidens that name, which was best liking to his humour. Homer also changed one of their names, and called her Pasithae, and saith, that she was married and espoused to a husband, to the end thou shouldest know that they were no Virgins. I will find you out an other Poet that describeth them girt, and appareled in thick and gross robes. Mercury also is painted by them; not for that devise and good discourse giveth any lustre or esteem to benefits, but because it so pleased the painter to describe them. Chrysippus' likewise (whose understanding is so sharp and subtle, and that searcheth and soundeth the very depth and secret of matters, he that pretendeth to speak of good customs, and conformeth his style to every man's understanding) farceth his whole book with these follies, in so much as he speaketh very little of the manner of giving, receiving, or restoring benefits, in such sort as he mixeth not his fables amidst his discourse, but rather mixeth his discourse amidst his fables. For, besides these things which Hecaton hath written, Chrysippus maintaineth, The Poets feign the Sun had a certain number of handmaides, which he called the Houred. See ovid. That the three Graces are the Daughters of jupiter and Eurimone, somewhat younger, but fairer than the Hours, for which cause they were given for companions to the Goddess Venus. Chrysippus' likewise maketh a mystery of the name of the Mother of these Graces, saying; That for this occasion she was called Eurimone (which in Greek signifieth a good patrimony) because it is the property of a great and ample patrimony to know well how to employ and bestow benefits; as if it were a matter of custom to give the name of Mother after that she had children; or as if the Poets assigned the true name of all things whereof they entreated. There were in Rome certain men whose office it was to carry by heart the names of the Citizens, who during the election of public officers were always assistant. For even as the Nomenclators or Beadles (whose office it is to relate their names that aught to be solicited to purchase some dignity) sometimes make use of their boldness, in stead of their memory, and forgetting the proper names of such as they should certify, forge an other according to their own fantasy: So Poets think it not pertinent to the matter to speak truth, but either compelled by necessity, or surprised with affection of consonancy, command each thing to be termed by that name that best beseemeth the harmony and cadency of their Verses. Neither are they to be blamed herein, because they enlarge the matter with some new device of their own: for the first Poet that shall speak of them, The vanit●e of Po●ts. will give them what name he pleaseth. And to prove this to be true, behold this name of Thalia (whereof principally all of them make mention) which in Hesiodus is one of the three Graces, and in Homer one of the nine Muses. CHAP. FOUR But lest I should seem to incur the same fault myself, which I reprehend in others, I will relinquish all th●se things, which are so far from the matter, that they no ways concern the same; I only pray thee to defend my cause, if any man shall tax and reprehend me for this, He privily here tax●th the Grecians inc●stantie that among the rest I have not spared to reprove Chrysippus, being a man so great, (but yet a Graecian) whose understanding is so acute and subtle, that it oftentimes confoundeth and puzleth itself: for even then when he seemeth to aim at the best, and to affect any thing: he only pricketh, but pierceth not; toucheth, but teacheth not. And what subtlety or sharpness, I pray you, is herein? Of benefits than we are to entreat, and to set down an order and direction in this virtue, which chief concerneth human society: we are to prefix and set down a law of living, least inconsiderate facility in giving, grow in favour under the colour of benignity; lest this observation, whilst it temperateth liberality, (which must neither be defective nor superfluous) restrain the same wholly. Men are to be taught to receive with thankfulness, and to restore with the same correspondence, and to procure (in regard of those that oblige them with any benefit) not only to be equal with them in will, but to overcome them with greater gratuity: because that he who is obliged to acknowledge a good turn, requiteth not the same, except his remuneration exceed the givers merit. These are to be taught to impute nothing; they to own more; the one not to upbraids the other more and more to acknowledge. To this most honest contention of overcoming one benefit by an other so doth Chrysippus exhort us, Chrysippus' trivial subtlety. that he saith, that it is to be feared, lest because the Graces are the Daughters of jupiter, it be reputed sacrilege to grow unthankful for good turns, and injury be thereby offered to so amiable Damosels. Teach thou me somewhat that may make me more ●orward to do good unto all men, and more thankful unto those that have done me good offices. Tell us something whereby the will of those that oblige by their bounty, and of those who are obliged, are answerable, and made competent: so as the benefactors keep no account or memory of their good deeds, and those that shall receive the same, put them not in oblivion, but perpetually remember them. And let us leave these follies and toys to Poets, whose project is to delight the ear, and to invent a pleasing fable. But they that will heal men's disfigured and vicious minds, that serve to maintain faith in human things, and desire to engrave the memory of good turns in the hearts of men; Let them speak seriously, and employ their utmost forces: except thou happily think that it is possible by a slight and fabulous discourse, and by old wives tales, that a thing so pernicious, and so much abominable in the world, (as is the general abolition of debts, and an acquittance of all good deeds) may be prohibited. CHAP. V He returneth to the matter. But as I insist not on those things which are of small importance, so is it likewise necessary that I endeavour myself to make this well known, that first of all we aught to learn how much we are obliged, when we have received a benefit. One man acknowledgeth himself indebted for the money he hath received, another for a Consulate, Bounty is not the ob●●●● of the sense, but is engrau●n in the heart. another for the office of Priesthood, another for the government of a Provinces yet no one of these things is properly a benefit, but only the mark and sign of a benefit or merit. A benefit cannot be touched by the hand, but is carried in the heart. There is much difference betwixt the matter of bounty and bounty itself: For this cause neither gold nor silver, (nor any other thing we receive at our friends hands) is the true and re●ll benefit, The perpetuity of a benefit. except his will only that bestoweth the same. The rude and ignorant sort observe only that which is seen by the eyes, or thrust into the hands, or which is delivered them, or they possess; and contrariwise, they make little account of that which in reality of truth they aught most to prize & praise also. These things which we possess, these things which we see, and wherein our covetousness is so engaged, are frail and incertain: & either fortune, or injustice can take them from us: but a benefit remaineth, although the matter whereby it is made manifest, be lost and extinguished. Undoubtedly that thing is well done which no force can defeat or diminish. I have redeemed (sayest thou) my friend from the hands of pirates, and him hath an other enemy surprised and put in prison. Although this enemy hath defrauded and acquitted me of the use of this good work, yet can he not extinguish the good work itself. I have saved some men's children from shipwreck, or have delivered them from the force of the fire, and these hath either some sickness or other casual injury violently taken from me. Yet remaineth that without them, which is given in them. All those things then which improperly usurp the name of Benefits, are but the means and instruments, by the which the will of a good friend is expressed. The like appeareth in many other things, so as it falleth out, that the true thing is in one place, and the sign and resemblance thereof in an other. The Emperor or Chieftain of an army giveth a chain of gold to some one soldier of his that approved his value in some difficult enterprise, moral or civil: a Crown unto another that first scaled the enemy's wall, or for that he saved a Citizen's life. I ask you now what precious thing hath this Crown in it? what is this embroidered gown or garment which is given to noblemen's children? These ensigns of magistracy, the axe and rods, what value are they of? what profiteth the judges Tribunal, or his painted Caroche? None of all these things are honour, but only signs of honour. In the like manner that which is offered to the eye, is not the good work or benefit, but only a lustre and sign of the s●me. CHAP. VI WHat therefore is a benefit? What a benefit is, and wherein it consis●eth. It is a benevolent action which causeth and yieldeth pleasure by that good it communicateth to others, inclined and disposed of itself, and of her proper motion, to that she doth. A benefit therefore consisteth not in that which is either done or giu●n, but in the mind of him that either giveth or doth the pleasure. And hereby mayest thou understand, that there is a great difference betwixt these two, because the benevolence is always good; but that which is done, or given, is neither good nor evil. It is the mind that valueth small things; The mind and heart are they that prize or diseste●me things. illustrateth and exemplifieth obscure things; and contrariwise, setteth light by those things which are most esteemed and precious. Those things which we desire and long after most, have a neutral and indifferent nature, and are neither good nor evil. That which is most materially to be considered, is, whether the mind that governeth them aimeth and impelleth them, from which all things have their form. That than which is reckoned, or given, is not the benefit, no more than the honour of the Gods dependeth not on those beasts that are sacrificed unto them, (how costly and sumptuously soever they be) ●ut in the piety and rectitude of those minds which worship them. A comparison to this effect. For which cause the good and virtuous men, who have nothing to present the gods with but a cake & an earthen vessel, are held for religious. And contrariwise, the worse sort are not exempted and acquitted of impiety, although they have embrewed the altars with much blood and sacrifice. CHAP. VII. He proveth his definition. IF benefits consisted in those things which we receive, and not in the will wherewith they are given: so much the more greater should they be, the greater the good turns are which we have received. This hath some consonancy with the alms which the widow and the Pharisie gave in the temple. But this is false; for sometime he obligeth us more that hath given a little magnificently; that hath equalled the riches of Kings by his value and richer mind: that giveth a little, but freely; that forgetteth his own poverty and necessity; whilst he respecteth mine; that had not only a will to help me, but a great desire to favour me; that when he gave a benefit, Arguments of true pi●●ie and bounty. thought that he received the same; that gave without hope of recompense, and received as though he had not given; that not only sought occasion to do good, but laid hold on the opportunity, whereby he might profit others: Contrariwise these things which either are extorted from the giver, or seem to fall from his hands that giveth them: although they seem highly prised and of great appearance, yet, as I said, they are unworthy of thanks, because a gift is much more gratefully accepted and reckoned of that cometh from a free and liberal hand, than from a full and rich-fisted penny-father. It is but a small thing he hath given me, but he could not give me more. But that which the other hath given me, is far more worth: Yet doubted he; yet delayed he when he should give; yet grumbled he in bestowing; yet gave he presumptuously, excusing himself by many circumstances, A sickness o● th●s age i● you note it. and would not please him to whom he lent his goods. Finally, that which he gave me, was not so much to give it me, as to bestow it on his ambitious thoughts. CHAP. VIII. WHen as many men offered many presents to Socrates, each one according to their possessions and possibilities: one of his poorest scholars, whose name was AEschines, came unto him, & said; I found nothing worthy thyself, that I may give unto thyself: and in this one only kind I found myself to be poor. That one thing therefore which is only in my possession, I offer thee, which is myself; beseeching thee to accept of this gift such as it is, and to consider that they which have given thee many things have reserved much more to themselves. To this Socrates answered: Who doubteth but that thou hast offered me a great present, were it not that thou valuest and esteemest thyself so little, I will therefore take care to restore thy person to thyself, better than at this time I receive him from thee. By this present of his, AEschines exceeded Alcibiades (a man as mighty in mind as in me●nes) and all the liberalities of all the most richest young men of Greece. CHAP, IX. THou seest how a good mind findeth m●tter of liberality, even in the greatest gall and torment of misery. AEschines (me thinks) reasoneth thus in himself: Think not Fortune, that thou hast prevailed any thing against me in making me poor, be thou never so refractory; yet will I find a present that is worthy Socrates; and since I can not give any thing that is thine, or thou hast given me, I will give mine own, myself, and th● best of me. You must not think that AEschines valued himself basely to himself, that knew none more worthy present besides himself without himself. This ingenious young man found out the m●anes, how he might make Socrates his, by giving him what he was. We are not to respect the value of these things that are given, but the virtue of him that giveth. A subtle and politic man willingly giveth audience to those that demand and propose unreasonable suits, and intending no ways to help indeed, nourisheth their fraudulent hope with deceitful words. But yet worse is his opinion, that with proud language, grave and severe looks, hath disdainfully set out the sum of his riches. For they that make a show to respect and reverence a man on whom Fortune smileth, are the first that detest and seek to do him mischief; and such notwithstanding, that if they had the power, would themselves do that which the other did. * In this place Lipsius and Anicetus observe a d●sect which may be conjectured by the small conformity between the antecedent and subsequent reasons. Some there are that not privately and behind their backs, but openly and to their faces have scorned and mocked at other men's wives, and yet have abandoned their own to those that loved them. There are women likewise, that in these days account those married men rustic, inhuman, and of froward condition, that will not suffer their wives to get up into their Caroches, and prance through the streets to be gazed at by the passers by. * A sin more imitated in thi● age than any virtue. That man who is not noted for entertaining a Mistress, or for courting his neighbour's wife, him do these Matron's account base in condition and heart; base in choice and election, & only worthy to court their basest Chambermaids. Hence is it, that in these days adultery is reputed the most honestest method and manner (that is) to wed a woman. Some had rather consent never to entertain marriage, than not to have such a woman to his wife, that was not debauched from her husband. Th●re is neither measure nor rule in men's expense. They contemn an other man's poverty, and fear none but their own: they dread no other evil, they never pardon injury, they tyrannize over th● weaker sort, and outrage them by fo●●● or fear. For to see Provinces sacked, the chair of justice sold, and judgements set to sale to him that will give most, is not to be wondered at, since it is permitted by the Law of Nations to cell that thou hast bought. CHAP. X. BUT the subject whereof I entreat, hath so much distracted and transported me, that it hath carried me further than I thought. Let us in such sort endeavour to departed out of this life, A notable lesson o● an Ethnic ●or all good Christians. that our sins may not seem to be rooted and settled in the same. Hereof our Ancestors and Predecessors complained, hereat we ourselves are aggrieved; and for this will our Successors sigh, because good customs are abolished, impieties have pre-eminence, and human affairs grow worse and worse, and men leave no wickedness or sin unsought after. And the worst is that these vices do, and shall remain in the same place, although they be a little moved here and there, as the Floods of the Sea, which when the tide cometh, are carried out into the Ocean, and upon the ebb are contained a while on the brim and bank of the river. In this time shall adulteries be more frequent than any other vice, and modesty shall turn lose and Libertine. In an other Age the fury of Banqueting shall flourish, and the undecent abundance of kitchens: the shops wherein so infamously men's Patrimonies are sold and bartered. another time shall come of immeasurable and unbridled curiosity in appareling the body, and painting the face, which external fuke shows how foul and filthy the soul is internally. At this time great men abusing their authority, shallbe both audacious and insolent. At an other time men shall flesh themselves with public and private cruelties, and in the furious madness of civil dissension, whereby every sacred and sanctified thing is profaned. The time will come wherein drunkenness shall be honoured, and he shallbe esteemed most virtuous and gallant that hath sucked in the greatest excess of wine. Vices continued not always in one and the same place, they agreed not well together, they change time and place, they urge and give chase one to an other. In a word, we may always boldly say thus of ourselves, that we are evil, that we have been evil, and (unwillingly I speak it) we always shall be. Ingratum dixeris, & omnia dixeris. In all times there will be Murderers, Tyrants, Thiefs, Adulterers, Robbers, Church-breakers, and Traitors, and the lest of all these is the ungrateful man, except it be that all these are the children of ingratitude, without which scarcely any evil enterprise hath been plotted or performed. Beware and esteem thou this as the most grievous and greatest of crimes, let him not take hold of thee; & in another man pardon the same as if it were the slightest of all others. For in effect all the injury that he did thee consisteth in this, that thou didst lose thy good deed: but comfort thyself with this, that thou didst not lose the better part thereof, which is, the honour to have given the same. But even as we aught to be well advised, not to employ our favours on those that will not hearty and freely acknowledge the same, so aught we sometimes to hazard a benefit, although we are out of hope of acknowledgement or satisfaction. And not only when we are afraid that they will be ingrateful, but also then when we shallbe most assured that they have already been approved and known for ungrateful. Even as if I can, I am undoubtedly bound to restore unto a father (provided that it be not with any hazard of mine own fortunes) his children whom I had saved from a great peril: So likewise aught I to defend a virtuous and worthy man, and second him in the danger wherein I shall found him, though it be with the loss and expense of mine own blood. If likewise by my outcry I can deliver a man from the hands of thieves, (although he be unworthy of any favour) I aught never to repent myself if by my words I have saved a wicked man's life. CHAP. XI. IT followeth now that we declare what sorts of benefits we aught to give, and after what manner we aught to give them. First of all let us give things necessary, then profitable, thirdly agreeable, and permanent. Let us begin with that which is necessary. The necessary. For we account ourselves far more beholding to him that hath given us our life, than to him that enlargeth our honours or instructeth us in virtues. Never will he esteem it a thing according to the value if he can easily slight it over, and say, take it to thee, I want it not, I am contented with mine own. So doing thou wilt not be obliged to restore that which hath been given thee, but thou wilt disdain it and cast it away. But amongst those things which are necessary some hold the first place, and they are those without which we cannot live. Others hold the second: and they are those without which we aught not to live; Others the third, without which we would not deserve to live: The first of this note are, to be delivered out of the enemy's hands, exempted from a tyrant's wrath and proscription, and other perils, which being both divers and incertain beleaguer and besiege man's life. Which so ever of these we shall have prevented or cut off, the more greater and terrible it is, the greater thanks shall we receive. For they will bethink them from what evils we have delivered them, and the precedent fear● of danger which they have had, reviveth their remembrance, and giveth life to the desert forepast, when they bethink themselves from how many miseries they are delivered. Yet hereby is it not intended if we should maliciously defer or deny our succours to him that is in any danger, to the end that fear should give a greater weight to our benefit or merit. In the second rank are those things without which truly we may live, but live so miserably, as death were better than the life; of which kind are liberty, modesty, and a good mind. In the last place we rank those things, which alliance and parentage, familiar conversations, and long use, hath made us always repute and account most dear and precious: as our Children, our Wives and houses, and all these things whereunto we have so much addicted and dedicated our hearts and desires, that we had rather die than divide ourselves from their company. After these necessary things succeed those that are profitable, The profitable. whose nature and argument is far more ample and divers. Here entereth money (not superfluous but sufficient to entertain an honourable means of life) here entereth honour and the good carriage of affairs, to the end to attain to greater matters. For nothing is more profitable than to be made profitable to a man's own self. Profit is first to be respected in regard of a man's particular. The agreeable. The rest is but even great abundance and superfluity which spoileth men, and maketh them effeminate. But when we would intent to do a pleasure, we must provide that the opportunity may make it more pleasing; that the thing we intent to present be not common and ordinary; that few men have had the like in times past, and that as few yet in these our days can match the pattern: and if it be not rich in itself, at lest let the time and place, wherein we give the same● cause it to be more heighly prized. Let us bethink ourselves what present we might make, that might yield some pleasure and contentment, that might be more oftentimes seen and handled, to the end that so often as he should take my present into his hands, so oftentimes he should have and hold me in his remembrance. We aught likewise to beware that we sand not unseemly presents; as to a woman, or an old and impotent man, toils or other necessary instruments of hunting; to a Country Clown books; or nets to him that is studious and addicted to his book. Contrariwise also we aught to be very circumspect, lest thinking to sand some agreeable present, we sand to every one such thing as may reproach him of his infirmity; as wine to a drunken man, and medicines to a sick man. For this beginneth to resemble rather an outrage than a present, If that which is given do tax the imperfection of him that receiveth the same. CHAP. XII. The permanent. IF it be in our election to bestow what we list, Let us present such things as may continued longest, to the end that the good which we do, and gifts we bestow, may be lasting and of long continuance. Things of continuance live longest in the receivers memory. Because amongst those that receive, there are few so thankful that they remember them of that they have received, except they have it always in their sight. And the ungrateful also, when the present and favour is always in their eyes, are thereby drawn into the memory thereof, which suffereth them not to forget themselves, but rendereth and redoubleth the memory of him that gave the same. So much the rather therefore let us seek out things that are of continuance, because we aught never to upbraid a benefit but suffer the present itself to quicken and revive decaying memory. Moore willingly will I give silver plate than ready money, more willingly statues, than apparel, and such things as in a short time are worn out by use. Few there are that remember to give thanks a●ter they have pocketed the present. Many there are that no longer make estimate of a good turn, than whilst they may make use thereof. If therefore it possibly might be so, I would not that my gift should be consummate, or worn out of memory, my desire is it should be extant, and of long continuance, and accompany my friend and live jointly with him. There is no man so foolish that had need to be taught; What discretion th●re ●●ght to be used ●n presenting. that he should not invite his friend, and present him with the public shows of fencing, and baiting of savage beasts, when as these proclaimed sports have been performed and shown, or Summer suits for Winter time, and Winter garments in heat of Summer; we need no more than common sense to make us know what is fitting and acceptable. We must respect the time, the places, the persons, because in the moments of time, or occasion, some things are grateful and ungrateful. How much more acceptable is it if we give that, which the person to whom we give hath not, than that wherewith he is abundantly stored? if we present him with that which he hath long sought and could not find, than that which is merchandable and easily bought in every place? Our gifts aught rather to be exquisite and rare, than precious and rich, and such and so extraordinary, that he that seemeth to have lest want of any thing by reason of his abundance, may accept and hold them dear for their rarity and novelty. Rarity, ●e the pre●ent never so small takes it acceptable. Were they but common apples which in a short space by reason of their abundance would be displeasant to the whole world, yet if a man make a present of them in their prime ripeness, and when there is a scarcity of them, they will be far more acceptable and esteemed. These presents likewise are not without honour, which either no man else hath presented them with, or we ourselves have not given to any other. CHAP. XIII. WHen as Alexander of Macedon after his Oriental victories had raised his thoughts above human reach; certain Ambassadors were sent unto him in the behalf of the Corinthians, to congratulate his victories, and to present him with the Title of a free Citizen of Corinth. Which offer of theirs when Alexander had scornfully derided, one of the Ambassadors said unto him: Consider, noble Prince, that we have never imparted this privilege of our City at any time to any else, but thyself, and invincible Hercules. Which when Alexander had heard, he thankfully entertained the honour they had offered him, sumptuously feasted, and gratefully embraced the Ambassadors, conceiving thus, and contemplating, not what they were who offered them their City, but who he was to whom they had first presented the same before him. This man who was so addicted, and drunken in glory: (whereof he neither knew the nature nor the measure,) following the traces of Hercules and Liber, yet not content himself to bond his ambition within the limits where they ceased, he respected what companions in honour the Corinthians had presented him with, And thereby finding himself to be compared with Hercules, he thought that already he was possessed of heaven, which vain and fruitless hope he foolishly embraced. For tell me, I pray you, wherein might this young fool in any thing resemble or compare himself with Hercules, who had but happy temerity in stead of resolution and value. The true difference betwixt Hercules and Alexander. Hercules' achieved no conquest for his own particular interest, he traversed the whole world, not desiring possessions, but revenging injuries. What desire of conquest, or affection of profit, could this Enemy of evil men, this Protector of good men, this Pacifier both of Land and Sea in any sort conceive or have? But this man from his young years was a Thief, a Forager of Countries, the ruin both of his Friends and Enemies, who held it for his chiefest happiness to be a terror to all mortal men; remembering not that not only the most cruel beasts, but also the most ●eeble and coward, are redoubted, and feared for their pernicious venom. CHAP. XIIII. LEt us now return unto our purpose. That benefit which is given to every man, is grateful to no man. Not man will ever think that a Taverner or Hos●ler entertaineth him as a friend. No man supposeth himself to be invited by him that furnisheth a feast to entertain a whole City. For a man may say, what pleasure hath he done me? he hath favoured me no otherwise than he would a stranger, or an enemy, or the basest fellow, or player, he might have met withal. But he thought me more worthy or better esteemed than any other? nothing less: that which he hath done is but to content his own humour and infirmity. If thou desirest that thy presents may be acceptable, make choice of some rare thing. Who will account himself obliged for a courtesy which is done unto every man? Let no man interpret these things in that nature as if I would restrain men's liberality, and repress them more than reason required. I will not so bound the same that it may not be general, or employed where a man pleaseth; yet my desire is that it should not be extravagant or misimploied, but justly intended. A man may so sort his good turns, and so honestly distribute the same, that they who have received them, although they be many, may suppose that they are not favoured in common, but in particular. Let every man have some familiar note, whereby he that receiveth may conjecture that he is more inwardly respected by him that bestoweth the benefit. Let us give him an occasion to say; I have not received more than that other man, but that which was given me came with a freer bounty and good william. I have received the same present which an other man had, yet I more speedily and readily than he, Means to fashion men to acceptance and gratuity. where as he long before had merited the same. Some there are that have had the same favours, yet not delivered with the same gratulatory speeches, nor presented with the like courtesy from the Benefactor. This man received after he had entreated for his benefit, but I, when I was besought to accept the same. Such a man received a rich present; 'tis true: but he could more easily give recompense; for being as he is a man of many years, and without heirs, he promiseth great hopes to the Benefactor. But that which I received is of more esteem, because that which he hath given me is without all hope of restitution. Even as a Courtesan so divideth herself amongst many, that each one hath a particular insinuation & proof to be more favoured than the rest: So he that desireth that his courtesies should be esteemed, aught to bethink him, not only in what sort he may oblige all men unto him, but how every one may have something whereby he may think that he is preferred before the rest. For mine own part I desire not to restrain any man from distributing his liberalities as him listeth: the more and greater his largesse is, the more honourable and praiseworthy they be; yet wish I notwithstanding that his bounty should be bounded with judgement. For these things that are given rashly and without consideration, are never well reputed or accounted of. For this cause if any man should think that in commanding this, I would by this means banish and exterminate liberality, and should not afford the same limits large enough; Undoubtedly he hath made but little use and received less profit of these my instructions. For is there any virtue that I have more prized? or whereunto I have more incited men than to that? to whom appertaineth these exhortations and instructions more than to me, who by liberality would establish and assure a firm commerce and society amongst men? CHAP. XV. Reason & judgement aught to accompany liberality: prodigality extingu●sheth it. HAppily thou wilt inquire how far Bounty aught to be limited, for that it is certain, that action or design of the soul can be decent or honest, although it hath had his original from a just will, but that whose weight and just measure is transformed into virtue? To this I answer, that here I only pretend, that liberality aught not to be prodigal or misimploied. Than is it that a man should be glad to have received a good turn, (yea willingly, and with open handes●) when reason and judgement hath addressed it to their hands, who are worthy of the same, when by temerity of fortune, or by heat of courage, it is not unprovided and disfurnished of good counsel, and when a man may take pleasure to show it to the world, and profess himself to be the Author. Wilt thou esteem that for a benefit which thou hast received from such a man's hands, whom thou art ashamed to name? Contrariwise, how much more agreeable are those good turns unto us, how inwardly are they grounded and engrafted in our memories, (from whence they are inseparable) when they content us, and make our thoughts more pleasing, in imagining from whom, than what we have received? Crispus Pasienus was accustomed to say, that he more esteemed other men's judgements, than their gifts, and other men's gifts, than their judgement; and annexed this example; I had rather (said he) have AV●VSTVS judgement, yet love I well CLAVDIVS bounty. But for mine own part, I think that no man aught to desire a benefit at his hands, whose judgement is deficient and idle. What then? should not that which Claudius gave be received? why not? but in such manner as if thou hadst received it from Fortune's hand, which thou mightest imagine might suddenly become a misfortune. But why sayest thou should we separate those things which are so united? because we cannot call that a benefit which wanteth his principal part, that is, to be done and given with heartiness and deliberation. A great sum of money, if it be not given prudently, and with a will grounded on reason, is a treasure, but no benefit. Finally, there are many things which we may receive, and yet not be obliged for them. The end of the first Book of Benefits. LUCIUS ANNAEUS SENECA Of Benefits. THE SECOND BOOK. The Argument of JUSTUS LIPSIUS. HE assumeth and entreateth of an other part, How Benefits are to be given. He giveth many precepts hereupon; that we bestow them willingly, speedily, and without dubitation. That some things are to be given openly, other some things secretly. Than what they are which are hurtful, if they be not given, although they be demanded, and yet not dishonest, and such as may breed future infamy. Than that the persons aught to be esteemed both of him that giveth, and him that receiveth, that both of them may be decent. another part of the book: How he that receiveth should behave himself, from whom he receiveth, and how, especially gratefully. By occasion he decideth what it is that maketh men ungrateful: Pride, Avarice, Envy: Finally, in many words he disputeth of gratitude, and proveth that it consisteth on will, where as wealth and means wanteth. CHAP. I LET us look into and examine that (most worthy Liberalis) which as yet remaineth of the first; that is to say: In what manner we aught to bestow a benefit. To the better performance whereof I shall in my opinion set down the most expedite way and means. So let us give as we would receive a good turn. But above all things what we do, let us do willingly, speedily, and without hesitation or doubting: Ungrateful is that benefit that hath long time stuck betwixt his fingers that giveth the same, that a man seemeth hardly to part withal; and delivereth in such sort, as if he had rob himself of it. Yea if we cannot give so soon as we would, and that we are enforced to delay our benefit, let us strive at leastwise by all the means possible, He that delaieth or dallieth in his bounty, looseth his gift & merit. that it be not supposed, that we have hung long time in deliberation or suspicion, whether we should give or no: He that doubteth, is next to him that denieth, and deserveth no thanks for the same. For since in a benefit there is nothing more agreeable than the will of him that giveth the same, he that in delaying giveth us to understand that he giveth against his will, in effect giveth nothing, but rather knew not how to keep it from his clutches, that drew it from his hands. divers there are that are bountiful for shame sake: but those pleasures that are readily bestowed, that are given before they are demanded, that are unattended by any delay (except it be the modesty of him that receiveth the same) are far more agreeable. First of all it behoveth us to prevent every man's desire, Willingness and prevention are the signs of a free and liberal mind, delay and dilatum of a suspicious and niggardly heart. and afterwards to follow the same. But the best is to prevent and present our favours before they be sought after. And for that an honest man blusheth always for modesty when he demandeth any thing, whosoever he be that remitteth and excuseth him of this torment, redoubleth and multiplieth the pleasure. He received not gratis, that received when he demanded. Because (according to the opinion of the gravest Authors and our Ancestors) there is nothing that costs so much, as that which is bought with prayers. Yes, grace that is purchased by prayers. Men would more sparingly tender their vows unto the gods, if they should do it openly; and rather desire we in secret to pray and perform our vows unto them, because our desire is that our thoughts should be only known unto them. CHAP. II. THe words are distasteful, and full of disturbance, for a man of honour (with abashed and abased look) to say, I beseech you. Labour thou then to excuse thy friend herein, and whomsoever else thou intendest to oblige unto thee by thy bounty. How forwardly soever a man give, that giveth after he is entreated, let him know this lesson, that he giveth too late. Endeavour therefore to divine and foresee every man's will; and when thou understandest the same, discharge him of the grievous necessity of ask. Know thou that that benefit is most pleasing, and of longest perpetuity in man's memory, That comes unsought for and undemanded. And if happily thou hast not had the opportunity to prevent his necessity, yet at leastwise intercept the reasons and motives which he should use in requesting thy courtesy: Urbanity in a Heathen inimitable by Christians, as the Christian world is carried in these days. thou oughtest to make him believe by thy readiness and forwardness, that thou hadst a desire to do him friendship before he demanded the same. And as meat which is presented a sick man in due season profiteth him much; And simple water being given in time of necessity, is sometimes of as much worth & value as a medicine: even so a pleasure although it be but little and small in value, if it be freely and fitly given, if it be done in due time, and fitting to the occasion, valueth and commendeth itself the more, and surmounteth the estimate and worth of a rich and precious present, which hath been long time devised and dreamt upon. It is not to be doubted, but that he who so readily distributed his largesse, performed the same as willingly. And therefore with joyfulness fulfilleth he that he intended, and thereby giveth testimony of his good mind. CHAP. III. THe immeasurable silence of some, and their slowness in speech (the first-borne-breed of sullenness and sottish gravity) hath made many men lose their benefits, notwithstanding their great worth and value. For although they promise' with their tongues, they deny in the carriage of their eyes. How far better were it to accompany good works with good words, and to give credit to the good office thou dost with familiar and courteous language? Challenge him that requireth aught at thy hands, for this cause, that he hath deferred so long time to make use of thee, in forming against him this familiar quarrel: Terms befitting a liberal mind. I am much displeased with thee, for that thou hast not acquainted me sooner with that which thou desirest at my hands, for that thou hast used too many ceremonies and circumstances in requiring my help; for that thou hast employed a third means for that which thou mightest have commanded thyself: For mine own part, I hold myself most happy and contented, that thou hast sought to make proof of the good affection I bear thee. From hence forth if thou be pressed with any necessity, command and claim whatsoeu●r is min● as thine own: Let this one error pass, I pardon thy rusticity. Hereby shalt thou make him esteem and value thy noble mind more, than all that he came to claim at thy hands, how precious soever it be. Than doth the benefactors virtue most manifestly appear, then is his bounty remarkable, when as the other passing from him, shall departed muttering to himself: Great hath been my gains this day; It more contents me that I have found him such a man, than if the benefit had b●ene redoubled unto me by any other way, for to a mind such as this is I shall never yield retribution or condign satisfaction. CHAP. FOUR But many there be, that by the bitterness of their words, and the crabbedness of their looks, The errors of those that give after an evil manner. make their favours odious, by using such speech, and expressing such pride, that it repenteth him that demanded the courtesy, that he hath obtained it. It falleth out oftentimes likewise, that after the promise made, there are some delays and procrastinations: yet is there not any thing more loathsome and distasteful, A lost courtesy to receive after much craving. than when a grace is once granted, to be enforced to go and redemaund it again. The favours we intent, aught not to be deferred, which cost more sometimes in their recovery than in their promise. This man must thou beseech to put his Lord in remembrance, that man to receive the favour for thee; thus one simple gift (by passing thorough many men's hands) is diminished and lessened very much, and he hath lest satisfaction that hath made promise thereof. For they, whom afterwards we must importune, get the better part of the thanks. If therefore thou wilt have thy gifts to be acceptable and grateful, thou must procure that they pass thorough their hands that sought the same untouched and entire, and (as they say) without any diduction. Let no man intercept, let no man detain them; there is no man that in that which thou art to give, can purchase any credit, but that he impaireth and diminisheth thine. CHAP. V Refusal i● better ●●an incertainty. THere is nothing more tedious and irksome to a man, than to hung long in suspense. There are some that had rather that the hopes of their pretensions were scantled, than delayed. And many there are (too foully possessed of this vice) that with a depraved ambition protract and defer those things they have already promised, to no other end, but to increase the number of those that solicit and sue to them. Such are these ministers of kingly majesty, who take delight in the admiration, A pattern of a proud Cour●●●r. which other men conceive of their greatness and pomp, who think themselves disabled in their power, if by many delays and longer procrastinations they make not every man understand how powerful and graced they be. They perform nothing speedily, they dispatch nothing at once. Their injuries are headlong and sudden, their benefits silly and slow. Wherhfore think that most true which the Comic Poet saith: Dost thou not so much of thy thanks diminish, As thou delay'st thy benefit to finish? From thence arise those complaints which ingenious sorrow expresseth, Do speedily, if thou wilt do any thing; and nothing is more dear. I had rather thou shouldest have utterly denied me. Such manner of discourse use they at that time that are wearied with a long delay, which maketh them already contemn and hate the good, which they hearty expected. Can they for this be esteemed ungrateful? Even as that cruelty is the greatest that bringeth out and protracteth the pain●, and to dispatch a man of life quickly, is in some occasions a kind and sort of mercy, (because in the end the last torment draweth with itself the remainder of itself, True liberality ● impatient of d●l●y. and the time precedent, is the greatest part of the punishment that succeedeth:) so the less time I am held in suspense, the greater thanks own I for the favour I receive. The expectation of things, how good and honest soever they be, is both tedious and displeasant: and where as there are many benefits which are a total remedy to some instant necessity; he that suffereth the indigent either to be tortured by delay, whom forth with he could dispatch, or maketh him languish in expectation, and grow forlorn before he compass the favour, abuseth his own benefit, and lays violent hands on his own good work. Bis dat qui cito dat. All true liberality is addressed and expedite, and it is the property of him that doth willingly, to do quickly. He that giveth later than he should do, and wearieth out both time and occasion, before he assist and succour the indigent, witnesseth by his actions, that he had never a will to succour him. And by this means looseth he in one benefit two most important things, that is to say, time, and the argument of his friendly intention and will, because to will a thing over-late, is not to will it at all. CHAP. VI IN all affairs (Liberalis) that which importeth most, is the manner and fashion of speaking or doing any thing. Celerity hath done much, ● fit similitude. Delay hath defrauded more. Even as in weapons of all sorts, the edge and point both of the one and of the other, are of the same force and keenen●sse as the rest are; but there is a great difference in them, The manner of giving maketh the gift ei●her plausible or distasteful. if they be enforced by a brawny and forcible arm, or managed by a faint and feeble arm. It is one and the same sword, that slightly raceth and rudely pierceth thorough: that which most importeth, is the strength of the arm that governeth it. The like may be said of that which a man giveth; the only difference is, in the manner of giving. O how precious, and how sweet a thing is it, to encounter with a Benefactor, that consenteth not to be clawed with acclamations and thankes-givings! and that as soon as he bestoweth a benevolence, forgetteth the same! for to reprove him to whom thou art most beneficial, and to intermix injuries and outrages with courtesies and good turns, is no less than madness. Benefits therefore are not to be exasperated or intermeddled with any distaste or misliking. Though happily thou hast something that thou hast reason to reprehend him in, reserve it till an other time more proper and convenient. CHAP, VII. FABIUS VERRUCOSUS called that disgraceful courtesy, Enforced courtesy hath no merit●. which was presented by a niggardly hand, Gravelly and stolen bread; which a hungry man must of necessity take, yet can hardly eat, Tiberius Caesar being requested by Marcus Allius (who had been Praetor) to discharge him of those many debts, wherein he was engaged: Caesar commanded him to set down the names of all his creditors. This is not properly to give, but to summon them to whom he owed any thing to composition. As soon as he had received the register of their number, he wrote a schedule wherein he commanded to pay his prodigal nephew's debt, and gave it to him, and therewithal so bitter and contumelious a reprehension, as the poor man was so much dismayed, that he neither knew that he had received any money for his creditors, from the emperors hands; or any favour for himself: He delivered him from his Creditors, but obliged not him unto himself. Some motive there was that guided Tiberius herein; and in my judgement, He excuseth Tiberiu● in some sort. that he did, was to the end, that no man should importune him more in such like requests; and this happily was an effectual way, thorough the shame and reproof of one man to repress the disordinate desires of covetousness in all other men. Yet he that giveth a benefit, must absolutely follow a far different way. CHAP. VIII. BY any means procure thou, that whatsoever thou intendest to give, may be adorned with all that which either may make thy gift more acceptable, or better received: for otherwise thou dost no good work, but disclose and reprehend an hidden error. And that I may express by the way (in my judgement) what my opinion is herein, me thinks it is a thing ill-beseeming a Prince, to give a favour with an affront and infamy: nevertheless, for all this Tiberius could never by this manner of dealing fly that which he feared: for many others came afterwards and besought him in the same sort, and for the same relief as Allius did, all whom he commanded to inform the Senate, in what manner they had spent that money they had borrowed, and thereupon gave them certain sums of money. This is no liberality, but a censure; this is no succour, but a principal tribute. Because that cannot be esteemed a good work, which I cannot call to memory without blushing, and disgrace: I am sent to the judge, to obtain that which I required, I was enforced to suffer a criminal process. CHAP. IX. The twofold manner of employing benefits. THe Wise men therefore, and such as are Authors of Wisdom, advise, that some benefits are to be given openly, othersome secretly. Those are openly to be given, which may honour and magnify him that receiveth them, such as are Military presents and dignities, and whatsoever other gift, which the more public and notorious it is, the more honourable it becometh. Again, those gifts, which neither promote nor advance a man's fortune, nor augment his reputation, but only secure his infirmity, his necessity, and ignominy: must be given so secretly, that he only may take notice thereof that hath the benefit and assistance thereby. And sometimes also we aught to deceive him that we intent to relieve, in such a sort as our gift may come unto his hands, and yet he ignorant from whom he received the same. CHAP. X. He proveth by example that favours are to be done in secret. ARcesilaus (as it is reported) being advertised, that a poor friend of his (who concealed his necessities, as much as in him lay) was fallen sick, and yet notwithstanding would not discover the poverty he endured in his sickness; bethought him that he should not do amiss, to relieve him secretly. For which cause, under colour to come and visit him, he left a bag full of money under the sick man's pillow; to the end that the poor soul (being more bashful than wise) might rather think that he had found that which he desired, than that he received it as a benefit. What then? should he not know (sayest thou) from whom the favour came? No. At the first let him be ignorant thereof, sith the not knowing thereof is a better part of the good work. Afterwards I will do him many other pleasures, I will give him so many other things, that in the end he shall perceive who was the first Author of them: Finally, he shall not know that he hath received, and I shall understand that I have given. Me thinks thou tellest me, that this is nothing. I answer thee, That it is insufficient, if so it be, that by thy good work thou seekest interest and praise: but if thou desirest to do it in that kind, that it may be more and better profitable to him that receiveth the same, thou wouldst content thyself to be a witness, that thou thyself didst it. Because thou seemest not to take pleasure in doing thy good work, but desirest to make it known, that thou hast done the same: I will (sayest thou) that he know that I did him the good turn. This is to seek out a debtor. But my desire is (sayest thou) that he should know it. Tell me why? If it be more profitable for him that receiveth the benefit, not to know whence it cometh; if it be more honest, and more agreeable that he know it not,: wilt thou not in this point be of our opinion? I will that he know it. Thou wouldst not then save a man's life if the night were dark. I deny not but that upon some just occasion it may be lawful for a man to take some contentment in his thankfulness that hath received a benefit. Do your charity secretly, that you may be rewarded openly. But if then when it is needful to assist and succour our friend, we perceive that he should receive some disgrace thereby, if the good that we do him, shall sort to his indignity, except it be done secretly: We aught not to insinuate or make known our good turns. Were it answerable to honesty to tell him that it was I that have given it him? whereas by the precise and principal precepts I am forbidden at any time to upbraid him, or to refresh the memory of my favour done unto him: An inviolable law in doing good. For this is an inviolable law betwixt him that giveth, and him that receiveth, that the one aught incontinently to forget the good he hath done, and the other aught to have a continual remembrance of that which he hath received. There is nothing that more tireth and travaileth a good mind, than to be oftentimes reproached and upbraided with those pleasures which have been shown him. CHAP. XI. IT contenteth me much to make a public narration of that exclamation which a certain Roman used, who had been saved by one of Caesar's friends (during the time of the proscriptions of the triumvirate) who being unable any further to endure his pride, most manfully cried out thus; Redeliver me I pray thee to C●sar, and the power of justice: How long wilt thou reproach and upbraid me saying, I have saved thee, I have delivered thee from death? If I forget not myself, I must confess that thou gavest me life; but if I remember me of thy often reproaches, I can not conceive but that thou hast given me death. I own thee nothing; if thou hast saved me to no other end, but to make an ostentation of thy vanity. How long wilt thou lead me about for a spectacle to men, and a torture to myself? how long will it be ●re thou suffer me to forget my hard fortune? Had I been led in triumph by the enemy, it had been but one day's miserable spectacle. Secrecy must accompany benefits. Never aught we to disclose that which we have given: he that upbraideth a courtesy redemaundeth it. We must not importune● we aught never to refresh the memory of a former pleasure, but by seconding it by another. Neither aught we to disclose it unto others. Let him that hath done the good office, conceal it: let him that hath received the same, disclose it. Otherwise it may be said unto him as it was to one who publicly vaunted and boasted of the pleasures he had done● Happily (said he that had received the gift) thou wilt deny but that thou hast received again that which thou gavest mee● And as the other asked him when? He answered; Many times, and in many places: As if ●ee should say● As oftentimes, and in as many places as thou hast vaunted thereof vainly; what need hadst thou to speak it? or usurp upon an other man● office? another man might have done it more honestly, who reckoning up the good he hath received at thy hands, might praise thee in divers things, which thou canst not, or dost not discover. At leastwise thou wilt say of me, that I am ungrateful, ●f concealing thine own bounty and desert, I make it not known who have received the same. But this aught not to be; but rather, if any should relate before thee, what good thou hast done me, and the evil I commit, in not confessing thy goodness, thou oughtest pesently to make this answer. Truly he is most worthy of far greater benefits, which I know that I have better will, than power to perform. Which speech we aught to utter, not with flattering dissimulation, or feigned pretence, or as some men do, who make a show to reject that which they would feign draw unto them. Briefly, we aught to use all kind of sweetness and courtesy, as much as in us lieth. The husbandman should lose all his labour, if after he hath cast his corn into the ground, he make no more reckoning of that which he hath sowed. The corn cannot come to maturity without much manuring and regard, nothing can bring forth fruit, if from the beginning to the end it be not laboured and handled with due industry. The same condition is of all benefits. Can there be a greater care, and more circumspect diligence in this world, than that which the parents have over their children? and yet their pains should be lost, if so be they should abandon them in their infancy: if their devoir and paternal piety should not nourish them long, Bounty must be accompanied with love and charity. and tenderly protect that unto the end which Nature hath recommended unto them. All other benefits are of the self same condition; except thou helpest them, thou losest them. It is a small matter to have given them. We must likewise nourish them. If thou wilt have them thankful who are obliged unto thee, thou must not only give them bountifully, but love them hearty. But especially (as I said) let us have a care that we offend not their ●ares; admonition is tedious, reproach engendereth hatred. There is nothing so much to be avoided in giving a benefit, as for a man to show himself proud. Whereto serveth an arrogant and disdainful look? to what end are swelling and reproachful words? Pride maketh charity nothing. Thy own good works will sufficiently praise thee: we aught to alien from us all vain boasting. The actions will express themselves when we are silent. That which a man giveth proudly, is not only displeasant, but also odious. CHAP. XII. CAEsar gave Pompeius Pennus his life (if it may be said, that he giveth life that taketh it not away.) Afterwards, when he had absolved him, and the other humbled himself to give thanks; Caesar presented him his left foot to kiss. In●olence of great fortune. They that pretend to excuse him, and deny that it was done by way of insolence, say, Homer hath always some body ●● s●o●●h his errors. that he did it but to show his gilded Buskins; or rather, or more rightly, his buskins of gold, enchased and enriched with precious pearls. In so doing, what outrage might the●e be? What evil was it for a man (although in former times he had been Consul) to kiss gold and pearl, since no better place might be found more seemly and honest in Caesar's person for him to kiss? A man only borne to change and reduce the manners of an absolute and free State into servitude, worse than that of the Persians': he thought it a small matter than an old Senator, who in times past had been graced with so many and great honours, should in the presence of Princes in submissive sort li● prostrate before him, after the manner of a vanquished Enemy before the feet of the Conqueror. This was he that endeavoured to find something out more base● than the knee, whereby he might subject and suppress the liberty of Rome. Is not this to tread the Majesty of a Commonweal under foot? Yea with a left foot will some men say (and very answerable to the purpose●) For he had not showed himself villainously furious and insolent enough, to have taken his fair buskins to assist and sit in judgement upon the life of one who had be●ne a Consul, if the Emperor had not also thrust his studs and golden buttons into a Senator's mouth. CHAP. XIII. O Pride of great fortune! O pernicious folly! O how happy is he that is not constrained to receive any pleasure at thy hands! O how well art thou instructed to convert each benefit into injury! How much art thou delighted in outrage and excess! O how ill do all things beseem them! O how highly raisest thou thyself, to abase thyself more lowly! O how approvest thou, that thou acknowledgest not those goods wherein thou takest so much pride! Thou corruptest whatsoever thou givest. I would ask thee therefore for what cause thou thus forgettest thyself? what perverteth both thy looks and the habit of thy countenance? hadst thou rather go masked than show thy face open? most pleasing are those courtesies which are given with a kind, smiling, and pleasing countenance, which when my Superior gave me, he exulted not over me; but as much as in him lay showed me all the benignity & favour that he could imagine, and abasing himself so far as to equal himself with me, he disclothed his gifts of all kind of pomp, he observed a fit time, wherein rather he might help me upon occasion, than in necessity. In one and the same sort, in my judgement, we may persuade these men that they lose not their benefits through insolence, if we shall prove unto them that their benefits do not therefore seem more great, because they have been given with insolent and tumultuous speeches; and that they themselves cannot for so doing seem greater in any man's eyes; and that the greatness of pride is but vain, and such, as that it draweth the things of most esteem into hatred and contempt. CHAP. XIIII. SOme things there are which prove so harmful and prejudicial to those that receive the same, that to deny them, and not to give them, proveth to be favour and benefit. This say I, because we aught rather to intent the profit, than the affection and will of those that require our favours. For oft-times we wish and labour for those things that are damageable unto us. Neither can we judge how harmful it is, because our affection blindeth and perturbeth our judgement; but when the desire is pacified and allayed, when that ardent impression and impulsion of the mind (which exileth from itself all good counsel) is extinguished and abated, then abhor we those pernicious Authors of those unhappy and evil gifts. Discretion in benevolence. Even as to sick men we deny water, and to those that are melancholy and loathe their li●es, a knife; or to such as are in love, all that which their inflamed and ardent affection, or rather desperation, doteth after. So aught we to persever diligently and humbly in denying and refusing all that which may do much harm to those who miserably and blindly demand it at our hands. Furthermore, it importeth every man to have a care and observation, not only of the beginning of his gifts, but of the end and issue also, which they aught to have; and so procure, that they may be such things, that not only give content in the receiving, but delight also when they are received. Many there are that say, I know that this will not be profitable unto him, but what shall I do? He entreateth me, and I cannot deny his suit: let him look unto it, he shall complain of himself, and not of me. Thou abusest thyself, and art deceived: it is of thee and none other (and that justly) he will complain, as soon as he shall recover his senses and perfect wits; and that passion which perturbed and inflamed his mind, remitteth and ceaseth. And why should he not hate such a man who assisted him to his damage and danger? To condescend unto his request that asketh that which will be harmful unto him, is a cruel bounty, and a pleasing and affable hatred: Let us give such things as may please more and more by their use, and that may never breed any damage. I will not give money which in my knowledge shall be given unto a harlot, because I desire not to be partaker in any dishonest action, or in evil counsel. Limitations in bounty. If I can, I will at leastwise retire him; if not, I will not bolster or further his sin. Whether it be choler that transporteth him farther than becometh him, or heat of ambition misleadeth him from the secur●st course, I will not so far forget myself, that hereafter he may say, He hath killed me with kindness. Oftentimes there is very little difference betwixt a friend's gift and an enemy's wishes and execution. All the mischief an enemy can wish us, the foolish affection of a friend may bring us: There is nothing more absurd (and yet this oftentimes falleth out) than not to know a difference betwixt hate and favour. CHAP. XV. LEt us never give any thing that may redound to our disgrace and damage. And since the greatest friendship we can intent to any man, is to make him equal with ourselves, and suffer him in every sort and jointly to enjoy our goods and fortunes; so aught we equally to advise him to the good and honour of us both. I will give unto him in his necessity, Proximus unusquisque sibi. yet in such manner and measure, that I will shun mine own misery: If I see him in danger of life, I will secure him; provided always, that I be ascertained of mine own security: except I shall be the ransom of some great man, or some affair of greater importance. I will do no good turn that I would be ashamed to ask: I will not greaten that which is of small value; neither will I consent, that such a thing, which in itself is of much worth, should be received with little estimation: For even as he looseth the grace and remuneration of his good work, that registereth the same in the book of his accounts; so he that showeth how great the pleasure is which he hath done, prizeth not, but reproacheth and dispraiseth his pleasure he hath done. Let every man have a respect to his faculty and ●orces, lest either we give more or secure less than is answerable to our abilities. Respect of persons. Let us also have a respect and esteem of the person and quality of him to whom we give; because there are some gifts that are of less value than the greatness of him that giveth the same requireth; and othersome which are not answerable to the merit of him that receiveth the same. Confer therefore and compare with thyself the conditions of him that giveth, and him that receiveth, and examine the qualities of that which is given (whether it be little or much) in respect of him that giveth the same; and whether likewise thy present be too little for him that receiveth, or whether he be incapable of so much. CHAP. XVI. THat furious and outrageous Alexander (who never settled his thoughts but on great and mighty enterprises) foolishly gave a City to a certain follower of his; Alexander's indiscretion in giving is the cause why he is taxed in this place. who measuring his own unworthiness, and desirous to discharge himself of the envy he might incur, by receiving so great a benefit, came unto Alexander, and told him, That neither in fortune or condition he deserved so much. To whom Alexander answered● I respect not what becometh thee to receive, but that which in honour becometh me to give: A speech that in appearance was both kingly and heroical, but in effect most fond and foolish. For all those things which are a man's own, become not other men to receive or accept; Circumstances in giving. but it importeth us to consider what that is which is given; to whom, when, why, in what place, and other circumstances, without which thou canst not justify thine action. O proud and insolent creature! If it becometh not him to receive this thy gift, as little befitteth it thee to give the same. There aught to be a difference and proportion both of persons and dignities, as whereas there is a measure in virtues every ways, as greatly sinneth he that exceedeth, as he that giveth too little. And although this beseemeth thee, and thy fortune hath raised thee so high, that thy royal gifts are no less than Cities (which with how greater mind mightst thou not have taken, than lavishly distributed) yet is there some more less, than that thou shouldest hide and bury a City in their bosoms. CHAP. XVII. DIOGENES the Cynic required a talon at Antigonus hands, and being repulsed by him, besought a penny: To which he answered, That it was too little for a * Although these Pagans' had not a perfect knowledge of the virtue of wilful poverty, yet had they some resemblance and smack thereof, and in particular there was a Sect of them called Ciniques, that were of this profession, amongst whom this Diogenes was one that required this alme● a● Antigonus h●nds. Cynic to ask, or a King to give. This was but a bore and idle c●uill: For hereby found he out an invention to give neither: in the penny he respected and had reference to his Kingly majesty; in the talon to the Cynic: whereas he might have given a penny as to a Cynic, and a talon as he was a King. I must needly grant, that there are some things of so great value, that they should not be given unto a Cynic, yet is there nothing likewise so little, that a liberal and courteous King cannot honestly give. But if thou ask my opinion herein, I cannot but allow Antigonus action: For it is an intolerable error in those who make profession to contemn money, afterwards to beg it shamefully. Thou hast proclaimed open war against wealth and riches, thou hast publicly protested thy hatred against money: This habit hast thou taken on thee, and this needly must thou personate. Unworthily and wickedly shalt thou do to hunt and haunt after money, under pretence of so laudable a poverty and necessity as thou professest. It concerneth each man therefore to have as great a regard and respect of himself, as of him to whom he would do a pleasure. There must be a proportion in good works betwixt the giver and the receiver I will use our friend Chrysippus' similitude of the play at ball, which undoubtedly falleth either through his default that serveth the same, or his that receiveth it: Than doth the ball keep his due course, when as betwixt the hands of both the gamesters, it fitly flieth to and fro, being served by the one, and reinforced back again by the other: yet aught a good Tennis-player to serve either easily or strongly, according as he perceiveth his companion to be further or nearer of him. The same reason is there in good deeds: for if they be not answerably applied to the person of him that giveth, and him that receiveth, they will never slip from the hands of the one, or come into the possession of the other, according as they aught to do. If we pass the time with an exercised and cunning gamester, we will strike the ball more boldly and stiffly: for on which side soever it is bandied, an expedite and nimble hand will return and strike it back. Contrariwise, if we play with a novice and young learner, we neither will strike it so stiffly, not level it so strongly; but serving and striking it gently, we will give the ball to his hand; and if he rebandie it back, we return it as gently. The same manner must we observe in doing our good works: Let us teach some how to receive them, and judge it a sufficient recompense, if they endeavour themselves to be thankful; if they are, if they will be thankful. For oftentimes we make them ungrateful, and help to keep them so, as if our good turns were every way so great, that there might not be a thankfulness which might in any sort equal them. The same pretend those malicious gamesters, that deceive and chase their contrary party here and there, to the spoil of the game, which cannot be maintained and continued, except ther● be consent and conformity between them both. There are divers of so perverse and devilish a nature, so proud, and imputative in that they bestow, that they had rather lose that which they lent, than to seem that they have received the same. Were it not a more better and friendly course to suffer them to acquit their devoir towards us, and to favour and secure them, when they would acknowledge the goods which they have received at our hands? To take all in good part, and at such time as they should only give thanks in words, to give them as favourable audience as if they satisfied us, and to allow that he who findeth himself obliged to us, should have the means to recompense us? That Usurer is commonly hardly thought of, if he exact his debts rudely. He likewise is worse thought of, if then when his money is tendered him, he will not receive it, but deferreth to admit the payment. A benefit is as worthily received back again when it is returned, as it is given honestly, The conditions of a perfect and absolute well-giver. when it is undemaunded. The best well-doer is he, that hath done a courtesy freely, and never sought requital, that took a pleasure when as any man could freely repay that which he had friendly lent and given, and utterly forgotten, and that receiveth not as a return of his favour, but as a grace and remuneration. CHAP. XVIII. SOme there are that not only give a benefit proudly, Here beginneth the proole, that we aught not receive at every man's hands. but also receive it disdainfully, which aught to be avoided. But now let us pass over to that other part, and entreat therein, how men should behave themselves in receiving benefits. Whatsoever act of virtue consisteth on two persons, exacteth as much from the one, as from the other: when as thou hast diligently examined what the father aught to be, thou shalt found it no less difficulty to conceive what the son aught to be. There are some duties belonging to the husband, and some also that appertain unto the wife. These deserve one and the same rule and measure, which (as Hecaton saith) is very hard to observe and keep. A hard matter is it to perform that which honesti● commandeth, yea that also which nearest approacheth honesty's For we are not only tied to perform the same, but to perform it with reason. She it is that must be our guide in the way we are to hold. The things of smallest moment, Reason is the guide and di●po●er of liberality. and those of greatest importance, are to be governed by her counsel: and as she counseleth, so aught we to give. And first of all she will advise us this, That we aught not to receive a favour at every man's hands. From whom then shall we receive? To answer thee in a word; It is from those to whom we would have given. For more carefully aught we to make choice of those from whom we would receive, than of those to whom we would give: For lest many inconveniences happen (which are wont to follow) know this, that it is a grievous torment to be indebted and obliged to him, to whom thou wouldst own nothing. And contrariwise, it is a thing most pleasing and agreeable, to have received a benefit at his hands, whom although he should offer thee hard measure, thou couldst both love and affect: But the greatest misery ●or a good and shamefast man is to love and to be obliged to such a man a● he can neither fancy nor favour. Here must I needly and oftentimes advertise thee, that I speak not of those truly wi●e and virtuous men, which take pleasure in that which they aught to do, and are Lords of their own minds; that prefix such Laws unto themselves as best liketh them; and having prefixed them, keep them: but of these imperfect men, that are willing to follow virtue, whose affections and passions are forcibly impelled to obey reason. I aught then to make an especial election and choice of him from whom I would receive a pleasure; and it concerneth me much more carefully to choose and diligently seek out such a one to whom I will impart my benefit, than such a one to whom I will trust my money: because that to the one I am not bound to restore any more than I have received, and having repaid my debt, I am acquitted and discharged ou● of his books: but to the other I must repay more than I have received, and having recompensed the good he hath done me, yet is not this my entire obligation: the friendship must continued and flourish between us. For after I have remunerated his kindness, I am tied to renew and refresh it again: And above all things the law of friendship admonisheth me, That I receive not a kindness from any that is unworthy. Such is the right, such is the sacred law of Benefits (from whence friendship taketh his original.) It is not always in our choice (as Hecaton saith) to refuse a pleasure, and to say I will not accept it: We aught sometimes to receive a benefit against our minds. A Tyrant will give thee somewhat; and so cruel and outrageous is he, that if thou refusest his present, he will accounted it no less than an injury and indignity: To this wilt thou say, shall I not accept the same? make reckoning that this King is a Thief, and a Pirate, (since in mind he is no better than a Thief, or a Pirate) what shall I do in this case? I see that he is unworthy that I should own him any thing. To this I answer then, when I say that thou art to make thy choice of him, to whom thou wilt be obliged, it is not intended in a case of so great violence and fear; because where these prevail, election perisheth: but if thou be at thine own choice, if thou hast liberty to elect what thou listest, than hast thou means to make use of that which best pleaseth thee. But if the necessity of occasion restrain thy election, know this, that thou dost not receive, but obey: no man is obliged in receiving a thing which he cannot refuse; if thou desirest to know, if I would have that thou givest me, bring to pass that I may refuse what thou offerest me: But he gave thee thy life: it skilleth not what the thing is which is given, but whether he that gave, and he that received the gift, gave and received the same willingly. Thou art not therefore my defender, because thou hast saved me. Poison sometimes hath been a medicine, and yet for all that it is not numbered amongst those things that are wholesome. Some things there are, which although they profit us much, yet they oblige us not. CHAP. XIX. A Certain man that came with a resolution to kill a Tyrant, gave him a stroke whereby he opened him a dangerous imposthume. For this the Tyrant gave him no thanks, although by wounding him he had healed him of a sickness, whereon his Physicians durst not lay their hands. Thou seest there is no great moment in the thing itself, because he seemed not to have given a benefit, who with an evil intention procured his profit. Fortune it was that wrought the good, and from the man it was the injury came: we have beheld a Lion in the Amphitheatre, who calling to memory one of those who had been condemned to fight against wild beasts (because in times past he had been his Governor) protected him from the fury of the rest. Shall we not then say that the succours which the Lion gave was a benefit? No● Because he neither had will to do it, neither did it to the intent to do good. We are to repute and rank him with this beast, who attempted to cut off the Tyrant's life. Both this gave life, and the other also, but neither this nor that a benefit; because it is no benefit, or good work, which I am enforced to receive. It is no benefit that maketh me indebted to him I would not. First must thou give me the freedom and power of myself, and next the benefit. CHAP. XX. MEn have oft-times debated and disputed of Marcus Brutus, whether he aught to accept a grace, and receive a pardon at julius Caesar's hands, who in his judgement deserved not to breathe or live. What reason moved Brutus to conspire and kill him, I will express and handle in an other place. For mine own part, although I esteemed Brutus in all other things a wise and virtuous man, yet me seemeth that in this he committed a great error, and neglected the Doctrine of the Stoics; who either feared the name of a King, (whereas the best and most happiest estate of a City is to live under a just and virtuous Prince) or hoped that liberty would be had there where so great a reward was prefixed to those that commanded, and those that served; or imagined that such a City as this might repossess her ancient honour, and former lustre, when virtue and the primitive Laws were either abolished, or wholly extinguished; Or that justice, Right, and Law, should be inviolably observed in such a place, where he had seen so many thousand men at shock and battle, not to the intent to discern whether they were to obey and serve, but to resolve them under whom they aught to serve and obey. O how great oblivion possessed this man! how much forgot he both the nature of affairs, and the state of his City! to suppose that by the death of one man there should not some other start up after him, that would usurp over the commonweal; whereas after so many Kings slaughtered, either by the sword, or by lightning, they grew Vassals and Subjects to a tyrannous * This was the seventh and last King of the Romans, ●alled (and that justly) by the name of Tarquin the proud. He died a banished man out of his Country, and deprived of his Kingdom. Tarquin; yet aught h● to have accepted his life, and yet for all this notwithstanding was he not obliged to repute and esteem him as his Father, for that injuriously and against all right he had usurped the authority, to give him his life: For he saved him not, who flew him not, neither gave he him life, but dismissed him from dying. CHAP. XXI. THis rather, and more rightly, may be drawn into some question, what a poor captive should do, when as a man prostituted in body, infamous and dishonest in speech, offereth to pay down the price of his ransom? Shall I suffer myself to be redeemed by so impure and base a wretch? and again, when I am discharged, what thanks shall I return him? Shall I live with an impudent and scurrilous fellow? shall I not live with him that hath redeemed me? no truly, for herein thus standeth my opinion. Even from any such a one would I receive the money which I would employ for my redemption, yet so would I receive it as money upon interest, not as an act of courtesy. I will repay him his money, and if after that I shall find him in any danger, or pressed by necessity, I will relieve his wants, prevent his danger, yet contract no such friendship with him, as should be correspondent betwixt men of equal virtue. Neither will I reckon him for such a one as hath saved my life, but make account of him as an usurer, to whom I know I must repay back again that which I have borrowed. Contrariwise, if there be some worthy and virtuous person, from whom I should receive a courtesy, yet aught I not receive the same, if I knew that thereby he should incur any detriment, because that I am assured that he is addressed (though it be to his own hindrance, nay which is more, to the hazard of his life) to do me a pleasure. I understand that he is resolved (knowing me to be accused of a capital crime) to plead my cause, and to undertake my defence, though it be to his disgrace, and the displeasure of his Prince. I should show myself an enemy unto him (if endeavouring himself to vnder●goe danger for my sake.) I should not perform that which is most easy for me to accomplish, that is, to entertain the damage myself, without his detriment or danger. Here Hecaton setteth down an example (which is no ways answerable to the purpose) of Archelaus, who would not receive a certain sum of money which was offered him by a young man, who was subject to the government of his Father, because he would not offend the covetous and niggardly parent. What did Archelaus herein that was worthy praise? Is it because he would not receive that which was stolen from his Father? Is it because he would not entertain the gift, lest he should be tied to recompense, and restore it again? What modesty or virtue used he in not accepting other men's money? But leaving this, if it be necessary to set down an example of a generous mind, let us make use of Graecinus julius, a man of rare virtue; whom Caius Caesar put to death for this cause only; in that he was a better and honester man, than any one aught to be, who should live with and under a Tyrant. This man, at such time as he received a certain quantity of money from the hands of his friends (who contributed and levied the same to defray the charge and expense of those public plays which he prepared) refused a great sum of money which * This Fabius Persicus was Consul under Tibetius, a man of great note in Rome. Fabius Persicus sent unto him. His friends which respected not him that sent the money, but only the money that was sent, reproved him, because he would not accept the same. Will you (said he) have me receive a benefit from such a man, whom I would not pledge, although he offered me the cup? And when as a This Rebillius was Consul under julius Caesar, and Augustus Caesar, who died in his Consulship. Rebillius (one who sometimes had been Consul, yet of no less infamy) had sent him a greater sum of money, and instantly entreated him to command his servants to receive the same. I pray you (said he) pardon me, for PERSICUS offered me the same, and yet I accepted it not. b Here undoubtedly some reasons are deficient whence grows this question, as may be gathered by the little conformity it hath wi●h that which g●●●h before. See Pincianus upon this place. Whether is this to receive presents, or to examine the receivers? CHAP. XXII. WHen as we determine to receive any thing, let us receive it with a glad some countenance, expressing thereby the pleasure which we take, and manifesting to the Benefactor how thankfully we accept the same, to the end that he may gather the present fruit of his good work. For it is a just cause of gladness to see a man's friend contented; and more just to be the cause of his contentment. Let us make it known unto him that his presents were very pleasing unto us, let us express the affections of our will● not only in his own hearing, but in every place wheresoever we be. For he that receiveth a good turn with gladsome acceptance, hath already satisfied the first payment of the requital. CHAP. XXIII. He that covertly desireth to receive a kindness hath but an evil intention. SOme there are that will not receive but in secret, they admit not witnesses of the good which is done unto them. Believe thou that such men have very bad and base minds: Even as he that doth a good turn, aught not to publish the same, or make it known, but in as much as he knoweth that he that receiveth the same will conceive a contentment thereby: so he also that receiveth the same aught to make it publicly known. Receive not that which thou art ashamed to owe. Some there are that secretly, and in corners, and by whisperings in the ear, give thanks for the good they have received: This is not modesty and shamefastness, but an undoubted sign of their will and intent to deny the benefit. He that giveth thanks in secret, and admitteth no witnesses of the good he hath received, is ungrateful. Some there are that will borrow money, provided that it be not in their own names, neither certified by obligation, nor signed by witnesses. They that will not that any man should have notice of the good is done unto them, resemble such men. They are afraid to make it known, to the intent they may be thought rather to have obtained the same by their own virtue, than by an other man's liberality and assistance. Such as these are, are least officious unto those by whom they hold their lives and dignities, and whilst they fear to be esteemed for such as are bounden and obliged to their Benefactors, they undergo a more grievous imputation, and are justly called ungrateful. CHAP. XXIIII. SOme other there are that detract and scandalise their benefactors, and of these there are some, whom it were better to offend currishly, than befriend courteously. For showing themselves openly to be our mortal enemies, they pretend th●r●by to make men think that they are obliged to us in nothing. There is nothing that more carefully we aught to intent, than this, that the memory of those who have in any sort succoured us, be not at any time extinguished in us, we must from time to time renew and refresh it. He cannot give thanks, that forgetteth what he hath received; and he that carrieth a good turn in memory hath already satisfied it: neither aught we to receive a courtesy nicely, neither submisly or humbly: for if in receiving a man show himself cold and negligent, (whereas the benefit that cometh last, is the most pleasing and acceptable) what will he do afterward when he showeth himself so cold in the greatest heat of that which he hath received? Another receiveth disdainfully, as if he said, I had no need, but since thou so far pressest me, I will do what thou requirest. An other receiveth so carelessly that he leaveth his benefactor in suspense, whether he saw or felt what was given him. An admonition against the vice of ingratitude. An other scarce moveth his lips, and proveth more ungrateful than if he had held his peace, That weight should our wounds have as the greatness of our benefit requireth, and boldly should we say; Thou hast obliged me more than thou thinkest. For there is no man that is not contented to hear his courtesies amplified, and made great by good reports: Thou ●anst not imagine how great the pleasure is thou hast done me, yet hope I to make it known unto thee, how much more I prize thy good turn, than thou esteemest. He that burdeneth himself with that which he hath received, is instantly grateful as if he said thus. So much esteem I the benefit which I have received at your hands, that I shall never have the means to make you satisfaction, at leastwise I will publish this in all companies, that if I requited it not before I die, it shall only be for this cause that I want means to make requital. CHAP. XXV. This Furnius was surnamed Caius, and was Consul in Rome in the year 1226 FURNIUS never won Augustus Caesar's heart more, or knew better by any means to make him his own (whereby he might compass all that which he demanded at his hands) than at that time, when (having obtained his father's pardon, who had been a party in Antonius' action) he said unto him: Only this one injury (Great CAESAR) have I received at thy hands, which is, that by thy means I live, and by thy means I die, without grateful acknowledgement of that thanks I own thee. What mind may be more thankful than his, who in no sort satisfieth himself with his own thankfulness, but utterly despaireth to equal the good he hath received? By these and such like speeches let us so endeavour, that our will be not restrained or hidden, but be apparent and manifest every way. And although silence obscure our words, yet if we be so affected as we aught to be, our interior thoughts will appear in our outward countenance. He that will be thankful, no sooner receiveth the courtesy, but conceiveth and bethinketh him how he may make requital. Chrysippus saith, That he that accepteth any friendship, resembleth him that is addressed and ready to run for a wager, and standeth in the List, expecting the signal, whereupon he might speedily set forward. And truly, he that receiveth, had need to be a swift footman and a great competitor, to the intent he may overtake his benefactor, who began the race before him. CHAP. XXVI. Three principal causes of ingratitude, self-opinion, covetousness, and envy. LEt us now consider and examine what most of all maketh men ungrateful. Truly it is either an overweening of ourselves, and an engrafted error in men to admire and applaud both themselves and their actions, or else it is covetousness or envy. Let us begin with the first. There is no man but is a partial and favourable judge of himself: And thence it is, that he supposeth that he hath deserved all things, and if any thing be given him, he receiveth it as a debt or duty; and moreover, supposeth himself to be disgraced, and undervalved. He gave me this (saith he) but how late? But with how much travail and entreaty? How many more things might I have obtained in the mean while, had I but fawned on such a man? or attended that? Or had I intended mine own profit? I looked not for this, I am numbered amongst the base sort: Supposed he that my value and merit deserved so little? Moore honestly had he dealt with me, had he presented me nothing at all. CHAP. XXVII. CNEUS LENTULUS the Augur, whose wealth and riches no man could equal, before that his Franklins waxing wealthy and great, Ten thousand English crowns by our computation. made him seem poor, and in the waning (for this man saw four thousand Sestertiae of his own; and fitly said I so, for he did no more than see them) was as shallow in wit, as base in mind and courage: For although he were as covetous as Covetousness itself, yet sooner vented he his money than his words; so weak and wanting was he in uttering what he should. This man being obliged to Augustus for all his advancement and fortunes (to whose service he had brought nothing but distressed beggary, under the title of Nobility) having obtained the government in the City (both for the favour he had with the Emperor, and the money held in his own possession) was wont oftentimes to complain himself unto Caesar, That he had retired him from his studies, and that he had not given him so much as he himself had lost by giving up his study of eloquence. And yet amongst other graces, Augustus had done this for him, that he had delivered him from other men's scorns, and his own fruitless labour. * This agreeth with S. Gregory's saying and th●t of th● Port, Cre●cit amor nummi quantum ipsa p●cunia crescit. But Covetousness consenteth not that a man should be thankful: For unbridled hope is never satisfied with that which is given. The more we have, the more we covet; and covetousness engaged amidst a heap and multitude of riches, is more incensed and forward. Even as the force of a flame is a thousand times more fiercer, the more violent and greater the fire is from whence it blazeth: So ambition suffereth not a man to rest upon the measure of that honour which heretofore be would have been ashamed to have wished for. No man giveth thanks for being advanced to a Tribuneship, The endless desire of man is never glutted nor satisfied. but complaineth, that he is not preferred to the dignity of a Praetor: Neither doth this suffice him, but that he must needs be Consul: Neither will the Consulate content him, except he possess it more than once. Ambition still presseth forward, and understandeth not her own felicity, because she respecteth not whence she came, but whither she is addressed. Of all these vices which hinder our gratuity, the most importunate and vehement is Envy, which tormenteth and vexeth us with comparisons of this nature: He bestowed thus much on me, but more upon him, and more speedily also. Finally, the envious man negotiateth no man's business, but favoureth himself against all men. CHAP. XXVIII. HOw much more wisely and virtuously were it done, Remedies against the errors of those that receive unthankfully. to engreaten and dignify a good turn received, and to consider and know, that no man is ever so well esteemed by another, as he esteemeth and prizeth himself. I should have received far more; but it was not for his ●ase to give me more: his liberality was to extend to more than myself. This is but a beginning: Let us take it in good part, and urge on his to further favours, by showing ourselves thankful for the good we have received: He hath done but a little, but he will do it often: He hath preferred that man before me, and me also hath he preferred before many others. This man cannot equal me either in virtue or honesty, yet in his carriage and actions he hath something more pleasing than is in me. By complaining myself I shall never be held worthy of a greater good, but shall rather show, that I am unworthy of that which I have already received. There was more courtesy done to those lewd fellows: What is this to the purpose? How seldom is Fortune bountiful with judgement? We daily complain, that men that are lest virtuous are most fortunate. Often times the hail and tempest that overpassed the lands of a wicked and ungodly man, hath beaten down the corn of the best and uprightest men. Each man (as in all other things, so in friendship) hath his chance and fortune. There is no benefit so fully good, that malignity and envy cannot impugn and detract; there is no courtesy so scanted and barren, but a good interpreter may enlarge and amplify. Thou shalt never want a subject or cause to complain of, if thou behold benefits on the weaker and worse side. CHAP. XXIX. SEe, I pray you, how some men (yea, even those who make a profession of wisdom) have unjustly censured, and unindifferently esteemed the goods, and those graces which they have bestowed upon us. They complain because we equal not Elephants in bulk of body, These will be the better understood i● we note th●t which Galen saith, in the beginning of his Treatise de usu partium, where he says, That those creatures whom nature endowed with forens to defend the●s●lu●s from the●● Enemies, are not endowed w●th swiftness to s●●e, as it appears in the Elephant. And contrariwise to those she hath denied force● to def●nd themselves, them hath she previded of swiftness to she from their contrary, as for example the Hart and Hare. Hearts in swiftness, Birds in lightness, Bulls in force. They complain that beasts have substantialler hides than we, that fallow Deer have a fairer hair, the Bear a thicker skin, the Beaver a softer. They complain that Dogs overcome us in smelling, that Eagles in seeing, that Crows in outliving, and many other beasts in facility of swimming. And whereas nature permitteth not, that some properties should be united in one and the same creature (as that swiftness of body should be matched with mightiness in strength) they suppose themselves injured, because man was not composed of these divers and dissident goods; and blame the Gods for neglecting us, because they have not given us perpetual health, invincible virtue, and exemption from vices, and certain foreknowledge of things to come: yea and so far are they plunged in impudency, that they scarcely temper themselves from hating nature for making us inferior to the Gods, and not equal with them in their Divinity. How much more better were it for us to return and reflect upon the contemplation of so many and so mighty benefits which we have received at their hands, and to yield them thanks, for that it hath pleased them to allot us a second place in this most beautiful house, and to make us Lords of all earthly things? Is there any comparison betwixt us and those beasts, whereof we have the sovereignty? All whatsoever nature denieth us, she cannot conveniently bestow upon us. And therefore whosoever thou art that dost so undervalue man's fortune and chance, bethink thee how great blessings our sovereign parent hath given us. How many beasts more forcible than ourselves have we yoked, and brought under our subjection? how far more swifter creatures have we overtaken, and how no mortal thing is secured and exempted from our strokes and power. So many virtues have we received, so many arts, and in conclusion, such a mind and spirit, that in that very * It is not intended that the same thing which the soul desireth should presently come to hand, but that by the means, and se●bl●●e, which is s●d●●nly ●ormed in the soul, it may e●●o● and use the same in some manner. instant wherein it intendeth a thing, in a moment it attaineth the same, and more swifter than the stars foreseeth long before the course and motion they are to observe and hold in time to come. Finally, such a plenty of fruit, such store of wealth, and such abundance of things heaped one upon an other. Although thou take a view of all things, and because thou findest no one thing entire which thou haddest rather be, pick out such several things as thou wouldst wish to be given thee out of them all. So when thou hast well weighed the loving kindness of nature, thou shalt be forced to confess, that thou wert her darling: And so is it indeed. The immortal Gods have and do love us entirely, and (which is the greatest honour that could be given) they have placed us next unto themselves. Great things have we received, neither were we capable of greater. CHAP. XXX. THese things (my Liberalis) have I thought necessary to be spoken, He answereth to a secret objection both because it concerned me to say somewhat of great benefits when we were discoursing on small; and also because the boldness of this horrible vice floweth from thence into all other things. For unto whom will he be thankful for good turns; or what benefit will he esteem great and worthy the requiting, who despiseth the highest benefits? To whom will he confess himself indebted for his health and life, that denieth that he hath received his being from the Gods, to whom he prayeth daily for the same? Whosoever therefore giveth instructions of thankfulness unto men, negotiateth the affairs of men and Gods; to whom, being unpurveyed of nothing, and freed from the desire of affecting or coveting any thing, yet to them may men notwithstanding be both acknowledging and thankful. There is no cause why any man should lay the blame of his thankless mind upon his own weakness or poverty, and say, What shall I do? How or when may I found any possibility to remunerate and acknowledge the benefits of my superiors, the Lords of all things? To requited is an ●asie matter: for if thou be'st a niggard, thou mayest requited without expense; and if thou be'st slothful, without labour. In that very moment wherein thou art obliged, if thou listest, thou mayest make even with any man whatsoever, because that he who willingly hath received a benefit, hath restored the same. CHAP. XXXI. IN my opinion, that doctrine (which the Stoics place amongst their extraordinary Paradoxes) is not so wonderful and incredible, He disputeth whether an interior thanksgiving is sufficient to satisfy a bene●●t received. That he who willingly hath received a benefit, hath restored the same. For in as much as we measure all things by the mind, look how much a man is minded to do, so much hath he done. And for as much as piety, faithfulness, and uprightness, and finally all virtue, is perfect in itself, although a man could not remunerate an act, yet may he be thankful even with his will and heart. As often as any one compasseth and obtaineth his purpose, so often he reapeth the fruit of his labour. What purposeth he that bestoweth a benefit? To profi● him to whom he giveth the same, and to content and delight himself: If he hath finished that which he intended, and the good turn he intended me be come to my hands, and both of us are mutually affected with joy and contentment, he hath obtained that which he sought: For his intent was not to have any thing in recompense, for than had it been no benefit, but a bargain. Well hath he sailed that hath attained the Haven whereunto he shaped his course. The dart that hitteth the mark it was aimed at, hath performed the office of a steady hand: He that doth a good turn, meaneth to have it accepted thankfully if it be well taken, he hath his desire. But he hoped for some profit thereby: This was no benefit whose property is to think no ways of remuneration. That which I received, if I accepted and entertained the same with the like good affection as it was given me, I have requited it: otherwise the thing that of itself is best, were in worst case. To the end I should be thankful, I am sent to Fortune: if I cannot satisfy for want of her succour, my good mind shall satisfy a good mind. What then? Shall I not endeavour myself to the uttermost to make recompense? Shall I not seek opportunity of time and matter, and labour to fill the bosom of him, at whose hands I have received any thing? Yes. But yet the world went ill with good doing, if a man might not be thankful, even with empty hands. CHAP. XXXII. That is Chrysippus. HE that receiveth a good turn (saith he) although he hath taken it with never so thankful a mind, yet hath he not consummated and performed his duty: An objection & similitude against the precedent Paradox of the Stoics. for there is a part which remaineth, which is of restitution. As at a Tennis-play it is somewhat to receive the ball cunningly and diligently; but he is not termed a good gamester, except he be such a one as returneth and striketh back the same as fitly and readily, as it was served to him. This example is far different and impertinent: And why? because the praise hereof is in the motion and agility of the body, not in the mind. And therefore it is requisite, that the whole should be laid forth at large, where the eye must be judge. Yet will I not for all that deny him to be a good gamester that receiveth the ball as he aught to do; though he strike it not again, so the fault be not in himself. But although (saith he) there be nothing deficient in the art of him that playeth, because he hath performed a part, and can likewise perform that part which he hath not done, yet is the game itself imperfect, which is consummated in taking and returning the ball back again by turns. * Here he resolveth this question by Ch●i●sippus one example. I will no longer refel this; let us suppose it to be so; let somewhat be deficient in the game, and not in the gamester: So in this also, whereof we dispute, there wanteth somewhat in respect of the thing that was given, to which some condign satisfaction is due, although in respect of the mind there be nothing deficient. a The bountiful mind that is seconded by a thankful and grateful mind, hath for his own part all that which is to be desired by him. He that hath gotten a mind answerable to his own, hath performed as much as in him lieth that which he would. CHAP. XXXIII. HE hath given me a benefit, and I have accepted it no otherwise than he himself would have it received: Now hath he the thing that he sought, and the only thing that he sought, I am grateful. After this there remaineth the use of me, and some profit from a grateful man. This is not the remnant of an imperfect duty, but an income and accession to a perfect one. Phidias maketh an Image: the fruit of his art and knowledge is one thing, the commodity of his workmanship and labour another: The property of his art is to have made the Statue, but of the workmanship to have made it with profit. Phidias hath perfited his work, although he hath not sold it: A threefold profit reapeth he by his work; the one in his conscience and conceit, and this he receiveth as soon as his work is finished; the other of his fame; the third of his profit, which shall accrue unto him either by favour, or by sale, or by some other means. So the first fruit of a benefit is the conscience and contentment a man conceiueth● that he hath well finished the same; the second is of reputation; the third of those things which may be made reciprocal one unto another. Grateful acceptance is a kind of satisfaction. When as therefore a benefit is thankfully accepted, he that bestowed it, hath already received recompense, but not satisfaction as yet: I therefore own that which is without the benefit, and in receiving it kindly and thankfully, I have satisfied the same. CHAP. XXXIIII. WHat then? (●aith he) hath he requited a favour that hath done nothing? Confirmations of the precedent Paradox. He hath done much, he hath repaid good will with as great good will, and (which is a certain sign of friendship) he hath done it with an equal affection. Moreover, a debt is satisfied one way, and a benefit another. Thou art not to expect that I will show thee my payment. This affair is managed from will to william. That which I say unto thee shall not seem harsh and distasteful to thee, although at first it fight against thine opinion, if thou conform thyself unto me, and imagine that there are more things than words. There are a great number of things without name, which we note not by their proper titles, but such as are both foreign and borrowed: We call the foot whereon we walk, a foot; the foot of a Bed, the foot of a Hanging, and the foot of a Verse: We call by the name of Dog, both a Hound, a Fish, and a Star: For we have not words enough to give a proper name unto every thing; and therefore when we have need we borrow. Fortitude is a virtue that contemneth just dangers: or it is a Science to repel perils, or to know how to sustain them, or how to provoke them: yet say we, that a Fencer is a stout man, and a wicked slave, whom rashness hath animated and enforced to contempt of death. Parsimony is a Science to avoid extraordinary expense, or an art to use a man's estate and substance moderately● and yet we call him a very sparing man, which is of a niggardly and pinching mind, whereas notwithstanding there is infinite odds between moderation and niggardize. These are of divers natures, and yet for want of words we are enforced to call both the one and the other a Sparer; A benefit not only signi●yeth a bounteous action, but the thing whatsoever that is bountifully bestowed. and him likewise strong who despiseth casualties with reason, as that other also, who runs headlong upon dangers without judgement. So a benefit, as we have said, is a bounteous action, and that very thing which is given by that action, as money, a house, a garment; the name of them both is all one, but the virtue and power of them far different. CHAP. XXXV. Give care therefore, and thou shalt presently perceive, that I say nothing that is contrary to thy opinion. That benefit or good turn which is finished in the doing of it, is requited, if we take it thankfully. But for that other which is contained in the thing, we have not yet requited it, but we intent to requited it: we have satisfied good will with good will, and we own still a thing for a thing. Therefore, although we say, that he hath given thanks that hath willingly received a benefit, yet will we him that hath received to restore some such like thing as he hath received. Some of the things we speak do differ from common custom, and afterwards another way they grow in use and custom again. We deny, that a wise man receiveth any wrong, and yet the man that striketh him with his fist, shall be condemned of injury and wrong doing. We deny, that a fool hath any goods of his own, and yet if a man steal any thing from a fool, we will condemn him of felony. * A Stoical opinion. We say that all fools be mad, and yet we cure them not all by Eleborus. Even unto those very men whom we term mad we commit both Suffrages and jurisdiction. So likewise say we that he hath requited a good turn that hath received it with a good mind; but yet nevertheless we leave him still in debt, to make recompense even when he hath requited. Our so saying is an exhortation, and not a remitting of the good turn. Let us not fear, neither (being depressed with an intolerable burden) let us faint in mind. Goods are given me; my good name is defended, my misery is taken from me, I enjoy life and liberty, dearer than life: And how shall I requited these things? When will the day come that I may show him my good will again? This is the day wherein he hath showed his. Take up the good turn, embrace it and be glad, make account that thou owest not that which thou hast received, but that which thou mayest requited. Thou shalt not adventure on so great a thing, as that mischance may make thee unthankful. I will propose no difficulty unto thee: be of good courage, shrink not for fear of pains and long servitude: I delay thee not, it may be done with things that thou hast already. Thou shalt never be thankful except thou be instantly: What wilt thou therefore do? Must thou take arms? Perchance thou must: Must thou sail over seas? Likely yes: and even then also when the storms threaten thee with shipwreck. But wilt thou restore a benefit? Take it thankfully, and thou hast requited it; not so as thou shouldst think that thou hast paid the same, but so as thou mayest own it with the more hearts-ease. The end of the second Book. LUCIUS ANNAEUS SENECA Of Benefits. THE THIRD BOOK. The Argument of JUSTUS LIPSIUS. HE discourseth of ungrateful men, what they be, and whether they are to be punished, or called before the judge. He denieth it by a curious disputation, and addeth, that their punishment is in hatred, infamy and in the mind itself. Afterwards upon occasion he debateth whether a Lord should be grateful to his slave? Or receive a benefit at his hands? He affirmeth; and this very plentifully, because in those days there was often use of servants. Hereunto he annexeth; whether the Son giveth his Father a benefit? He disputeth on both sides, but affirmeth the affirmative. CHAP. I NOT to tender thanks for benefits received (my AEbutius Liberalis) is both loathsome in itself, and hateful in all men's opinion. That which is complained of by all men, is exercised by most me●. And therefore such as are themselves ungrateful, complain of ungrateful men: and so are we fashioned and addressed to the contrary of that we aught to do, that there are some who become our Capital enemies, not only after benefits received, but for the very favours they receive. I cannot deny but that this happeneth unto some by reason of the corruption of their nature: to many, because that the interposition of time extinguisheth the remembrance. For those things that were fresh in memory with them, while they were newly done, do in process of time wear out of remembrance. Concerning which so●t of men, I know that thou and I have otherwhiles disputed, He termeth all sin equal, according to the doctrine of the Stoics, but all the Fathers and Christian religion teacheth otherwise. whereas thou maintainedst that it were better to call them forgetful than ungrateful. Shall he therefore be excused of ingratitude because he hath forgotten, when as no man can forget, except he be ungrateful? There are many sorts of ungrateful men, as there are of thieves and Murderers, whose fault is one, but in the parts there is great variety. Ingrateful is he who denieth that he hath received a good turn, which hath been done him: Ingrateful is he that dissembleth: Ingrateful is he that maketh not restitution: and the most ungrateful of all is he, that forgetteth a favour hath been shown him. For they, although they requited not, yet are they indebted, and som● certain impression of the good turn (hoarded up in their corrupt consciences) is extant with them. And upon some cause they may at length dispose themselves to gratuity, if either shame shall put them in mind, or some sudden desire to proceed honourably: such as for a time is wont to awaken itself in men of the worst disposition, if any easy occasion should invite them. But never can he become thankful who hath forgotten the whole benefit. And whether thinkest thou him worse, in whom the thanks of a good turn is lost, or him in whom the very remembrance perisheth? Faulty are those eyes that fear the light, but blind are they that see not at all. Not to reverence and love one's Parents is impiety, and not to acknowledge them is madness. Who is more ungrateful than he, who having received such a courtesy as he aught to treasure up in the foremost part of his memory, and continually meditate thereon, hath laid it so far aside, and neglected it, that he groweth wholly ignorant thereof? It appeareth that he never bethought him of restitution, that suffered oblivion so far to usurp upon him. CHAP. II. IN a word, to the requiting of a good turn there needeth virtue, time, ability, and favourable fortune. He that remembreth a friend is thankful without expense: He that performeth not this (which to achieve neither requireth labour, nor charge, nor felicity) hath no covert or patronage to conceal himself in. For never meant he to be thankful, who cast a benefit so far from him, that it neither survived in his sight, An apt comparison. nor his remembrance. Even as those things which are in use, and are managed and handled daily, are never in danger of soil or rusting; and those which are out of sight, and use (so as they have lain by, as unnecessary) do gather soil by continuance of time: So that which frequent cogitation exerciseth and reneweth, is never wrought out of memory, which looseth and forgetteth nothing, but that, which she respecteth and looketh not back unto very often. CHAP. III. BEsides this cause there are other also, which sometimes conceal the greatest merits from us. Besides forgetfulness, he setteth down other causes of ingratitude. The first and chiefest cause of all others, is this; that being always continually busied with new desires, we have an eye and regard, not to that we have, but what we require, intentive, not on that which is in our present possession, but on that we affect and fancy most. For whatsoever is at our command, is base and contemptible. Whence it followeth, that as soon as the desire of new things hath made that light which we have received, the Author also thereof is slenderly respected. So long as those things which a great Lord hath given us, have been pleasing and well-liking unto us, we have loved and courted him, and confessed openly that our state was founded and raised by him; but if any new ambition assault us; if our mind fall into admiration of other things, and earnestly affect the same, (as the manner of mortal men is, after great things to desire greater) we strait ways forget that which in times past we called a benefits we neither respect or look into those things, which have advanced us before others● but those things only wherein other men have had the fortune to outstrip us. But it is impossible for any man, both to repined and envy, and to be thankful: for to envy, is the property of a complaining and discontented man, but to give thanks is the property of him that is well pleased. The second cause of ingratitude is, because none of us make any account, but of that present time which speedily passeth and fleeteth before our eyes; and few or none are they that cast back their minds to think on things past. By means hereof it falls out, that Schoolmasters, and their good deeds, are buried in oblivion, because we wholly lose the remembrance of our infancy. Hereby it cometh to pass, that we forget all those things which are bestowed upon us in our youth because we never think upon the same. No man accounteth that which he hath been, as it were a thing past, but as a thing lost. Thus the desire and apprehension of things to come, defaceth the memory of things past. CHAP. FOUR IN this place must I give testimony of the Epicures upright judgement, The remembrance of kindness received, aught to be numbered amongst th● greatest pleasures. who continually complaineth, for that we are ingrateful in regard of things past, for that we recall not to memory whatsoever benefits we have received, neither number them amongst pleasures, when as there is none more certain contentment, than that which cannot any more be taken from us. The goods and pleasures that are present are not as yet wholly assured; some casualty may intercept and cut them off. Those things that are to come, are uncertain and doubtful: That which is passed is laid aside amongst those things that are in safety. How then can any man acknowledge the good that is done him, who hath forgotten the whole course of his life? The apprehension and consideration of things present, and the memory of things past, maketh a man grateful; He that attributeth most to Hope, yieldeth lest to Memory. CHAP. V EVen as (my Liberalis) there are certain things which being once apprehended, continued still in memory; and some things that to know them, it is not sufficient to have learned them, (for the science of them is forgotten, except it be continued) I mean Geometry, and the course of Celestial things, and of such which by their subtlety do easily slip out of our memories: So the greatness of some benefits suffer them not to be forgotten. Some lesser and more in number, and divers in time, are easily buried in oblivion; Because, as I said, we handle them not often, neither willingly acknowledge what we own unto e●erie man. Harken what speeches suitors and suppliants use. There is not any of them, but saith, that h●e will for ever keep in mind the favour done him; every man protesteth and voweth himself to be at commandment, and if any more submissive speech, whereby he may engage himself, may be found out, he spareth it not. But within a little while after, those Gallants esteem their former words as too base and illiberal: and finally, they grow to that point (which as I suppose every one the lewdest, and most ungratefullest attaineth unto) that is, to forget the same. For even as ungrateful is he that forgetteth, as he is grateful that remembreth him of a benefit. CHAP. VI YEt the question is whether this so hateful vice should be left unpunished? and whether this law which is exercised in declamatory Schools, should be ratified also in the City, whereby a man may call an ingrateful man in question? Sure it seemeth a matter worthy the censure of justice, in all men's judgements. Why not? since certain Cities also, have reproached other Cities for the loans and favours they have done them, and redemand from posterity that which they have lent to their predecessors. Our Ancestors, those mighty and virtuous men, required satisfaction only from their enemies; as for their benefits, He concludeth th● negative p●rt. He approveth that wh●ch he concluded. they gave them with a great mind, and lost them with as great. There is not any Nation in the world, except the Medes, that have thought fit to implead an ingrateful man, or call him in question. And this is a great reason why none should be granted, because by mutual consent we punish misdeeds; and for Murder, Witchcraft, Parricide, and breach of Religion, have here and there enacted divers punishments, and in all places some: but this most frequent crime is no where punished, and every where improved. Neither absolve we the same: but whereas the judgement of a thing uncertain is difficult, we have only condemned it with hatred, and left it amongst those things which we refer to the justice and judgement of the Gods. CHAP. VII. Reasons to approve that ingratitude is not punishable by Law. But many reasons offer themselves unto me, whereby it appeareth that this error and crime is not punishable by Law. First of all, the better part of the benefit should perish, if a man should have an action allowed him, as he hath for lending money, or for bargains of hiring, and letting out. For this is the greatest grace of a benefit, that we have given it, although we should lose it, that we have referred all to the courtesy of the receivers. If I arrest him, and call him before the judge, it beginneth to be a debt, and not a benefit. Again, whereas it is a most commendable thing to requited, it ceaseth to be honest, if it be of necessity. For no man will commend a thankful person, more than him that hath restored a thing which was committed him to keep, or discharged his debt without being sued. Thus corrupt and deface we two things (than which in human life there is nothing more worthy) that is to say, a grateful man, and a bountiful giver. For what honour, I pray you, shall he have in this, if he giveth not a benefit, but dareth it? or in that, if he requited, not because he will, but because he must of necessity? It is no glorious thing to be grateful, except it be a matter unpunishable to be ungrateful: moreover, this inconvenience would ensue, that all Courts would scarcely serve, and suffice this one law only: who is he that might not sue? who is he that might not be sued? all men prize and praise their own doings, all men enlarge those things they have employed upon others, be they never so little. Besides, whatsoever things fall into knowledge of the judges, may be comprehended by the● without giving them infinite licence and liberty. And therefore the condition of a good cause seemeth to be better if it be restored to a judge, than if it be remitted to compromise, because the judge is bound unto an order, and hath his certain bounds limited him, which he may not exceed; But the Vmpieres conscience being free and tied to no terms, may both add, and take away, and order the sentence, not as law and justice counseleth, but according as humanity and pity shall move. An action of ingratitude would not oblige the judge, but set him at liberty to rule things as he listed. For it is not certain what a benefit is; again, how great soever it be, it were much to the matter how favourably the judge would construe it. No law defineth what an unthankful person is. Oft-times he that hath restored as much as he hath received, is unthankful, and he that hath not requited, is thankful. There be some matters also which some unskilful judge may dismiss the Court of, as in cases where the parties confess a deed, The Roman Pra●or was wont to commit, some affairs of importance to be determined to a certain number of chosen men, selected out of the order of Knights. or no deed, where the opening of the evidence dispatcheth all doubts. But when as Reason must give judgement between two persons which debate, there aught our understanding to use conjecture and divination: and when as a thing which only wisdom aught to determine, falleth in controversy, a man cannot (in that case) take a judge of the number of those whom the Praetor chooseth, and such a one as is enrolled in the Register of the judges; because he hath the rents and riches which a Roman Knight aught to have. CHAP. VIII. THis thing therefore seemed not to be very unmeet to be made a matter in law, but that no man could be found to be a competent judge in the case; which thou wilt not wonder at, if thou consider thoroughly what puzzle and difficulty he should find who should enter into the overruling of such cases. Some one hath given a great sum of mon●y● but such a one as is rich; but such a one as shall not feel the want thereof. An other hath given, but with the hazard of foregoing his whole inheritance. The sums are alike, but the benefit is not the same: Yea, let us add yet further; This man laid down money for him that was adjudged a slave unto his creditor; but where he had it at home lying by him. That other gave as much; but ●ee took it up upon interest; or borrowed it with much entreaty; or deeply endangered himself to ●inith●● lent it. Thinkest thou that there was no difference betwixt him that bestowed his benefit at his case, and that other that borrowed to give the same? Some things are made great in time, and not the greatest. It is a benefit to give ● possession whose fertility may ease the dearth of corn; one loaf of bread in time of scarcity is a benefit. It is a benefit to give whole Regions, through which many Rivers may run able to bear ships. It is a benefit to those that are dried up with thirst, and scarce able to draw them breath through th●ir dried jaws to show them a fountain: who shall distinguish these one from an other? who shall weigh them thoroughly? hard is the determination of that case, which requireth the force of a thing, and not the thing itself. Although they be the same, yet being differently given, they weigh not alike. This man did me a good turn, but he did it unwillingly; but he complained that he gave it, but he beheld me more proudly than he was accustomed, but he gave it so late, that it had been better for me if he had quickly denied me. How can a judge make an estimate of these things? whereas the speech, the doubt, and the countenance of a man may destroy the grace of his merit? CHAP. IX. WHat shall we say of some things, which because they are much desired, are held for benefits? and of others, which are not esteemed by the common sort, for such, although they are greater than they seem. Thou callest it a benefit to have given a man the freedom of a most rich and wealth City, to have made a man a Knight, and to have placed him on the * These degrees or places of Knighthood amongst the Romans' were not obtained by antiquity, but diligence and favour: so may you gather from our Auth●r here, and from justus Lipsius, lib. de Amphitheatro cap. 14. fourteenth scaffold, destinated for the Roman Knights, to behold the plays and public spectacles? and to have defended him upon an indictment of life and death: but what think you of it to have given a man good counsel? to have hindered him from executing a wicked enterprise? to have wrung the sword out of his hand, wherewith he would have slain himself? to have comforted him in his sorrow by wholesome counsels? and to have brought him back to the fellowship of life, from his wilful seeking and longing to accompany his deceased friends in death: what think you it to be, to sit by a sick-man's bed, and since his evil came by fits and at certain hours, to have weighted a fit time to give him meat? and to have bathed his veins with wine when he fainted? to have brought him a Physician even then when he expected to die? who is he that can justly value these things? what judge shall he be that shall command these benefits to be recompensed with the like? Some man perchance hath given thee a house, but I have foretold thee that thine own is falling down on thy head. He hath given thee a patrimony: but I a plank to float upon, and save thy life in shipwreck. He hath fought and hath been wounded for thy cause: but I have given thee thy life by my silence on the rack. Whereas a benefit is given one way, and recompensed an other: it is a hard matter to make them equal. CHAP. X. furthermore, there is no day limited for recompensing a good turn, as there is for money lent: he therefore that hath not as yet requited, may requited. For tell me in what time may a man discover an other to be ungrateful? The greatest benefits have no probation at all, they for the most part are hidden in the consciences of two. Shall we bring the world to that pass that we may not do a good turn without testimony? What punishment then shall we destinate for the unthankful? shall we prefix one for all, where the benefits are different? or unequal punishments, either greater or lesser, according to each man's benefit? Go to then; let the penalty be pecuniary: why? Some benefits concern life and are more greater, than life; what penalty will you pronounce against them? less than the benefit? that were not indifferent: equal, and so capital? what more inhuman, than that the issue of benefits should be bloody? CHAP. XI. Certain privileges (saith he) are given unto Parents. And as there is an extraordinary consideration had of these, so is it reasonable also that a respect should be had of other benefits. We have hallowed and sacred the condition of Parents, because it was expedient that children should be bred and brought up. They were to be encouraged to this travel, because they were to under go an uncertain fortune. It could not be said unto them, which is spoken unto those that give benefits. Be wary in thy choice to whom thou givest: If thou hast been once deceived, seek out henceforward such a one as is worthy of thy benefits, and secure him. In breeding and bringing up children, the Parent's judgement prevaileth little, all that they may do is but to wish well, and hope the best. Therefore that they might the more willingly adventure this chance, it was reason that some prerogative should be given them. Again, the case standeth otherwise with Parents, for they both do and will bestow benefits upon their children, although they have done never so much for them already: and it is not to be feared that they will bely themselves in giving: In others it aught to be examined, not only whether they have received, but also whether they have given. But the merits of these consist in their confession; and because it is requisite for youth to be ruled, we have constituted, as it were, certain domestical Magistrates over them, under whose government they should be restrained. Again, the benefits of all Parents was equal and alike, and therefore it might be valued after one rate, but the rest were divers, unlike, and infinite odds was between them, and therefore could they fall under no compass of Law; so that it was more fitting to let them all alone, than to make them all equal. CHAP. XII. SOme things cost the givers much; As the qualities of benefits are divers: so also are they diversly esteemed by those that receive them. and some are much worth to the receivers, and yet stand the givers in nothing. Certain courtesies are done to friends, some to strangers, and (although the gift be one) yet is it better employed on him that then thou beganst to know, when thou undertookest to secure him. This man giveth succours; that ornament; these other consolations. Thou shalt find some that imagine nothing more pleasing in this world, or more great and agreeable, than to have a friend that may secure, and to whom he may discover his miseries and calamities. Again, you shall find some man more jealous of his Honour, than his Security, and other some that suppose themselves more indebted to him, by whose means they may live in repose, than to him by whose means they might live in some honour and estimation. These things therefore would fall out greater or lesser, according as the judges mind were bend to the one or to the other. Besides I choose myself a creditor: I oftentimes receive a benefit at his hands, from whom I would not; and sometimes I am obliged ere I know thereof. What wilt thou do? wilt thou call him ungrateful that had a good turn cast upon him before he knew it, and if he had known thereof would not have received it? and wilt thou not term him unthankful which howsoever he received thy good turn, in no sort requited it? CHAP. XIII. SOme man hath done me a friendship, and afterwards the same man hath offered me an injury. Whether am I tied by one courtesy to suffer all injuries? or shall I be acquit, as if I had acknowledged the same, because he hath defaced his former benefit by his succeeding injury? how then canst thou determine whether the pleasure he hath received be greater, or the outrage that is afterwards offered him? The day would fail me if I should attempt to prosecute every difficulty. We (saith he) make men slower to do good, If ungrateful receivers should be punished, few would entertain benefits. when we challenge not the things that are given, but suffer the deniers to escape unpunished. But you must bethink yourself of this also on the contrary part, that men will be much loather to receive benefits, if they should stand in peril of process thereby, and if their innocence be no ways assured. Moreover, by this means we ourselves shall become loather to do men good, for no man willingly giveth unto those, who are unwilling to receive. But whosoever is provoked to pleasure others of his own good nature, and for the worthiness of the thing itself, will give willingly also even unto such as shall think themselves no more beholding to him than they list: For the glory of that office is diminished, which carrieth a promise with it. CHAP. XIIII. SO shall there be fewer benefits; yea but they shall be truer. And what harm is it to have the rashness of benefiting restrained? For this even intended they that constituted no law for the same: that we should more circumspectly give, and carefully choose those on whom we bestowed our favours. Consider diligently to whom thou givest, so shall there be no suing, so shall there be no calling back or repetition. Thou art deceived if thou think that any judge can help thee. There is no Law that is able to set thee clear again. Only have thou an eye to the thankfulness of the receiver. By these means benefits hold their authority, and are magnificent: thou defilest them if thou make them a matter of law: In debt it is a most justifiable speech, and answerable to the law of all Na●●●ns, to say, Pay that which thou owest. But this is the foulest word in benefiting ●●at can be, to say, Pay: For what shall he pay? He oweth his Life, his Greatness, his Honours, the assurance of his Fortune, his Health. The greatest things cannot be requited. At leastwise (saith he) let him repay somewhat of like value. This is it that I said, that the estimation of so noble a thing should perish, if we make a merchandise of benefits. The mind is not to be incited to Avarice, to Process, or Debate: he runneth into these things of his own accord. Let us withstand them as much as we can, and cut off the occasions of complaining. CHAP. XV. I Would to God we could persuade them not to receive again the money they had lent, save only of such as were willing to repay. Would to God the buyers were never obliged to the sellers by any promise● nor bargains and covenants were ratified under hand and seal; but that faith should rather keep them, and a mind observing equity. He reprehendeth the little faith and double dealing of men. But men have preffered profit before honesty, and had rather enforce others to be faithful, than behold them faithful. Witnesses are employed, both on the one and the other side. This man dareth his money upon interest to many, whom he causeth to be bound by public instruments. That other is not contented with sureties, except he have a pawn in hand. O loathsome confession of human fraud, and public wickedness. Our seals are more set by than our souls. To what purpose are these Worshipful men called to record? why set they to their hands? namely, lest he should deny that which he had received. Thinkest thou these men to be upright, and that they would maintain a truth? yea, but if they themselves would instantly borrow money of any man, they cannot get it, except they be obliged after the same manner. Had it not been more honesty to let some pass with the breach of their credit, than that all men should be mistrusted of unthankfulness, and perfidiousness. Avarice wanteth but one only thing, which is, That we should do no man good without suretyship. It is the property of a generous and magnificent mind to help and pro●it others; he that giveth benefits, imitateth the Gods; he that redemandeth them, is as the Usurers. Why then abase we ourselves to those vilest sort of ●ake-hells, by resembling them? CHAP. XVI. But if no action be liable against an ungrateful person, the number of the ungrateful will be the more? nay rather they will be the less; for men will be more advised in bestowing their benefits. Again, it is not expedient to have it known to the world, what a number of unthankful persons there be: For the multitude of offenders will take away the shame of the deed, and a common crime will cease to be accounted a reproach: The multitude of offenders cloudeth and maketh the crime less odious. Is there almost any woman in these days that is ashamed of divorce, since the time that certain of the noble Ladies, and Gentlewomen, have made account of their years, not by the number of Consuls, but by the number of their husbands; and departed from them to be married, and are married to be divorced? So long as divorce was rare, so long was it feared, but after that few or no marriages were continued without divorce, the often hearing of it taught them to use it. Is any woman nowadays ashamed of whoredom, since the world is grown to that pass, that few take a husband but to cloak their whoredoms? Chastity is an argument of deformity, where shall a man find a woman so miserable, or so loathsome, that will content herself with one pair of adulterers? I pray God these Pagan errors together with divorce be not crept into England. except she have for eu●ry hour one, and yet the day is not long enough to suffice all, except she be carried to one friend, and dine with an other, nay she doteth, and is too much of the old stamp, that knows not that the keeping of one Leman is good wedlock. Like as the shame of these faults is vanished at this day, since the sin began to get large scope, so shalt thou make the thankless sort both more and more bold, if they may once begin to number themselves. CHAP. XVII. WHat then? shall the thankless person escape unpunished? what then? shall he be unchasticed that hath no piety? the malicious, the covetous, he that followeth and feedeth his own desires, he that delighteth in crucify? Thinkest thou that they shall be unpunished which are so hateful? or supposest thou that any punishment is more grievous than public hatred? The punishment of ingratitude is contempt of all men. It is a punishment that he dare not take a good turn at any man's hands, that he dare not do a good turn to any, that he is a gazingstock to all men, or at leastwise supposeth himself to be so, and that he hath lost the understanding of the thing that was singularly good, and singularly sweet. Callest thou him unhappy that wanteth his eyesight? or him whose cares are deafened by the means of sickness? and dost thou not account him wretched, The misery of an ungrateful receiver. that hath lost the force of benefits? He feareth the Gods, who are witnesses against all ungrateful men, the knowledge he hath how he is entercepted and excluded from benefiting, or doing courtesies, burneth and vexeth him inwardly: finally, this very punishment is great enough for him, that (as I said before) he cannot reap the fruit and enjoy so pleasant a thing. But he that is delighted, and contented in that he hath receiu●d a good turn, enjoyeth equal and perpetual pleasure, and rejoiceth in beholding the mind of him that gave, and not the thing was given. A good turn continually delighteth a thankful man, an ungrateful man but once. Besides this, let either of their lives be compared with other. The one is always sad and sorrowful, and walketh like a cheater, and fraudulent person, who respecteth not the duty he oweth to his Parents which begot him, nor of those friends that bred him up, nor of those Masters which instructed him. The other is always joyful and merry, expecting an occasion to yield satisfaction, and conceiving a great joy in this very affection, not seeking means to make that appear less which he hath received, but how he may satisfy more fully and honourably, not only his Parents and Friends, but also other persons of meaner reckoning. For although he hath received a benefit at his bondman's hands, he considereth not from whom, but what he hath received. CHAP. XVIII. ALthough it be a question amongst some (amongst whom Hecaton is one) whether a bondman can benefit his Master or no. For there are some that distinguish after this manner. That certain things are benefits; certain, duties, and certain, services. They say that we aught to call that a benefit which we receive from a stranger, and we term him a stranger that is not borne to do us any pleasure, except he please: They name that, duty, which appertaineth properly to a Son, a Wife, and those persons who are provoked by alliance, and tied by offices, He reproveth this opinion and proveth the contrary. to assist. They term that, service, which belongeth to a slave or bondman, who is brought to this exigent by the condition of his fortune, so that he cannot in any sort challenge his Superior for any thing, whatsoever he hath done unto him. This notwithstanding whosoever denieth, that bondmen may not sometimes do their Masters a good turn, is ignorant of the Law of Nature, for it concerneth us to consider, of what mind he is that giveth the benefit, not of what state or calling. Virtue hideth herself from no man, she entertaineth and accepteth all men, she inviteth all● Gentlemen, Franklins, Bondmen, Kings, and banished Men; she chooseth neither house nor revenue, but is contented with the bore name. For what safeguard should there be against casualties, or what great thing could the mind promise' itself, if fortune could change a certain and settled virtue? if the bondman giveth not a benefit to his Master, neither doth any Subject to his King, nor Soldier to his Captain, for what skilleth it, in what state of subjection a man be, if he be under one which is Sovereign? For if necessity, and fear of extremity do bar a bondman from attaining the name of desert, the same also will bar him that is under a King, or a Captain, who have the like power over him, although it be under a different Title: but men gratify their Kings, and give benefits to their Captains, therefore slaves may do courtesies to their Masters: A bondman may be just, valiant, and courageous; Ergo, he may also give a benefit. For this proceedeth only from virtue, and so may bondmen give their Master's benefits, as they have often times made them their benefits. There is no doubt but that a bondman may do a courtesy to any man, why then may he not give favour and pleasure to his own Master? CHAP. XIX. BEcause (saith he) he cannot become his Master's creditor, Objections against the above said reasons. if he should give him his money; yet otherwise he daily obligeth his Master unto him: he followeth him in his journeys, he ministereth unto him in his sicknesses, he reverenceth him with great care, and labour: yet all these (which would be thought benefits if an other should do them) are but services as long as a bondman doth them: All good offices in a slave are but duties and no benefits. For that is a benefit (and is only rightly so called) that a man doth, who was at liberty not to do it. But a bondman hath not the power of refusal, thus giveth he, and dareth he nothing, but is only obedient to that which is commanded him: neither can he boast of his doing, because he could not refu●e to do the same. Even under these terms will I conquer thee, and confute thy opinion, and so far will I pled the bondman's cause, that in divers acts he shall be esteemed free. Mean while, I pray you tell me, if I show you a slave fight courageously without fear of death, in defence of his Master's life, and without respect of his own, wounded with infinite blows, yet suffering his blood to stream from his deep wounds, even to the last and uttermost drops, to the end that his Master in the mean time may find an opportunity to escape, purchasing the means by his own death, to win so much time as he may, to save his Master's life: Wouldst thou deny that he did his Master a friendship, because he is his bondman? If I show thee one, that by no tyrannical premises could be corrupted, or threats terrified, or torments feared, to bewray his Master's secrets; but as much as in him lay, removed all suspicions that were surmised, and employed all his forces to express his faith: wouldst thou deny (because he was a bondman) that he did his Master a good turn? See rather, if it be not so much the greater kindness, as the example of virtue is rather in bondmen; & consequently, so much the more worthy thanks: for that whereas superiority is commonly hated, and all constraint esteemed grievous, yet the love of some one toward his Master, hath surmounted the common hatred of bondage. So then, for that cause it ceaseth not to be a benefit because it proceeded from a bondman: but therefore is it greater, because bondage itself could not deter him from doing the same. CHAP. XX. He is deceived, whosoever thinketh that servitude taketh possession over the whole man: the better part of him is exempted. The bodies are bred and subject to their Masters, but the mind is privileged in itself: it is so free and restless, that it cannot be restrained in this prison, wherein it is enclosed: it cannot be held from using his forces, & performing great matters, & passing beyond all bounds, as companion of the celestial Gods. It is the body therefore that Fortune hath submitted to the Master, This bought he, this selleth he: that interior part cannot be bought or sold, or suffer servitude. Whatsoever issueth from that is free: for neither can we command them all things, neither can our bondmen be compelled to obey us in all things: they are not bound to execute that which shall be prejudicial for the common weal: they are not tied to assist any wicked and insolent action. CHAP. XXI. He yieldeth a direct answer to the former reply. THere are certain things which the laws neither command, nor forbidden to be done: in these hath a bondman matter of benefit. As long as he doth that which his Master may justly command him to do, it is called and is service; when more than is necessary for a servant to do, a benefit: when it passeth into the affection of a friend, it ceaseth to be called a service. There are certain things which a Master is bound to furnish his servant with, namely, with meat, and drink, and raiment: but no man will call this a benefit. But if he have given him all that he would, if he have nourished him as a freeman, if he have instructed him in the liberal sciences: this aught to be called a benefit. The same contrariwise may be said in the person of a bondman: whatsoever it be that exceedeth the duty and rule of a bondman's service, it is not done of awe and command, but voluntarily and willingly, is a benefit, provided always, that it be such, that it may merit the name, when another foreign person shall do it. CHAP. XXII. A Bondman (as Chrysippus saith) is a perpetual hireling, now even as he giveth a benefit, when he performeth more than that days work to which he was hired; so when as the bondman (by reason of the love and affection he beareth his Master) surpasseth the terms of his miserable fortune, and performeth some extraordinary and brave enterprise, which might be held honourable in one more happily borne, and surmounteth the hope and expectation of his Master, then is it a benefit, which is found in his own house. Seemeth it a matter just and indifferent to thee, that if we be displeased with those that do less than their duty, we should not be thankful unto them, that perform more then either they should or are accustomed? wilt thou know when it is no benefit? then it is, when it may be said, what if he would not do it? But when he performeth that which he might lawfully refuse, it is praiseworthy in him that he had a will to do it. A benefit and an injury are contraries. The slave may pleasure his Master, i● he may receive an injury at his hands: And yet there is an express judge appointed to hear the complaint of bondmen against their Masters, who may contrary and repress their cruelty, lust, and hard dealings and chastise the covetousness of those Lords, who refuse to allow their slaves ordinary food, and necessary garments. What then? doth the Master receive a benefit at his bondman's hands? ye, a man, from a man: To conclude, he hath done that which was in his power, he hath given his Master a benefit; it is in thy choice whether thou wilt receive it from a bondman. But who is so great whom fortune may not compel to stand in need even of the basest and poorest of his people? Now will I relate many and different examples of benefits, and some also contrary to one another. Some one slave hath saved his Master's life, another also gave him his death. An other hath delivered his Master at the instant when he should die, and (if this be but a small matter) by losing his own life hath saved his Masters. There have been some that have helped their deaths, and others that have preserved them by beguiling them. CHAP. XXIII. CLAVDIVS QVADRIGARIUS in the eighteenth Book of his Chronickes reporteth, that when the City Grumentum was beleaguered, and brought into a desperate estate and extreme misery: that two slaves fled unto the Enemy's camp, and performed an action worthy their labour and peril: For after the City was taken, and the victorious enemy ranged and reveled every where, these two slaves (who knew all the byways) were the first that set forward to make booty of that house wherein they had served. And having surprised their Mistress, they rudely drove her before them: And being demanded what woman she was: they answered that it was their Mistress, who had in times past most cruelly handled them, and that they dragged her out, to bring her to her death: and by this policy having gotten her out of the City, they carefully hide her: But afterwards when the Roman Soldiers were satisfied with pillage, and reduced to their former discipline and manners, these slaves likewise returned to their former servitude, and gave their Mistress her wont liberty. In acknowledgement whereof she presently set them both at liberty, and was not ashamed to receive her life at their hands, over whom she had absolute power both of life and death: Can she have more cause of contentment than hereby? for had she been otherwise preserved, she had but received an ordinary courtesy and vulgar clemency, (which is many times usual amongst Soldiers) but being preserved after this manner, it was a noble Story, and an everlasting example, to both the Cities. In so great confusion of the surprised City, when every one minded his particular safety, all fled from her, except her own fugitives. And they to express with what mind and intention they practised their former flight; fled from the Conquerors, to the Captive; pretending the countenance of Murderers, which was the greatest point in that benefit. So much thought they it better to seem Murderers of their Mistress, jest than that she should have been murdered indeed: It is not believe me, it is not I tell you, the act of a servile mind, to buy a noble action by the fame and opinion they gain of their wickedness: Caius Vettius the Praetor of the Marses, See Lipsius notes, why this Translation is used contrary to the original. was led unto his death; his bondman drew the sword of that very Soldier that dragged him, and first of all slew his Master, and afterwards (it is time, saith he, to enfranchise and deliver myself, since now already I have set my Master at liberty) at one stroke thrust himself through. Show me any man that hath preserved his Master more magnificently. CHAP. XXIIII. CAESAR besieged * The Romans now call it, Camp del Santo Pelino. Corfinium, and Domitius was shut up in the same, who considering his danger, commanded a slave of his (who was practised in physic) to give him poison: And perceiving that by all means he sought occasion not to do it, Why delayest thou (saith he) as if all this were in thy power? armed, I entreat thee, to yield me death. Hereupon his slave promised to perform it, and gave him a harmless potion to drink up, wherewith being laid asleep, he came unto his son and said. Command me to be kept in sure hold, till by the event thou understandest, whether I have given thy Father poison or no. DOMITIUS lived, and was saved by Caesar; but yet his bondman had saved him first. CHAP. XXV. During the time of the civil Wars, a bondman hide his Master who was proscribed, and having fitted his rings on his fingers, and put on his garment, he presented himself to the Sergeants, and told them that he required no favour at their hands, but that they boldly might perform that which they were commanded; and there withal held out his neck for them to hue off. How great a man's part was this for a slave to be willing to die for his Master in such a time, as it were rare fidelity not to wish his Master's death? in public cruelty to be found gentle? in public perfidiousness faithful? when great rewards were published for every one that would betray, to desire death as the reward of his fidelity? CHAP. XXVI. I Will not overslip the examples of our Age: under Tiberius Caesar there was an ordinary licence, and almost a public rage in appeaching and accusing, which (far more grievous than any civil War) consumed and destroyed both the Senate and Nobility. Exceptions were taken against drunken men's words, and things spoken in jest were censured in earnest nothing was secure, and all occasion of cruelty was pleasing; neither now expected men what their penalty should be who were accused, where all were punished after the same sort. In that time Paulus who had been a Praetor before-times, supped at a certain banquet, having on his finger a rich stone, whereon was engraven the Image of the Emperor Tiberius ● I should play the fool too much if I should seek for some more cleanly words to express unto you, how he took the chamber-pot: This was presently observed by Maro (who was one of the Spies, and most noted informer's of that time.) But his slave (against whom this treason was plotted) secretly stole away the ring from his Master's finger who was drunk: and when as Maro afterwards would take witness of those that were at the banquet, how Paulus had handled his members (not to be named without modesty) with the emperors Image, and importuning them to subscribe to that accusation, the slave showed before all the company, that his Master's ring was on his finger. Whosoever shall term this man a slave, he should also call that other Spy an honest guest. CHAP. XXVII. Under Augustus Caesar, men's words were not as yet dangerous unto them; yet began they already to displease: Rufus a Senator, as he sat at supper, wished that Caesar might not return in safety and health from that progress he then intended; and added this furthermore, That all the Bulls and Calves of the Country desired no less: Some there were that diligently observed his words: The next morning, as soon as it was day, a servant and bondman of his, that had attended at his feet, reported unto him those words he had spoken in his drunkenness the night before, and counseled him presently to go and seek out Caesar, and to be his own first accuser. According to this his counsel his Master met Caesar at his first coming down. And when he had sworn unto him that he was not well in his wits over night, and wished that the evil he had uttered might fall upon him, and upon his children, and besought Caesar that he would pardon him, and receive him into his favour again? After that the Emperor had assured him that he would willingly do it; no man will believe, said RUFUS, that thou hast admitted me again into thy favour, except thou give me somewhat, and thereupon he required no small sum of money, at reconciled Caesar's hands, and obtained the same, who there withal said unto him. For mine own sake I will endeavour never to be angry with thee without an occasion. CAESA●● behaved himself honestly in pardoning him, and beside annexed this liberality to his clemency. Whosoever shall hear this example reported, he must needly praise Caesar, but it must be after he hath praised the bondman. Except you mean that I should show you that he was made free for this service he did. He was so; but not without ransom, for Caesar had paid the money for his freedom. CHAP. XXVIII. AFter so many examples, is there any doubt but that a Master may sometimes receive a benefit at his bondman's hands? why should the person rather lessen the dignity of a thing, than the thing ennoble the person? All men have the same beginnings, and the same original; no man is more noble than another, except it be such an one that hath a better wit, and is more apt to good Arts. They that set forth their Pedigrees, and their ancestors in a long row, interlined with many branches of collateral descents on the forefront of their houses, are rather noted then noble: we have all of us but one parent, which is the world, whether it be by famous, or bore descent; every man conveys his first pedigree from it. There is no cause why these should deceive thee, who when they reckon up their ancestors: wheresoever some noble name faileth them, they presently feign a god. Despise no man, though his pedigree be worn out of remembrance, and he smally furthered by unfriendly fortune, whether our predecessors were freemen, or bond, or foreigners. courageously advance ye your minds; and whatsoever baseness lieth in the way, leap ye over it. Great nobility attendeth for you at the last. Why with pride are we lifted up unto so great vanity, that from servants we disdain to receive benefits; and look upon their sort, forgetting deserts? Dost thou call any one a servant, thou being a servant of lust and of gluttony, and of an adulteress, yea a common slave of adultere●ses? Callest thou any one a servant? Wither now art thou dragged by these grooms; who bear about this thy litter? Whether do these in livery-cloaks, who sergeant a soldier-like, and no vulgar attire indeed? Wither, I say, do these carry thee abroad? to the door of some doorkeeper, to the gardens of some, who doth not indeed bear office in ordinary. And yet deniest thou, that a benefit can be given to thee by thy servant, to whom it is a benefit to have a kiss from the servant of another man? What so great discord of mind is this? At the same time thou despisest and reverencest servants. Within doors thou art imperious and outrageous, base abroad; and as well contemned, as contemning. For never do any more abase their minds, than they who wickedly lift them up: and none are more ready to tread upon other men, than they who have learned to proffer reproach, by receiving it. CHAP. XXIX. THese things were to be spoken to repress the insolency of men depending upon fortune, and to approve the right of a benefit to be given by a servant, that also it might be approved to be given by a son. For it is in question, whether children at any time can give greater benefits to their parents, than they have received. This is granted, that many children have been greater, and more mighty than their parents, as also better and more virtuous than they: which being true; It may be also that they have done more for them that bred them; whereas both their fortune was greater, and their will better: But whatsoever it be (saith he) that the son giveth the father, it is less than his father hath done for him, because of duty he oweth this power of giving to his father. So as he can never properly be overcome in benefits who hath given another the means to exceed him in the same. For some things take their beginning from others, and yet they are greater than their beginnings, neither is any thing therefore greater than that from whence it had his beginning, for that it could not have grown to that greatness except it had begun. There is almost nothing but far exceedeth his first original. Seeds and grains are the causes of all that which groweth in this world; yet are they the lest parts of those things which come of them. Look upon the Rhine, look upon Euphrates, finally do but observe all other rivers so renowned, and what are they if you estimate them by their head-springs from whence they flow? whatsoever they be feared for, wherein soever they be renowned, they have purchased it in their course and progress. Take away roots and the Forests will never grow nor overspread, neither shall the tops of the mountains be covered with woods. Look upon these Timber-trees, whether you regard their great height, or their wonderful solidity and broad spreading of their branches, how small a thing, in comparison of these, is that which the root in small and tender spreadings comprehendeth. The Temples are builded upon their foundations, as also these great walls of Rome, are, and yet that which was first laid to sustain this whole work, lies hidden under earth. The like falleth out in all other things. The greatness that they attain unto in time, doth always obscure their beginnings. I could not have attained to any thing, if the benefit of my parents had not gone before; yet followeth it not for all this, that that which I have obtained is less than that same which gave me the means to acquire it: Except my nurse had suckled me in infancy, I could have performed none of those things, which I have sithence acted by my counsel and valour, neither should I have obtained this dignity and honour, which I have risen unto by civil and military demerit: but wilt thou for this cause more prize my nurse's first endeavours, than the great acts I have achieved by my so many virtuous attempts. And then what difference wilt thou found herein, considering that I could not increase in honour, without the tender care of my nurse, no less then without my father's benefit? CHAP. XXX. But if I own wholly to my beginning, whatsoever I more can do, think you that neither my father is my true beginning, nor my Grandfather indeed. For always there will be somewhat more ancient, from which the original of the nearest original may descend. But no man is said to own more to them that are unknown, and to ancestors which have been before memory of man, then to a father. But, I own more, if my father, because he hath begotten me, owneth this very thing unto his ancestors. Whatsoever I have done for my father, how great soever it be, it is nothing to be esteemed in respect of the benefit he hath done me, for I had not been, had he not begotten me. And by the same reason, if any man hath healed my father, being sick and ready to die, I should be able to do nothing for him that were not to be esteemed less, than the benefit he did unto my father: for had he not received his health, my father had never begotten me. But see if this carry not a more likelihood of truth, that the things which I could both do, and have done, should be esteemed as mine own, and in mine own power, and at mine own william. That I am borne (if thou consider what a thing it is in itself) thou shalt find it a small and uncertain matter, and the common subject of good and evil, and undoubtedly the first step to all things; but yet not therefore greater than all, because the first. I have preserved and kept my Father alive, I have preferred and exalted him to the highest degree of honour, and have made him a Prince in his City: I have ennobled him, not only by those my virtuous enterprises, which I have honourably achieved; but also have given him an assured means to advance himself, I have put into his hands an easy means to obtain much honour and glory: I have heaped together upon him dignities and riches, and all whatsoever men's ambition can desire. And where I surpassed all others in authority, I submitted myself to him: Tell me now, I pray thee, if thou couldst do all these things, except it were by thy father's means? I will briefly answer, and tell thee, that it is altogether so, if to the performance of so many worthy things it sufficed only to be borne. But if to live well and virtuously a naked life is the lest part, and if thou hast but given me that which is common to me, with bruit beasts, yea, with the lest, the most despised, and the most loathsome: I beseech thee attribute not that to thyself, which proceedeth not alone from thy benefits, although in some sort also, it cannot either breed or be without thine. Suppose that for the life which thou hast given, I have restored thy life: in so doing likewise I have surmounted thy benefit, because I know what I give, and thou that which thou receivedst: whereas I gave thee life, not for my pleasure sake, or with my pleasure, when seeing it is so much more estimable to be able to retain and conserve life, then to receive the same, by how much it is less dreadful and terrible to die, then to apprehended the fear and conceit of death. CHAP. XXXI. I Gave thee a life, that thou mightst presently use: thou gavest me a life, when I knew not whether I should enjoy it, or no. I gave thee life, when thou wert in danger of death: thou hast given me life, to the end I might die. I have given thee a consummate and perlite life: thou hast engendered me deprived of reason and judgement, and no otherwise but to be a burden to others arms. Wilt thou know how small a benefit it is to give life in such sort? If thou hadst cast me forth, then in that case it had been injury to have begotten me. Whereby I gather, that our begetting by father and mother, is the lest benefit that can be, except other things accompany it, that must prosecute the beginning of this benefit, A Christian doctrine from a ●ea●●en Stoic. and so ratify the same by other offices. It is no good thing to live, but to live well. But you will say, I live well: yea, but so I might also have lived ill: therefore this only is thine, that I live. If thou imputest unto me a life in itself, naked and destitute of counsel, and boastest thereof, as if it were a good and great thing: think with thyself, that thou imputest to me such a good, which is common as well to worms and flies, as to me. Moreover, not to vaunt of any other thing, but only in that I have endeavoured myself to learn the liberal sciences, to the end I might direct the rest of my life in the right way: if I live discreetly by this means, thou hast in this received a greater benefit than thou gavest me. For thou gavest me unto myself both rude and ignorant, and I gave myself to thee such a son, as thou mayst rejoice that ever thou begettest me. CHAP. XXXII. MY father nourished me, if I do no less for him, herein I am more beneficial unto him, because he not only conceiveth joy, in that he is nourished, but because he is nourished by his son, & greater pleasure and contentment he receiveth in my good will, than he doth in the gift itself. The meat which he gave me, only nourished my body. What if a man hath so far advanced his own fortunes, that either for his eloquence, his justice, or his chivalry, he should grow famous in foreign countries, and had also made his father highly renowned, and so by his lustre dispelled the obscurity and cloudy darkness of his base birth: hath he not, think you, herein bestowed an unestimable benefit upon his parents? Should any man ever have known Ariston and Grillus, had it not been for ●en●phon and Plato their sons? Socrates exempteth Sophro●is●us his name from oblivion and death. It were too long to reckon up all the rest, who live by no other means, but, in that their children eternised their memories, by their own famous actions. Whether did Agrippa the father (who after his sons greatness was scarcely known in Rome) give a greater benefit, or Agrippa the son to his father, who alone was honoured with a Naval Crown (which was the greatest honour that was accustomed to be given to men of war) who raised so many sumptuons buildings in the City, which both exceeded all former magnificence, and were never equalled by any after? Whether did Octavius give his son Augustus the Emperor a greater benefit, or the Emperor Augustus to his father, although the shadow of adoptive father had in some sort obscured the benefit of Octavius? What joy and contentment had he conceived, if after the extirpation of a civil war, he had seen him command and govern the Roman Empire in security & peace? Who doubteth, but that he could hardly acknowledge his own good, or sufficiently believe the same, and as often as he considered his own mean estate, conceive that such a man a● he could be borne in his house? Why should I now prosecute the rest, whom oblivion had already swallowed up, except their children's glory had delivered them out of this forgetful darkness? Moreover, we inquire not whether any son hath given greater benefits to his father then he received at his hands● but, whether any son can yield greater? And although the examples of those which hitherto I have related, do not as yet suffice and satisfy, neither surpass the good which they have received at their father's hands; yet Nature may make us s●●, that hereafter, which hath not as yet been seen by the ages ●ore passed. I● on● only benefit cannot surmonnt the greatness of parents' deserts, it may be that many put together may outstrip them. CHAP. XXXIII. SCipio then but a boy, in a certain battle set spurs to his horse, and charging the enemy, saved his father's life: And is it but a small matter, when, to make good the place where his father fought, he contemned so many dangers, that he pressed so many great Captains, that he broke through as many opposites as he found before him: in the first service that ever he had seen, and being as yet but a raw soldier, he s●t forward and charged before the oldest servitors, and performed many valorous actions, far exceeding the forces of his age? Add hereunto, that he defended his father, being accused of a capital crime, and delivered him from the conspiracy of his mighty enemies, that he gave him a second and third consulate, and other honours also, which they who before time have been Consuls, might wish and crave for: and seeing him poor, gave him those goods which he had gotten by right of war, and that which a man who maketh profession of arms esteemeth most honourable also: he enriched him with those spoils which he had gotten from his enemies. If this as yet seem but little unto thee, thou mayst add the Provinces which he gave him, and the governments and extraordinary charges, which were afterwards continued unto him by his means. Add further, that after he had razed so many great cities, how this brave man (the defender & founder of the Roman Empire, that was to be extended from the East unto the West, without a Rival) ennobled him the more, who was already noble. Say that he was Scipio's father, yet undoubtedly the common and ordinary good that parents do in begetting children, hath been far surmounted by Scipio's incomparable piety and virtue, who I know not whether he brought the City more defence or honour. CHAP. XXXIIII. THen if these examples seem little unto thee; admit that some man hath delivered his father from torments, suppose that he himself hath suffered the same to deliver him. For thou mayest dilate and extend the children's benefits as far as thou wilt. Whereas contrariwise the father's benefit in procreation is not only simple and easy, but further not voluntary also in him that giveth: what need we so many words? Lex Pappia, or Poppea. The father hath given being to those, to whom he knoweth not, whether he hath given being or not, wherein he hath his wife a consort and partaker, wherein he respecteth the law of his Country, the praise and reward of Parents, the perpetuity of his house and family, and all things rather than him to whom he gave the same: what if any one (having obtained wisdom) hath informed and instructed his father therein, shall we now grow in question whether he hath given any thing greater than he received? Considering that he hath given his father a happy life, having received at his father's hands but a bad life only; but saith he, it is the father's benefit whatsoever thou dost, or whatsoever thou canst return unto him again. So is it the benefit of my Master, if I have profited in liberal studiest and yet we may transcend and surpass those goods, we have received from those, who have taught us, as we also do their benefits, who have taught us to read, and to know our first elements. And although without them no man can learn any thing, yet all that which he hath afterwards learned is not the inferior to the same: There is a great difference betwixt the first and the greatest things: neither therefore are the first comparable to the greatest, because without the first the greatest cannot be. CHAP. XXXV. IT is time now, if I may so term it, to produce some pe●ces of our own coin. He that hath bestowed such a benefit, above which there may be somewhat found better, may be overcome in benefits: The Father gave life unto his Son, but there is something better than life, so the father may be overcome in a benefit by the son, because the son may give some thing better and greater than the father. Furthermore, he that hath given life to an other man, if once or twice ●e were delivered by the same man from death, he hath received a greater benefit than that which he gave; so the father hath given life; but if he be ofttimes delivered from the peril of death by his son, he shall receive a greater benefit than he gave him. He that hath received a good turn, the more he needeth that which he hath received, he hath received the greater goodness: but he t●●t liveth, hath more want of life, than he that is not borne (as of whom he cann●t properly say, to have need of any thing.) The father therefore hath receiu●●● greater good turn, if he hath received life at his sons hands, than the son from the father, in that he is borne: But the parents' benefits cannot be surmounted by these good offices, the child performeth unto him, why? because he ●ath received his life from his father, which had he not received he could not have given a benefit. This is then but common to the father, and all those who have at any time given life to any man. For had they not received life, they could not have returned beneficial gratitude: Therefore greater sa●tisfaction is not intended to the Physician, though the Phys●●●●● likewise i● wont to give life; nor to the Mariner though he hath saved from shipwreck, so that a man may surmount the benefits both of the one and ●he other, who hath by any means saved our lives; and consequently then th● benefits of our parents may be also exceeded: if any man hath done me a good turn which serveth me to no use, except it be assisted and seconded by the favours of divers other persons, and if afterwards I have done him an other courtesy, that hath no need of other men's assistance, I have given a greater good turn then that which I have received: The father hath given life to his child, which he should lose instantly, were it not sustained by divers other succours● But if the son hath saved his father's life, he hath given him such a life, as hath no need of any other assistance to sustain itself of itself. Ergo the father receiving life at his sons hands, receiveth a greater benefit, then that was which the father hath given him. CHAP. XXXVI. Note the author's prudence. THese things destroy not the reverence which is due unto parents, neither make they their children to become worse unto them, but rather better: for virtue is of a glorious and noble disposition, and deserveth to outstrip the foremost. The piety and affection of children will be more forward, if they may hope to surmount the kindness and favour their parents have done them. If this should happen to parents willing and glad of the same (because in many things it is for our own good to be overcome) whence can we imagine to ensue so acceptable a contention, whence so great happiness to parents, as to confess that they cannot equal their children's benefits? If we be not thus minded, we give our children means to excuse themselves, and we shall make them more slow and reckless in acknowledging their father's benefits, whereas we aught to excite them the more, and say unto them, Do this worthy children. An honest contention is raised btwixt parents and their children, to know ●hich of them hath given the greatest benefits, or who hath received the most. The fathers have not therefore prevailed, because they have given the fir●●. Take heart young men worthy yourselves, take heed you lose not your courage to overcome those who desire no other thing then to be overcome: You want no Captains to undertake so brave a conflict, and to encourage you to follow them, who command you but to go the same course for to obtain ●●ese victories, which they have often gained against their parents. CHAP. XXXVII. AENEAS overcame his father in courtesy, for his father carried him in his arms when he was an Infant (a weight neither dangerous nor heavy) where the other bore him on his shoulders, laden with age, through the midst of the armed enemy, and through the falling ruins of his City, at such time as the devout old man embraced betwixt his arms his domestic Gods, and the sacred Relics of his house, loading his sons shoulders with more than his own person, yet went he onward with much ado: carrying him through the slames and ruins of the City (what is it not, but the piety and love of a son may preserve) and bringing him out of all danger, ranked him afterwards amongst the Gods, and placed him in the number of those first founders of the Roman Empire, to be honoured and reverenced with them. The young men of Sicily overcame and surmounted their fathers. For at such time as Mount AEtna was so highly inflamed, Two young men of Sicily the one called Amphinomus, the other An●pus. that it vomited fire upon the Cities and neighbouring Plains, and had consumed the greater part of the Isle, they carried their fathers thence upon their backs: It is believed that the fire miraculously separated and divided itself, and that the flames retiring themselves on both sides, opened a large passage to suffer those virtuous young men to travel through it, to the end that without danger they might safely perform their great attempt: Antigonus son also overcame in this kind, who when as in a great battle he had discom●●●ed his enemy, transferred the treasures & wealth of the conquest, to his father, and with it gave him the Empire of Cypress. This is a Kingdom in mind to refuse government, See Cicero 3. de Ossicijs, and Livy in his 7. Book, as touching this Manlius. when it is in thy hands. Titus Manlius also overcame his Lordly and Imperious father; who although he had been driven out of his father's house for a time, and sent into the Country, because in his youth he was somewhat hard in apprehension, yet came he to the Tribune of the people (who had adjoined his father to appear in person to answer to a capital crime) and ask him what time of appearance, he had assigned his father. The Tribune hoping that he would betray his hated father, supposing that he had done herein a thankful office for the young man, he suffered him to see, (amongst other crimes he accused him of) how he had banished and driven him out of his house: which when the young man discovered, getting him alone in a secret place, he drew his dagger which he had hidden in his bosom, and said; Except thou swear to revoke this personal adiourniment of my fathers, I will thrust thee through with this weapon: It lieth in thy power to choose which of these two ways, my father shall have no accuser. The Tribune swore and kept touch with him: but he made it known in an assembly of the Roman people, why he had desisted from this accusation. It had not been possible for any other man to have overruled the Tribune after this manner, and to escape unpunished. CHAP. XXXVIII. divers examples might I produce of many other memorable children, who have delivered their parents from danger, that from a base degree have raised them to high estate, and from the meanest and ignoblest race of men, have given them eternal and indefinite honours: It cannot be expressed by any force of words or faculty of wit, how great a work it is, how praise worthy, and how perdurable and lasting in men's memory; justly to be able to say, thus much I have obeyed my parents: I have fulfilled their commandments in whatsoever it were, either right, or wrong; I have showed myself observant and submissive, in this only thing I have been wilful, that I would not be overcome by them in benefits: Fight valiantly therefore, I pray you young men, and though you were defeated, yet reinforce the fight anew. These that overcome shall be happy. They that shall be overcome shall be no less blessed; what person can ever receive more honour? then that young man, who may say unto himself (for it is not lawful for him to say it to an other) I have overcome my father in well-doing? Is there any old man more happy, than he that may vaunt in all places, and before the whole world, that he hath been overcome by his son in well-doing and benefiting? What greater happiness is there for a man so to yield unto himself? The end of the third Book. LUCIUS ANNAEUS SENECA Of Benefits. THE FOURTH BOOK. The Argument of JUSTUS LIPSIUS. HE handled curious matters for the most part, but (according to his usual custom) intermixed with those that are profitable. He demandeth whether a benefit or favour may be simply in itself desired? He proveth the affirmative against the Epicures, who measured all things by their profit. Amongst other arguments he teacheth by this, that the Gods also give benefits, which he proveth very amply against those that deny the Gods. Than he removeth some objections, which seem to teach, that profit is common in benefiting. And so he cometh to thanksgiving, and showeth that it is only to be yielded in regard of honesty, not of profit. Than he demandeth whether a benefit is to be given to him whom thou knowest will be ungrateful: he distinguisheth in this point, and partly affirmeth, and partly denieth. CHAP. I OF all those things (my AEbutius Liberalis) whereof we have entreated, there is nothing so necessary to be known, or (as Sallust saith) more carefully to be taught, then that which is now in hand; namely, whether to give a benefit, and to restore the like, be things which aught to be desired for the love of themselves. Some men there are which respect not honesty, but for profit sake, and admit not virtue without advantage (which hath nothing magnificent in itself, if it hath any thing that is mercenary.) For what is more loathsome, then for a man to make reckoning how much we aught to estimate an honest man, when as virtue is neither invited with gain, nor terrified with loss, and is so far from corrupting any with hope or promise, that contrariwise she commandeth men to spend all their substance on her, and for her sake; and more often contenteth herself with that which is given freely without demand? To follow her, a man must tread all profit under foot: whither soever she calleth, whither soever she sendeth, he aught to go, without respect or interest of his estate or private affairs: and sometimes also he must set forward with the hazard of his own blood and life, neither must he ever refuse her commandments. What reward shall I then have sayest thou, if I do this thing valiantly, or that thing gratefully? Only this, that thou hast done it; virtue promiseth thee nothing beside herself. If any profit casually befall thee, accounted it amongst thine accessary good haps. The price of honest things is in themselves, if then that which is honest be to be desired for itself, and a benefit being honest, the condition thereof cannot be different from honesty, because they are both of one nature. But that the thing which is honest is to be desired for itself, it is often and abundantly proved already. CHAP. II. IN this point I must wage war with the nice and effeminate troup of Epicures, that talk of Philosophy only at their banquet, with whom virtue is the vassal and handmaid of vicious pleasure● them she obeyeth, them she serveth, them she beholdeth preferred above herself. There is no pleasure (saith he) without virtue. But why is voluptuousness advanced before virtue? Thinkest thou we dispute of the order between them, not, the question is of the whole matter, and the power thereof, it is not virtue if it dance attendance after delight. The chiefest place is hers, she it is that must lead, command, and have the chiefest place: thou biddest her ask the watchword. What skilleth it thee, saith the Epicure? I also maintain, that a blessed life cannot be without virtue. I condemn and contemn the pleasure itself which I follow, and to which I have made myself a bondslave, if virtue be removed from it. The only question is in this, whether virtue be the cause of the chiefest good, or the chiefest good itself. Admit that this be the only thing in question, thinkest thou that there is but the only change of place and order only between them, that breedeth the difference? This is a very confusion, this is a manifest blindness, to prefer the last before the first. I am not displeased because virtue is placed after pleasure, but because it is any ways or at all compared, or paralleled with pleasures. Virtue is the despiser and enemy of delight, and estrangeth herself far from her, more familiar with labour and sorrow, more fitly to be inserted into manly incommodities, then into this effeminate felicity. CHAP. III. THese things (my Liberalis) were to be spoken of, because a benefit, (whereof we now entreat) is an act of virtue, and foul shame it were to give it for any other respect, then to have given it only. For if we do a courtesy in expectation of a recompense, than should we do it to the wealthiest, and not to the worthiest. Now we prefer a poor man unable to requited, before a rich man. It is no benefit that hath reference to Fortune, or hope of interest. Besides, if only profit should entice us to do good, they should do least good, that have most means. Such as are rich men, powerful men, and Kings, because they have lest need of other men's help. But the Gods likewise should withdraw their so many liberalities, which, without intermission, day and night they power upon us. For why, their proper nature and being sufficeth them in all things, and maketh them abundant, secure, and inviolable every way. To none therefore should they give their benefits, if their only cause of giving proceeded from no other intention, then to think on themselves and their own private commodities. This is no benefit, but a loan upon use, to respect not where you may best bestow it, but where you may place it most gainfully, whence you may most readily receive it. Which intention, seeing it is far estranged from the Gods: it followeth that they are divinely liberal. For if the only cause of giving a benefit, were the givers profit, and no profit is to be hoped or expected by God at our hands; there is no cause why God should be bountiful unto us. CAAP. FOUR I Know well what answer is made hereunto, These are the Epicures reasons, full of blasphemy and impiety. which is, that God bestoweth no good upon us, but is altogether careless and regardless of us, and not daring to cast his eyes upon this world, busieth himself about other matters or (which seemeth to the Epicure to be the chiefest felicity) he doth nothing, neither do benefits or injuries touch him. He that thus saith, heareth not the vows of those that pray, neither the cries nor vows which every one maketh, as well in private, as in public, lifting up their joined hands unto heaven: which undoubtedly would not be done, neither would all mankind consent unto this madness, to implore a deaf deity, and invocate such gods as had no power to help them, if they knew not assuredly that the Gods give benefits, sometimes of their own proper motion, otherwhiles upon prayers, that it is they, from whom we receive so many great graces in their due times and seasons, and that by their assistance we are put out of fear, of such imminent and eminent mischiefs, as daily threaten us: who is he that is so miserable, and rejected by heaven? who is he that is so disgraced, and borne to continual affliction and travel? that hath not sometimes felt these great favours and liberalities of the Gods? Do but behold, I pray you, even those who incessantly complain of their miseries, and who live so malcontented with their fortunes, yet shalt thou find, that they are not wholly exempted, and destitute of succours from heaven, and that there is no man on whom there hath not fallen some drops from this sweet and gracious fountain. Thinkest thou that it is a small matter which is equally distributed to all those that are borne in this world? And (to omit those things which the Gods bestow at their pleasure, with all proportion of measure) is it a small matter that nature hath given us, when she hath given us herself? CHAP. V DOth not God bestow all benefits upon us? In this Chapter followeth a nobl● contemplation of God's benefits, and men's negligence, and careless consideration ●herof. From whence then hast thou all those things whereof thou art possessed? which thou givest? which thou deniest? which thou keepest? which thou takest unjustly? From whence come the infiniteness of things that delight the eyes, affect the care, and please the understanding? From whence is this abundance, that furnisheth our royoto●s excess? For they have not only provided for our necessities, but we are tendered by them even unto delicacy also. From whence have we so many trees, bearing sundry sorts of savoury fruit, so many wholesome herbs, for the maintenance of our healths, such variety of meats, strong for all seasons through the whole year, that an idle sluggard may find by casualty sufficient sustenance upon the earth to feed and nourish him. Whence come so many sorts of beasts? whereof some are bread on the earth, other some in the water, and others descending from the air, to the end there might not be any part of nature, that should not be tributary unto us of some rent? The Rivers likewise, whereof some environ the plains, with their pleasant revolutions and roundness, other stream thorough their hollow and navigable channels, bring us merchandise from foreign seas, of which some at certain prefixed times take wonderful increase, so as the sudden force of the summers flood moisteneth and watereth those grounds which are situate and planted under the droughty and burning Zone. What shall I say of the veins of some medicinable waters? What shall I speak of the bubbling and boiling up of hot Baths even upon the very shores? And what of thee O mighty Lake, and thee Proud billowed Benac swelling like the See. 2 Georg. CHAP. VI IF a man had given thee a few acres of land, thou wouldst say that thou haddest received a benefit at his hands, and deniest thou that the unmeasurable extent of the barren earth is no benefit? If a man should give thee money, and fill thy coffer (for that seemeth a great thing in thy sight) thou wouldst term it a benefit. And thinkest thou it no favour, that God hath hidden so many metals in the earth, spread so many rivers on the sands, which floating, discover ingots of massy gold, silver, brass, and iron, which he hath hidden every where; that he hath given thee means and knowledge to find it out, by setting marks of his covert riches on the upper face of the earth? If a man should give thee a house enriched with marble pillars, if the cover thereof were resplendent, and painted with gold and goodly colours, thou wouldst highly esteem this present of his? God hath builded thee a great palace, without any danger of fear or falling down, wherein thou seest not little pieces, smaller than the chisel itself, wherewith they were carved, but entire huge masses of precious stone, all fastened and fashioned after a divers and different manner, the lest piece whereof maketh thee wonder at the beauty of the same: the roof whereof shineth after one sort by day, and after another by night: and wilt thou then deny that thou hast received any benefit at all? Again, whereas thou settest great store by that which thou hast, thinkest thou (which is the point of a thankless person) that thou art beholding to no body for them? Whence hast thou this breath which thou drawest? Whence cometh this light, whereby thou disposest and orderest the actions of thy life? From whence hast thou thy blood, in the motion and flowing whereof, thy natural heat is maintained? Whence come these meats, which by their delicate tastes and pleasing savours, invite thee to ●ate far more than thy stomach can digest? Whence come these things which awaken thy pleasures and delights, when thou art wearied? Whence cometh this quiet and repose, wherein thou ●ot●●st and witherest away? Wilt thou not say, if thou be'st thankful: From God springs this repose, and evermore Him for my God ●●e honour and adore. Virg. 1. ●cl●g. Upon his Altar, to perform my vow, A firstling Lamb my pastures shall allow: For he it is, as thou dost plainly see, That yields my wandering team their pasture free, He lets me time at pleasure, as they feed, My country lays upon mine ●●te● re●d. It is that God, which hath not only permitted us to feed a small number of meat, but that hath filled the whole world with great troops of cattle, that nourisheth all beasts which wander here and there, in so many and divers places; that giveth them new pa●ture● in Summer time, after they have eaten up their Winter provision: which hath not only taught us to play upon a reed, and after some manner to tune a reed, and delightfully sing to it; but also hath invented so many arts, so many varieties of voices, and so many sounds, to yield sundry tunes, some by force of our own breath, and some by a borrowed and external air. For thou canst not call those things ours, which we have invented, no more than thou canst call it our own doing that we grow, or that the body hath his full proportion, according to his determinate times. Now our teeth fall in our infancy, anon after we pass into an age, which in a few years giveth us all our increase, again, ripe age after our young and springing years, making us become more strong, settleth us in a perfect and manly age. Finally, we are come to the last period, which maketh an end of the care and course of our life. The seeds of all ages and sciences are hidden in us from our birth, and that great workman God produceth out of the hidden all natural instincts. CHAP. VII. IT is nature, saith he, that communicateth and giveth me all these things. Understandest thou not that in speaking after this manner, thou changest the name of God? For what else is nature but God, and a divine being and reason, which by his searching assistance resideth in the world, and all the parts thereof● A● often as thou listest thou mayest call him, sometimes the Author of all things, and sometimes jove, (most good and most mighty.) Thou mayest also well enarme him the Thunderer, and establisher, who had not that name given him, because (as the Historiographers writ) that after the Romans had made their vows unto him, he reinforced their hearts, and discomforted armies in the●● behalf: but because all things stand and are established by his benefit, he is therefore so called. Thou shalt not also lie, if thou call him Destiny, for whereas Fate and Destiny is but an immutable ordinance, which holdeth all cause's 〈◊〉 and chained together: he it is that is the first of all, and he on whom all the rest tha● follow do depend. Thou mayest fit him with any other names whatsoever thou wilt, provided that they signify and contain the force and effects of celestial things. In brief, he may have as many names, as he hath attributes of graces, wherewith he besteedeth us. CHAP. VIII. Our men likewise suppose that he is Father Liber, that he is Hercules and Mercury. Father Liber, because all things have had their being and original from him. Because that by his means we first of all found out, and knew the power and virtue of seeds, which should afterwards nourish us with a sweet and honest pleasure. Hercules, because his force is invincible, which when it shall be wearied in performing actions, and producing inferior things, shall return into fire. Mercury, because it is he from whom reason proceedeth, and the judgement, numbers, ranks and order of things, and all those sciences, which we term Liberal. Wither soever thou turnest thee, there shalt thou see him meet● with thee: nothing is void of him. He himself filleth his work to the full. Thou prevailest nothing then (thou ungratefullest man of the world) when thou avowest, that thou art no ways indebted to God, but to Nature: for neither is Nature without God, nor God without Nature. Both these two are but one, and differ not. If thou shouldest confess that thou owest to Ann●us or to Lucius, that which Seneca hath lent thee, thou shouldest only change the name, but not the Creditor. For whether thou callest him by his name or surname, it is always one man,. Call him then as thou pleasest, either Nature or Fate, or Fortune, it makes no matter, because they all are the names of the selfsame God, who diversely useth his divine providence. Even as justice, Integrity, Prudence, Magnanimity, Temperance, and the goods and virtues of the soul, if any of these please thee, it is then the soul that pleaseth thee also. CHAP. IX. But jest by these discourses I should wander, I say that God bestoweth many and mighty benefits, expenses without hope of interest or recompense: for he hath no need of our tributes, neither can we also give him any thing. A benefit therefore aught to be desired, for the love of itself; the only thing that is respected therein, is the profit of the receiver: herein let us employ ourselves, forgetting our own private commodities. You say (saith he) that we aught to make diligent election of those on whom we will bestow our benefits, (considering the labourers and husbandmen themselves, will not commit their seeds unto the sands) which if it be true, we regard in giving benefits, as we do in labouring and sowing our land: for to sow is not a thing that should be desired only of itself. Furthermore, you ask us to whom we aught to give our benefits? which should not be done, if to give a benefit were a thing to be desired of it itself, in what place soever, after what manner soever it was given, it was a benefit: for we follow that which is honest, for no other respect, but for the love of itself. Yet although no other thing be to be followed, we require what we shall do, and when, and how, for that honesty consisteth of these circumstances. When therefore I make choice of a man on whom I will bestow a courtesy, I do it to the end that I may never fail to do a benefit. Because if it be bestowed upon an unworthy man, it can be neither honest, nor a benefit. CHAP. X. TO restore a thing which a man is put in trust withal, The method of restitution. is a thing to be desired of itself; yet aught I not to restore it always, nor in all places, nor at all times. Sometimes it skilleth not whether I deny, or whether I restore the same in all men's sight, I will respect his profit to whom I am to restore it, and perceiving that by my restitution I shall do him injury, I will deny him his right. The same will I do in a benefit: I will see when I give, to whom I give, how I give, and why I give. For nothing is to be done without reason: it is no good turn, except it be done upon reason, because reason aught to accompany all honest things. How often have we heard men, that have reproved their own inconsiderate largesse, and cast forth these words, I had rather have lost it, then to have given it to such a one. It is the most villainous manner of losing that may be, for a man to give foolishly and without consideration: and it is much more distasteful to have employed a benefit badly, than not to have received any. For it is another man's fault, if we receive not, but it is our own, that we made better election and choice in bestowing it. In making my choice, I will respect nothing less than thou thinkest, namely from whom I shall receive satisfaction. Oftentimes he that never requiteth is grateful, and he ungrateful that hath made requital; my estimation aimeth at nothing but the mind and heart. And therefore will I overpass the rich unworthy man, and will bestow my courtesies on the poor good man: for in his greatest wants he will be thankful, and when all things fall him, his mind and true heart shall not fail him. I seek to raise no profit for my courtesies, neither affect I pleasure or glory: I content myself that I can pleasure one man. I will give to this only intent and end, that I may give that which I aught: and that which I aught to do, is not to be done without choice and election; which, of what quality it shall be, do you ask me the question? CHAP. XI. I Will choose an honest, simple, mindful, and grateful man, that usurpeth not upon another man's fortunes, nor niggardly hoardeth up his own, or intendeth evil unto any man. When I have made this election, although Fortune hath left this man no power to yield any satisfaction, yet have I accomplished my desire, and obtained my wish. If profit or base consideration maketh me liberal, if I profit no man, but to the end that he may pleasure me: I will not give a gratuity to him that travaileth into divers and foreign Countries: I will not give unto him that will be always absent; I will not give unto such a one, who is so sick, that there is no hope of his recovery, I will not give, whereas I am dying myself, for I shall have no time to receive friendship again. But to let thee know, that a benefit is a thing that aught to be desired for the love of itself: we secure strangers, that are upon the instant cast upon our coasts, and will presently departed for another: we must give and riggeship to such a one that hath suffered shipwreck, that it may carry him back again into his own country. He departeth suddenly, scarcely knowing him that was the author of his safety, and making no reckoning ever more to return or revisit him again. He assigneth the payment of his debt unto the gods, and beseecheth them, that since he hath no means of satisfaction, that it will please them to be thankful in his behalf: mean while the conscience of a barren benefit doth content us. Seest thou now, that at such time when we are at death's door, we make our last Will and Testament, and dispose our goods and possessions, although we can reap no profit thereby? How much time is spent; how long are we secretly deliberating how much and to whom we shall give? For what skills it to whom we give, if we shall receive of none? And yet we never give any thing more diligently, we never more travel and rack our judgements, then when as setting all profit aside, we only set honesty before our eyes: for so long are we evil judges of our own offices, as long as hope, fear, and pleasure (the dishonestest vice of all) depraveth our iudgemtnts. But when the assurance of death hath made us loose the hope of all things, and hath * That is, ourselves dying. See Lipsius his note. sent a just and uncorrupted judge to give sentence, then seek we out the most worthy, to whom we may deliver our inheritance; neither dispose we any thing with more circumspection and regard, than those our possessions which appertain no longer unto us. CHAP. XII. ANd undoubtedly, even then conceiveth a man the greatest contentment, when he thinketh with himself; I will make such a one more rich than he is, by giving him a piece of my possessions: I will increase the honour and nobility of his house: In brief, if we never give, but when we hope to receive again, we must die intestate. Thou maintainest (saith he) that a benefit is a debt unrepayable: but a debt is not a thing to be desired for itself, Ergo, benefiting or good doing, is not a thing to be desired of itself. When we call it a debt, we use a comparison and translation. So likewise say we that the law is a rule of just and unjust; and yet the rule is not to be desired as a thing of itself, but we are constrained to use these words, the better to express our intent and meaning. When I say a debt, it is to be understood as a thing trusted. Wilt thou know all? I add further, unrepayable, which shall never be satisfied; although there be not any debt, but either may or aught to be paid. Good deeds are not to be done and performed either for asse●●ation or vainglory, but for virtues sake. It is so far from it, that we aught to do a pleasure for our profit sake● that for the most part (as I have said) we aught to do it, though it were to our loss and peril. As for example; I rescue a man circumvented by th●●●●●, to the end he may be permitted to pass in security: I defend a guilty person, disgraced and oppressed by the credit of his adversaries, and purchase to myself the displeasure and faction of great men for my labour, to receive perchance by the means of the same, accusers, the disgraces and miseries I freed the poor man of: whereas I might have been party against him, or beheld a far off, and with all assurance the debates & contentions which were entertained by other men: I give caution for my friend adjudged, and suffer not execution to be served upon his goods, but offer myself to be bound for him to his creditors, and to save him from the prescription, I come in danger to be outlawed myself. No man determineth to buy a place near Tus●●, or Tiburtiné for his health sake, or for the sweetness of the air, and avoiding the summer heats, that debateth for how many years he shall buy it: but when he hath bought it, he must keep it. The same reason is in benefits. For if you shall ask me, what profit will accrue thereby: I will answer, a good conscience. Askest thou what pro●●t is yielded by benefiting? I ask thee likewise, what profiteth it to do justly, to live innocently, to be valiant and stout in honourable dangers, to live chastened, to be temperate, if thou seekest any other interest than themselves? CHAP. XIII. TO what end continueth the heaven his daily and usual course? To what end is it, that the Sun enlargeth and shorteneth the day? All these are but benefits, for they are made for our profit. Even as it is the office of this Universe, to turn about and dispose of the order of all things: as it is the office of the Sun, where he may arise, and where he may set, and to perform all these fair, profitable, and wholesome effects for our sake, without hope of any profit from us: so is it the duty of one man, amongst other things, to do good unto another. Askest thou me, why he giveth these benefits? Forsooth to this end, that he may not be upbraided with guing nothing, & that he may not loose the occasion of well-doing. But all your pleasure and delight, is to accustom your delicate bodies to a lazy idleness, and to long for a security, resembling that of sleep, to couch and lie hidden under a close covert and arbour, and to entertain the dullness of your decayed minds, and to honour them with sweet and agreeable thoughts, which you call tranquillity, and repose of spirit, to pamper your unwieldy carcases while they wax wan with meats and drinks, in the caves and cabinets of your gardens. Contrariwise, we feel a pleasure truly worthy a man in giving benefits: although that they breed us much sorrow and labour, provided they set them out of trouble for whom we do them: although they be full of danger, provided that we relieve others from their misery: although all be to the loss & diminution of our substance, provided that another man's poverty and necessity be relieved. What have I do to receive benefits at another man's hands? When I have received them, I must employ and bestow them. A benefit respecteth not our particular, but only his profit to whom it is given; otherwise we give unto ourselves, and not unto others. And by this reason many things which breed another man great profit, loose their grace, because they are done for gain. The Merchant is very profitable for the City, the Physician for the sick, and the * Mango is one that properly selleth slaves, young boys or girls, as their old custom was. Regrater for goods that are to be sold. But because all these are not profitable to any, but to enrich themselves, they oblige not those who receive good by them. CHAP. XIIII. IT is no benefit that is employed to profit. This will I give, this will I take, is but open sale and chaffering. I will not call her modest that repulsed her lover, to the end to enkindle his love the greater, that feared the law or displeasure of her husband: for as Ovid saith, She gave that did not give because she could not. Not undeservedly is she numbered amongst the dishonoured women that rather consecrateth her honesty to fear, then to the respect of her own self: In like manner he that hath given a benefit to the intent he might receive a requital, hath not given it. Shall we say that we do good unto beasts, when we fatten them for our service, or nourish them to yield us food? That we do good to our fruit-trees, or the Gardens, wherein they grow; when we dig about them, lest through dryness or hardness of the earth (if they were not well looked unto, or timely, and oft-times removed) they should grow barren & withered? no man manureth his fields for this cause only; because to labour is a thing good in itself: nor doth any other business, without hope of interest or gain. A covetous thought, and addicted to gain, will never breed in us a desire to do good: but a human and liberal heart, which after it hath given any thing, desireth still to give more, and redouble new courtesies upon the old: a heart that thinketh not what profit shall arise to him that giveth: for otherwise it is a base contemptible and abject matter to do good unto an other, for a man's particular interest and profit: what magnificence is it for a man to love himself? to think on nothing but his own thrift? to travail no ways but for himself? But the true desire of doing good unto an other, withdraweth us from all this; and laying hold on us, draweth us to our loss, and disdaining our particular good, highly rejoiceth in the act of well-doing only. CHAP. XV. CAn it be doubted, but that injury is contrary to a benefit? Like as to do an injury is a thing to be esteemed and shunned of itself; even so to do good is a thing to be coveted for itself. In the one the fear of dishonour hath more power over us, than all the recompenses that may move us to do any thing that is evil: and in the other the appearance of honesty, which hath great power and efficacy of itself, sufficiently inviteth us. I shall not lie if I say that there is not any one but loveth his own, and that there is not any man of so mortified a will, that conceiveth not a great contentment, to see him whom he hath oft-times pleasured, and hath not a desire to further him farther, because he hath done for him once before. Which thing could never come to pass, except we naturally took pleasure in our goods deeds. How oftentimes mayest thou hear some say. I cannot abandon him whose life I have saved, and whom I have already drawn out of danger? he beseecheth me to maintain his cause against his adversaries, who have great favour and authority: I will not: but what shall I then do? See you not how in this case, there is a certain peculiar virtue and power that constraineth us to secure him, and further to do him this good in his utmost necessity; first, because it behoveth us to do it; secondly, because before times we have done him the like pleasure? And although at the beginning we had no reason to secure him, yet at this time we will assist him, because we have already done it at another time. So far is it that profit should impel us to do a pleasure, that contrariwise we persever to maintain and nourish those things that are unprofitable, and conserve them for the only love we bear to our own benefits. And if we have been unhappy in doing pleasure to any one yet is there as great reason to pardon him, as to forgive our graceless children. CHAP. XVI. THese Epicures confess that they themselves do yield thanks, not for that it is honest so to do, but because it is profitable, yet with little labour we may easily approve that it is far otherwise. For by these very arguments, whereby we proue● that to give benefits is a thing to be desired in itself; by the same also we shall gather and conclude this: That it is a thing most assured, and from whence we gather all our proofs for all this dispute, that we prize not honesty, but only because it is honest. Who therefore dare draw it into question, that to remunerate a courtesy is not an honest thing? who is h●e that detesteth not an ungrateful man, who is only unprofitable to himself? But what wilt thou say of him (when thou hearest it reported) who is ungrateful and unthankful to his friend for his many and mighty benefits? how wilt thou endure him, and interpret it, whether he have played an unhonest part in so doing, or that he hath dealt fond, in omitting that which was for his commodity and profit? I think thou wilt account him a wicked man, and imagine that he rather deserveth some punishment, then needeth an overseer to order his estate to his profit. Which thing should not fall out so, unless honesty were a thing both honest and to be desired of itself. Other things perhaps have not their excellence and dignity so apparent, and have need of an interpreter to express whether they be honest or no. But this is so apparent and so beautiful, that it can not be doubted, but that the clearness thereof will shine very brightly. What thing is so laudable, what so equally entertained and allowed in all mo●s judgements, as to be thankful for benefits? CHAP. XVII. TEll me what cause induceth us hereunto? Is it gain? It is impossible, for he that despiseth not the same is ungrateful. Is it ambition? It cannot be, An ungrateful man neither feareth nor oweth. because to repay that which a man oweth, is no matter of glory, or occasion to bring it. Is it fear? The ungrateful man hath none, and therefore the Commonweal prefixeth no laws for giving thanks, because that nature hath sufficiently commanded us, and enjoined us to be grateful. As also there is no law that bindeth us to love our parents, nor to tender and cherish children. It should be but lost labour to constrain us, to do that whereunto nature summoneth us of herself. And like as no man needeth to be incited to self love, because he hath it by kind: so is no man to be exhorted to follow honest things or himself, virtue is so pleasing and gracious of her own nature● that the wickeder sort also have a certain instinct to approve the better. Who is he that would not seem to be bountiful? who is he that desireth not to be accounted good, even when he doth most wickedness and wrong? and when he hath most exercised his tyranny and cruelty, would not shadow the same under some surface of iustice●, that striveth not also to make men think that he hath done good unto those whom he hath most of all offended? And therefore they suffer themselves to be entertained at their hands, whom they have most of all afflicted, & feign themselves to be good and liberal, because they cannot approve themselves such: which they would not do, except the love of honesty, which is to be desired for itself, compelled them to seek a contrary reputation to their corrupt manners, and to conceal and cloak their wickedness, the fruit whereof is desired, but the thing itself is shameful and odious to them: neither is there any man so far estranged and sequestered from the law of nature, and degenerated from manhood, that would be nought for his minds sake only. Ask any of these Gallants that live by rapine and spoil, if they had not rather get their goods by any honest means, then by robbing and stealing? He that enricheth himself by spoiling and killing passengers, will rather wish to find those things he hath purchased, then take them by force; you shall find no man but had rather enjoy th● fruits of his wickedness, without performing the wickedness itself: we have this great benefit at nature's hands, that virtue permitteth each man● mind to be illuminated with her beams; and they which follow her not, have a full view of her. CHAP. XVIII. ANd to let thee know, that the affection of a grateful mind is to be desired for itself, it is certain that ingratitude aught to be fled and eschewed in itself. Because there is nothing that so much dismembreth and dissipateth men's friendship, as this vice. For in what other thing are we secure but in this, that we are helped by mutual offices, and interchangeable friendships? by this one and only commerce of benefits our life is not only assured, but better defended against all sudden incursions. Single us alone, what are we? but a pray and sacrifice for ravenous beasts, neither is there any blood more vile or easier to be spilled: for other beasts have sufficient force to maintain and defend themselves. Whatsoever beasts are bred to wander up and down, and to lead a solitary and separated life, are armed, weakness girteth in and gauleth man on every side: the force of his nails, the sharpness of his teeth hath not made him terrible to the rest, being naked and inform: society assureth and defenceth him. Two things hath she given him, to wit, reason and society, which make him, (although he be exposed to all other dangers) most powerful and puissant. And thus he, that being alone and separated, was the lest and feeblest to all the rest, is become the Master of all things. Society gave him the dominion over all living creatures, Society whereas he was borne for the Land, hath transmitted him into a sovereignty of an other nature, and made him Lord of the Sea likewise. Society hath repressed the violence of infirmities, purveyed succours and assistance for old age, and given comfort against sorrow. She it is that giveth us forces, and animateth us to resist fortune. Take Society away, and thou shalt extinguish and cut off the unity of mankind, whereby life is sustained. But you take it away, if you bring to pass that a thankless mind is not to be esteemed for itself: but because that he aught to fear, lest a greater mischief befall him. For how many ungrateful men are they, that may be ungrateful without punishment. To conclude, I call him ungrateful whosoever is grateful for fear. CHAP. XIX. NO man of sound understanding hath ever feared the Gods, It is not intended that the just man hath no fear of God, if ●eare be taken for one of the seven gifts of the holy Ghost: but this place is to be understood that love, which is not compatible with that love wherewith good men love God, but with him is a servile ●eare, which is not of children, but of slaves. for it is a madness to fear these, from whom we receive all our good and happiness, neither doth any man love those whom he feareth. Finally, thou Epicure, thou hast disarmed God, thou hast despoiled him of his arms and power, and lest he should be 〈◊〉 by any man, thou hast turned him out of the world. Being then after this manner begirt and environed with a strong and impregnable wall, separated and retired out of the sight, and touch of mortal men, thou oughtest to have no fear of him, because he hath no means to do either good or evil. But remaining alone betwixt the space and distance, which is between one Heaven and another, abandoned of all company of creatures and men, disfurnished of all things, he is out of danger of the ruins of the world, which he seethe fall above him, and about him, not making any reckoning of our vows and prayers, neither having any care of us. And yet such as he is, thy desire is that we should think that thou worshippest him, and that thou owest him as much reverence, as thou dost to thy father. All which thou dost, in my judgement, to this end only, that thou might'st not be accounted ungrateful: Or if thou dost it not to this end, if thou wilt not have us suppose that thou art thankful, because thou thinkest that thou hast received no benefit at his hands, and that happily thy little Atoms and mites, which thou hast fantastically coined in thy brain, have rashly and unsurely form and fashioned thee such as thou art, why dost thou worship him? It is (thou wilt answer) for the excellency of his great Majesty, and for his wondrous nature; I put the case that this be thus, at leastwise thou dost it without hope of any good, and without any persuasion or appearance of profit. There is therefore somewhat that is to be desired for itself, the dignity whereof inviteth and draweth thee to love the same, and truly, that is, honesty. For what is more honest then to be grateful? the matter of this virtue extendeth itself as far as our life. CHAP. XX. But in this good, saith he, there is some profit likewise: for in what virtue is it not? But that is said to be desired for itself, which although it have some commodities without itself, is notwithstanding well pleasing and acceptable, even when those commodities be removed and taken away. It is profitable for me to be thankful, yet will I be thankful although it be to my harm: what seeketh he that is thankful? Is it to the end that his acknowledgement may get him new friends, and more benefits? what if in so doing he should purchase other men's displeasure? if a man be assured that he shall gain nothing in restoring the good which he hath received, but contrariwise that he shall lo●e much of that he hath already gotten, and hoarded up in his cosfers; would he willingly light upon this los●e? undoubtedly, that man is ungrateful that fixeth the eye of his desire upon a second good turn, when he satisfi●th the first, hoping to make profit of that pleasure, whereof he acquitteth himself. I call him ungrateful that sitteth by a sick man, and continually attendeth by him, because he is to make his last will and testament, or hath so much leisure as to think of any inheritance or legacy. Although he do all things which a good friend (or such a one as is mindful of his duty) aught to do, if he conceive in himself any int●ressable hope, he layeth a snare, or as a fisherman armeth his bait, if he expect and linger after the death of the party, and hover about his carcase like carrion crows, which stand spying near at hand for the fall of some cattle by the rot, he will give an occasion for each man to think, that he doth but expect the death of his good friend, and doth but hover and haunt about his people. A thankful heart conceiveth no pleasure, but in the only virtue of his good intent. CHAP. XXI. WIlt thou know that this is true, and that a thankful man is not corrupted by profit? there are two sorts of thankful men. He is said to be thankful, that maketh satisfaction in some sort for that he hath received. This man peradventure may vaunt himself, he hath somewhat whereof to boast, and to speak of. He likewise is called thankful, that hath received a benefit with a good mind, and oweth it with as good. This man hideth himself in his own conscience: but what profit may he reap of an affection so deeply hidden? But that other man, although he wanteth means to do more, yet is he thankful: he loveth, he oweth, he desireth to yield satisfaction, what ask you more? he is not wanting to himself. A workman is a workman, although he want his tools to exercise his Art; and a cunning physician is a physician, although his very voice cannot be heard for muttering and noise that is made about him. I will give thanks for the good that is done me: after this there remaineth something for me to do, not that I may be thankful, but really acquit of my obligation. For oftentimes he that recompenseth is not thankful, and contrariwise, many that do it not, The mind and intent crowneth the action. are thankful. For as of all other virtues, so the whole estimation of this hath re●erence to the mind, if she be observant of that which concerneth her, whatsoever otherwise is deficient, is the error of Fortune. Even as a man ceaseth not to be eloquent, although he be silent, nor strong, although his hands be bound and fettered, neither a good Pilate, although he be upon the firm land, because he wanteth no perfection in his science, although there be some impediment that letteth them from using the same. Even so also is he thankful, that hath only a will to be thankful, and hath no other witness of his willingness, but himself. Nay I will say thus much more, sometimes even he is thankful, which seemeth unthankful, and whom misdeeming opinion traduceth for the contrary. A good conscience contemneth oppression being erect and confirmed in itself. Wherein then reposeth this man his trust, but in his conscience, which rejoiceth in itself, although it be oppressed, which reclaimeth and gain-sayeth all that eloquence can urge, or favour detract: and reposeth all things in herself? And though she seethe never so huge a multitude of men that reprove her intentions, she maketh no reckoning of the contrary opinions, but thinketh to justify herself in her own secret judgement. And albeit she perceive, that her faithfulness bear the punishment of perfidiousness, yet she abateth no whit of her courage, neither is abashed thereat, but standeth still aloft, above her punishment. CHAP. XXII. I Have (saith he) that which I would, and that which I desired: I have not as yet repent me, neither will I ever repent my s●lf●● neither shall Fortune (how adverse soever she be) 〈…〉 this pusillanimity, as to make me say● What is that I intended? where●● hath my good will now profited me● It profitteth me when I am on the rack●: it profitteth me being in the midst of the fire, which if it should be applied to every member of my body, and by little and little should enthrone and devour the same on every side, although my body (fraughted with a good conscience) should be put into a fl●ming fire, and tortured and burned therein, yet would the fire be pleasing to me, because thorough it my spotless ●aith would shine and appear. I will now once more reinforce that argument which I have used in times past. Why is it, that when we die we are desirous to be grateful? Why examine we every particular man's deserts? Why endeavour we to refresh the memory of all our life past, to this intent, that we might seem to be forgetful of no man's kindness. At that time there remaineth nothing for hope to linger upon, and yet standing at the pits brim, our desire is to departed this world, to every man's satisfaction. The reason is, because the proper act of thanksgiving draweth with it a most great reward of itself, and the force of virtue is very great, to draw men's hearts unto it, and the beauty of honesty so environeth and surpriseth men's minds, that it ravisheth them with the admiration of the light and brightness thereof, yea many commodities ensue thereby. For the life of such as are honest is more secured and innocent; which is accompanied with a thankful soul, and out of fear. Nature had dealt unjustly with v●, if she had made us partakers of so great a benefit, with misery, danger, and uncertainty. But, Innocence in danger is confident, in prosperity mild, in all encounters happy. consider I pray you, although thou mightest easily, and without danger attain very often to this virtue by an assured and easy way, whether thou couldst not found in thy heart to make thy way thereunto, by unaccessible rocks, through stony ways, full of Serpents and savage beasts. CHAP. XXIII. YEt aught we not to say, that a thing should not be desired for the love of itself, because it is accompanied with some foreign profit that attendeth it. For we see almost daily, that the fairest things are accompanied with accessary endowments, but yet so as they draw these commodities after them, and they themselves go before. May it be doubted, but that the course and circular motion of Sun and Moon, do temperate this dwelling place of mankind by their divers changes? Or that by the heat of the Sun, all bodies are cherished, the earth is relaxed and opened, superfluous moistures abated, and the irkesomenes of Winter that bindeth all things allayed, or that by the effectual and piercing warmth of the Moon the ripening fruits are moistened? Or that the fruitfulness of man is answerable and correspondent to her course: or that the Sun by his proper motion maketh the year discerneable and the Moon by her circumvolution in shorter space maketh the month. But admit you take these virtues from the Moon, were not the Sun of itself worthy to be beheld and admired in our sight, though he did but swiftly pass before our eyes. Were not the Moon to be admired by us, although she ran by us but as an idle Star? When the heaven by night time darteth out his lights, when we behold such an infinity of Stars shine upon us, Admiration of these things accompanied with devotion, what admirable ●ffects werke they in the Soul? who is he that is not ravished to behold them? Who is he that seeing himself to be surprised by so great a wonder, hath leisure at that time to think on the good and profit that they bring? Behold, those Stars that glide aloft in the still firmament, after what sort hide they their swiftness, under an appearance of a standing and immovable work? How much is done this night, which thou observest only for a reckoning and difference from the days? What a troup of things are unfolded under this silence? What an order of destinies doth this certain bound bring forth? These things which thou beholdest no otherwise, but as matters dispersed for beautifying, are every one of them occupied in working. For thou canst not imagine that the seven Planets only have their designed motions, and the rest stand fixed, will comprehend the motion of very few. But there is an infinite number of * A Stoical error, who ascribe Deity to the Stars. gods, which are far severed and withdrawn from our sight, which both go and come. And of those which are subject to our sight there are divers, that have obscure motions and hidden courses. What then shouldest thou not be strooken with admiration to behold so huge a work, yea though it ruled thee not, preserved thee not, cherished thee not, engendered thee not by his winds, and moistened thee not by the air? CHAP. XXIIII. NOw, even as these things, although they have their first and principal uses, and are both necessary and profitable for our life yet it is the maiesti● of them that occupieth the whole mind. Even so all virtue (and especially the virtue of gratefulness) yieldeth very much profit, yet will it not be loved for the same; for it hath yet a further thing in it, neither is it sufficiently understood by him, which accounteth it amongst gainful things. Is a man thankful because it concerneth his own profit? Ergo, also he is thankful, but for so much as implieth his profit. Virtue entertaineth not a covetous and base minded Lover, she will be courted with open hands and a liberal heart. The ungrateful man thinketh thus: I would feign requited the courtesy I have received, but I fear the charge and expense, I fear the peril, I am afraid of displeasure, I will rather do that which is more profitable and secure for me. One and the same cause and reason, cannot make a man thankful, and ungrateful: as their actions are divers, so their intentions are different. The one is ungrateful although it behoveth him not, because it is for his profit, the other is grateful although it be against his profit, because he aught so to be. CHAP. XXV. We are resolved to live conformable and agreeable to nature, and to follow the example of the gods. But in all that whatsoever the gods do, they follow nothing else, but the reason of doing that they do, except happily thou imaginest, that they receive the fruit of their labours out of the smoke of entrailss, and the odour of the incense which is consumed in their sacrifices. Consider how great things they achieve and compass daily, with what abundant fruits they replenish the earth, with how seasonable and favourable winds (fitly serving to convey us into all foreign Coasts) turn they and move they the Seas, with how many and sudden showers mollify they and moisten they the earth, and replenish the dried veins and fountains, and renew them by infusing nutriment, by the hidden and secret Spring-heads. All these things do they without any recompense, and without any profit that may accrue unto them. This example also aught our reason to observe (if it disagree not from this pattern and precedent) jest it follow honest things, as if hired and engaged. Let us be ashamed to cell the lest courtesy that we do. The Gods expect no recompense for that they do. If thou wilt imitate the Gods (saith he) thou must pleasure even those that are unthankful: for the Sun riseth upon the wicked, and Pirates have the sea open unto them. CHAP. XXVI. IN this place they demand whether a good man may employ his benefits on an unthankful man, knowing him to be such a one? Give me leave to speak somewhat by the way, jest I be entangled with a doubtful question. There are, according to the opinion of the Stoics, What a burden hath iniquity on his back? two sorts of ungrateful men. The one ungrateful, because he is a fool, and wanteth judgement; but he that is a fool, is consequently evil, and an evil man is replenished with all kinds of vices, and therefore is ungrateful. In like manner we term evil men intemperate and dissolute, covetous, prodigal, and malicious, not that these great and notorious vices are incident to every evil man, but because they may be, and are in them, though undiscovered. The other is ungrateful, which in all men's judgement and voices is termed so; and for that by nature he is prove and inclined thereunto. To that ungrateful man, that so is not free from this vice, as he is free from no vice, a good man may do a courtesy and kindness: for should he but reject those of this condition, he should do good unto no man? But unto this ungrateful man, which is a defrauder of benefits, who naturally hath his heart addicted to ingratitude, he shall no more give a benefit, then to trust his money to a bankrupt, or leave a pledge in his hands, who hath heretofore defrauded many others of their right. We call him coward who is a fool; for this followeth those wicked persons, The description of a Coward. who are indifferently seized of all kinds of vices: but properly we accounted and call him a coward, who naturally is affrighted with the the lest trifling noise he heareth. So a fool hath all vices, but is not naturally wicked unto all: one is subject to avarice, the other to prodigality and outrageous expenses, the other to shameless petulancy and wantonness. CHAP. XXVII. THey then are deceived, who question with the Stoics after this manner. For he was called Aristides justus. What then, is Achilles a coward? What then, is Aristides (to whom justice gave his name) unjust? What then, is Fabius (who by cunctations and delay, restored his decaying Commonweal) rash? What then, feareth Decius death? is Mutius a traitor? is Camillus a forsaken? No, we intent no such matter; neither say we that all sorts of vices are so inseparably united in all men, as in some there are particular faults, and they more eminent. But this we say, that a foolish and wicked man is subject and inclined to all vices, in so much as we acquit not the bold man of fear, nor discharge the prodigal man of niggardize. Even as man is naturally endowed with all his five senses, An apt similitude. and yet all men are not so quicksighted as Lynceus: so he that is a fool hath not all vices, so vehement and disordinate as some of them, have some vices. All vices are in all men; yet are not all of them eminent in every man. Nature impelleth one man unto covetousness, this man to lust, that man she addicteth to wine, or if not as yet addicted, yet is he so form, that his disposition draweth him thereunto. For this cause (that I may return unto my purpose) I say that there is no man that is not stained with ingratitude, and that is evil: for he hath all the seeds of wickedness in him, yet properly he is called ungrateful, who is more inclined to that vice. On such a one therefore will I bestow no benefit. For like as he hath very little care of his daughter, that marrieth her to a contumelious and often-divorced husband: and as he is esteemed an ill husband and householder, who preferreth to the stewardship of his house, and government of his patrimony to one already condemned for ill managing his master's business. And as he committeth a great folly, and maketh a mad will, that leaveth such a one Tutor and governor of his heir, that hath been a spoiler, an overthrow of innocent Orphelins. So shall he be reputed to bestow his courtesies very inconsiderately, who maketh his choice of ungrateful men, on whom he may bestow that which is sure will be lost. CHAP. XXVIII. THe Gods also (saith he) give many things to ungrateful men: but these, had they prepared for the good, yet befall they the evil also, because they cannot be separated. And more reason is it to profit the evil for the goods sake, then to abandon the good for the evils sake. So those things thou speakest of the day, the Sun, the intercourse of Winter and Summer, the temperate sweetness of the Spring and Autumn, the rains, the water-springs, and the ordinary blasts of winds, were devised by the Gods for all men in general, they could not sever and separate them, only for those they intended good to. The King giveth honours to those that are worthy, but he oftentimes yields public largesse, and presents of victuals to those that deserve it not. The thief, the perjured man, the adulterer (provided always that he be a Citizen) received the public largesse of wheat, which is monthly given to the people of Rome, without respect of his manners, when there is any thing that is to be bestowed simply, as upon a Courtizen, and not upon a good Citizen, both the good and bad receive the same indifferently. God likewise hath given some things in general to all mankind, from whence no man is excluded. For it could not be, that the winds should be favourable to the good, and contrary to the wicked. It was the good and profit of all nations, that the seas were open and navigable, for the good of the merchant's traffic, and to extend the Kingdom of mankind. Neither could there a law be prefixed to the rain, that it should not as well water and overflow the lands of the wicked and unjust. There are certain things which are common, both to the one, and to the other. Cities are built, as well to entertain the good, as the evil: the monuments of learned men's wits are published and vented abroad, to be read as well to the reprobate, as the virtuous. Medicine ministereth help even to the most debauched. No man ever concealed the composition of wholesome medicines, for fear jest the unworthy should be healed. Seek thou a strict account and valuation of persons, in those things which are given severally unto a man, as a man worthy, and not in these things which confusedly admit the common sort. For there is a great difference betwixt choosing a man, and not repulsing him. The law is open to all men, the murderers themselves envy the peace, and they which have stolen another man's goods, recover their own. Such as are quarrelers, and ready to strike any man in time of peace, are defended from the enemy with a wall in time of war. Those that have most oftentimes offended the laws, are maintained and conserved with all assurance, under the authority thereof. In brief there are some, though of that nature, that they could not be applied to some persons in particular, except they were granted unto all in common. There is no cause therefore, why thou shouldest dispute of these things, whereunto we are publicly induced. That which in my choice and judgement I would give to any virtuous man, I will carefully provide that I cast it not away on such a one, whom I know to be ungrateful. CHAP. XXIX. WIlt thou not then (saith he) give counsel to an ungrateful man, who would take thine advice in his affairs: nor permit him to draw water out of thy fountains: nor show him the way if he be out of it? or wouldst thou do these things for an ungrateful man, yet refuse him afterwards all other sorts of good? I will distinguish in this point, or at leastwise I will endeavour to distinguish the same. A benefit is a profitable work, T●● difference between a profitable work and a benefit. but every profitable work is not a benefit. For some things are of so small moment, that they deserve not the name of a benefit. Two things must concur in making of a benefit. First, the greatness of the thing, for some things there are, that undergo the measure of this name: who ever accounted it a benefit, to have given a shive of bread, or a piece of bore money, or to have permitted a neighbour to enter and kindle fire in his house● And yet sometimes these things do a man more pleasure then far greater: but the besenes of them diminisheth their reputation, even then, when the necessity of the time maketh them needful. Again, we aught to consider that which is principal and of greatest force: which is first of all, that I do it for love of that person, to whom I would give my benefit, and whom I accounted worthy to receive the same. Finally, that I do it with a good will● and that I feel● in myself a great joy and pleasure that I do it. Of which points there are none at all in these things that we speak of; for we bestow them not as upon worthy men, but carelessly as small things, and we give it not unto the man, but unto humanity. CHAP. XXX. I Deny not but that sometimes I may bestow some things on those that are unworthy for other men's sakes. As oft-times in the pursuit of honours and dignities, the ancient Nobility of houses hath been the cause, that those men were preferred, who were unprofitable, and of base estimation, before those that were learned and of good spirits. Honour enkindleth good spirits, and maketh labour pleasing. Not without cause is the memory of great virtues sacred; and many men affect goodness with greater delight, when they perceive that the honour of good men dieth not with them. What merit made Cicero's son Consul, but the memory of his father? What thing is it that caused Cinna of late (returning from the Enemy's camp) to be honoured with the Consulship? why was Sextus Pompey, This Sextus Pompey was the Son of Sextus Pompeius, who was Consul the year 1218. and the rest, that have borne the name of the Pompey's, preferred in the like manner, but for the excellency and virtue of one only man, whose greatness was so great, that his ruin & death could raise so many of his posterity, to so worthy estimation? What made Fabius Persicus lately (that was so hateful in the most abi●ctest men's eyes, that they disdained to kiss him) attain unto the Priesthood of so many Colleges, but only the same of the Verrucosians and Allobrogicks, These were of the Fabian Family. & of those three hundred, that opposed one family against the intrusion of their enemies in their Country's defence? So much ar● we indebted unto virtues, that we aught to respect them, not only while they be present, but also when they are most distant & out of sight. Even as those virtues wrought this effect, that they profited not only one age, but left their benefits behind them to all ages: so let us not be grateful to one age only. This man hath begotten noble children, he is then worthy of good turns whatsoever he himself is, because he hath brought forth such. Another is borne of noble Ancestors, whatsoever he himself is, let him be shrouded under the shadow of his Ancestors. Like as obscure and unclean places are lightened by the repercussion of the Sunbeams, It is some part of happiness to be borne of good parents. so let idle and unworthy men be illustrated by the light of their forefathers. CHAP. XXXI. IN this place, my Liberalis, I intent to excuse the gods. For sometimes we are wont to say, Whereat aimed the providence of the gods, when they committed the government of a Kingdom to * Alexander's Brother. Aridaeus hands? Thinkest thou it was given him? It befell him for his fathers and his brother's sake. Why gave she the Empire of the whole world to Caius Caligula, a man so insatiate of man's blood, that he commanded the same to be shed before his eyes, as if he had a desire to drink and devour it with his mouth? What, thinkest thou, that this greatness was given him for his own merit? Not, it was given to his father Germanicus; it was for his grandfathers, and great grandfathers sake, and to others no less famous men their predecessors, although they led a private and ordinary life. What, when thou madest Scaurus Mamercus Consul, didst thou not know, that he received with open mouth the monthly excrements of his unchaste chambermaids? For did he dissemble? Would he seem to be pure? I will relate unto thee a speech of his own, which was ordinary in every man's mouth in my remembrance, and was commended in his own presence: Asinius Pollio being on a time laid upon his bed ●he said unto him (but with words unworthy to be named) that he would do that unto him, which he had rather suffer himself. And seeing that Pollio was displeased therewith, and that he began to ●●nd his brows. If I 〈◊〉 spoken any evil (s●id he) I 〈…〉 upon me and on my head. * This speech is objected, not to Liberalis, but to providence. This saying of his ●e himself bla●ed 〈…〉 thou admitted a man so openly shameless & impudent to the Mac●● 〈…〉 bunal of Consuls? Verily when thou b●though●●● thee of that old 〈◊〉, the Prince or prime man of the S●nate in times pa●●s ●hou couldst not suffer his race and posterity to be ab●sed or extinguished. CHAP. XXXII. Easy it is for us to percol●e how the goddis deal● more favourably with some for the merits and deserts of their fat●●r●, and predecessors, and with other some for the towardness that shall be in their children, and children's children's and in those that hereafter shall descend from their post●ritie. For they know the successive order of their works, and they hau● an infallible science of all those things which are to pass thorough their hands, although they are f●rre remo●● from our knowledge and understanding. All these reasons he urgeth in the person of God. The things that we suppose to be casual and sudden, are foreseen and familiar to them. Le● these be Kings (s●y they) because their ancestors have not been, but imagined it to be a true Kingdom, to be just and abstinent. And because they have not used the commonweal for their profits, but dedicated their persons to the service and increase thereof. Let these men reign because some good man was their great grandfather, whose mind was greater than his fortune, who in civil dissensions chose rather to be vanquished, then to vanquish; because it stood with the profit of the Commonwealth. His goodness could not be requited all this whil●● In respect of that man, let this man have pre-eminence over others, no● because ●e is of knowledge and ability how to use it, but because the other hath deserved ●t for him: for peradventure this man is in body mis●apen, in countenance loathsome, and will be a slander to the place and persons of his advancement. * From hence, to the end of the Chapter all is disjointed. Now will men find fault with me, and say, that I am blind, and rash, and ignorant where to bestow the things that are due to the chiefest and excellentest persons. But I know that the giving of this thing to the one, is a satisfaction of it to the other, to whom it was due long since. Whereby do they know such a certain man, who was such a contemner of glory, when it followed him, that he adventured upon peril with the same countenance that others escape it, and th●t never made difference betwixt his own profit and the profit of the Commonwealth? Where is this man? who is he? how know you him? Th●se reckonings of such receipts and payments are stricken out of my bookes● I know what and to whom I owe. To some I make payment after long time, to other some I give aforehand, or else I deal with them according as occasion and the utility of my commonwealth requireth. CHAP. XXXIII. SOme things I will then give to an ungrateful man, yet will I not give it for his own sake. But if (saith he) thou knowest not whether he be thankful or ungrateful; wilt thou expect until thou know the same? or wilt thou not loose the opportunity of giving the benefit? It is too long to expect: for (as Plato saith) it is hard to conjecture what a man's mind is, and not to expect is rashness. To him we will answer, that we will never expect a certain comprehension and knowledge of things, because it is a difficult matter to find out the truth; but that we follow that way whereunto the similitude of truth leadeth us. All men's offices and actions proceed this way; under this hope we sow our lands: thus ●aile we, thus undertake we war, thus marry we, thus bring we up our children; whereas the event of all these is uncertain. To those things address we our enterprises, whereof we believe that we may hope the best. For who can warrant a rich harvest to him that soweth, a safe Port to him that saileth, victory to him that warreth, a modest wife to him that marrieth, toward children to him that begat them? We follow those things whereunto reason induceth us, not those whereunto truth draweth us. If thou expectest to do nothing except thou be secured of the good success, if thou lingerest until such time as thou hast found out the truth, thy life will become unprofitable and idle, neither shalt thou ever dare or attempt any thing: whilst the appearance of truth impelleth me to do this or that, I will not fear to give a benefit to him, who in my opinion and in all likelihood, will approve himself thankful. CHAP. XXXIIII. Many things may chance (saith he) whereby we may take a bad man to be good, a good man to be bad, because the appearances of things whereunto we give credit do oftentimes deceive us. Who denieth this? But I found nothing else, by which I should govern my thoughts. By these footsteps must I pursue the truth; more assured I have none. This will I endeavour to examine with all diligence, neither will I assent unto them over quickly. For so may it fall out in war, that being deceived by some false appearance, I may aim mine arrow against my fellow Soldier, leaving mine enemy untouched and in safety, but this both seldom times falleth out, and not by mine error: whose purpose was to wound mine enemy, and defend my fellow Citizen. If I know him to be ungrateful I will give him no benefit. But he cozened me, he deceived me; here is no fault of him that giveth, for I gave it as to a thankful man. But if (saith he) thou hast promised to do a man a pleasure, and afterwards thou findest him to be ungrateful, wilt thou give it or no? if thou dost it thou offendest willingly, for thou givest to him, thou oughtest not to give: if thou deniest, in this case likewise thou offendest, because thou performest not that which thou hast firmly promised. Sapientis est mutare consilium. Your sect in this place staggereth and trippeth, and that proud promise of theirs, that a wise man never repenteth himself of that which he hath done; neither ever reformeth his actions, nor changeth his counsel, beginneth to be shaken. A wiseman changeth not his counsel, as long as the cause and circumstances continued the same, as they were when he determined. And therefore never repenteth he himself in any thing, because nothing could be better done at that time than was done, nor nothing better ordered then that which was ordered. Finally, all things he undertaketh, he attempteth them with this condition, if nothing fall out that may interrupt his sage designe●. And therefore say we, that all things befall him to his wish, that nothing hath be●●●ed him contrary to his expectation, because he presumeth in his mind, that sundry things may fall out which may cross his purpose. Fools are they, that are too confident, and who promise unto themselves over peremptorily, that Fortune will favour them, but a wise man considereth her both waye● he know●th very well what sway error beareth, how uncertain worldly things be, and how many things hinder men's determinations: he followeth variable Fortune, and the hazards of human affairs, with an uncertain and doubtful hope, expecting with assured counsel the uncertain ends thereof. But the conditions, without which he beginneth and enterpriseth nothing, warrantise him sufficiently herein. CHAP. XXXV. I Have promised to do a pleasure, except there fall out some occasion whereby I am letted from giving that I intended● but what if the Commonweal command me to give that unto her which I have promised my friend, if a public law be made that no man shall do that which I have promised my friend to perform. I have past my word to give thee my Daughter in marriage, and afterwards thou art convicted to be a foreigner, with whom we are forbidden to contract matrimony. The law that prohibiteth, that, defendeth also my cause: then shall I break my word, then shall I be justly taxed with inconstancy; if all the circumstances continuing as they were when I promised, I neglect to perform the same: Because otherwise whatsoever thing is changed, giveth me liberty to determine anew, and dischargeth me of my former obligation. I have promised to plead thy cause, and afterwards I find that the prosecution thereof will in the end redound to my father's prejudice. The law of bounty is limited by circumstances. I have promised thee to take ● long journey with thee, but afterwards upon better instructions, I understand that the way is dangerous and full of thieves, I intended presently to come and visit thee about thine instant business, but my child's sickness, or my wife's falling in labour, kept me at home. All things aught to be in the same estate, they were, when I promised thee, if thou wilt that my faith be obliged unto thee. But what greater change may there happen then if hereafter I am informed that thou art an ungrateful and wicked man? That which I gave thee, as to a worthy man, I will refuse thee as a man unworthy, and further more I shall have a just cause to be angry with thee, because thou hast deceived me. CHAP. XXXVI. YEt will I nearly examine the greatness of that I have promised. The value of the thing, which I have promised to bestow, shall give me counsel. If it be a small matter, I will give it; not because he is worthy, but because I have promised. Neither will I give it as a benefit, but only to redeem my word, and hereafter will I take better heed, and by my loss I will chastise my rashness in promising; and to the end I may have a more feeling and sensible apprehension of the same, and henceforward be more circumspect in that I speak, I will, (as the common proverb saith) pay a fine for my tongue. But if it be a thing of greater price, I would not, (as Mece●as saith) spend two hundredth and fifty thousand crowns, to buy mine own blame: I will diligently compare both these things between themselves. It is something to keep a man's word when he hath promised, and again it importeth very much to take care that we give to such a one as deserveth the same: yet must we consider how great our promise is: If it be a thing of small value, I will give it as though I winked thereat. But if it may be either greatly to my loss, or greatly to my shame. I had rather excuse myself once for not doing it, then condemn myself always for giving it. In brief, all the weight of the matter consisteth (as I say) in this to know of what value and estimate the promise is that I have made. For I will not only retain that which I have rashly promised, but I will redemand also that which I have given amiss. He is out of his wits, that binds his faith for an error. CHAP. XXXVII. PHILIP of Macedon had a valiant and brave Soldier, who had faithfully served him in all his wars, to whom in remuneration of his virtue, he had oftentimes given a good part of that which he had taken from the enemy, & encouraged him with rewards, he being a man of a mercenary mind. It fortuned that this Soldier was shipwrecked and cast away at Sea, and that the tempest and billows cast him on the shore near to a certain Macedonians dwelling place, who being advertised of this his fortune, ran unto him, and recovered him to life, being well-nigh dead. He carried him unto his own house, he lodged him in his own bed: he entertained this forlorn man so carefully and kindly, that he recovered his forces, he maintained him thirty days at his own charge, he relieved his necessity, and gave him money and means to bring him back again to the army. This Soldier, upon his departure, told him this very often; If I ever chance to see my Prince again, I will requited this thy kind entertainment. Certain days after being arrived at the camp, he failed not to tell Philip of his unhappy shipwreck, but he concealed who had succoured him, and forthwith besought him to give him a certain man's lands, and this was his heritage who had so graciously entertained him, and with so much care and diligence had preserved him from death. You may see (by the way) how Kings now and then, (but especially in war) give many things, their eyes being shut: no one man alone is able to satisfy so many armed desires; there is not any man that at one time can be a good man, and a good General. How shall so many thousands of unsatiable men be satisfied? what shall they have if every man may keep his own? This said Philip to himself, when he commanded him to be put in possession of those Lands he demanded. This man thus violently thrust out of his possessions, smothered and smoohed up this injury, not as a Clown, but with much silence & sufferance, contenting himself with this; that though they had usurped his possessions, they had not restrained him of his liberty, and privily wrote a short and stout letter unto Philip, A lesson for Princes that are oftentimes thus deluded and blinded. wherein he discovered the injury which was done him, upon the reading whereof, Philip was so displeased, that he presently commanded Pausanias to restore the land to the former Lord, and as for the other reprobate and dishonest Soldier, ungrateful guest, and covetous castaway, to brand him in the forehead, to witness that he was an ungrateful and unthankful guest. Truly, he was worthy, not that these letters should be written, but engraven on his forehead, that expulsed and exposed his Host, like to a naked and shipwrackt-wretch, on that very shore, where once he had succoured him. We shall afterwards see what more greater punishment he deserved: mean while those goods were to be taken from him, which he had so injuriously usurped. The reason why this ungrateful man was to be punished. And who would be moved at his punishment, who had committed such a heinous crime, that might be the cause, that no man hereafter would count miserable the misery of the most miserable? CHAP. XXXVIII. Shall Philip be constrained to perform his word unto thee, because he hath promised thee, although he aught not to do that, though he injury another man, though he commit a heinous crime, although by this one act of his, he locketh up the havens, and shutteth up theports against those that are shipwrecked? It is no point either of lightness or inconstancy, for a man to forsake a known and condemned error. And a man aught ingeniously to confess and say, I thought otherwise, I am deceived. But this is a perseverance in an arrogant foolishness to say, That which I have spoken once, whatsoever it be, I will abide by it, and make good my word. It is no shame to change a man's opinion, when the business is changed. Go to, if Philip had left him in possession of these demesnes, and that sea-coast which he had gotten by his shipwreck, had he not barred all miserable men from relief? It is better (saith he) that thou shouldest carry throughout my kingdom these letters engraven in thy most shameless forehead, more worthy to be written in thine eyes. Show thou in thy punishment, how sacred a thing the table of hospitality is. Let all the world read this my law, enregistered in thy countenance, by which is decreed, that it is no capital matter, to entertain any miserable person into a man's house. So shall this constitution of mine be more strongly ratified, then if I had engraven the same in brass. CHAP. XXXIX. WHy then (saith he) did your Zeno, when he had promised a certain man to lend him five hundred pence, and had found him to be insufficient, and not able to repay him, contrary to the advice of his friends, who counseled him not to do it, persevered in trusting him, because he had promised him? First there is one condition in a debt, another in a benefit. If I have lent my money to an evil debtor, yet have I means to recover it again: I may call any debtor into justice, when the term of payment is come, and if he break or play the bankrupt, I shall have a portion of my debt, but the benefit is wholly lost instantly. Moreover, this is the act of an evil man, that of a bad husband. Again, neither would Zeno have persevered to credit him, if the sum had been greater, it was but five hundred pence; put case (as it is commonly said) that he had spent it in a sickness, was it so much worth not to revoke his promise. I will come to supper (although it be cold) because I have promised, but if it snowed or were bad weather, I would not step out of my doors. I will arise out of my bed to accompany a Bridal, because I have promised (although I have not sufficiently slept or digested my meat) but not at all, if a favour surprise me. I will come and give my word for thee, because I have promised, but not if thou wouldst make me stand bound for an uncertain thing, or if thou wilt bind me to the Exchequer. I tell thee there is always a secret condition implied; so I be able● so it be lawful. If thou wilt have me keep my promise, set the matter in the same state, that it was in when thou demandedst, that it was in when I promised. It can be no point of lightness to disappoint one, The condition of the Prince may altar the Counsel. if there happen any alteration by the way: why wonderest thou if I change my counsel, when the conditions of my promise are changed? I am ready at this time to be the same I was then, if thou show me all things in that estate I left them: we promise' to make appearance for my friend, yet is it not performed. For if there be any one that is hindered by force, or by a lawful cause he is excused by essoin. CHAP. XL. THe same also will serve for an answer to this demand; whether a courtesy is to be requited in any wise, or whether a benefit be every way to be restored? I am bound to yield a thankful heart, but sometimes mine infelicity suffereth me not to make requital; and sometimes his felicity, to whom I am indebted: for what can I, being poor, restore to a King or a rich man? whereas some suppose it to be an injury to receive a benefit, and benefits do always burden the receiver with other benefits. What other satisfaction can I make unto such a person, then to be willing to acknowledge their goodness. For I aught not to reject his new benefit, because I have not satisfied for the former, I will receive as willingly as it is given me: I will offer myself unto my friend as a sufficient matter, to exercise upon me all his good thoughts, and liberality. He that will not receive new courtesies, is offended with the old. I, but I tender not the like: what is that to the purpose? the delay is not in me, if either occasion fail, or ability be wanting: when he did me a pleasure, he had the means and the commodity. He that hath done it, is either a good or an evil man; if he be a good man, my case and cause is good enough; if he be an evil man, I will not plead before him: neither think. I it meet also to be over hasty in yielding recompense, contrary to the minds of those who have done us pleasure, or that we importune them to receive, when they are unwilling to take it. It is no requital of a good turn, to tender that which thou hast willingly received, to him that is unwilling to accept the same. There are some, who if a friend sand them some little present, do suddenly after requited them with another, to the end they may vaunt they are not any ways obliged. Ha●tie return of favour is rather a defacing of a benefit, than a satisfaction. This is a kind of refusal, when a man will make requital so soon, and by this means deface so suddenly one present by another. Sometimes also I will not restore a benefit, when I am able; namely, when I shall detract more from myself, and do myself, more hindrance, than I shall profit him; when as he shall feel himself nothing amended by receiving it, and I shall find myself greatly impaired by foregoing it. He than that hasteth to restore and requited a kindness, hath not the mind of a grateful man, but of a debtor. And to conclude in few words, he that is desirous to pay over soon, doth own unwillingly; he that unwillingly oweth, is ungrateful. The end of the fourth Book. LUCIUS ANNAEUS SENECA Of Benefits. THE FIFT BOOK. The Argument of JUSTUS LIPSIUS. THe two special parts being concluded and determined. How a benefit should be given, and how it aught to be received. He saith that he passeth over to certain things, that are not so much in the matter as of the matter, and both near and united to the same. Than annexeth he certain questions, and first of all this. Whether it be a loathsome matter to be overcome in benefits? He denieth that he may be o●er-come, and approveth him to be always equal, that is desirous to make recompense in good will, if in act he cannot. The second question is: Whether any man may give himself a benefit? He denieth it, yet argueth the matter on both sides. The third question he useth is, Whether any man according to the Stoics doctrine may be called ungrateful? he affirmeth and teacheth it. His fourth question is, Whether all are ungrateful? he saith no; although he confess many. Than as depending of the said question: How far and whither we are bound one for an other, as the Son for the Father, and such like? He answereth by a distinction, and rather denieth. The fift question is, Whether an unpleasing benefit may be given to a man unwilling to receive? It may. The last question, Whether a benefit may be redemanded? IN these my former books, me thought, I had consummated and accomplished my principal intent, when as I had entreated and discovered, after what manner a good turn is to be done, and in what sort it is to be received, because these two points are the Poles, on which the Sphere of this discourse is moved. Whatsoever I entreat of, or linger on further, is not of the necessity of the matter, neither much impertinent thereunto, which we aught to follow, not only whither it leadeth us, but also whither it inviteth us. For continually there will some arguments arise, that will allure and entertain our mind with the sweetness thereof, which is rather not necessary then superfluous. But since you will have it so, having ended all that which appertained to the matter, let us persever to search out these things, tha● ar● annexed unto it, but not coherent, which whosoever doth curiously look into, neither performeth a matter of great moment, An extraordinary commendation of AEbutius Liberalis. neither looseth his labour. But unto thee (my AEbutius Liberalis) who art a man of the best nature, and so inclined to courtesy, no praise of th●se benefits may suffice● I n●uer saw any man so favourable an esteemer of the smallest good offices, as thou art● And thy bounty hath already attained so far, that thou esteemest the courtesy done unto thyself, which is employed on any other man. Thou art always ready to give satisfaction for the ungrateful, lest any man should repent him of his bounty and kindness: and so far art thou from all arrogancy and ostentation, so desirous art thou to disburden those whom thou hast obliged, that whatsoever thou bestowest on any man, thou wouldst not seem to have given it as a benefit, but to have repaid it as a debt. Bounty is redoubled to t●e worthy benefactor. And therefore, such things as thou bestowest after this manner, return unto thee more plentifully. For commonly good turns attend upon him, that intendeth not to redemand them. And as glory and reputation, do most of all fasten upon, and follow those who fly from the same; so the fruit of benefits is more graciously correspondent unto those as give men leave to be thankless, if they list. It shall not be through thy default, This is intended as a debt, not as a gui●t. but that they who have received benefits at thy hands, may freely redemand the other, neither● wilt thou refuse the former, which are either suppressed or dissembled by thee. The intent of a generous man, and such a one as hath a noble mind, is so long to forbear, and wink at an ungrateful person, until he hath made him thankful: neither will this manner of dealing deceive thee ever; for naturally vices submit themselves unto virtue, and lose their courage, if thou hasten not too much to hate them. CHAP. II. THou conceivest likewise a singular pleasure, to hear this magnificent saying, that it is a shame to be overcome in giving benefits, which whether it be true or not, it is wont to be inquired upon a good ground, and I think it far different from that which thou imaginest. For never needest thou to fear any affront or dishonour in suffering thyself to be overcome in the noble competency of virtuous actions, if so be thou forsake not thine arms, but being once overcome haste a will to overcome again. Every man in a good purpose hath not the same forces, the same faculties, and the same fortune: which only t●mperateth the ends of the best actions. The will of him that keepeth the right way, deserveth to be praised, although a more swifter runner hath set foot before him. It is not in this case as it is in the public prizes, set out for spectacle, wherein the victory proclaimeth the better man; although in them also casualty hath often preserved the worst. When we speak of duty, and both the one and the other desire to acquit themselves fully; if the one of them hath had more meanes● if he have had matter at hand correspondent to his mind, if fortune hath permitted him to do what him listeth: And contrariwise, if the other hath had as good a will, although that which he hath restored is of l●ss● value then that which he hath received, or if he have not satisfied at all, yet if he have a good mind to make a future satisfaction, if he bend himself wholly to that business, if he duly think on nothing but the same, he is no more overcome than he that dieth manfully fight, whom his enemy could sooner kill then put to flight. That which thou supposest to be dishonourable or dishonest, cannot befall a good man; that is to say, to be vanquished: never will his heart fail him, never will he give over, he will be always ready to acknowledge even until the last hour of his life. He will do in this station, and will confess himself to have received great benefits, and will protest that he hath a desire to repay them with the like. CHAP. III. THe * Pancratiastes was he, that not only with naked hands and ●ists, but with his feet and whole body entertaineth the fight. Costus was he, that with armed hand, or heavy buttons or weights of brass, iron, or lead, charged ●is adversary. Lacedæmonians, forbade their Citizens to fight at buffets or braces, where he confessing himself to be vanquished, doth show him to be the weaker man. The runner that first obtaineth the goal, outstrippeth his companion in swiftness, but not in courage. The wrestler that hath fallen, and been foiled three times, hath lost the palm, but hath not yielded it to his adversary. Whereupon the Lacedæmonians being desirous above all other things, that their Citizens should be invincible, they inhibited and forbade them the use of all such games, in which the victory is given not by the opinion of the judges, or by the issue of the game, but by the voice of him that yieldeth, and his that commandeth him to submit and yield. Virtue and a good heart give unto all men that which the Lacedæmonians do observe amongst their Citizens, virtue and good will yieldeth all men that they shall never be vanquished, because even amongst those that are overcome the mind continueth invincible. No man therefore saith, that the three hundred Fabiuses were conquered, but slain. And Regulus was Captain amongst the Carthaginians ● but not conquered, and all else whatsoever oppressed by the force and weight of enraged and cruel Fortune. The care is all one in benefits, he that hath received more great, more precious, and more often, is not for all this vanquished. It may be that the benefits of one, are overcome by those of another, in respect of those things that are given, and are received. But if thou wilt make a comparison betwixt the giver and him that receiveth (whose minds must be estimate also by themselves) there is neither of them shall have the palm. For we are accustomed to say, that he who is wounded in divers parts, and he that hath but a slight hurt, have departed on even hand from the combat, although one may seem to have received the fo●le. CHAP. FOUR The will to recompense redeemeth the want. NO man therefore can be overcome in benefits, if he know that he oweth, if he have a will to recompense, and if that which he cannot attain in act, he equalleth in mind and william. This man, as long as he is constant herein, as long as he hath a good intent, approving his grateful mind by outward signs: what skilleth it on whether part more presents may be numbered? Thou hast the power to give much, and I only the power to receive the same: good fortune is on thy side, and good will on mine, yet am I so equal with thee, as some naked, or slightly armed, are equal to some that are armed at all points. No man therefore is overcome in benefits. For every one is as thankful, as he would be. For if it be an affront and dishonour to be overcome in kind offices, we aught not to receive a benefit at mighty men's hands, to whom we can in no sort yield any satisfaction. I speak of Kings and Princes, whom Fortune hath entertained in that estate, that they may do much, and bestow great largesse, but th●y cannot receive but very little, and far inferior to their own gift. I say, Kings and Princes, to whom notwithstanding there may be service done, whose greatness and power is not sustained but by affection, and the common consent which their subjects have to obey them. But there are some that are unattainted with any covetousness, that are scarcely touched with any human desires; to whom Fortune herself can give nothing. I must needs be overcome by Soc●ates in benefits. I must confess the like of Diogenes, who marched naked amidst the riches and most precious movables of the Macedonians, and trampled their Kingly treasures under his feet. Did not he then (yea and that deserved) both in his own eyes, and other men's sight (whose eyes were not sealed up from seeing the truth) seem more eminent above him, under whose greatness all things lay subject. He was then more powerful and more rich than Alexander, who at that time possessed all things, for there was more that this man would nor receive, than he was able to give. CHAP. V IT is no shame to be overcome by such as these, for neither am I less valiant, though you match me in fight with an enemy that cannot be wounded. Neither therefore can the fire burn less, if it light upon a matter inviolable by fire. Neither therefore hath the tool lost his force in carving, if the stone be so hard that it cannot be pierced, and if naturally it be so rebellious against all things that are hard, that it will rather break in pieces then yield. The same do I answer of a thankful man, it is no dishonour for him to be overcome by the benefits which he hath received at their hands, whose fortune is so great and mighty, and virtue so excellent, that it hath barred all return of benefits unto him. We are for the most part overcome by our parents, for so long do we hate them, as long as we judge them to be troublesome and insupportable, and as long as we understand not their benefits. When as our years have taught us some experience, and we begin to perceive, that they aught to be beloved by us, for those things for which they were misliked; I mean their admonitions, their severity and diligent oversight of our inconsiderate youth, then are they snatched and taken from us. Few there are that have lived so long as to reap the true fruit of their children's towardness, the rest have felt a burden by them● and discontent: yet is it no shame for children to be surmounted by their parents. And why should it be shameful to be surmounted by them, since it is no disgrace to be vanquished by any whatsoever? For sometimes we are equal and unequal to one and the same person; we are equal in good will, which is only required, which we only promise' and profess: but we are unequal in fortune, for want whereof, if a man be hindered from being thankful, he aught not for that cause to be ashamed & blush, because he is vanquished. It is no dishonour to be unable to overtake, so a man pursue and follow still. Sometimes we are enforced before we have restored the old, to crave new benefits. Neither therefore surcease we to ask, or demand we disgracefully and dishonestly, because we run further in debt, The miserable man than is to be excused, unless his mind be faulty in making satisfaction before we be able to repay the former, because the fault is not through our default, but for that disability preventeth our gratuity. But some thing will fall out otherways, which will keep us from satisfying, yet will we not be over-matched in mind, neither will w●e be shamefully overcome in these things, which are not in our power. CHAP. VI ALEXANDER King of Macedon, was oftentimes wont to boast, that never any man could overcome him in benefits. There is no cause why this over-haughty minded Prince, should cast his eyes on the Macedons, Greeks', Carians, Persians', and other nations which were bound unto him by way of conquest. He should not think that that great Kingdom, which extended itself from the furthest confines of Thrace, to the banks of the unknown Sea, had given him the means to accomplish and do this. Socrates himself might vaunt that he had done as much, and Diogenes also, by whom he was overcome. Why should he not be overcome that very day, wherein the man swelling above measure with human pride, he saw a man to whom he could neither give, nor from whom he could ever take any thing? King Archelaus entreated Socrates to come and visit him; to whom (as it is reported) Socrates returned this answer: That he would not come unto him from whom he should receive a benefit, which he could not requited again. First of all● it was in his power not to receive any thing: secondly, it was he that began to give a benefit. For he came unto him upon his request, and gave that which the King could never equal or satisfy. Moreover, Archelaus was to give him gold and silver, but was himself to receive the contempt of gold and silver. Can not Socrates therefore requited Archelaus courtesy? Had he not equalled the good which he was to receive, had he made him see a man perfect in the skill of living and dying, knowing the true ends of them both? If he had taught the King (who saw not at midday) the secrets of Nature, whereof he was so ignorant, that upon a day when the Sun was in Eclipse, he caused the doors of his Palace to be shut; and (as men were wont to do in time of mourning & great misery) he cut off his son's hair: How great a benefit had it been if he had drawn him loaden with fear out of the lurking places where he lay hidden, T●is is against 〈◊〉 neu●r w●s Eclipse ●t ●ull M●one naturally, hat in 〈◊〉 d●ath supernaturally. and had encouraged him, saying, This is no defection or obscuring of the Sun, but the encounter of two Planets, when as the Moon, shaping her course more lower th●n the Sun, hath placed her Orb under him, and by her interposition holdeth his light obscured from our sight: sometimes covereth no more than a small part of his body, when in the conjunction she passeth no more but on one side; otherwhiles she eclipseth a greater part of his light, when she setteth herself in his front, and before him; otherwhiles she covereth him wholly, if with a just and equal counterpoise, she entirely ●ettle herself opposite betwixt the Sun and the earth: yet the swiftness of these stars shall suddenly separate the one from the other, the earth hereby shall recover her light: and this order shall continued in all ages to come. There are certain and destinated days, wherein the Moon shall by her intercourse hinder the Sun, not from shooting forth the fullness of his beams. Stay but a while, and thou shalt suddenly see him break forth, thou shalt see him discharge himself of the Moon as it were of a cloud, and (shaking off as it were those impediments that detain him) thou shalt see him sand forth his desired light most freely again. Might not Socrates then have requited Archelaus, if he had given him instructions how to govern his Kingdom? As little as you make of it, it had been a great benefit in Socrates, and greater any ways than Archelaus could have given him. Why then said Socrates thus? Forsooth, because he took a pleasure to pass the time in figurative mercy, and jesting discourse, he mocked the whole world, but especially great men, and had rather deny him subtly, then arrogantly and proudly. He said that he would receive no benefits at his hands, to whom he could not return an answerable recompense. He feared happily lest he should be compelled to take that which he would not, he feared lest he should receive something that were unworthy, Socrates. But some man will say, that he might have denied the same, if he misliked it, but by this means he had incensed an insolent King against him, who would have all that which came from his hands, highly esteemed. It is nothing to the purpose, whether thou refusest to give any thing to that King, or receive aught at his hands, he construeth and conceiteth the one repulse, as badly as the other, and to a proud man it is more distasteful to be disdained, than not to be feared. Wilt thou know what he truly and really intended, he would not entertain a voluntary servitude, whose liberty a free City could not endure. CHAP. FOUR WE have, as I suppose, sufficiently debated upon this part, whither it were a dishonour to be overcome in benefiting. Which whosoever draweth in question, he knoweth that men are not wont to give themselves benefits; for it had been manifest that it is no shame for a man to be vanquished by himself. Notwithstanding amongst some Stoics, this also is brought in question, whether a man may give himself a benefit, and whether he aught to yield himself thanks? The causes why this matter seemed to be disputable, were these that follow: We are wont to say, I thank myself, and I can complain of no man but myself, I am angry with myself, and I will be revenged of myself, and I hate myself, and many other such things beside, whereby every one speaketh of himself, as if it were of an other. If (saith he) I can hurt myself, wherefore can I not benefit myself likewise? Besides, if those kindnesses which I have bestowed upon an other, should be called benefits, why should they not retain the same name, if they were employed on myself? Had I received them of an other, I should own the same, why then had I given them to myself, should I not own them to myself? why should I be ungrateful to myself? whereas it is no less dishonourable and dishonest for me, then to be niggardly to myself, then to be cruel and tyrannous toward myself, and neglectful of myself? As infamous is the band of another's beauty, as she that setteth her own to sale: we reprehend a flatterer, and an applauder of other men's sayings, and such a one as is always ready to yield a false lustre and laud to every thing: So likewise is he most justly reprehended that pleaseth himself, admireth himself, and (if I may say so) flattereth himself. Vices are not only hateful, when they sin abroad, but when they are retorted upon themselves. Whom will't thou more admire then him that governeth himself, and that always carrieth in his hands the bridle of his own motions and affections? It is more easy to govern Barbarians, and such as are impatient of foreign government, then to contain a man's mind: and make it subject to itself. Plat● (saith he) thanketh Socrates because he taught him. Why should not Socrates thank himself for teaching himself? Marcus Cato saith: That which thou wantest, borrow of thyself. Why can I not give it myself, if I can lend it myself? There are innumerable things wherein custom of discourse divideth us from ourselves. We are wont to say, Let thou me alone, I will speak with myself, and I will pull myself by the ear: Which if they be true, even as any man aught to be angry with himself, so aught he to thank himself: as he may rebuke himself, so may he praise himself: as he may harm himself, so may he profit himself. An injury and a benefit are contraries: if we say of any man, he hath wronged himself, we may likewise say, he hath done himself a good turn. CHAP. VIII. NO man is indebted to himself; but by the order of nature: we must first own, before we pay. There is no debtor without a creditor, no more than there is a husband without a wife, or rather a Father without a Son. There must be some one to give, if there be any to receive. It is neither to give, nor receive, to turn out of the right hand into the left: Even as no man beareth himself, although he move and remove his body: As no man, although he hath pleaded his own cause, is said to have been his own Advocate, neither raiseth he a statue to himself, as if he had been his own Patron. As the sick man, when as by his own diligence he hath recovered his health, requireth no recompense from himself: so in all affairs, yea even in those wherein a man hath deserved best of himself, yet aught he not yield himself thanks, because he hath not any to whom he may yield thanks: and if I grant thee that any man may do himself a pleasure: I say, that in giving the same, he receiveth also. Admit I grant thee that any one receiveth a pleasure from himself; in receiving the same, he satisfieth for the same likewise. This cloaking and changing of persons (as the common proverb runneth) is made in thine own house, and passeth away forthwith as a feigned and idle debt. For he that giveth is none other than he that receiveth, and both are but one. This word, to own, hath place, but between two several persons: how then may it consist in him only, which in that very instant requires when he is obliged? Even as in a Bowl or Ball there is neither high nor low, nor first nor last, because that in tossing and turning the same, the order of these things are changed: so as that they which went behind are now before, and those things that fell, mount up again; and all things in fine return unto one point, in what sort soever they be removed; even so must thou think that it falleth out in man: when thou hast changed him into divers fashions, he is but one and the same man. He hath beaten himself: he hath no man to sue for doing him injury. He hath bound and shut himself up in prison: he cannot complain of the injustice and force he hath done unto himself. He hath gratified himself, and hath forth with restored, even when it was done, and a doing. Nature, the Mother of all things, is said to lose nothing; for whatsoever is taken from her, returneth to her again: neither can any thing perish, because it can find no place where to issue out of itself, but returneth thither from whence it departed. But what resemblance (saith he) hath this example to our matter in question? I will tell thee: Put case thou be ungrateful to thyself the benefit will not be los●, because he that gave it retaineth it still: Put case thou wilt not receive it, it is in thy possession, before it is repaid thee. Thou canst lose nothing, for that which is taken from thee, is notwithstanding gotten for thee. The wheel is turned within thyself; receiving thou givest, and giving thou receivest. CHAP. IX. A Man (saith he) must do good unto himself, and consequently he must be thankful to himself. First, that is false whereon the sequel dependeth. For no man giveth himself a benefit, but obeyeth his own nature, by whom he is composed and framed to love himself, whence there groweth in him an especial care to avoid those things that are harmful, and to desire those things that are profitable. For which cause, neither is he liberal, that giveth to himself, nor pitiful, that pardoneth himself, nor merciful, that is touched with his own miseries. That which (were it employed on other men) might justly be called liberality, clemency, and mercy: in regard of ourselves, is but nature. A benefit is a voluntary thing, but to profit a man's self, is a necessary matter. The more benefits a man hath given, the more bountiful is he. Who ever was applauded for succouring himself? for delivering himself out of the danger of thieves? no man giveth himself a benefit, no more than he entertaineth himself in his own house, no man giveth to himself, no more than he dareth to himself. If any man giveth himself a benefit, he always giveth, he giveth without intermission, he can never keep just reckoning of the number of his benefits. How can he then return a recompense, when as in that very thing wherein he satisfieth, he giveth a benefit? for how can he discern whither he give or restore unto himself a benefit? whereas the matter concerneth but one only man? I have delivered myself out of danger: have I given myself a benefit? Once more I preserve myself in peril, do I myself a good turn, or do I restore it? Moreover, although I should grant that first, that we give a benefit to ourselves, yet will I not grant the consequent. For although we give, we own not. Why? because we presently receive: First, must we receive a benefit, and then own it, and then requited it. But here is no time of owing, in so much as we receive again without any delay. No man giveth but to an other man, no man oweth but to an other man, no man restoreth but to another man. All that which in this sort requireth two persons, cannot be done in one. CHAP. X. A Benefit is that whereby something is profitably given, but this word, to have given, appertaineth to others. Shall he not be supposed to be a mad man, that saith, he hath sold any thing to himself? because a sale is an alienation of a man's substance and right, and a translation thereof unto an other. But even as in selling, so in buying any thing we aught to make a real surrender of the thing, and to leave that which a man hath, to suffer an other to enjoy the same. Well, if benefiting be of the same nature, then can no man benefit himself, because no man can give aught to himself. For than should two contraries concur in one, so as giving and taking should be all one thing. But there is great difference betwixt giving and taking. And good cause why, considering that both these words are placed as contraries, the one against the other, but if a man may give himself a benefit, there is no difference betwixt giving & receiving. I said a little before, that there were some words that appertained to others, and are so form that their whole signification departed from ourselves. I am a brother, but an other man's brother: For no man can be his own brother. I am equal and like; but to some man: for who is equal with himself? That which is compared, is not to be understood without an other● that which is united, cannot be without an other: If both, that which is given, is not without an other, so likewise a benefit is not without a receiver. And this appeareth in the word itself, wherein this is contained to have benefited. But no man benefiteth himself, no more than he favoureth himself, or taketh part with himself: I might prosecute this thing longer, and with larger examples, and why not? when as a benefit is numbered amongst those things, which require a second person. Some things which are honest, praiseworthy, and of great virtue, have no place, but with another. Faithfulness and integrity, is commended and praised by every man, and are esteemed amongst the greatest blessings which appertain to mankind, and yet have you ever heard, that any man hath been faithful to himself? CHAP. XI. I Come now to the last part. He that requires a good turn, must employ somewhat of his own, as he doth who repayeth the money he oweth: but he layeth out nothing who satisfieth himself, no more than he giveth, who giveth to himself. A benefit and a remuneration must pass from one unto an other: for in one person there is no vicissitude or change: He therefore that requiteth a good turn pleasureth him again, from whom he hath received any thing. He that is grateful to himself, whom profiteth he? himself. But what man is he that thinketh not that acknowledgement of a favour is in one place, and the benefit in an other? He that requiteth himself; profiteth himself; but what ungrateful man was there ever that would not do this? nay rather who was not ungrateful that he might do this? if we (saith he) aught to thank ourselves for that we have done well, we aught likewise to yield some recompense to ourselves. But we say, I thank myself, because I married not that wife, and for that I contracted not society with that man. When we say thus, we praise ourselves, and to approve our fact, we abuse the words of those that give thanks. A benefit is such a thing which may not be restored, even then when it is given, he that giveth himself a benefit, cannot choose but receive that which he gave, Ergo, it is no benefit. A good turn is entertained at one time, and recompensed at an other; And in a benefit the thing that is most probable, and of greatest repute, is, that he forgetteth his own profit to do an other man good, and taketh from himself, to give unto a second; this doth he not that giveth himself a benefit. To give a benefit is a sociable thing. It joineth that man's favour, and obligeth this man's friendship: To give to a man's self is no sociable thing, it joineth no man, it obligeth no man, it encourageth no man to say, This man deserveth to be honoured, he did such a man a good turn, and will do me the like. A benefit is that which a man giveth, not for his own sake, but for his to whom he giveth it: he that giveth himself a benefit, giveth it for his own sake. Ergo, it is no benefit. CHAP. XII. SVpposest thou that I lie and grow deficient in that which I promised in the * He said in the beginning of the first chapter of this first Book, that although he had not to entreat of things necessary yet the labour should not be lost. beginning? sayest thou that in stead of performing some laudable thing, I run at random, and thinking to do well, have lost my labour? Expect a little I pray thee, and thou shalt say this more truly, (as soon as I have led thee into these labyrinths, from whence, when thou hast escaped, thou shalt attain no more, then to fli● those difficulties into which it was in thine own choice not to descend: what profit receivest thou to unloose those knots which thou hast expressly knit with much travail, to the end thou mightest, when thou hast tied them, busy thyself to loosen them? But even as some of them are so fastened (for delight and merriment sake) that it is a hard matter for an unskilful man to loosen them, whereas he who hath tied them, may easily slack them, because he knoweth the stops and entanglings thereof, and yet notwithstanding those have some pleasure in them, for they try the sharpness of men's wits, and awaken them to more diligence: so these things which in appearance are subtle and deceitful exile security, dullness and sloth from men's minds, to which sometimes easy passages are to be laid open, in which they may wander, sometimes somewhat difficult and dangerous is to be set in their way, through which they may hardly creep without travel, or in which they may not walk without difficulty. It is said that no man is ungrateful, and this is thus concluded. A benefit is that which profiteth, but no man can profit an evil man (as you Stoics say) therefore an evil man receiveth no benefit, and consequently also he cannot be ungrateful. Furthermore, a benefit is an honest and probable thing: with a wicked man there is no place, either for that which is honest or profitable, therefore not for a benefit, which if he cannot receive, he aught not to restore, and therefore is he not ungrateful. Again, as you say, A good man doth all things justly if he doth all things justly, he cannot be ungrateful. A good man restoreth a benefit, an evil man cannot accept it. Which if it be so, neither any good or evil man is ungrateful: and consequently, this name of ungrateful is but a frivolous and imaginary name in this world. There is but only one good with us, and that is honesty. This cannot an evil man apprehended, for he ceaseth to be evil, if virtue enter into him, but as long as he is evil, no man can give him a benefit, because good and evil things are at odds, and cannot be reconciled: therefore no man profiteth him, for whatsoever befalleth him, he corrupteth it with evil use. For even as the stomach being troubled and corrupted by long sickness, and oppressed by choler, changeth whatsoever meats it receiveth, and converteth all the nutriment it receiveth into the cause of his grief: even so a blinded mind, whatsoever thou committest to him, it maketh the same his burden, his bane, and the occasion of his miseri●. They then which have most riches, and possess most goods, are subject to most storms and tempest's, and the less find they themselves, the more they fall into a greater occasion of impiety and disturbance: nothing therefore may befall the e●ill that may profit them, nay rather, nothing that doth not hurt them. For whatsoever befalleth them, they convert into their own nature, and those things which in outward appearance are pleasing and profitable, if they were given to a better man, are pestiferous and harmful to them. Therefore also can they not give a benefit, because no man can give that which he hath not, and for that they want a will to do good. CHAP. XIII. But although all this were true, yet may an evil man receive such things as have a similitude and resemblance of benefits, which being unrecompensed, he shall be justly termed ungrateful. There are goods of the mind, goods of the body, and goods of fortune. Those goods of the mind are such, as foolish and bad men are uncapable of them. To these is he admitted, who can both receive the same, and is tied to restore them; and if he restoreth them not, he is ungrateful. And this is not our constitution only, it is of the Stoics doctrine. The Peripatetiques also (who prefix such large and ample bounds to hunmane felicity) say, that the smaller sort of benefits befall the evil men, that whosoever restoreth not, he is ungrateful. We therefore esteem them no benefits, which cannot better and ennoble the mind, yet deny we not, but that they are commodities, and such as are to be desired, these may an evil man give, and receive from a good man; as money, garments, honour, life, which if he requited not, he falleth into the name of an ungrateful man. But how call you him ungrateful, for not restoring that, which thou deniest to be a benefit? There are some things, which although they are not truly such, yet for the similitude and likeness they have with them, are comprehended under the same word. So call we a box, An● y●t is called a Box, from the Boxtree, o● wh●ch boxes ●irst w●re made, it answers to the Gre●ke word 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉. both of that which is of gold, as that which is of silver: so term w●e him unlearned that is not wholly rude, but as yet untrained and taught in higher discipline: so he that seethe a man ill clothed, and in ragged garments, saith that he hath seen a naked man. These are no benefits, yet have they a resemblance of benefits. As th●se are but benefits in appearance, so seemeth he to be ungrateful, yet is not he ungrateful. This is false, because that he that giveth, and he that receiveth calleth them benefits. So also he that hath deceived under pretence and colour of a true benefit, is as ungrateful as he is held to be a poisoner, that giveth a stupefying medicine, when he believed it was poison. CHAP. XIIII. CLEANTHES urgeth this more vehemently; Although (saith he) it b● not a benefit which he receiveth, yet is he ungrateful, because he would not have restored it, although he had received it. So is he a thief (yea eu●n then before he hath polluted his hands) because he is already armed to kill, and hath a will to spoil and murder: wickedness beginneth not, but is exercised and opened in the action. That which he received was no benefit, but was so called. Sacrilegious persons are punished, although they lay not their hands on the Gods. How (saith he) may a man be ungrateful towards a wicked man, when as a benefit cannot be given to a wicked man? Verily in that respect, because he receiveth of him some of those things, which amongst vulgar and ignorant persons are called goods, whereof, if evil men have abundance, he also in the like matter aught to be grateful, and restore those things, whatsoever they be, for good, whereas he received them for good: he is said to own another man's money, both he that oweth gold, and he that oweth leather coined with the public stamp, such as was currant amongst the Lacedæmonians, that standeth in stead of ready money: in that kind thou art obliged, in the same to yield satisfaction. CHAP. XV. WHat benefits are, and whether the greatness and dignity of a name so honourable should be employed in this abject, and humble matter, it appertaineth not to you, a true benefit belongeth unto others. Compose you your minds to the resemblance of a true benefit, and whilst you say that thing is honest, whatsoever it be, if it be reputed and esteemed for honest, esteem and praise that: Even as (saith he) no man in your judgement is ungrateful, so again by your reckoning all men are ungrateful. For as you say, all fools are evil men, but he that hath one vice is possessed of all, and all men are fools and evil, therefore all men are ungrateful. What then? doth not the reproach generally light upon all mankind? Is it not a public complaint that benefits are lost, and that there are few which requited not evil, for such as have deserved well? neither hast thou cause to conceive that this is our particular misconceit, or deceit, and that we alone repute all things evil, and depraved that fall not out even and just, with the rule of right. Behold I know not what vein it is, or whence it is sent, which crieth not out of the Philosopher's house, but from the midst of the multitude, condemning People and Nations. Nor from the Host the guest can be secured, Nor from his son in-law the Father freed, Nor Brother from his Brother be assured: Both Man and wife have either's death decreed. But this now is more, benefits are turned into banes, and their blood is not spared, for whose defence we aught to spend our own. We follow and gratify benefits with Sword and Poison. At this time it is reputed dignity and greatness, to violate and spoil a man's Country, and to oppress her with her own authority. He that hath not trodden the Commonwealth under his feet, supposeth himself the basest and ignoblest in the same. These Armies that were levied by her, are armed against her, and her imperious voice is applauded and listened to, that saith. Fight against your wives, draw your Swords against your children, destroy your Temples, raze down your houses, and cast your household gods on the ground. You that should not enter Rome (no not to triumph) without permission and command of the Senate, and to whom bringing home their victorious Armies, audience was given in the Senate without the City walls, enter the City now with displayed ensigns, murdering the Citizens, and bathed in the blood of your nearest kinsfolks. Let liberty be silent amidst these warlike ensigns. And let that conquering Nation, and that people which hath established peace thorough their whole Empire; and driven wars out of their Provinces, and allayed all terror and fear, now besieged and terrified within their own walls, be afraid of their own Standards and Eagles. CHAP. XVI. Ungrateful was a This was a valiant Captain amongst the Romans, who being banished upon certain occasions out of the City (as Titus Livius reporteth in his second Book, Ab urbe Condita.) Was so skilful to enter and insinuate himself amongst the Vol●eans, that levying an Army of them, he began to invade his Country, until being moved by his Mother's Prayers and tears, he ceased from the battle. Coriolanus, to late pious and penitent after his wickedness committed: he laid aside his Arms, yet so laid he them aside, that it was in the height and midst of civil parricide. Ungrateful was b This was another rebellious Citizen of Rome, who levying an Army both of his natural Countrymen and strangers, intended to destroy the same, had he not been prevented by Cicero's wisdom, as Sallust witnesseth in the wars of Catiline. Catiline. It is a small matter with him to surprise his Country, except he utterly ruinated it: except he lead the regiments of the Savoys and Dalphinois to spoil the same; and these enemies whom he had levied on the other side of the Alps, had satisfied and glutted their old and mortal hatreds: except the Roman Captains had paid their long-due anniverssaries of infernal sacrifice to the Sepulchers of the Gauls. Ingrateful was c This was another Roman Citizen, who being obscurely borne, and of a rustic conversation, became Consul in Rome seven times, and overcame a nation called the Cymbrians, and afterward being incensed against his Citizens, for banishing him for a certain space into Africa, he committed huge murders in the City. Caius Marius, who was raised from a common Soldier to a Consular: who except he had equalled the Roman Funerals with the Cimbrian slaughters, except he had not only given a sign of civil slaughter and murder, but himself had been the murderer, he would have supposed that his fortune had been changed very little, and that he had not grown greater: but was buried in his former obscurity. Ingrateful was Lucius Sylla, who healed his Country with harder remedies than the dangers were; who when he had marched from the tower of Praeneste to the gate Collina, through the blood of slaughtered soldiers, waged new battles in the City, executed new slaughters, and slew two legions (O cruelty) after victory, and (that which was most impious) when he had driven and gathered them into a straight, he murdered them notwithstanding, after he had faithfully promised them their pardon, and invented a proscription (O sovereign Gods) that he who had slain a Roman Citizen, should not only be discharged and exempted from punishments, but receive reward, and which is more receive the reward done to him that preserved a Citizen. Ingrateful is d He was exercised in the affairs of the Commonwealth, when he was but twenty three years old. Cneus Pompey, who for his three Consulships, for his three triumphs, for so many honours; which for the most part were thrust upon him, during his immature and young years, returned the Commonweal this requital, that he seized others of the possession of the same, supposing thereby to discharge himself of that envy, that might be conceited against his greatness and authority, if that which were lawful for no man might be admitted in many, whilst he longed after extraordinary changes and commanudes, whilst he distributeth Provinces, to make choice of that which best liked him, whilst in such sort he divided the Commonweal into the hands of the Tribunes, that two parts thereof remained always in his own house, he reduced the Roman people to that extreme, that they could not be discharged or secured, but by their servitude and loss of liberty: Ingrateful was he, who was both Pompeyeses enemy and conqueror, who drew the war from the uttermost bounds of Germany and France, before the walls of Rome. He it was (that pretending popularity, and so great love and tender care of the Commonalty) that pitched his tents in the e The Romans had in their City three round Courts, or Circles, whi●●er they resorted to see their sports and plays, whereof this was one which was therefore called the Flaminian Circle or round, because a Consul called Flaminius builded the same. Flaminian round, nearer than the place where f This was a King of the Etrurians, who waged war against the Romans to install Tarquin the proud, and planted his colours as julius Caesa● did, near to the Flaminian round or Theatre. P●rsenna encamped. True it is that he● tempered the power which the law of arms and victory allotted him, and performed that which he was wont to say, and never slew any, except such a one as was armed and addressed to fight against him. But what importeth all this? The rest exercised arms more cruelly than he did, yet were they satisfied at length, and laid them down, but this man sheathed his sword quickly, but never laid it aside. Ingrateful was Anthony towards his g Dictator was the highest dignity and Magistracy that was in the Roman Commonweal. See Aldus in his book De legibus Romanis●● Dictator, whom he pronounced to be justly slain, and assigned to his murderers great Provinces and governments: and having torn and tired his country with pros●riptions, incursions, and civil wars after so many evils, he decreed that, that generous Commonweal, which in times past had given liberties, exemptions, and particular privileges to the people of Achaia, and the Rhodians, and many other famous Cities, should herself become tributary, not to Roman Kings, but to infamous eunuchs and Geldings. CHAP. XVII. THe day would fail me, if I should reckon up all those that were ungrateful, even with the utter destruction of their Countries. And no less endless labour would it be, if I should begin to relate how ungrateful our Commonweal hath been towards the best, and most tenderly affected Citizens she had, and how as often she hath sinned in ingratitude herself, as others have sinned against her. She sent a All these were valiant Citizens of Rome, who employed themselves in many notable services, and received disgraces for their good deserts. This Island is not exempt from such like precedents. Camillus into exile, dismissed Scipio, banished Cicero after Catiline's conspiracy, she razed his house, spoiled his goods, and exercised against him all those cruelties which Catiline himself could have done, had h●e been Conqueror. Rutillius, in reward of his innocency, was banished into Asia, to live there in obscurity. The Roman people denied Cato the Praetorship, and would never grant him the dignity of a Consul. In brief, we are all of us generally ungrateful. Let every one examine himself; there is not any man that will not complain of some one's ingratitude. And it cannot be that all men should complain, except there were some cause also to complain of all men. All men therefore are ungrateful. Is this all? and are they thus only. All are covetous, the world likewise is subject to avarice, all are malicious, all fearful, and they especially who seem to be most confident. Furthermore, all men are ambitious, and all men are wicked: But thou must not be displeased and aggrieved hereat, all of them are mad. I will not recall thee to uncertainties, as to say unto thee, see how ungrateful youth is. Who is he (be he never so innocent) that wisheth not that his Father had breathed his last? who is he (how modest soever he be) that gapes not after his death? who is he (how religious and pitiful soever he be reputed) that thinketh not of his Father's death? what husband so feareth the death of a good wife, as he counteth not the gain he shall receive if she die? what man is he, I pray you, who being entangled in the law, and delivered by an other man's diligence, that bethinketh him of so great a benefit any longer, then until a second action? This is confessed, and certain without all exception: Is there any man that dieth without complaining? who at his last gasp dare say thus: My days are done, Virgil. AEn●id. 4 now have I brought to end The course of life, that Fortune did me lend. Who dieth not unwillingly? who departeth not mournfully? But this is the part of an ungrateful man, not to content himself with the time that was lent him. The time will always seem short unto thee, if thou reckon the same. Think that the chiefest good is not in time, and how little soever it be, take it in good part. It addeth nothing to thy felicity, if the day of thy death be prolonged, because by delay life is not made more blessed, but more long. How much better is it to give thanks unto the gods for those honest pleasures, which we have received, and not to busy ourselves in numbering other men's years, but to esteem our own thankfully, and to put them in the account of our gains: hath God thought me worthy of this? this sufficeth me: might he have given me more? but this also is a benefit. Let us be thankful to the gods, let us be thankful to men, let us be thankful unto those that have done us any courtesy, and thankful to those likewise who have done any kindness to any of ours. CHAP. XVIII. THou obligest me infinitely (sayest thou) when thou sayest Ours, prefix therefore some end. He that bestoweth a benefit on the Son, as thou sayest, bestoweth it likewise on the Father. First, I ask where, and whither, and afterwards I desire thee likewise to inform me, whether a pleasure done unto the Father, be likewise done unto the Brother, to the Father, the Uncle, the Grandfather, the Wife, the Son in law? Tell me where I should end, how long wilt thou that I follow the order and pedigree of so many persons? if I have tilled thy land for thee, have I not done thee a pleasure? if I have quenched the fire that would have burned thy house, or if I have repaired it, for fear it should fall upon thee, shall I not give thee a benefit? if I save thy slaves life, shall I impute it unto thee? If I preserve thy Son, hast thou not received a benefit at my hands? CHAP. XIX. THou settest down unlike and different examples, because that he who tilleth my Land, giveth not the benefit to my Land, but to me: and he that underproppeth my house, lest it should fall, doth the pleasure to me: for the house itself is without sense. I must needs be in his debt, because none else is. And he that manureth my land, doth it not to deserve well of the soil, but of myself. The same will I say of my servant, for he justly appertaineth to me, It is for my profit he is preserved, and therefore I am indebted for him. My Son is capable himself of a benefit, and therefore he received it; I am glad of the favour done him, it concerneth me somewhat, yet am I not obliged. Yet would I have thee answer me, who thinkest thou art not indebted, whether thy sons good health, felicity and patrimony appertaineth to the Father? He shall be more happy if his son be whole and safe, and unhappy if he los● him. What then? he that is made happier by me, and delivered from the peril of a mighty infelicity and misfortune: hath he not received a benefit? no (saith he) for certain things are bestowed upon others, which extend also unto us; but every thing aught to be required at his hands, on whom that is bestowed: as money is required at his hands who borrowed the same, although the same came in some sort into my hands. Mark a glimpse of charity even in a Pagan. There is no benefit, the profit thereof toucheth and extendeth not to our neighbours, and sometimes also to those that are farthest off from us. The question is not whether the benefit be transferred from him to whom it is given, but where it is first placed, thou must always redemaund it from the principal debtor, and he that aught it first. What then I pray thee? sayest thou not thou hast given me my son, and if he had perished I should not have lived? gavest thou not a benefit for his life, whose safety thou preferrest before thine own? At such time as I saved thy son, thou didst not fall down at my feet; thou didst not pay thy vows unto the gods, as if thou thyself hadst been preserved? didst thou not cry out after this manner, the same hast thou done in succouring my son, as ni saving mine own person make account that thou hast saved two, and me especially: Why sayest thou this, if thou receivest no benefit? because although my son hath borrowed money, which I will repay unto his creditor, yet shall not I be indebted: and if my son hath been taken in adultery, I may happily be ashamed, yet shall not I therefore be the adulterer: I say that I am bound unto thee for my son, not because I am, but because I will offer myself unto thee a voluntary debtor. But a great pleasure hath befallen me by his safety; inestimable is the profit I conceive thereby, and which is more, I have escaped the grievous wound and corrosive of being childless. The question is not now, whether thou hast profited me; but whether thou hast given me a benefit; for a living creature, an herb, a stone profit me, yet give they me no benefit, which is never given but by such a one as is willing. But thou wilt not give unto the Father, but to the son; and in the mean while thou knowest not the Father; when therefore thou sayest, Have I not therefore given a benefit to the Father, because I have saved his son? Argue thou this contrariwise: How could I therefore give a benefit to the Father, whom I neither kn●w, or ever thought upon? and why falleth it not out sometimes, that thou shalt hate the Father mortally, and yet be desirous to save his sons life? Wouldst thou say that thou gavest a benefit to the Father, whose mortal enemy tho● wert at that time? Resolution of the doubts. But laying aside these questions which I entreat of by way of Dialogue, I will now answer like a Lawyer: And say, that the mind of the giver is to be respected. He gave him the benefit to whom he intended it; even as if he did it in honour of the Father: the Father received the benefit, not the son; so is not the Father bound for a benefit bestowed upon his son, although he envy it. Yet if occasion be offered, the Father shall not do amiss, to be willing to give somewhat, not that he is constrained by necessity to pay any thing; but that he might have found a sufficient cause to begin to do a pleasure. A benefit therefore aught not to be redemanded at the Father's hands, for a courtesy done unto the son: and if he voluntarily show himself grateful for the same, he aught rather to be esteemed just than thankful. For otherwise there would never be an end; if I give a benefit to the Father, the mother, the grandfather, the uncle, to the children, kinsfolk, friends, servants, and country: where then beginneth a benefit to rest? For me thinks I am fallen into an argument which the Grecians call Sorites, which hath never an end, because it drudgeth on, and stealing forward by little and little, ceaseth not continually to pass on further. Men are wont to debate upon this matter: Two brothers are at deadly feud the one against the other, if I preserve the one, have I profited the other, who will be sorry that his brother hath escaped with life? There is no doubt but that it is a benefit, although it be against his will that receiveth the same: Even as contrary wise, he hath not given a benefit, that profited against his william. CHAP. XX. CAllest thou that (saith he) a benefit wherewith he is offended and vexed? many benefits have a harsh and distasteful appearance; as when we cut and cauterize to heal, and imprison to amend. We aught not to respect whether a man be sorry for a benefit received, but whether he aught to rejoice. The coin is not bad, which a barbarous and ignorant person accepteth not for currant and rightly stamped money. He hateth the benefit and yet he receiveth the same, if it be profitable unto him, and he that hath given the same, hath done it to the end that it should be profitable: it makes no matter though a man receive a good turn with an evil will: So to let us turn this the contrary way: A man hateth his brother, whose life importeth and profiteth him much, him have I slain. This action of mine is no benefit unto him, although he say it is and rejoice thereat. Most traitorously doth he hurt, who receiveth thanks for doing harm. I do than see something is profitable and is therefore a benefit, hurtful and therefore is no benefit. Behold I will give that which is neither profitable nor hurtful, and yet it is a benefit. I have traversed a desolate place, and found some man's father stark dead, and have buried his body, neither have I profited him that was slain (for what concerned it him after what manner he were consumed?) neither was it profitable for his son, for what could he gain hereby? I will tell you what he hath gained, he hath discharged by my means a necessary and solemn office. I have done that to his father: which he himself would have done, nay more, which in duty he aught to do. Now if I did it not for common piety and humanity's sake only, as I might have buried any other dead man's body, but knew the carcase and thought upon the son at the same time, and did it for his sake, then is it a benefit. But if I bury a dead man that is unknown to me, no man is indebted to me for this office, because it was but a point of public humanity. Some one will say unto me: Why art thou so busy to ●nquire who it is to whom thou hast done a pleasure, as if thou wouldst hereafter redemaund the same? There are some that judge that it should never be claimed again, and allege these causes. The unworthy receiver will not requited the same to be redemanded, the thankful and worthy receiver will of himself yield recompense. Besides if thou hast given to a good man, be not to earnest in claiming it, lest in demanding the same thou do him wrong; as if he would not have satisfied thee of his own free william. If thou hast given it to an evil man, have patience. Corrupt not thy benefit with redemaunding the same, and of a courtesy make it no debt. Besides, that which the law biddeth not to be redemanded, it forbiddeth. These things are true, as long as nothing urgeth me, as long as fortune enforceth me nothing, I will rather crave then ask again. But if it be to save my children's lives: if my wife be in danger of hers, if the liberty and good of my Country constraineth me to go thither whither I would not, I will command my bashfulness, I will protest that I have endured all things before I would be enforced to demand succours at an ungrateful man's hand. In brief, the necessit●e of receiving a good turn, shall overcome the shame of claiming it, when therefore I employ a benefit upon a good man, I so give it as if I would never redemand the same, except necessity enforce me: but the law (saith he) not permitting to demand, forbiddeth to claim. CHAP. XXI. THere are many things which neither have law nor action, to which the custom of human life, more powerful than any law, giveth entrance. No law commandeth us to discover our friends secrets, neither doth any law in like manner tie us to keep promise and our word with our enemy. What law tieth us to perform that which we have promised to any man? yet will I justly complain of him that hath discovered my secret, and be displeased with him that hath given me his word, and hath not kept it. But thou (saith h●) makest a debt of a benefit. Nothing less: for I do not exact it, but redemand it; neither do I redemand it, but admonish: neither shall my extremest necessity enforce me to this, to come unto him with whom I shall be forced to use long contestation. Who so is so far plunged in ingratitude, that he will not be content to be advertised and admonished, I will let him passe● neither will I think him worthy to be enforced to be thankful. Even as the usurer raketh not upon those debtors, whom he knoweth to have played the banckerouts, or to be so poor that nothing is left them to loose that may make them ashamed: so will I overpass some that are publicly and obstinately thankelesse● neither will I redemand a benefit at any man's hands, but from him only from whom I shall not take away by force, but freely receive it. CHAP. XXII. Many there are that neither know how to deny the good they have received, nor to restore it when it is needful: who are not so good as the grateful, nor so evil as the ungrateful: slack and idle debtors, yet not evil. There is as great weakness in many men in not being able to limit the opportunity of their satisfaction. These will I not challenge, but admonish: & since they forget their duty, I will make th●m remember themselves, so as they will presently answer me in this sort: Parda●●●●, I pray you, in good faith I knew not that you had need hereof: for ●ad I t●ought s● much, I had offered i● you of myself: I beseech you accounted me not ungrateful, I remember well what kindness you have done unto me. Why should I fear to make these men better to themselves, and to me also? I will bind whomsoever I can from sinning, much more my friend from offending, and especially against myself. I give him an other benefit, if I suffer him not to be ungrateful, neither will I rudely upbraid him with the good turns he hath had of me: but as mildly as I can will I only refresh the memory of them, to the end he may have occasion to restore me some such pleasure: I will pray him to do me a good turn, to the end he may understand that I do it to redemand mine own. Now and then will I use sharp and bitter words, if I conceive any hope that he may be amended: for a desperate person, who hath lost all shame I will not exasperated him, jest of an ungrateful man I make him mine enemy. For if we remit and forbear to admonish sharply, and call on those that are ungrateful, we shall make them more slow to requited our courtesies. But some that may be amended, and who may be made good, if any thing touch their conscience: shall we suffer them to be lost for want of admonition, wherewith the father hath sometimes corrected his son, and the wife recalled and reclaimed her straying husband, and a friend refreshed the languishing faith of his friend? CHAP. XXIII. SOme there are that so sleep, that they are not to be awaked by striking, but by jogging. In like manner there are some that want not the will to yield satisfaction, but they are too slack and slow in the performance thereof, let us awaken it. Be not thou the cause that thy benefit be converted into an injury. Thou shouldest injury me, if thou wouldst not redemand the pleasure, which thou hast done me, for this cause, that I might become ungrateful. What if I know not what thou wantest? what if distracted by occupations, and employed otherways, I have not observed the occasion? show me what I may, and what thou wouldst. Why dispairest thou, before thou triest me? why art thou so hasty to lose both thy benefit and thy friend? whence knowest thou that I will not, or I know not, or whither my mind or means be deficient; make trial of me. I will advise and admonish him then, not bitterly, not openly, but so modestly, that he may think that of himself he hath called the matter to memori●, and was not put in mind by me. CHAP. XXIIII. A Certain old Soldier, who had used some violence towards his Neighbours, was drawn in question before julius Caesar, and seeing himself overcharged, and like to lose the process. CAESAR (saith he) remember you not how you once sprent your ankle in Spain near to Sucre; a River of Valentia? when C●sar had answered him that he remembered it well, the Soldier continuing his purpose, said thus: Do you remember likewise, that being couched under a Tree, that gave but little shadow, and desirous to rest yourself, to fly the heat of the scorching Sun, in a barren and rocky soil, in which there was not but that only Tree, that grew from amongst the craggy cliffs, there was one of your Soldiers that spread his cloak under you. When Caesar had answered, yea marry, why should I not remember it: for when I was nigh dead for thirst, because I was not able to go to the next spring, by reason of my foot, I would have crept thither upon all four, but that a Soldier of mine, a man both stout and valiant, brought me water in his Helmet. Emperor (said this Soldier) do you now know that man, and that helmet, if you see them. CAESAR answered, that he knew not the Morion, but that he knew the Soldier very well, and further said, (displeased, as I suppose, for that he interrupted the pleading of the cause, to listen to that old story which he had told him.) I am sure thou art not he. CAESAR (said the Soldier) I blame thee not, in that thou hast forgotten me, Or Munde●ara, a people of Andaluzia. for when this was done, I was whole and sound, afterwards I lost an eye at the battle of Munda, certain splinters of my skull were taken out of my head, neither would you know the Helmet if you should see it, for it was cleft in pieces by the stroke of a Spanish Curtle-axe. Hereupon Caesar commanded that he should not be troubled any further, and gave unto his Soldier those small parcels of Land, through which the way lay, that made this strife betwixt him & his neighbours. CHAP. XXV. WHat then? should he not rechallenge the benefit at the Emperor's hands, whose memory was confused through the multitude of his affairs? whose great fortune in disposing of his army, suffered him not to remember and reward every private Soldier? This is not to redemand a benefit, but to resume it again, being ready at hand, and laid up in a good place, and yet if a man will have it, he must stretch out his hand. I will therefore redemand the same, if I be constrained to do it, either by necessity, or for his sake, of whom I must require it. A certain familiar of Tiberius Caesar, pretending some suit unto him in the beginning of his Empire, began his speech thus: Sir remember you not? to which he answered before he uttered any further tokens of their former and ancient friendship, I remember not what I was. From such as this Prince was, not only should a good man forbear to ask recompense of former courtesies, but also he aught to desire and procure that he might forget them utterly. He disdained the memory and knowledge of all those persons, who he reputed either for his friends, or equals, before his Empire, his only desire was tha● they should respect that present fortune and authority, wherein he was placed, that only would he have to be thought upon, that only to be spoken of, he reputed his ancient friend for a busy Inquisitor. It is better to redemand a pleasure thou hast done in times passed in time and place, then to require and crave anew. Moderation of words is to be used, that the ungrateful man, whatsoever cannot pretend to have forgotten them. If we lived amongst men of science and conscience, we might hold our peace and expect, and yet it were better to give them notice of our affairs, and the estate of our necessities. We pray unto the gods, who know all things, our prayers obtain not that which we demand, they only advertise them of that which we would entreat at their hands. That Priest which speaketh in Homer, representeth unto the gods the honour which was done unto them: and those Altars which were devoutly addressed, and dressed for them, to the end they might be favourable to his petitions, and attentive to his prayers. It is a second virtue, both to be willing, to be admonished, and to be able to entertain good advertizements. The mind is to be reigned softly this way and that way, few there are that are perfectly governed by the same, but they that by honest advertisements return into the right way, hold the second place; and from these we aught not to take the guide that conducteth them. The eyes that are shut have a sight, but without use, which then grow in use, when the daylight which the gods sand us) calleth them forth and awakneth them to perform their offices. Instruments and tools lie by and serve no uses, except the workman move them, and employ them in his labour: mean while there is a good will in his soul, but either idleness or delight benumbeth it, or the ignorance of his art makes him err. The will is to be awakened, lest it languish in error. We aught therefore to amend our will, and not to suffer it through despite to languish long time in error: but following the custom of Schoolmasters, who instruct young children, we aught patiently to endure, and discreetly to pardon them, if they have forgotten any thing through defect of memory. And even as in telling them a word or two, they fashion them to construe their whole lesson: so by some little admonition we aught to reclaim such as are forgetful, and fashion them to acknowledge a Benefit. The end of the fift Book. LUCIUS ANNAEUS SENECA Of Benefits. THE sixth BOOK. The Argument of JUSTUS LIPSIUS. Again continueth he his questions after the manner of CHRYSIPPUS. First he inquireth whether a benefit may be taken away? he differently disputeth thereupon, yet concludeth that the use thereof may be taken away, but not the benefit itself. His second question is, whether we be indebted to him, who either profited us willingly or ignorantly? he denieth. His third is, whether we be obliged to him that profited us for his own sake? if only for himself, he denieth it; but if for mine also, he admitteth it. He mixeth subtleties with examples. The fourth is, whether it be lawful to wish another man an evil turn, to the end thou mayest restore him his benefit? it is not lawful, and he condemneth it. He openeth another way of restitution, even to those that are happy, yea to Kings, by counsels, admonitions, and doctrines. CHAP. I THere are some things (my Liberalis, the worthiest of men) which are only drawn in question to exercise the spirit, and have no use in them. There are other things also, which not only move delight, whilst they are disputed upon, but after they are debated, are greatly profitable unto us. I will present thee with all sorts of them. Thou mayest as it pleaseth thee advise me, either whether I shall finish those that are begun, or that I present them only on the Theatre, for show and ostentation sake: and although thou commandest them to be incontinently relieved, yet will there some profit arise thereby: for although there are some things which are unnecessary to be spoken of, yet it availeth us somewhat to know them. I will therefore be at thy disposition and beck, and shape my proceed according to thy pleasure: some will I debate upon more amply, other some will I cast out headlong from off this Theatre. CHAP. II. THe question is whether a benefit may be taken away. Some deny that it may, for a benefit is nothing but an action, even as the gife is one thing, and the giving another, and he that saileth one thing, and the Navigation itself another thing. And although the sick man be not without sickness, yet is not he that is sick and the sickness itself all one: so the benefit itself is one thing, but that which cometh to each one of us by the benefit, is another thing. A benefit is a thing incorporeal, which cannot be frustrated, the matter thereof is tossed hither and thither, and changeth his master. When therefore thou takest the same away, Nature itself cannot undo those things she hath done. She stoppeth the course of her benefits, but cutteth them not off. He that dieth, yet hath lived, & he that hath lost his sight, hath formerly seen. It may be brought to pass, that those things that are come to us may not be, but that they may not have been, it is impossible; but the part of the benefit, and the most certain is that which was. Sometimes we hinder the use and long possession of a benefit; the benefit itself cannot be razed out. Though nature summon all her forces to this end, yet hath she no power over that which is past. Thou mayest take away the house thou gavest me, the money thou lendest me, the slave I bought, and whatsoever else, wherein the name of a benefit consisteth, but the benefit itself is stable and immutable, no force can effect this, that the one hath not given, and the other hath not received. CHAP. III. MARCUS ANTONIUS (as the Poet * This was a noble Poet that wrote the Civil wars, and commended by Ovid. Rabirius setteth it down) seeing his fortunes translated to Augustus, and that no other refuge was left him, but the privilege of death, and that that also (except he took hold of the present occasion) would quickly be taken from him, cried out in my opinion most heroically. That only now I have, Which I to others gave. O how much might he have had if he would? These are the most assured riches which will continued at one stay, in whatsoever inconstancy and levity of human fortune, which the greater they be, the less envy will they have. Why art thou so sparing of that thou hast, as if it were thine own? thou art but Fortune's factor. All these things which thus puff us up, that emflame us with pride, that seem to make us more than men, 'cause us to forget frailty. These therefore which you keep within iron walls, with armed hands, these goods which you have purchased with other men's bloods, and defended with your own, for which you rig forth whole navies to stain the seas with blood, for which you beleaguer Cities, and yet ignorant, what store of weapons Fortune hath prepared against those, who are opposed against her. These for which two ambitious pretenders of Empire (the laws of affinity, friendship and confederacy being broken) have so oftentimes caused the world to be so crushed and confounded, are not yours; they are but as things in trust left in your hands, and shall suddenly be translated to another master. All greatness is transitory, the perdurable good is least apprehended. That enemy, from whom you have pillaged them, or some successor of his enmity and hatred shall come and force them from thee. Askest thou me how thou mayest make them thine own? I answer thee, by well bestowing them. Be provident therefore in thy affairs, purchase unto thyself an assured possession of those things which ca● never be taken from thee: thy riches shall not only be more secure, but also more honest: that which thou admirest and prisest so much, that which in thy judgement maketh thee rich and powerful, as long as thou detainest it in thy hands, retaineth no other title but the villainous name of avarice, as for example, thy house, thy slave, thy money; but after thou ha●t given them, they are accounted and reckoned for benefits. CHAP. FOUR THou confessest (saith he) that sometimes we are not obliged and indebted to him, of whom we have received a benefit: Ergo, it is taken from us. There are many causes which discharge us of the obligation, whereby we are tied for the good we have received, not for that it is violently taken from us, but because it is corrupted by another means. A certain man defendeth me, being accused and guilty of some capital crime, and afterwards useth infamous violence to my wife, and ravisheth her; he hath not taken away the good that he did me, but opposing an equal injury to the same, he dischargeth me of my debt; and if he hath hurt me more than he profitted me before, the good turn is not only extinguished, but I have free liberty both to complain, and to revenge, where, in comparison of the benefit, the injury overweigheth it: so the benefit is not taken away, but overpressed and drowned. What? are not some fathers so hard hearted and wicked, that it is both lawful and rightful to loathe and shun them, and not to acknowledge them? have they therefore taken from them that which they gave them? nothing less, but the impiety of succeeding times, hath taken away the commendation of every former office and kindness: the benefit is not taken away, but only the thanks, which aught to be acknowledged for the same, and it is brought to pass, not that I have it not, but that I own it not. If a man lend me money, and afterwards burn my house, his debt is satisfied by my damage; I have not paid him, & yet I own him nothing. Even so standeth the case here: though a man hath done me some friendly good turn, though he hath dealt with me somewhat liberally, yet if afterwards he many ways use me proudly, contumeliously & cruelly, he hath left me at that stay that I am, as free from him, as if I had never received any thing at his hands, for the fault is his own, and he himself hath violated his own benefits. The Landlord cannot constrain his tenant to pay his rent (although the deeds remain in force uncancelled) if he tread down his corn, fell down his fruit-trees, not because he hath received that which he covenanted, but for that he himself is the cause that his tenant cannot satisfy him. So is the creditor oftentimes endamaged towards his debtor, if he take more for some other pretext, then that which he lent did amount unto. The judge sitteth not between the creditor and debtor to say only this, Thou hast lent him money: what then? thou hast driven away his cattle, murdered his servant, taken possession of his land, which thou never payedst for; when all these things shall be well considered of and valued: departed thou a debtor, who camest a creditor. There is therefore a just rating and valuation betwixt benefits and injuries to be made. Oftentimes the benefit remaineth, and we are not obliged to satisfy the same, if he that gave it repent himself afterwards, if he say he was unhappy in that he gave the same, if when he gave he sighed, or bent his brows, if he believe he hath lost and not given: if he hath done it for his own profit, or 〈◊〉 lest not for mine? if he hath not ceased to insult, brag and boast every where, and make his benefit bitter and distasteful to the receiver. The benefit therefore remaineth, although it be not due, even as certain moneys are due, but not exacted, because the creditor hath no law to recover them. CHAP. V THou gavest a benefit, and afterwards didst an injury, there is both a thanks due to the benefit, and a reward for the injury, for I own him no thanks, nor he me any punishment, the one satisfieth the other. When we say, I have satisfied his benefit, we say not thus, that we have restored that which we received, but this for that; for to restore, is to give one thing for another. Why not? because every payment restoreth not the same, but as much in value: for we are said to have satisfied our debt, although we have paid silver for gold, and although we pay no money at all, but either by assignment to other, or by way of exchange we make our satisfaction. Me thinks thou tellest me that I loose my labour: for what profiteth it me to know, whether that which is not due remaineth still in obligation? These are but impertinent subtleties of the Lawyers, who say that no man can acquire the possession or dominion of an inheritance, but only the goods thereof, as if the heritage were aught else, than those things which are in the inheritance? I had rather thou shouldest distinguish me this (which may be pertinent to the matter) namely, when as the same man had done me a courtesy, and afterwards offered me an injury, whether I aught to requited his kindness and notwithstanding revenge myself for the injury offered me, and make a several satisfaction, as it were, for two different debts, or recompense the one with the other, and not to take any more care of it, so as the benefit be taken away by the injury, and the injury by the benefit. For I see that this is observed in the Courts of pleas, what the resolution of your School is, you yourselves know. The actions are several, and conformably to the course of our plead, so answerably are we dealt withal. For otherwise there should be a great confusion in the judgement-seat and course of law: if he that should leave in my custody goods or money in trust, should afterwards steal from me, I should enter my suit of felony against him, and contrariwise he plead against me, for the money left in trust with me. CHAP. VI THose examples (my Liberalis) which thou hast proposed, are contained under certain laws which we must needs follow, for one law is not confounded with another, each one keepeth his one way. As for the matter in trust, there is a distinct action, so is there also for the theft. A benefit is not subject to any law, only I that received the same, am the arbitrary judge thereof: I have authority to compare together, how much good another man hath done me, or what damage I have received by him: whether I be indebted more unto him, or he obliged more to me. In judging by law and ordinances I have not any power, thither must we go, whither they lead us. But in matter of benefit, all the power and privilege is mine own, and therefore I judge them, and separate not the actions, I summon the benefits and injuries before one judge: otherwise thou shouldest command me at one and the same time, to love and hate one and the same person, to complain of him, and to give him thanks, which nature cannot permit: nay rather by comparing the benefit and wrong together, I shall see whether any thing be owing me of surplusage. Even as he that imprinteth other lines aloft upon my writings, taketh not away the former letters, but only raceth and hideth them. Even so an injury that succeedeth a benefit, blemisheth it so, that it cannot appear. CHAP. VII. THy countenance (to whose direction and beck I submitted myself) beginneth to frown, and thou bendest thy brows upon me, as if I strayed from my purpose, me thinks I hear thee say: Whether so far disjoined from the port, Dost thou upon thy right hand sail before? Ply hitherwards, unto this haven resort, And leave the main, and love and like the shore. Pardon me, I can keep no nearer. If therefore thou thinkest that I have satisfied and sufficiently debated on this matter: let us pass onward to the other, and examine whether we be indebted to him that hath done us a pleasure against his wil I might speak this more plainly, but that the proposition aught to be more confused, to the end that the distinction which followeth presently after, should show that we dispute both the one & other point: that is to say, whether we are bound unto him that hath procured our good, and meant it not, and also whether we be beholding to him, that hath done us good, and knew it not. For if any man by compulsion hath showed us any kindness, it is a matter so manifest that he obligeth us not, that there need no words to be spent to this purpose. And the said question may easily be answered, and whatsoever may b●e objected of the same nature, if we often convert our thoughts to this general principle. That there is no benefit but that which is accompanied with a good thought towards us; and such a thought and intent likewise, as is both friendly and bountiful. And therefore we thank not the rivers although they bear great ships, and with a large and perpetual channel, fleet along to furnish us with commodities, and although wooing the wondering eye, and full of dainty ●ish, they steal along and moisten our fattened fields: neither will any man judge that he is indebted to Nilus, or displeased therewith, if it hath over-flowed and drowned his la●d, or too slowly grown to ebb: neither doth the wind befriend us, although it blow a gentle and prosperous gale, nor the victuals we eat, although they be profitable and wholesome. For he that properly, will give a benefit, must not only profit me, but have a will to do me good. Therefore men are not indebted to dumb beasts, yet how many hath the swiftness of a horse delivered out of danger? nor to trees, and yet how many troubled with heat hath the shadow of their branchy arms delivered and covered from the scorching Sun? what concerneth it me whither he that did me good, know not that he doth it, or be not able to know it, when both of them wanted will to do it? And what difference is there, whither you command me to own a benefit to a ship, or a chariot, or a spear, or to such a one, who, as these, had no purpose to do good, but was profitable unto me only casually? CHAP. VIII. A Man may receive a benefit unwittingly, but no man doth good without knowing of the same: Even as many men have been healed of their infirmities, by some casual accident, and yet for all that they are no true remedies: As some men have recovered their health by falling into a River in an exceeding cold day: As a quartain ague hath been driven from some men by whipping, and a sudden fright hath disappointed the expected hour of an ague, by fixing the imagination on an other distasteful evil, and yet none of these, although they have been the cause of recovery, can be said but to be a sovereign remedy, so some men profit us while they would not, or rather because they will not do us good, yet are we not indebted to them for the benefit. What if fortune hath altered their pernicious counsels, and drawn them to a better end? Supposest thou that I am any ways bound unto him, whose hands striking at me, light upon and hit mine enemy: who would have hurt me, except he had swerved? Oft-times a witness whilst he manifestly forsweareth himself, hath detracted from their credit who were true witnesses, and hath made the judges to commiserate the prisoner, supposing that it was but some slanderous circumvention and conspiracy. Oft-times the very great power and authority of the adversary, hath delivered the delinquent out of the judges hands, who would not condemn him upon the credit and favour of the accuser, which otherways they had convicted by the justice of the cause. Yet did not these give a benefit, although they profited, for the question is, whereat the dart was aimed, not where it lighted, and it is the mind, and not the event, which distinguisheth a benefit from an injury. Mine adversary, whilst he speaketh contraries, and offendeth the judge by his pride, and rashly dismisseth one of his best witnesses, giveth great advantage to my cause. I ask not whither he erred to pleasure me, because his intention was to hurt me. CHAP. IX. VErily, to approve myself grateful, it behoveth me to have a will to do that which he hath done: if he would that I should take it for a benefit, he aught to have a will and intent. For what is more unjust than that man who hateth him, that hath kicked him in a throng, or soiled him with dirt, or thrust him thither, whither he would not? But what other thing is there that may exempt him from the blame whereas there is an injury in the action, then that he knew not what he did? The same thing that privilegeth the one from being judged to have done injury, exempteth the other also from being thought to have done a pleasure. It is the will that maketh us either friends or enemies. How many hath sickness discharged from warfare? Some have been letted from being oppressed with the ruin of their own houses, by keeping their day of appearance at the suit of their enemies. And some by shipwreck have escaped the hands of Pirates, yet are we not obliged to these misfortunes for any benefit, because casual events have no correspondency with amity; nor to our enemy, who would trouble us by process, and detain us under arrest. It is no good deed that proceedeth not from a good will, except he that gave it acknowledge it. Hath a man pleasured me and know not of it, I own him nothing? Did he do me good when he would have hurt me: I will do the like to him. CHAP. X. LEt us return again to the first point: Thou wilt that (to the intent I should be thankful) I should do somewhat, and yet he that did me kindness, ●ath done nothing. Let us speak now of the second. Thou wilt have me very forward to gratify him willingly, although in the giving he had no good will or intention to give. For what shall I say of the third, whose injury is exchanged into a benefit? If thou wilt have me to own thee a good turn, it is not enough for thee to be only willing to do me good: but to make me unbeholding to thee, it is enough that thou meanest it not towards me. For the bore will cannot make a benefit. But even as that should not be a benefit, if a good and free will were abandoned by fortune; so likewise is it not a benefit, if the will marcheth not before the fortune. For if thou wilt have me beholding to thee, thou must not only do me good, but also thou must do it with a will to profit. CHAP. XI. CLEANTHES useth this example, I sent, saith he, two 〈…〉 the Academy to seek out Pl●to, and to bring him 〈…〉 one of them sought him out in all the Galleries and Porches, where he was wont to walk, and ran through all other pl●●●s wherein he had any hope to find him out, and at length b●ing weary with his way, and frustrate of his hope, returned home. The other stood gazing at the next juggler, or mountebank, or whilst he wandereth up and dow● and playeth with his fellows and companions, seethe Plato passing by, and found him whom he sought not. I, saith Cleanthes, will commend that Boy who performed that he was commanded, to his uttermost and will chastise that other who was more fortunate in laziness. It is the will that is the lawful Mistress of these actions, the condition whereof must be considered, if thou wilt have me to be thy debtor. It is a small matter to wish a man well, except thou pleasure him; It is a small matter to have pleasured, except thou hadst a will to do it. For put ease a man had a will to give, yet gave not, undoubtedly I have his hart, but not his benefit which consummateth and perfecteth both the thing and the william. Even as I own him nothing that would have trusted me with his money but did not: so will I be a friend, but not obliged to him, that would have done me a courtesy but could not: and I shall have a will to do him good, because he had a will to pleasure me. Notwithstanding if fortune be so favourable unto me, as that I may have the means to give him any thing, it shall not be to gratify his courtesy but to give him a benefit. It shall be his duty to yield me thanks, and the beginning of the debt shall be derived from me. CHAP. XII. I Perceive now already what thou meanest to demand: thou needest not to tell me, thy looks express thy thoughts. Are we indebted in any sort to him (sayest thou) who, to profit himself, hath done us a pleasure? For of this thing oft-times I hear thee complain, that there are some men, who reckon that kindness to be done unto another, which they give to themselves. I will satisfy thee herein, my Liberalis: but first of all I will divide this little question into two parts, and separate that which is just from that which is unjust. For there is a great difference whether a man giveth us a benefit for his own sake, or for our behoof, or for his own and ours. He that solely respecteth his own commodity and profit, and profiteth us notwithstanding (because otherwise he cannot further himself) seemeth, in my judgement, to be all one with him who provides provender and sommer-fodder for his cattle; or him that feeds his captives liberally, to the end they may be the better sold; or him that fa●●ens and curries his Oxen, to make them more vendible; or that Master of skirmish and defence, who exerciseth his family of Fencers with great care, & adorneth them most diligently, to the end they may get him ●●●ntenance. There is a great difference (as Cleanthes saith) betwixt a benefit and a negotiation or bargaining. CHAP. XIII. Again, I am not so neglectful or evil, as to forget my acknowledgement towards him, who in being profitable unto me, was as provident and careful to procure his own good. For I do not exact this● that without respect of his own estate, he should advance mine: but rather I wish that the benefit which is given me, should most of all redound to his profit that gave me the same. As long as he that gave the same had a respect unto two in giving it, & divided the same betwixt himself and me, although he for the most part possessed the s●me, if he admit me as a copartner with him, if he thought on two: I am not only ungrateful but unjust, except I rejoice that he found profit by that which was profitable to me. It is an effect of excessive malice, not to call that a benefit, except it be such a thing as returneth the giver thereof some incommodity. I will answer him after another manner, who giveth the benefit for his own sake: Why wilt thou say that thou hast rather profited me, than I pleasured thee? Put case (saith he) that I cannot otherwise obtain a Magistracy, except I redeem ten captive citizens, amongst a number of others that are in thraldom and servitude: shalt thou own me nothing when I have delivered thee from servitude and bonds? yet will I do this for mine own sake. To this I answer: Herein dost thou somewhat for thine own sake, and somewhat for mine. It is for thine own sake that thou redeemest me, and for my sake that thou choosest me. For it is enough for thee in regard of thine own profit, to have redeemed any whatsoever. I therefore am indebted to thee, not because thou hast redeemed me; but because thou choosest me: for thou mightst have attained as much by another man's redemption, as thou dost by mine. Thou dividest with me the profit of the thing, and makest me partner of that benefit which should profit two. Thou preferrest me before others, thou dost all this for my sake: if therefore the redemption of ten Captives should make thee Praetor, and we were only ten Captives, none of us should any ways be indebted unto thee, because thou shouldest have nothing that were withdrawn from thy profit, that thou mightest impart to any of us. I am no malicious interpreter of a benefit, neither desire I that the pleasure should redound only to myself, but to thyself likewise. CHAP. XIIII. WHat therefore (saith he) if I had commanded all your names to be cast into lots, and your name amongst the number of such as were to be ransommed, were admitted to pass, shouldest thou own me nothing? undoubtedly I should be indebted unto thee but very little. And what this is I will let thee know, thou dost somewhat for my sake, because thou admittest me to the fortune of redemption● because my name was registered amongst the rest. I own this to fortune that my name was drawn amongst the rest, to thee that it might be drawn. Thou gavest me an entrance to a benefit, the greater part whereof I own unto fortune● but the ability I had to be indebted to fortune, that own I to thee. As for those who set sail on those courtesies they do to others, I will wholly overpass them: because they respect not to whom they give, but for what advantage they gave, and such a benefit as this returneth every way to his hands that gave the same. A certain man hath sold me corn. I cannot live except I buy the same, yet am I not obliged to him for my life because I bought the same: neither estimate I how necessary it was without which I could not live, but how freely it was bestowed, which I should not have had except I had bought it. In the conveyance whereof unto me, the merchant thought not how much succours he should bring me, but how much profit he should breed unto himself. That which I bought I own not. CHAP. XV. IN this manner (saith he) thou wilt say that thou art no ways indebted to the Physician, except it be for some small fee, nor to thy master, because thou hast paid him some money: but amongst us we yield them much reverence, and offered them more love. To this I answer, that there are some things more precious than we prise them. Thou buyest at the physicians hands an inestimable treasure, to wit, thy life and health: from thy master and instructor in good Arts, liberal studies, and the certanie ornaments and riches of thy mind. To these therefore we pay not the price of that they give us, but the reward of their labours, because they serve us, and abandon their own particular affairs to intent ours. They receive the reward, not of their merit, but of their travail. Another answer may be given to this, more answerable unto truth, whereof hereafter I will entreat, when I have first of all made it apparent how this may be disproved. Certain things (saith he) are more worth than they were sold for, and therefore although they are bargained for and bought, thou owest me somewhat over and beside for them. First of all, what skilleth it how much they are worth, when as both the buyer and seller are agreed upon the price? Again, he sold it not at his own price and valuation, but at thine: it is more worth (saith he) than it was sold for; but it could not be sold for more. And the time is it that giveth the price unto all things, when thou hast praised them to the uttermost, they are worth but as much as may be gotten for them; beside, he oweth nothing to the seller, that hath bought it cheap: moreover, although these things are more worth, yet is it no thanks to thee, considering that the estimation of these things dependeth not upon the use and effect of them, but upon the custom and scarcity of them. What pay dost thou allot him that crosseth the seas, and having lost the sight of land, cutteth thorough the midst of the waves an assured and direct course, and foreseeing future tempests, even then when there is greatest appearance of security, commandeth suddenly to strike the sails, to stoop the topsails, and to be addressed to endure the sudden assault of a storm? yet pay we the reward of so great a merit, no otherwise then with an ordinary fare. How much valuest thou a lodging in a desert, a shed in a shower, a stove or fire in cold weather? yet know I how much I shall pay for this, when I come to mine Inn. How greatly befriendeth he us, that keepeth our house from falling, that underproppeth it with great cunning, and upholdeth it in the air, being cle●t and wind-shaken from the very foundation: yet neither the supporting nor undersetting cost me very much. The wall of a City keepeth us in safety from our enemies, and the sudden incursion of thieves. Yet is it well known what wages the Mason deserved by day, that builded those fair Towers and strong Bulwarks, that were raised for the public security of the inhabitants. CHAP. XVI. IT were an endless matter for me, if I should gather together those plenty of examples, whereby it might appear that there are great and precious things, which cost us very little. What then? why is it that I own some great matter to my Physician and Master, and fail in the satisfaction of that which they have worthily deserved? Because, of a Physician and Schoolmaster they become our friends, and oblige us not by the Art they cell us, but by their gracious and familiar good william. To the Physician therefore (who doth no more than touch my purse, and numbereth me amongst one of those his patients, whom he ordinarily walketh to, and visiteth, prescribing me without any particular affection, what I aught to do, and what I aught to eschew:) I own no more, and am no whit indebted: because he visiteth me not as a friend, but for that I had enjoined him to come unto me: neither have I cause to reverence my Master, if he hath made no more account of me, then of one of his ordinary scholars, if he thought me not worthy of private & peculiar care; if he have never settled his thoughts upon me, and when generally he imparted his knowledge to the rest of his scholars, I rather gathered from him, then learned of him. What is the cause then, why I should own so much unto these? Not because that which they sold is more worth than we bought, but because in particular they have given us something overplus. This Physician bestowed more labour on me than he was bound to do, he had more care of me then of his reputation and credit, he not only contented not himself to prescribe me remedies, but also vouchsafed to apply and minister them. In the mean while he sat carefully by me, and succoured me, and prevented the suspected time, and rigour of my access, no office distasted him; no pain disliked him, if he had seen me bemoan myself, he was sorrowful. Amongst all those that called him, he had a particular care of me, he implied no other time in visiting the rest of his sick patients, than such wherein my infirmity remitted and gave him opportunity. To this man I am not tied, as to a Physician, but as to a friend. Again, that other Schoolmaster took great care and pains in teaching and instructing me; and besides those lessons and common lectures which he communicated to all particularly, he reform me in some points of importance, he quickened my spirits by good exhortation, and sometimes by praises he animated me in my studies, and sometimes by admonitions discussed my sloth. Furthermore (if I may so speak it) he by the hand of his industry drew out and whetted my hidden and heavy wit, too much drowned in the prison of my body, neither lingeringly and subtly dispensed he his knowledge, to the end I might have longer use and need of him, but desired, if he might, to communicate unto me at one instant, all that which he knew. Ungrateful am I, except I love him as one of my most grateful and truest friends. CHAP. XVII. WE allow always somewhat (over and above the ordinary rate we buy at) to merchants and sailors (even in the most mechanic and basest trades and offices) if we perceive some extraordinary diligence in the service we employ them in, and to the master of a ship and workman of a base price, how base soever they be, although they be but day-hirelings, we allow some over plum above his pay. Unthankful then is he, that in the best Arts, which either preserve or adorn man's life: that supposeth himself to be no more indebted, then for that he covenanted. Add hereunto that the tradition of such studies uniteth and allieth minds together, when this is done, both the Physician and the Schoolmaster have received the reward of their labour, but their affections and good minds rest yet unsatisfied. CHAP. XVIII. WHen Plato had crossed a certain river in a ferry-boat, and the ferryman had exacted nothing for his passage, supposing that it had been done for his honours sake, he said unto the ferryman, that Plato aught him a good turn; but anon after perceiving, that with no less diligence he freely transported many others: Friend, said he, thou hast now discharged me of that obligation, whereby I held myself tied and bound unto thee. For to the end to make me thy debtor, for any thing thou givest me, thou art bound not only to give it me, but to give it me solely, as to myself: For that which thou givest unto a multitude, thou hast no reason to redemand at a private man's hand. How then? Is there nothing due for this? nothing, as for one in particular, I will pay with all that I own thee withal. CHAP. XIX. THou deniest then (saith he) that he giveth me a benefit, that freely and without recompense transported me over the river of Poe. True it is he doth me some good, but he giveth me no benefit, for he doth it for his own sake, or at leastwise not for mine. In sum, neither doth he himself judge that he giveth me a benefit, but he doth it either for the Commonweals sake, or for his neighbour's sake, or for his own ambition sake; and for this expecteth he some certain other commodity, then that which he is to receive from every private person. What then (saith he) if a Prince should give immunities to all Frenchmen, As Claudius did at that time, Seneca wrote this. and discharge all Spaniards of paying tribute, should not every one of them in this case be particularly bound unto him? Why should they not be obliged? undoubtedly they cannot be otherwise, yet not for a particular, but for a part of a public benefit. But (sayest thou) he never thought on me. At that time when he did so much good unto all men; he had no particular intent to give me the City, neither addressed he his purposes to my profit: wherefore then should I be obliged to him in any thing, who no ways thought on me at such time as he was to act that which he intended. First when as he bethought himself to do good unto all the Gauls, he thought also of me, because I was a Gaul, and comprehended me, although not by my proper name, yet under the public name of the nation. Again, I shall not be tied unto him, as if the good were properly and particularly mine, but as one that partaked his favour amongst the commonalty. I will not satisfy as in mine own behalf; but I will contribute as for the common good of my country. CHAP. XX. IF a man l●nd a sum of money to my country, I will not say that I am indebted to him, neither will I acknowledge it as my debt, although I sued for a public office, neither also if I were sued as a debtor; yet will I contribute my part in payment of this debt. In like sort, I deni● that I am debtor for the favour that is done unto all my nation, because he gave it me, yet not for me; & in such manner gave it me, that in giving the ●ame he knew not whether he gave it me, yea or not: yet know I that I must pay some portion thereof, because the good by one means or other appertaineth to me, and tieth me to requited it. It must be done for me that shall oblige m●. In the same sort (saith he) neither owest thou any thing to the Moon or Sun; for they are not moved for thy sake: but whereas they are moved to this end, that they may preserve all things, they move for me also, for I am a part of the Universe. Moreover, our condition and theirs are different: for ●e that profiteth me, to the intent that by my means he may further himself, gave me no benefit, because he made me the instrument of his profit. But the Sun and Moon, although they do us good, yet to this end profit they us not, that by our means they should profit themselves: for what can we befriend or further them in? CHAP. XXI. I Shall know (saith he) that the Sun and Moon have a will to profit us, if they had the power not to be willing: but they cannot surcease to stay their motion, neither can they abridge or intermit their accustomed travel. See by how many ways this may be refelled. A man is not therefore the less willing, because he cannot be unwilling, nay, rather it is a great argument of a firm will, not to be able at any time to change. A good man cannot choose but do that which he doth: for he shall not be a good man except he do it. Therefore a good man bestoweth no benefit, because he doth that which he aught to do, but he cannot do otherwise then that which he aught. Besides, there is much difference whether thou sayest He cannot choose but do this because he is compelled: or, He cannot be unwilling to do it. For if he mus●●●edes do it, I am not tied unto him for his benefits but to him that compelled him● B●t if the necessity of his willingness proceed of this, because he hath nothing better that he can will, then is it he himself that compelleth himself. And so, look for what thing I should not have been beholding to him, as compelled by others for the same; shall I be beholding to him, as to the compeller of himself. This will make them cease (saith he). I pray you think a little on this matter: What man is he, so void of understanding, that will deny that it is no willingness in him that acteth any thing, which is not accompanied with danger of impediment in performance, or altering itself to the contrary, seeing that on the other side no man may of right seem so willing, as he whose will is so assuredly certain, that it remaineth eternal and immutable? If he be willing, that may anon after be unwilling: shall not he be thought to be willing, who is of that nature that he cannot be unwilling? CHAP. XXII. But (saith he) let them stand still, and leave to move if they can. It is as much as if thou saidst, that these stars which are separated by so great distances the one from the other, that are ranged in so goodly an order; to conserve and entertain the whole world in his entire, should abandon their places, that the Planets being troubled with a sudden confusion, should interchecke and come one against an other, and having broken the repose and concord of all things: that the heaven itself should fall into an irreparable ruin, that the course of so violent a swiftness, which had promised to be never interrupted, should stay in the midst of his way: that the heaven and stars, that moved themselves of late, the one after the other, in so just a measure, that equally and by agreeable seasons tempered the whole world; should be burned and consumed in a sudden flame: that so great a variety of all things should be dissolved & abolished, that they should return into one, that the fire should seize all, that afterwards a darksome and heavy night should obscure this world, and that finally a bottomless gulf should devour and swallow this great n●mber of the gods. We must not admit an evil so pernicious; it must not cost so dear to prove thee a liar. The stars have power to give thee all this in d●spite of thyself: they finish their courses and ordinary revolutions for thy great profit, although there be another more great and original cause that moveth them. CHAP. XXIII. furthermore add thou this, that there is not any foreign cause that may constrain the gods: their eternal and inviolable will is that which serveth them for a law: they have established that which they intent not to altar. They therefore cannot seem to do● any thing against th●ir will: for whatsoever cannot end or cease to be, they would have to continued still; neither do the gods repent them ever of their first counsels. Undoubtedly they cannot stand still, or run a contrary course, yet not for all this do th●y keep their wont course out of weakness, because their own force keepeth them in the same purpose still; yet observe they not the same of weakness, but because it becometh them not to altar or err from the best course, and because they have determined so to go and shape their courses. Most c●rtaine it is, that amongst their first ordinances they established, in disposing all things, they likewise had a care of us, and conceived some special regard of man. They therefore cannot sleme to shape their courses for their own cause only, and to accomplish their own works for their own selves, because men also are a part of their work. We are then obliged to the Sun and Moon, and the other powers of heaven for the good they do us. For although they have more great ends for which they rise and set then only for us, yet aiming at greater, they help us also purposely. And for this cause we are obliged unto them, because we did not light upon thei● benefits without their knowledge, to whom they gave them, but they knew certainly that we should receive them. And although their intentions be more eminent, and the fruit of their travel more great and pertinent, then to nourish and conserve mortal things: yet so it is, that in the ●irst beginning of the world, they have employed their thoughts on our profit, they have prefixed such ordinances and laws unto the heavens, that it evidently appeareth what care they had of us, and that it was neither their lest nor last. We own our parent's honour and reverence, yet many of them matched and married without desire to beget children. The gods cannot seem to be ignorant of that they aught to do, whereas they have suddenly provided us of nourishment, and all other things that are necessary for us; neither carelessly created they them, for whom they created so many things. For Nature minded us before she made us: neither are we a work of little importance, that she could make us by chance, as doing something else. See how great a power she hath given into our hands: Consider how the condition of command, which she hath given to man, is not only over men. See what liberty our bodies have, to wander and traverse over many places. See how she limiteth them not within any certain bound of land, but sendeth them into all places, yea, into every corner of the world. Consider the confidence of human understanding: see how they only either know or seek t●e gods● and raising their minds aloft, they converse with, and contemplate those divine influences continually. Believe then that man is not a rash or unthought upon work. Nature amongst her greatest works hath nothing whereof she may more vaunt, or to whom she may vaunt of her workmanship, or that she would replenish with more great glory. How great a madness is this to call the gods in question about their own blessings? How can he be thankful to them, whose courtesies he cannot requited without charge: who denieth that he hath received them from the gods, which will both give always and receive never? What refractory and perverse mind hath he, that will not be grateful or beholding to any, because his liberality extendeth to such a one, as denieth the good that is given him, and to term the continuation an immutable order of their benefits, an argument of one that giveth of necessity? and to say● I care not for his courtesies, let him keep them to himself, who requires them at his hands? And an infinite sort of other such like purposes, proceeding from an impudent mind, which thou mayest pack and number with these: yet shall not he deserve the less at thy hands, whose beauty redounds unto thee, even whilst thou deniest it, and of whose benefits even this is one of the greatest, that he is ready to relieve thee, even then when thou complainest most against him. CHAP. XXIIII. SEest thou not how parents in their children's most tender infancy, constrain them to suffer those things patiently, which are most healthful for them? With diligent care they nourish their tender bodies, and still them when they cry, and swath them when they struggle; and jest continual slackness might make them grow awry, they bind them strait to make them grow right: when their infancy is past, they present them liberal sciences, threatening them with the rod if they be negligent: and finally, when they grow to more maturity, they teach them to be sober, and counsel them to do nothing that should breed their shame: they fashion them in good manners, and if their youth as yet be not liable to obedience, forcibly they constrain that by awe which counsel could not effect: at last, having attained to full growth and maturity, and to have a feeling of their own government, if either by intemperance or fear, they reject the counsels and remedies, which are given them for their profit, they use greater violence and servitude. So that the greatest benefits which we receive of our parents, is at such time as we know them not, or when we refuse them wholly. CHAP. XXV. TO this sort of ungrateful men, and such as refuse benefits, not because they desire them not, but for that they would not remain indebted, they are like, who contrariwise will be overgrateful: who wish that some adversity and mishap may befall those to whom they are obliged, to the end they may have an argument and occasion, to let them know how needful they are of the benefit, and what desire they have to make restitution. The question is, whether such sort of men do well to desire and wish the same, and whether their desire be honest? These kind of thankful men, in my judgement, resemble them very much, who, inflamed with lascivious love, do wish their lover banishment, to the end they might accompany h●r in her distress and departure: or wish to see her in necessity, to the end they might relieve her misery: or to see her sick, to the end they might sit by her, and tend her: and finally, which under profession of love, do wish whatsoever her enemy would have wished unto her. Assuredly the issue of this foolish love and capital hate are well-near all one. Into this very inconvenience do they fall, who wish that their friends were in misery, to the end they might afterwards relieve them, and make way to benefiting, by doing them wrong, whereas it w●r● much better utterly to desist, then to seek occasion to do a courtesy by means of wickedness. What if a Master of a Ship should pray the gods to sand them cruel storms and tempests, that by the danger his Art might be held more gracious? What if an Emperor should beseech the gods, that a great multitude of enemies might besiege his camp, and with sudden assault fill full the Trenches, Non sunt facienda mal●, ut inde cuenirin● bona. and raze down the Rampires, and (to the great amaze of his army) advance their colours even in the very ●ntrance of his Fortifications, to the end he might receive more honour and glory, in succouring his army in this great danger, and at that very instant, when his whole camp imagined the field to be lost, and the army discomforted: all these convey their benefits by a detestable way, who call the Gods to plague him, whom they themselves would profit, and to hate them, whom they themselves would relieve. Inhuman and perverse is the nature of this grateful mind, which wisheth evil unto him, whom he cannot honestly forsake. CHAP. XXVI. MY wish (saith he) hindereth him no ways, because I wish the peril and remedy both at once. This is as much as if thou saidst that thou hast committed some small fault, but that thou sinnest lesser, then if thou shouldest wish him danger without remedy. It is mere wickedness to plunge a man into a river, to the end to draw him out, to ruinated that thou mayest re-edify, to imprison, that thou mayest deliver. The end of an injury is no benefit, neither is it a part of kindness to withdraw that from one, which he himself had laid upon him. I had rather thou shouldest not wound me, then that thou shouldest not heal me. Thou mayest deserve my thanks, if thou healest me, because I am wounded, but not if thou wound me to the end I may be healed: the scar never pleased, but in comparison of the wound, for the healing whereof we so rejoice, that we had rather not to have been wounded: if thou shouldest wish this unto him, that had never done the good turn, the vow were unhuman, but how much more inhuman were it to wish it him, to whom thou art indebted for a courtesy. CHAP. XXVII. I Wish that (saith he) at one and the same time I may yield him some succour. First, that I may prevent thee in the midst of thy wish; thou art already ungrateful. I hear not as yet, what thou intendest to do for him, yet know I well, what thou wouldst he should endure: Thou wishest that care, fear, or some greater mischief should befall him, thou desirest that he may want help, and this is against him. Thou desirest that he may need thy help; this is for thee, thou wilt not secure him, but pay him satisfaction. He that hasteth the matter thus, would himself be paid, not pay. So that the only thing that might seem honest in thy vow, is unhonest and ungrateful, to wit, not to be willing to own any thing. For thou desirest not, that thou mayest have ability to requited a courtesy, but that he may have need to implore thy help. Thou makest thyself his superior, and (which is a heinous wickedness in thee) thou castest him down at thy feet, that hath deserved well at thy hands. How much better is it to own with an honest-good will, then to pay by an evil means? If thou shouldest deny that thou hast received, thou shouldest sin less, for he should loose nothing more than he had given. But now thy intent is, to bring him under thy subjection, even with the loss of his own fortunes, and to be drawn to that disaster by the change of his estate, that he must lie lower than his own benefit. Wilt thou that I report thee for a grateful man? Wish it in his presence, to whom thou wilt yield profit. Termest thou this a wish, which is as well divided between a friend, as an enemy? which undoubtedly an adversary or enemy would have made, if the latter points only were excepted? Mortal enemies also have wished, that they might surprise certain Cities, to the end they might preserve them, and to overcome some enemy of theirs, to the end they might pardon them: neither therefore are their vows other then hostile, in which, that which is most courteous and calm, succeedeth cruelty. To conclude, what kind of vows judgest thou them to be, which no man would wish less prosperous unto thee, than he for whom thou vowest them? Thou dealest most injuriously with him, to whom thou wishest, that the Gods should hurt, to the end he may be helped by thee; and impiously also with the Gods themselves, for thou puttest over the cruelty to them, & reservest the humanity to thyself. Shall the Gods be injurious, to the end thou mayest be courteous? If thou shouldest suborn an accuser, whom afterwards thou wouldst remove, if thou shouldest entangle him, in some suit of law, to the end thou mightest deliver and discharge him thereof, there is no man that would grow doubtful of thy impiety: what difference is there, whether this thing be attempted by fraud or by vow? saving that thou seekest more powerful adversaries for him. Thou canst not say, what wrong have I done unto him? Thy vow is either fruitless or injurious, nay rather it is wrongful, although it be not successful. Whatsoever thou effectest not, it is God's mercy, but whatsoever thou wishest is mere injury. The matter is plain enough. We aught no otherwise to be displeased with thee, then if thou hadst effected it. CHAP. XXVIII. IF vows (saith he) had been any ways available, they had prevailed in this, that thou shouldest be in safety. First of all, thou wishest me an assured peril, under an uncertain help. Again, suppose both are certain, yet that which hurteth is foremost. Furthermore, thou knowest the condition of thy vow: A tempest hath surprised me, uncertain of either haven or help. How great a torment supposest thou that it was for me to have wanted them, although at length I recovered them? to have feared, although I be preserved; come to trial, and drawn in question, although I were acquitted. There is no end of fear so pleasing, that a solid and unshaken security is not more acceptable: wish that thou mayest restore me a benefit when I have need; not that I may have need. If that thou wishest, were in thy power, thou thyself wouldst have done it. CHAP. XXIX. HOw far more honest is this vow? I desire he should continued in that estate wherein he might always distribute benefits, and never need them. Let the means and matter which he so bountifully useth in giving and assisting, so follow and second him, that he never want occasion of giving benefits; or repent him of that he hath given. Let the multitude of grateful men stir up and provoke his nature (of itself prove enough to humanity) to mercy and clemency. Whom let him never want to befriend, nor have need to try. Let him be merciless to none, and have no need of being reconciled to any man. Let Fortune persever to be so equally favourable unto him, that no man may be grateful unto him, but in mind and acknowledgement. How far more just are these vows, which defer thee not in expectation of any occasion, but make thee presently grateful? For what letteth us to be thankful to those that are in prosperity? How many means are there, whereby we may yield satisfaction to those to whom we are obliged, although they be happy? Faithful counsel, diligent conversation, familiar speech and pleasing, without flattery, ears diligent, if he would deliberate, secret, if he would trust; familiarity in conversation. Prosperity never raised a man so high, that by so much the rather he had not want of a friend, by how much he had affluence in all things. CHAP. XXX. THis hateful and damnable occasion is every way to be detested and driven far from us. Must thou needs have the Gods displeased, to the end thou mayest be grateful? And understandest thou not, that hereby thou sinnest more, because he to whom thou art ungrateful hath the better fortune? Propose unto thy mind imprisonment, chains, stink, servitude, war, poverty; these are the occasions of thy vow: if any man hath covenanted with thee, by these he is dismissed. Why rather wouldst thou not have him mighty and blessed, to whom thou art most indebted? For what (as I said) forbiddeth thee to be grateful even unto those that are endued with the happiest estate, whereas thou hast ample and several matter and occasion to express thyself? What that men pay debts even unto those that are the wealthiest? neither will I constrain thee against thy william. Truly, although most powerful felicity hath excluded all things, yet will I show thee what thing it is that greatest estates are poorest in, and what things are deficient to those that possess all things. Truly such a one that will speak truth, that will vindicate a man astonished and amazed amongst flatterers, and drawn from the knowledge of trut, h by the very custom of hearing rather pleasing then profitable counsels, from the company and consent of deceitful men. Seest thou not how extinguished liberty and faith transformed to servile obsequiousness, drive them headlong to their ruin, where no man persuadeth or dissuadeth him according to his conscience, but each man striveth who may flatter most, and the only office and contention of all his friends is, who can deceive him most pleasingly. They knew not their own forces, and whilst they suppose themselves to be so great, as they hear they be, they brought upon themselves unnecessary wars, and such as should hazard their whole estates, they break the true and necessary concord, and feeding there own wrathful spleen, which no man revoked, they drew many men's blood, being at last like to loose their own; whilst they seek to get uncertainties for certainties; and think it no less disgraceful to be persuaded, then to be overcome, and suppose those things to be perpetual, which being brought to the highest do most of all stagger. They overturned great kingdoms upon themselves and theirs, neither understood they in that stage glistering both with vain and transitory goods, from that time forward that they should expect very great adversities; since when they could hear nothing that was true. CHAP. XXXI. The ruin of greatness in the falsehood of flatterers. WHen Xerxes proclaimed war against Greece, there was no one but enkindled and incited his proud and forgetful mind, to what fickle and frail things he trusted. One said that they would not endure the first message of the war, and that upon the first rumour of his approach, they would turn their backs. Another that it was not to be doubted, that not only Greece would be overcome by that huge multitude, but that it might be overwhelmed: that it was more to be feared, jest they should find their City's desert and desolate, and the vast solitudes left to them, and the enemies flying, not having no opposite whereon to employ his so puissant power. Another, that the whole world was not sufficient for him, that the seas were to narrow for his Navy, his camp for his soldiers, the fields to embattle his cavellerie, nay scarce the heaven large enough to contain the shafts that should be darted from every hand. When after this manner many things were tossed and talked of on every side, which incited the man, too much enraged and besotted with esteem of himself. Demeratus the Lacedaemonian was only he that said, Profitable perdiction of succeeding misery. that that very multitude so disordered and so mighty, which was so pleasing unto him, was most of all to be feared by him that conducted them, because they were rather cumbersome then strong, that over great things can hardly be ruled, neither endureth that long, which cannot be governed. Presently, said he, upon the first encounter, the Lacedæmonians will come and present themselves unto thee upon the first mountain, that thou wouldst pass, and will make thee know what they are: Three hundred soldiers shall make stand these so many thousand men; they shall plant themselves strongly in the passages, and defend the straits committed to their charge, and stop them up with their bodies: all Asia shall not remove them from their places. A few men shall sustain so great affront of war, and the charge almost of all mankind that intendeth to rush in upon them. When Nature changing her laws, hath made thee pass into Greece, thou shalt stick in the strait, and shalt esteem thy future damages, when as thou shalt think how much the straits of Thermopolis cost thee. Thou shalt know that thou mayest be put to flight, when understandest that thou mayest be stayed. Happily in divers places they will give thee passage, and retire, as if carried away after the manner of a torrent, whose first forces over-floweth with great terror, afterwards they shall muster and charge thee on every side, and shall overpress thee with thine own power. True it is that is said, that thy show of war is greater than these regions can contain, which thou intendest to conquer. But this thing is against us: for this very cause will Greece overcome thee, because she is not able to contain thee, and thou canst not use thy whole self. Moreover which is the only safeguard of things) thou canst not prevent or be present at the first assaults, neither second those that begin to retreat and decline, neither sustain and confirm those things that fall to ruin: Thou shalt be vanquished long before thou shalt perceive thyself to be overcome. Furthermore, thou art not therefore to suppose that thine army is invincible for this cause, because the number of them is unknown, even unto him who is their Leader. There is nothing so great that cannot perish; and though other occasions wanted, yet would the owner thereof be the cause of his own destruction. The things that Demeratus foretold came truly to pass. He that thought to enforce both heaven and earth, and he that changed whatsoever withstood him, was driven to a stand by three hundred soldiers. And so Xerxes being defeated and overthrown on every side thorough all Greece, began to learn how much difference there was betwixt a multitude and an army. Xerxes therefore being more miserable in his shame then in his loss, gave Demeratus thanks, for that he alone had told him the truth, and permitted him to require what he would: he desired that he might enter Sardis, the greatest city of Asia, in a Chariot triumphant, having an upright Tiara on his head, an ornament which the Kings did only use to wear. Worthy was he of this reward, before he demanded it, but how miserable was that nation, among whom there was not one man that would speak the truth unto the King, except he would not speak truth unto himself. CHAP. XXXII. THe Emperor Augustus banished and confined his daughter, that was grown so impudentt, hat her modesty exceeded this common course, and blazed abroad the whoredoms of the imperial house, as how she had admitted whole troops of adulteries; spent the whole night in banquets here and there in the city, how she had soiled and sinned with her adulterers, in that every Court and judgement seat, from whence her father had published laws against adulteries, her daily haunt and concourse to Marsias staule, whereas from an adulteress she became a common strumpet, and required the liberty of all licentiousness, under an unknown adulterer. These things which a Prince aught as well to conceal, as to punish (because the dishonour and disgrace of some things oftentimes redoundeth to him who would punish the same) he unable to conquer his displeasure published abroad. Where good counsel is wanting, impatience breedeth remediless harms. Afterwards some few days past, when remorseful shame had supplied the place of his displeasure, lamenting that he had not obscured those things in silence, which so long time he was ignorant of, till it was loathsome for him to speak it, he oftentimes exclaimed, None of these things had befallen me, if either AGRIPPA or MAECENAS had lived. So hard a thing is it to him that had so many thousands at his beck, to supply the want of two. His legions are slain, and forthwith new are levied: his Navy defeated, and within few days a new floated: fire had defaced and consumed the common buildings, and better were raised then those that were burned; but all his life time he could not find any to supply Maecenas or Agrippa's places. What shall I think? Did there want such to succeed them, or that it was his error, who had rather complain than seek friends? There is no cause we should imagine that Agrippa and Maecenas were wont to speak truth unto him, A corrigible custom for great men to eschew. who had they lived, had been amongst his dissemblers. It is the manner of Kingly dispositions, in contumely of the living, to praise those that are lost, and to give them the honour of speaking truth, from whom they are now out of danger of hearing any more. CHAP. XXXIII. A lesson ●or upright Counsellors. But that I may return unto my purpose: thou seest how easy a thing it is to be thankful to those that are happy, & are planted in the height of human riches. Tell them not that which they are willing to hear, but that they should be contented always to hate. Let sometimes a true word enter their ears which are filled with flatteries: give profitable counsel. Thou askest what thou mayest do for a happy man? Bring to pass that he be not too confident in his fortune, that he may know, that many and faithful hands must sustain the same. Is the favour little thou bestowest of him, if thou shalt once drive him from this foolish confidence, that his power shall be always perdurable, and shalt teach him that these things are transitory, that casually yield, and fleet away with greater forwardness, than they come, neither return by those means, whereby they attained their felicity? That oft-times there is but little difference betwixt the greatest and lowest fortune. Thou knowest not the value of friendship, if thou understandest not, that thou shalt give him very much to whom thou givest a friend, Few friend's, many flatterer's. a thing not only rare in houses but in ages, which is no where so deficient, then where it is supposed to be most abundant. What thinkest thou, that these books of thine, which scarce thy remembrancers, or registered memory, or hands can comprehend, are the names of thy friends? These are not thy friends which in great troops knock at thy doors, who are disposed according to the first and second admissions to visit. This is an old custom of Kings, and those that sergeant Majesty, to number a multitude of friends. It is the property of pride to make great account of his door, & touch of his threshold, to give it as a favour to sit nearest to his closet, that thou step the first foot into his house, in which beside there are many doors, which exclude those that are admitted to enter. CHAP. XXXIIII. THe first amongst us that commanded their troops should be separated, and that some should be received in secret, other some with many, and other some with all men, were Caius Gracchus, and after him Livius Drusus. These therefore had their first friends: they had their second also, but never any true. Callest thou him thy friend, whom thy servants successively admit to salute thee; or can this man's faith be apparent unto thee, who entereth not, but slippeth and throngeth into thy doors, that are so hardly gotten open? May that man press in to thee with full use of his liberty, which may not salute thee with God save thee, a common and usual word to all persons, yea, even to those that are strangers; but in his turn. To whomsoever therefore of these thou shalt come, whose salutation shaketh the city: know thou likewise, if thou mark it, that although thou see the streets besieged with a great assembly of people, and the passages locked up with the press of those that go and come to salute thee, yet that thou comest to a place filled with men, but void of friends. A friend is sought in the breast, not in the Court of thy house: there must he be entertained, there retained, and in the veryentrails must he be lodged. Teach him this thou art grateful. Thou esteemest very basely of thyself if thou ar● unprofitable, What true friends are and wh●re they should be ●ound. except it be to one in affliction, or if th●● think thyself unnecessary in time of prosperity. Even as thou demeanest thyself wisely both in doubtful, adversd, and prosperous affairs, that in doubtful thou handlest them wisely, in adverse constantly, in prosperity moderately● so likewise mayst thou show thyself profitable in all things in thy friend's behalf. Although thou neither forsake him in his adversities, neither wish his misery; yet in so much v●rietie many things may fall out that thou shouldest not wi●h; which will afford thee matter to exercise thy faith. Even as he that wisheth riches to any man, to this end, that he himself may partake a part thereof, although he seem to wish for him: hath a respect unto himself. He that rejects his friend's misery to the end he may secure him is ungrateful. So he that wisheth his friend any necessity, which by his assistance and faith he may relieve (which is the part of an ungrateful man) preferreth himself before his friend, and maketh so great account, that he should be miserable, that he himself might be grateful, for this very cause is himself ungrateful. For he would disburden himself, and discharge himself of a burden too heavy to sustain. There is a great difference, whether thou hastnest to give thanks to the end thou mayst restore a benefit, or to the end thou mightest not own it. He that will be grateful will apply himself to his friend's commodity, and desireth that he may have a fit opportunity. He that desireth nothing else, but that himself may be discharged, desireth by any means to accomplish the same, which is an argument of a most evil william. CHAP. XXXV. THis to much hastening say I, is the act of an ungrateful man, this can I not more manifestly express, then if I should repeat what I said. Thou wilt not restore a benefit thou hast received, but thou wilt fly from it. This seemest thou to say: When shall I be rid of this fellow? I must endeavour by all the means I can, that I may not be beholding unto him. If thou shouldest wish that thou mightest pay him with his own, thou shouldest seem to be very dishonest and unthankful, but this thou wishest is far more wicked. For thou cursest him, thou desirest that mischief might fall on his head, whom thou shouldest account both Holy and Sacred. No Man as I think would doubt of the impiety of thy mind, if thou shouldest openly wish him poverty, if captivity, if famine and fear. And what difference is there whether this be thy voice or thy vow? wish any of these in thy right wits. Go to now, and suppose this to be a point of thankfulness, which the most ungrateful Man would not attempt, that were not grown so far as to hate but only to deny his benefit. CHAP. XXXVI. WHO would entitle AEneas by the name of pious, The precedent reasons are confirmed by example. if he would have his Country sacked, to the end he might deliver his Father from captivity? who would not imagine the young men of Sicily unnatural, if to show good example to their children, they had wished that AEtna burning with an unmeasurable force of fire above custom should give them occasion to express their pieti● by carrying away their Fathers out of the midst of the fire. Rome is nothing indebted unto Scipio, if he wished the continuance of the Carthaginian wars: nor beholding to the Decians who saved their Country by their own slaughter, if they had formerly wished that extreme necessity should make place for their constant devotion. It is the greatest disgrace for a Physician that may be, to wish for business. Many who increased and exasperated diseases, to the end they might cure them with greater glory, could not afterwards expel them, or to the great agony and vexation of the miserable patients, have at last overcome them. CHAP. XXXVII. another answer to the former by the examples of Calistratus and Rutilius. THey say that Calistratus (for truly Hecaton testifieth of him) when he departed into exile, into which the seditious and intemperately free City, had expulsed many with him: when a certain man wished, that the Athenians might be enforced to recall their banished men, was much distasted with such a return. far more manly and full of magnanimity was that of Rutilius, for when as a certain man comforted him, and assured him that civil war was intended shortly, and that in few days all banishments should be reversed. What evil (saith he) have I done thee, that thou wishest me a worse return, than I had a departure? I had rather my Country should be ashamed of my banishment, then bewail my return. This is no exile where no man is more ashamed thereof, than he that is condemned: even as they performed the duty of good Citizens, that would not recover their native homes with a public slaughter, because it was more fitting that two should be punished unjustly, than all perish publicly; so observeth he not the affection of a grateful man, who wisheth that he who hath deserved well at his hands should be oppressed with difficulties, which he might redeem. Who although he think well, wisheth evil. It is a poor excuse and a weak glory to extinguish a fire, which thou thyself hast kindled. In some Cities a wicked wish hath been reputed for a wicked crime. CHAP. XXXVIII. A third confirmation h●●●of. TRue it is that Temades in Athens condemned him that sold necessaries for funerals, when as he had proved that he wished for great gain, which could not befall him, except it were by many men's deaths. Yet is it wont to be demanded whether he were worthily punished. Perhaps he wished, that he mi●ht not cell unto many, but that he might cell dear; that they might cost him little which he was to sell. Whereas negotiation consistest on that which is bought and sold, why wrestest thou his vow one way, whereas profit is in both? Besides thou mayest condemn all that are in this negotiation, for all will the same, all wish the same in their hearts: thou wilt condemn the most part of men. For who hath not profit by an other man's incommodity? The Soldier, wisheth for war: Dearth of Corn sets up the Husbandman. The greatest Lawyers desire most pleas. A sick year is the physicians harvest. Such youths as are prodigal and dissolute, rich the Merchants of delicate wares. Let houses be neither hurt by fire or tempest, the Carpenter may betake him to his rest. One man's vow was excepted at, where all men's are alike. Thinkest thou that Aruntius and Aterius and all others that professed the art of Executorship had not the same vows and wishes, as the masters of funeral Ceremonies and they who were Ministers in burying the dead? yet know not they whose death they wish: they desire that some one of their nearest familiars should die, in whom for friendship sake they had most hope. No man liveth by the loss of those, whosoever differreth the other undoth them. They therefore wish, not only that they may receive that which they have deserved by base servitude, but also that they may be freed of a grievous tribute. It is not therefore to be doubted, but that these men rather wish that which is condemned in one man. One man's pleasure is another's prejudice. They by whose death any profit may accrue, are hurtful to them by their life. Yet all these men's vows are as well known as unpunished. To conclude let each one take counsel of himself and examine his inward conscience, and see what he hath secretly wished, how many wowes are they which we are ashamed to confess unto ourselves? how few which we dare justify and effect before a witness? CHAP. XXXIX. But every thing that is to be reprehended, is not to be condemned as this vow of a friend, whereof at this present we entreat, abusing his good will, and falling into that which he flieth from. For whilst he hasteneth to express a grateful mind, he is ungrateful. This man saith, let him fall into my hands, let him want my favour, let him neither be secure, in esteem, or safe without me, let him be so poor and miserable, that whatsoever is restored him, may serve him in stead of a benefit. And this in the hearing of the Gods. Let domestical treasons cirumvent him, which I alone may suppress. Let a potent and heavy enemy assault him, deadly foes, and they armed, charge him, a creditor and accuser urge him. CHAP. XL. SEe how just thou art, It is better never to be obliged, then to requited out of season. thou hadst wished him none of these, except he had given thee a benefit. To overslip the rest more heinous, which thou committest by returning the worst for the best, truly thou art faulty in this, that thou expectest not the proper time of every thing, which, who so followeth not, sinneth as much as he that preventeth it. Even as a benefit is not always to be received, so is it not to be restored in all seasons. If thou shouldest restore it me, when I required it not, thou shouldest be ungrateful, how far more ungrateful art thou, if thou compelest me to desire it? Expect: Why wilt thou not suffer my benefit to rest in thy hands? Why grieveth it thee to be obliged? Why art thou so hasty to level thy account with me, as if thou hadst to deal with a cruel Usurer? Why seekest thou my trouble? Why incensest thou the Gods against me? How wouldst thou exact thy debt, if thou satisfy in this sort? CHAP. XLI. Instructions to take opportunity in requital. Above all things therefore, my Liberalis, let us learn this to own benefits securely, and to observe the occasions of restitution, and not to seek them, and let us remember ourselves, that this very desire to discharge ourselves speedily, is the act of an ungrateful man. For no man willingly restoreth that which he oweth unwillingly, and that which he repineth to keep by him, he rather judgeth it a burden then a benefit. How much better and juster were it, to bear the deserts of our friends in memory, and to offer them, and not to press them, nor to think ourselves too much in their debt, because a benefit is a common bond, and lin●keth two together. Say I care not how thy benefit returneth to thee. I desire thou shouldest receive it cheerfully, if any of us both be threatened with necessity, and it be given us by a certain fate, either that thou be compelled to receive thy benefit again, or I to take another; let him give still that was wont to give. I am ready, there is no delay in Turnus: I will show this willing resolution, as soon as time shall happen, in the mean space the gods shall be my witnesses. CHAP. XLII. What means are to be observed in acknowledging a good turn. OFtentimes, my Liberalis, I am wont to note this affection in thee, and as it were, touch it with my hand, that thou fearest and frettest, jest thou shouldest be tardy in any office. Anxiety becometh not a grateful mind, but contrariwise an assured confidence of himself. The conscience of true amity should put this care out of our minds. It is as great a vice to receive again that which thou oughtest not, as not to give that which thou oughtest to give. Let this be the first law of a benefit given, that he which gave the same, may make choice of the time when he is to receive it back again. But I fear me, jest men should speak sinisterly of me: He doth badly that is grateful rather for reputation & fame sake, then for conscience and honesty. Thou hast two judges of this thing; thyself whom thou canst not deceive, and him whom thou canst. What then if no occasion shall happen? Shall I always be indebted? Thou shalt be indebted, but openly indebted, but willingly indebted, but with great contentment shalt thou behold, the gage laid up by thee. He repenteth himself of a benefit received, that is sorry that as yet he hath not requited it. Why should he that seemed worthy to bestow a benefit on thee, be roputed unworthy to have thee his debtor? CHAP. XLIII. GReat are their errors, who believe it to be the act of a great and generous mind to do many courtesies, to give and fill another man's bosom, and enrich his house, whereas sometime it is not a great mind, but a great fortune that doth it. They know not how much more great and hard a matter it is somewhiles to receive, then to lavish courtesies. For to the end I may detract from neither, because both of them when they are done out of virtue are equal. It is no less proper to a noble hart to own, then to give, yet more laborious is this, then that, as the keeping of things received requireth more diligence, then doth the giving of them. We therefore aught not fear, that we restore not time enough, nor hasten to do it out of season, because he sinneth as much that hasteneth to recompense a good turn out of due time, as he that requiteth not when the opportunity is offered him. It is laid up with me for him, neither fear I in his, nor in mine own behalf. He that requiteth unseasonably, is no less faulty, than he that requiteth not in time and place. He is wholly assured, he cannot loose this benefit, but with me, not not with me also. I have given him thanks, that is as much as I have requited him. He that thinketh very much upon the restoring of his debt, imagineth that the other thinketh upon his satisfaction too much. It behoveth him to be pro●e to do both the one and the other, if he will receive a benefit again, let us tender it, and deliver it willingly, if he had rather continued it in our custody. Why should we dig up his treasure? Why refuse we to keep it? He is worthy to do what he listeth. Touching opinion and report, let us so prize them, as that they should attend us, and not lead us. The end of the sixth Book. LUCIUS ANNAEUS SENECA Of Benefits. THE SEVENTH BOOK. The Argument of JUSTUS LIPSIUS. LIke unto the first: Certain questions, and yet things profitable, intermixed with subtle. That in the beginning serious: that curiosity is to be restrained, and too much desire of knowledge; that the mind is rather to be applied to manners and virtue, that is, to wisdom. After this a question, upon occasion of the word, Whether any man may give aught to a wiseman, whereas all things are his? He saith that he may, because he possesseth all things in mind, but not in use. Another, whether he that hath endeavoured or assayed to restore a benefit, hath restored it. He hath: yet notwithstanding he teacheth him to endeavour again and again. The third, whether thou art to restore that thou hast received from a good man, to the same man being now evil. Thou shalt restore it, but with caution, not that he use them wickedly or to his own or another's man's harm. The fourth, whether he that giveth, aught to forget himself of that benefit he hath bestowed. By no means: nay● more he saith he may keep the same in memory, yea, and sometimes exact it. The last, how grateful men are to be borne withal, with a pleasing, mild, and great mind. CHAP. I COurage my LIBERALIS; Now have we got the shore, I will not here Tyre thee with long discourse, or task thine ●are To lingering prohemes, or dilated words. The remainder this book concludes, & the matter being spent, A ●ood project to fashion ●en● manner's, followed somewhat interr●pth, but learnedly to the end. I look about me, not what I shall say, but what I have not said: yet accept thou in good part whatsoever is the remainder, whereas it is reserved to thyself. Had I had an intent to polish my work, it should have increased by little and little, and that part had been reserved till the conclusion, which every one would have longed for, although he had been satisfied. But whatsoever was most necessary, I presently gathered and congested into the beginning of the Book: now if any thing hath escaped me I recollect it. Neither truly if thou ask me, do I think it much pertinent to the matter, whereas those things are spoken which governed manners, to prosecute the rest, which were invented, not for the cure of the mind, but for the exercise of the wit. For Demetrius the Cynique (a man in my judgement great, although he were compared with the greatest) was wont very worthily to say this: That it is more profitable for thee, if thou remember a few precepts of wisdom, and have them in use and readiness, then if thou learnedest many things, and hadst not the ready use of them. For (saith he) like as that man is a worthy wrestler, not that hath perfectly learned all the tricks and sleights, which he shall seldom have occasion to make use of against his adversary: but he that is well and diligently exercised in one or two, He meaneth that many thin●s delight the understanding, and there are ●●w th●ngs that conquer the william. and intentively expecteth and waiteth ●he occasions of them (for it skills not how much he knoweth, if he know so much as sufficeth for the victory) so in this study, many things delight, but few overcome. Although thou be ignorant what cause it is, that moveth the Ocean to ebb and flow, why every seventh year impresseth an alteration and sign in our age, why the latitude of a gallery to those that behold it a far off, keepeth not his proportion, but gathereth his ends or sides into a narrowness, so as the farthest spaces of the pillars are joined in one: what it is that separateth the conception of twins, and joineth their birth: whether one act of conception be divided into two distinct creatures, or else they are begotten at several conceptions: why their destinies be different who are borne twins together, and their conditions prove so greatly different, whose birth was one, or at lest in the same instant. It shall not much hurt thee to overslip those things which neither thou canst know, nor is profitable for thee to know. Truth lieth covered and hidden in the depth: neither can we complain of the malignity of nature, because the invention of any thing is not difficult, but only of that which yieldeth us not any fruit, except the only invention thereof: whatsoever should make us better or more blessed, nature hath either laid open before us, or near unto us. If the mind hath contemned casualties: if she hath raised herself above fear, and with greedy hope embraceth not things infinite, but hath learned to ask riches of herself: if she hath cast out from her the fear both of gods and men, and knoweth that there is a very little to be feared from men, neither any thing from god: if contemning all things whereby life is tortured, whilst it is most adorned; he hath attained so much, that it manifestly appeareth unto him, that death is no matter of any mischief, but the end of many: if he have consecrated his mind unto virtue, and thinketh that way plainest whither soever she invite him: if he be a sociable creature, and borne to community: if he respecteth the world as one house, and openeth his conscience to the gods, and liveth always as it were in public: if more afraid of himself then others, being discharged of these tempests, he hath retired himself to an assured and quiet repose, he hath consummated a very necessary and profitable science. The rest are but the delights of leisure: for now is it lawful (the mind once withdrawn into safety) to expatiate and arrive at these also, which rather yield ornament then courage to our minds. CHAP. II. THese are the things which our friend Demetrius willeth him that is proficient to lay hold on with both hands, to abandon them never, nay, rather to affix them to himself, and make them a part of himself, and by daily meditation to be instructed so far, that these wholesome instructions may present themselves before his eyes freely; and being desired for, might be at hand at all times and places, and that instantly that distinction betwixt good and evil may be remembered, whereby he may know, that neither there is any vice, which is not vi●cinous, nor any good which is not honest. Let him dispose his actions by this rule of life: according to this law let him execute and exact all things, and judge those the most miserable amongst men (how rich & refulgent in wealth whatsoever) that are slaves to their belly and lust, whose minds are benumbed with slothful idleness: let him say unto himself, Pleasure is frail and fleeting, she is quickly wearied of her object; the more greedily she is deuoured● the more hastily is she disposed to a contrary desire: she is always of necessity accompanied with repentance or shame: there is nothing in her that is honourable or virtuous there is nothing in her that is either noble or worthy the nature of a man, who would resemble the gods. It is a bore thing, proceeding from the most loathsome and vildest ministries of our bodies, shameful in the end. This is the pleasure that is worthy a man and a noble mind, not to fill and flatter the body, not to provoke his lustful desires, which are lest hurtful when they are most quiet. But to live exempt from the passions of the mind, especially of that which enkindleth the ambition of those men, who entertain quarrels and contentious among themselves, & also of that intolerable passion, which coming from high, hath made us believe all that of the gods, which report and fables have forged, and hath planted this opinion in us, to measure them by our own vices. This equal, dreadless, and never-loathing pleasure doth this man enjoy, whom we here fashion and describe, who (as I may say) being skilful both in divine and human laws, contenteth himself with the things that are present, and dependeth not on those that are future: for never liveth that man in assurance that doteth on uncertainties. Exempted therefore from mighty cares, and such as distracted the mind, he hopeth nothing, he coveteth nothing, he hangs not on expectation, but contenteth himself with his own: neither suppose you that such a man is contented with small riches; ●or all things are his: yet not in such sort as they were Alexander's, who although he had conquered as much as to the shore of the read Sea, yet wanted he more than he left behind him from whence he came. Those very countries, which either he possessed, or had conquered, were not his. When as he had sent Onesicritus the general of his Galleys to discover the Ocean● and to search out further war in an unknown Sea: did it not sufficiently appear, that he was poor, who extended his wars beyond the limits of nature, and thrust himself headlong through his blind covetousness into a vast, unattempted, and boundless Sea? What skills it how many Kingdoms he hath violently taken, how many he hath given, how many countries he hath loaden with tributes? He wants as much as he desireth. CHAP. III. Neither was this Alexander's error only, whom happy temerity enforced beyond the tract of Bacchus and Hercules, but of all those whom fortune hath made greedy by over-glutting. Run over and reckon up Cyrus and Cambyses, and all the progeny of the Kings of Persia, whom wilt thou find contented and satisfied with his Empire? that ended not his life in thinking on some further project? Neither is this to be wondered at, what so falleth into a covetous hand, is forthwith exhausted and hidden: neither skilleth it much, how much thou throngest into that which will never be satisfied. The wiseman is only he that is Master of all things, neither costeth it him much to keep them. He hath no Ambassadors to sand beyond the Seas, nor camps to pitch in his enemy's country, nor garrisons to dispose in convenient fortresses, he needs no legions or troops of horsemen. Like as the immortal gods, without the assistance of any arms, do govern their Kingdoms, & entertain their greatness in all assurance, without disturbance, or forsaking the place high & eminent wherein they repose: even so the wiseman executeth and governeth his offices, although they have a large extent without tumult, & beholdeth all other mankind, being himself the powerfullest and best of all under himself. Mock him as thou listest, yet is it a matter worthy of a generous spirit, after thou hast in mind diligently considered both East and West, whereby also thou mayest penetrate into the remote and most retired solitudes, when as thou hast beheld so many living creatures, such affluence of all things which beautiful nature most blessedly lavisheth, to break into this discourse, beseeming a god, All these things are mine. So cometh it to pass that he desireth nothing, because there is nothing which is not his. CHAP. FOUR THis is that (sayest thou) that I expressly willed, I have overtaken thee now, and intent to see how thou wilt rid thyself of these encumbrances, whereinto thou art wilfully fallen. Tell me, how may any man give aught to a wiseman, if all things are his? For that also which he giveth him is his own. A benefit therefore cannot be bestowed upon a * Under this name Wiseman, he intends to signify thorough the whole body of this discourse, the same which it signifieth in the book of Pro●er●es and Ecclesiastes, and Wisdom, where this word wisdom signifieth virtue or justice; and the name of Wise man is in this sense a virtuous or just man. wiseman, who can have nothing given him which is not his own: yet say you, a man may give somewhat unto a wiseman. But know this, that I demand the like in respect of friends. You say that all things are common amongst them, therefore can no man give any thing to his friend: for he giveth that which is common to him. There is no cause but that somewhat may be both a wiseman's, and his that possesseth it, to whom it is given and assigned. 〈◊〉 civil law all things are the Kings: and yet those things whose entire possession appertaineth to the King, are distributed amongst several lords, and each thing hath his possessor. Therefore may we give the King our house, our bondslave, and our money● neither for all this are we said to give him his own. For to Kings appertaineth the power over all, but to several men the property. We call them the bounds of the Athenians, or Campanians, which otherwise the neighbours by private termination distinguish amongst themselves: and all the lands belonging to this or that man, are the commonweals, and yet each part hath his determinate owner, we therefore may give our lands to the Commonweal, although they be said to be the Commonweals, because in one sort they are theirs, in another sort mine. Can it be doubted, but that a slave, and whatsoever substance he hath is his masters? Yet may he give him a present. In what manner a man may give unto a w●se man. For a man cannot therefore say that the servant hath nothing, because he could not have, if so be his lord said he should not; neither therefore faileth it to be a present, when as he gave it willingly, because it might be taken from him, although he would not. Even as we have approved that all things appertain unto a wise man (for we are already agreed in this point) so we must at this present express, that we have more matter than we need, to give liberally unto him, whom w●e confess to be the master of what we have. All things are the fathers, which are in the possession of his children; yet who knoweth not that the son also may give his father somewhat? All things appertain unto the gods, yet have we sacrificed at their Altars, and offered many times in their Temples. That therefore which I have, faileth not to be mine, because it is thine, for one and the same thing may be thine and mine. He (sayest thou) is a Bawd, that is the owner of common harlots, but a wise man is owner of all things, and amongst all things the prostitute are comprehended: therefore a wise man is a Baud. In like manner they forbidden him to buy, for they say no man buyeth his own, but all things appertain unto a wise man, a wise man therefore buyeth nothing. In like manner restrain they him from borrowing any thing, because no man payeth interest for his own money. Innumerable are the things they contend and cavil about, whereas notwithstanding they fully conceive what is spoken by us. CHAP. V Undoubtedly in such sort conclude I all things to be a wise man's, that each one notwithstanding remain master and lord of that he hath, even as under the government of a good Prince: the King posseseth all things by regal authority, and every private man by particular tenure and title. The time will come when we shall prove this; mean while let this suffice for this question, that I may give a wise man that, which in one kind is his, in another mine: neither is it a strange matter that somewhat may be given him, who is Lord of all. I have hired a house of thee; in this house there is something thine and something mine. The house itself is thine, the use of this house is mine. Thou therefore shalt neither touch the fruit, if the Farmer forbidden thee, although they grow on thine own soil, and there should be a scarcity of corn; or famine: Alas, how all in vain shalt thou Behold another's mighty mow. That grew in thine own ground, was stacked in thine own barn, and must be stored in thine own garners. Thou shalt not enter my hired tenement, although thou be lord thereof, neither shalt thou carry away thy slave, which is my hireling; and if I hire a waggon of thee, thou shalt take it for a kindness, if I give thee leave to sit in thine own waggon. Thou seest therefore that it may so be, that man receiving that which is his own, may receive a courtesy. CHAP. VI IN all these things which I lately recited, both one and the other are masters of one and the same thing. But how? Because the one is the lord of the thing itself, the other of the use. We say that these books are Cicero's, and Dorus the Bookseller saith those very same books are his, and both these are true, the one challengeth them as the author thereof, the other as the buyer, and rightly are they said to appertain to both; for the right is in both of them, yet not after the same manner. So may Titus Livius receive in gift, or buy for money his own books at Dorus his hands. He answereth the former objections. I can give that to a wise man, which particularly appertaineth unto me, although all things be his. For since after a kingly manner he possesseth all things freely, and the propriety of every thing is distributed to every particular person, he can receive a present, he can own, and buy, and hire. All things are Caesar's, yet nothing but that which is his own patrimony and particular demeans is returned into his Exchequer: all things are subject to his sovereign power, but his peculiar heritage is properly his own. The question is, what is his, and what is not his without diminution of his empire. For even that which is adjudged to be none of his, is in another sort his own. So a wise man in mind possesseth all things, but by law and right only that which is his own. CHAP. VII. BION somewhiles in his Arguments concludeth all men to be sacrilegious, sometimes no man, when he would cast all men from the * This was the Tarpeian rock, whence heinous offender's were headlong cast down. rock, he saith, whosoever hath taken away or lavished that which appertaineth to the Gods, and converted the same to his own● use, is sacrilegious, but all things are the Gods, whatsoever every one taketh away, he taketh it from the Gods, to whom all things appertain, therefore whosoever taketh away any thing, is sacrilegious. Again, when he would have Temples broken open, and when he commandeth that the Capitol should be pillaged without fear or vengeance of the Gods, Capitol is a place in Rome dedicated to jupiter, which in times past was called Tarpe●●. he saith, That no man is sacrilegious, because that whatsoever is taken out of that place, which appertaineth to the Gods, is transferred into another place, which appertaineth likewise unto the Gods. To this it is answered, that true it is that all things are the Gods, but that all things are not dedicated to the Gods, ●nd that sacrilege is observed and committed only in those things, which religion and devotion hath consecrated to the Gods. So say we likewise, that the whole world is the Temple of the immortal Gods● only worthy to contain● their Majesty and magnificence, and yet that profane things are different and distant from sacred, and that it is not lawful to act all things in a corner of the earth, that hath been called a Temple, which we may lawfully do in the sight of heaven, and view of all the Stars. Undoubtedly the sacrilegious cannot ●o any injury to God, whose divinity hath planted him without the shot, yet is he punished, because he hath done it, as it were● to God● for both our and his own opinion obligeth and maketh him subject to the penalty. Even as therefore he seemeth to be sacrilegious that taketh away any sacred thing, although whithersoever he transferreth that he hath taken away, it is within the limits of the world: in like manner a man may rob a wise man, for that is taken from him, not which is his, as he is Master of all things in this world, but that whereunto he had a peculiar title, which he reputeth and useth as his own in several. That other possession he acknowledgeth, the other he would not have though he might: and into this discourse will he break, which the Roman Emperor uttered, when as for his virtue and good government, so much land was decreed and allotted him, as in one day he could environ with his plough: You have not need (saith he) of such a Citizen, that hath need of more than one Citizens living. How much more worthy, thinkest thou, was this man in refusing this gift, then in deserving it? For many great Captains have broken and defaced other men's bounds, but never a one of them hath limited his own. CHAP. VIII. WHen as therefore we behold a wise man's mind, powerful overall things, and spreading his Empire over all the whole world, we say that all things are his, when as we refer him to the right of daily custom, he shall be taxed by the paul, if the cause so require. There is a great difference whether his possession be estimated by the greatness of his mind, or by his revenues; he would hate to be lord over all these things whereof thou speakest. I will not reckon up Socrates, Chrysippus or Zeno, and such other great personages, who in this are greater, because Envy obscureth not the praise of such, who have lived in times past. A little before I made mention of Demetrius, whom nature, in my judgement, seemeth purposely to have bred in our time, to show that neither we could corrupt him, nor he correct us. A man (though himself deny it) of exact wisdom, and of firm constancy in those things which he determined, yea and of that eloquence which best sitted matters of greatest strength● not polished or painted in words, but proof, cutting his causes with great courage, according as the heat carried him. I doubt not but the divine providence gave this man such a life and such ability in discourse, to the end our age might want no good example, nor reproach. CHAP. IX. IF some one of the Gods would deliver all our goods into Demetrius' possession upon this condition, that it might not be lawful for him to give it away, I dare aver it, he would refuse them, and would say I will not entangle myself with this inextricable weight: I will not plunge this man so clean and free from avarice, into this deep bog and sink of these things. Why bringest thou me the mischiefs and infelicities of all men, which I would not receive, although I could give them away presently, because I see many things which I might not honestly give? I will contemplate those things which dazzle the eyes of Kings and Nations. I will behold those things for which you spend your bloods, and hazard your souls. Set before mine eyes the chiefest spoils of superfluity, whether it be that thou wilt unfold them in order, or (as it is better) deliver them in gross. I see a vaulted roof most cunningly carved with curious variety: and the shells of divers the most loathsome and sluggish creatures bought at excessive prices. Wherein that very variety which most pleaseth, is made of sergeant colours, according to the similitude of the things themselves. I see in the same place tables and wood, estimated at no less than a Senators substance, by so much more precious, by how much the infelicity of the tree had writhed and wrested it into infinite knots. I see in the same place vessels of Crystal, whose brittleness enhanseth the price. For amongst ignorant men, the pleasure of all things is augmented, even by that very dange●, which should ●●use us hate them. I see pots and vessels of Murrhine, as if superfluity and rio●o●● expense had not been sufficiently prized, if they had not vomited in great v●●sels of precious stone the excessive wine they had drunk to one an others health. I see pearls not severally fitted for every ●are one; for now the ears are accustomed to bear burdens, divers of them are tied together, and if there 〈◊〉 but two, a third is hanged under them. The madness of women had not sufficiently brought their husbands into subjection, except they hanged at either of their cares the worth of two or three men's patrimonies. I see silken garments (if they may be called garments) wherein there is nothing that may cover either their bodies, or at leastwise their shames; which when a woman hath put upon her, she may scarcely swea●e that she is not naked. These for a great sum, are by way of commerce fetched from foreign Nations, that our matrons may show no more of themselves to their adulterers in their chambers, then in public. CHAP. X. WHat dost thou avarice? How many things are they, which in value surpass thy gold? All these things which I have reckoned up are of more honour and better price. Now will I recognise thy riches, the plates of both metals, at which our covetousness is dazzled. But the earth which produced whatsoever was profitable for our use, hath drowned these metals, yea, and with her whole weight hath cast herself upon them, as upon hurtful and hateful things● which could not come to light: but to the common hurt of all nations I s●e that Iron is taken out of that very darkness, whence gold and silver were had, to the end that neither instruments for mutual slaughters, neither price for the murderers should be wanting, yet have these things some matter of esteem in them. There is somewhat wherein the mind may follow the error of the eyes. I see these Patents, these Indentures, and Obligat●ons, the empty images of covetousness, certain shadows of sick avarice, by which they deceive the mind, that delighteth in the opinion of transitory things. For what are these? What is interest? What daybooks and usury, but c●rtaine names of human covetousness, which nature never heard of? I can complain of nature, because she hath not hidden gold and silver deeper, because she hath not cast a heavier burden on them, then that it might be removed. What are these Registers, these computations, & sailable time, * These were called Centesima, which was a kind of usury amongst the Romans: the creditor was wont to give his debtor 100 crowns, and ●or the use thereof he paid for every month a crown ●or his interest, till a hundredth months were passed; at the end whereof he returned the principal to his creditor. these bloody usuries of twelve for a hundredth? They are voluntary evils depending on our constitutions● in which there is nothing that may be subjecteth to the eyes, or held in the hand, the dreams of vain covetousness. O how wretched is he, who taketh delight to read over the great rental of his patrimony, or large demeans to be tilled by his bondmen, or infinite herds of cattle, that need whole countries and Kingdoms to feed them, or his family greater than warlike nations● & private buildings, that in bigness exceed great cities! When he hath well examined these things, whereby he hath disposed and spread out his riches, and made himself proud; if he compare that which he hath with that which he desireth, he is a poor man. Let me go, and restore me to those riches of mind: I know the Kingdom of wisdom to be great and secure: so enjoy I all things as all men may enjoy theirs in particular. CHAP. XI. WHereas therefore Caius Caesar gave Demetrius two hundredth talents, he smiled and refused them, not deeming the same of such value, as he might justly glory that he had refused them. O gods and Goddesses, with how small a thing would he either have honoured or corrupted such a mind! I must testify for so worthy a man: I have heard a great matter reported by him, that when he had wondered at Caesar's indiscretion, in that he thought that he could be changed for so slight a matter, he said thus: If, said he, he had intended to tempt me, he should have tempted me with his whole Empire. CHAP. XII. SOmething therefore may be given to a wiseman, although all things be his: so likewise nothing letteth but that something may be given to a friend, though we say that all things are common amongst friends. For in such sort are not all things common betwixt me and my friend, as they are with a partner, so as my part and his should be all one: but as children are common to their fathers and mothers, who having too betwixt them, have not each of them one, but two a piece. First of all I will make him know whatsoever he be that will be copartner with me, that there is nothing common betwixt him and me: and why? because this association cannot be but amongst wisemen, who only understand and practise the use of true friendship● the other are no more friends than they be copartners. Again, goods are common in divers kinds. The sieges in the Theatre ordained for Knights, appertain to all the Knights of Rome; and yet in these, the place that I sat in is mine own. If I have yielded up my place to any, although I give him place in a thing c●mmon to all, yet seemeth it that I have given him somewhat. There are things which appertain to some men, under certain conditions: I have my place amongst the Knights, not to cell, not to hire, nor to possess continually; but only to this end, to behold the public sports. I shall not therefore lie, if I say I have a place amongst the knights; but when I come into the Theatre, if the place● be all taken up, yet in right have I a place there, because it is lawful for me to sit there: and I have it not because it is occupied by those, who have as much title to the place as myself. Suppose the care is the same amongst friends. Whatsoever our friend ●ath is common to us, yet the property is his that possesseth it: I cannot use it against his william. Thou mockest me (sayest thou) if that which appertaineth to my friend be mine, I have liberty to cell the same: but I have no liberty; for thou canst not cell my Knight's place, yet is it common to thee, with those of the same order. It is no argument therefore that a thing is not thine, because thou canst not cell it, because thou mayest not consume it, because thou mayest not change it for worse or better: for it is thine, although it be thine but upon a condition. I have taken the place, yet hast thou it nevertheless. CHAP. XIII. NOt to dally or delay with thee any longer, one benefit cannot be greater than another: but those things whereby a benefit may be given, may be greater and more; into which benevolence may extend itself, and so please itself: as lovers are wont, whose many kisses, and closer embracements increase not, but exercise their loves. This question also that ensueth, is fully debated in our former, and therefore it shall be shortly handled: for the arguments we have used in the other questions, may be employed here. The question is, whether he that hath done his best to restore a benefit, hath given satisfaction. That thou mayest know, sayest thou, that he hath not satisfied, he hath done all he can to recompense him: it appeareth therefore that that thing is not done, because he had not the means to do it, as he hath not paid the silver which he aught unto his creditor, who, to perform the same, had sought him every where, and could not find him. Some things are of that condition, that they must needs be effected, and in some things it is as much to have attempted what a man cou●d, as to have effected the deed. If the Physician hath done his uttermost to heal his patiented, he hath performed his part. The Orator although his cly●nt be condemned, if he have showed the uttermost of his art, hath not lost the honour of his eloquence. The General and Captain, although conquered, is commended, if in as much as in him lay, he proceeded with prudence, industry and fortitude, he hath attempted all means to recompense thy courtesy, but thy felicity letted him. No calamity hath fallen upon thee, whereby thou mightest make trial of his true friendship. He could not give unto a rich man, sit by a healthful man, secure a happy man. He was thankful unto thee, although thou receivedst no benefit. Besides, intending this matter always, and expecting the time & opportunity of this same; he that hath spent many cares to this e●d, and employed much diligence to find an occasion of requital, ●ath endeavoured more than he whose fortune it was, to make satisfaction suddenly. CHAP. XIIII. THe example of the debtor is far different from this, who hath done little in gathering in his mon●y, except he hath paid it: for there his importunate creditor standeth over his head, who suffereth not a day to pass without interest; but here thou art matched with a bountiful creditor, who when he shall see thee ●ro●ting up and down, careful and pensive to satisfy, saith unto thee Dislodge this care from out thy breast. Cease to be so urgent in thine own trouble: I am wholly satisfied. Thou dost me injury, if thou thinkest that I desire any thing more at thy hands: I am fully possessed of thy good mind. But tell me (saith he) wouldst thou say that he had restored a benefit that had only been thankful? By this reckoning he that hath requited● and he that hath not satisfied are of like reckoning. Contrariwise, put case; if any other hath forgotten the benefit he hath received, and hath no ways endeavoured himself to requited the same: wouldst thou say that he had requited? But this man (of whom we speak) hath wearied himself day and night, and renouncing all other offices only to think upon this, hath wholly intended satisfaction, and laboured that no occasion should overslip him. Shall therefore the like respect be had of him, that hath cast away the care of returning gratuity, as of him that never thought of aught else? Thou dealest unjustly with me, if thou exactest that recompense at my hand, when thou seest my mind ever addicted to content thee. To be short; put case thou wert in captivity, and that to ransom thee (having engaged all my goods unto a creditor, who had taken them in assurance of the money which I borrowed for thee) I put forth to Sea in a sore stormy winter, by coasts and promontories beleaguered by Pirates; and furthermore suffered all the perils that may chance even in a peaceable Sea● and after that having traversed all the deserts, which all men living fled, and sought to find thee; and coming at last to the Pirates, from whose hands already another had discharged thee: wilt thou deny that I have not requited thy goodness, i● in undertaking this journey, I have by shipwreck lost that money which I borrowed for thy ransom? If I fall myself into that captivity from whence I would deliver thee; wilt thou not confess that I have been thankful unto thee? Yet undoubtedly the Athenians called Armodius and Aristogiton Tyrant quellers, and Mutius hand left upon the enemy's Altar, was as much as if he had slain Porsenna: and virtue likewise wrestling against fortune, although the intended action was not effected, was always honoured. He hath performed more, who hath followed flying occasions, and ever hunted after new by which he might be thankful, than he whom the first occasion made grateful, without pain or travel. CHAP. XV. He hath (saith he) employed two things for thee, his will and goods: thou likewise owest him two. Worthily mightest thou say this unto him, that had only yielded thee an idle will, but thou canst not speak it to him, who both willeth, and endeavoureth and leaveth nothing unattempted, for he performeth both, as much as lieth in his power. Again, a number is not always to be equalled by a number, for sometimes one thing overvalueth two. Therefore so forward and desirous a will to make restitution, standeth in stead of the benefit. But if the mind without the act be not sufficient to requited a benefit, no man is thankful to the gods, on whom there is nothing bestowed but the will, we can (saith he) give nothing to the gods but our will, but if I have no other thing to give him to whom I am obliged, why should I not be reputed grateful toward men, in yielding herein that more, than which I cannot give unto the gods? CHAP. XVI. YEt if thou ask me what I think, and wilt subscribe unto mine answer, let this man judge that he hath received the benefit, and that man know that he hath not requited it. Let the one release the other, and the other confess the debt. Let this man say I have it, and that man I own it. In all controversies, let us respect the common good, let ungrateful men be exempted from excusations, to which they may fly, and under which they may colour their refusal. I have done all that I could. Do it now likewise. What, thinkest thou our ancestors were so imprudent, that they understood not that it were an unjust act to set no difference between him, who had spent the money he had borrowed of his creditor in riot and sports, and him, who either by fire or thieves, and by any other misfortune, both lost his own and other men's? Truly they admitted no excuse, to the end that men should know that faith was to be observed every way. For it was better that a just excuse amongst few should not be accepted, then that all men should attempt any. Thou hast done all thou canst to satisfy. Let this suffice him, and thee a little. For even as he is unworthy to receive any requital, who suffereth thy serious and sedulous endeavour, to slip away unregarded; so likewise art thou ungrateful, if thou think not thyself more freely obliged to him, who taketh thy good will for payment, and by this means acquitteth thee of that thou owest. Lay not hold of this, neither contest, yet seek thou occasions of restitution. Requited the one, because he asketh it, the other, because he releaseth thee. Repay this man, because he is wicked, and the other, because he is not evil. And therefore thou hast no cause to think this question may stand thee in any stead: whether he that hath received a benefit from a wise man, when he is wise, is bound to restore it afterwards, when he is become foolish, and shall no more be a good man. For thou wouldst restore a thing committed to thy trust, which thou hadst received from a wise man, yea and to an evil man, wouldst thou satisfy that he had lent thee: why then likewise wouldst thou not restore a benefit? Because he is changed, shall he change thee? What if thou hadst received any thing from a man in health, wouldst thou not restore it when he were sick, whereas we are always most obliged to our friend when he is weakest? Truly this man is sick in mind, let him be helped, let him be borne withal, folly is a sickness of the mind. To the intent that this may be the better understood, me thinketh it good to use some distinction herein. CHAP. XVII. THere are two kinds of benefits, the one which a wise man cannot give, but to a wise man; and this is an absolute and true benefit: the other vulgar and of little value, whereof the use is ordinary amongst us ignorant men. Of this there is no doubt, but that, that I aught to restore it to him I own it, whatsoever he be, whether he be become a Homicide, a Thief, or an Adulterer. There are laws to punish crimes and bad actions: the judge better chast●seth these, than an ungrateful man. Let no man make thee b●d● because he is bad himself. I will fling away my benefit to a wicked man, and restore it to a good man, to the one, because I own it, to the other, jest I should be in his debt. CHAP. XVIII. OF the other kind of benefit there is some question, which if I be not capable to receive, except I be wise, I aught not likewise to restore but to a wise man. For put the case I should tender it, yet cannot he receive it, for why he is not capable of it, but hath lost the science how to use it. What if you command me to bandy back the ball to a maimed man's hand, it is but a folly to give him that hath no power to receive? And that I may begin to answer thee to thy last speeches, I will not give him that which he cannot receive, yet will I recompense the good he hath done me, although he cannot receive it. For I cannot oblige any man, but him that receiveth, yet may I be discharged, if I give satisfaction. Cannot he make use thereof? Let him look to that, the fault shall be in him and not in me. CHAP. XIX. TO restore, saith he, is no other thing, but to deliver it to his hand● that aught to receive it. For if thou owest wine unto any man, and he willeth thee to power the same into a net or si●ue, wouldst thou say that thou ●addest repaid him, or wouldst thou return him that, which whilst it is restored, is spilled between both. To restore, is to give that which thou owest to him, to whom it appertaineth, and that hath a will to receive the same; this is the only thing I aught to perform. That he may receive, that which he received, at my hands, is now a further charge. I own him not the custody thereof, but the acquittal of my faith: and far better is it, that he have it not, then that I should not restore it. I will presently satisfy my creditor, although I know that he will suddenly sand that I own him unto the stews. Although he assign it over to be satisfied to an adulteress, I will pay it. And if he would power the money, which he is to receive, into his bosom, being untied, yet will I give it. For I must repay it, yet am I not bound either to keep or defend it. I aught carefully to keep the good I have received, & not that which I have restored. As long as it remaineth with me, I will see it shall not be lost, but if it be called for, it must be satisfied, although it should slip ou● of his hands that received it. I will restore it to a good man, when it shall be profitable for him, to an evil man when he shall demand it. Thou canst not, saith he, redeliver a benefit unto him in such a sort as thou receivedst it, for thou receivedst it from a wise man, thou repaidst it to a fool. Neither is it embased by me, but by him. I will tender that which I have receive and if he recover his wisdom, I will redeliver it entirely, such as I received it; as long as he is evil, I will tender such a one as he may receive. But (saith he) what if he be not only made evil, but cruel and enraged as Apollodor●s or Phalaris, were, wilt thou restore the benefit thou hast received at his hands? Nature suffereth not so great a change in a wise man, for falling from the best into the worst, it must needs follow also, that some impression of goodness remaineth in him, even in his wickedness. Virtue is not so much extinguished in men, but that she impresseth some marks, which cannot be defaced by any change. Wild beasts that have been brought up amongst us, when as they break out into the woods, retain some part of their former tameness, and look how much they be wilder than the ●amest beasts, so much are they tamer them the wildest beasts, and such as never were many tractable by man's hand. No man hath ever fallen into extreme wickedness, that hath ever stuck unto wisdom: he is tainted more deeply, then that it may be wholly washed out, and changed into any other colour. Furthermore, I ask thee whether he, of whom we speak, be only savage and cruel in mind, or if he take pleasure to procure the ruin and public misfortune of the whole world. For thou hast proposed unto me Apolidorus and Phalaris the tyrant, whose nature, if an evil man have in himself, why should not I restore him his benefit back again, to the end I may be wholly acquit of him for ever? But if not only he delighteth and taketh pleasure in human blood, but exerciseth his unsatiable cruelty on all ages, and rageth not for anger, but of a certain thirst and desire he hath to shed blood: if he killeth children in their father's presence, if not contented with a simple death, he tortureth them, and not only burneth those that are to die, but scorcheth them: if his altar be always soiled with new murders and massacres. It is a small matter to keep back a benefit from such a one. Whatsoever it was, whereby he and I were linked and united together: that hath been dissolved, by reason that by his cruelty and tyranny he hath broken the rights and laws of human society. If he had done any thing for me, if I had received any good at his hands, and afterwards he had taken arms, and made war against my country, whatsoever he had deserved he had lost, and to be thankful to him, would be reputed a heinous crime. If he assail not my country, but be tedious to his own, and doing no injury to my nation, ●e persecuteth his own: notwithstanding that so great impiety of his mind, dissolveth the bonds whereby we were united: and if this be not sufficient to make him mine enemy, at leastwise I shall have occasion to loathe and hate him, and the respect of duty which I aught to bear to the common good of men, deserveth to have more power over me, than the obligation that I own to one particular person. CHAP. XX. But although this be so, and that I may freely act whatsoever me listeth towards him from that time since, whereby violating all laws, he hath brought to pass, that nothing may be unlawfully attempted against him, yet believe I that my actions must be so limited, that if the good I intent in my benefit, shall neither augment his forces to the destruction of all men; neither confirm that power which he hath already, that is to say, that I may do it without the ruin of the Commonwealth, I will restore his benefit: I will save his child being an infant. What doth this benefit wrong any of those whom his cruelty dism●mbreth. I will not furnish him with money to pay the soldiers of his guard. If he shall want ●ither marble or rich raiment, it shall be no ways preiudi●iall to any man, that shall supply his excess and superfluity. Soldiers and furniture I will not help him with. If he request me in way of great kindness, to sand him cunning Comedians and Gourtezans, and such other delights as may t●mper his cruelty, I will willingly offer them. Though I would not sand him armed Galleys and ships of war, yet would I sand him whirries and covered barges, and other such like things wherein Kings take their pastime, when they intent to sport themselves upon the sea. And if the hope of his amendment were utterly lost, yet with the same hand that I give benefits to all men, I will return him his; because the best remedy for such evil dispositions is not to be, and it is best for him to be dead, whose life will neither be reclaimed nor rectified. But seldom is so great wickedness seen, it is rare; and reputed always for strange and wonderful, they are feared as the gaping and openings of the earth, or as great fires which burst forth from the deepest caves of the sea. Let us therefore leave these, and speak of those which we detest without horror. To this evil man whom I may found in every marketplace, whom private men ●eare: will I return the benefit I have received: I must not make my profit of his wickedness. Look what belongs not to me, let it return to him that oweth it, be he good, or be he bad. How diligently should I examine these things, if I should not restore but give? This place craveth a merry fable. CHAP. XXI. A Certain Pythagorist had upon his credit bought a pair of clownish shoes of a Cobbler (a great matter I warrant you) some few days after he came unto the shop, to make satisfaction, and when he had long time knocked at the door, there was one that answered him: Why loose you your labour? That Cobbler you seek for is carried out and burned. This may be a grief to us which loose our friends for ever, but not to you that know he shall be borne anew. Thus jested he at the Pythagorist. But our Philosopher carried home his three or four pence very merrily, shaking them divers times in his hand, as he went homeward. Afterwards accusing himself of the pleasure he had conceived in nonpayment, and perceiving how much that little gain of his was pleasing to him, he returned to the shop, and said unto himself; He liveth to thee, pay thou that which thou owest. With that word he thrust the four pence into the shop at a cranny of the wall, where the closing of the panel was shrunk; chastising himself for his cursed avarice, jest he should accustom himself to detain another man's goods. CHAP. XXII. Seek thou then to whom thou mayest return that which thou owest, and if no man require payment at thy hands, call thou thyself to accounted. It appertains not to thee, whether he be good or evil. Restore & accuse thyself, not forgetting how offices are divided between you. Have we commanded to forget thee, we have enjoined him to remember; notwithstanding he deceiveth himself, that thinketh that when we say, that he who hath given the benefit, should never more think on the pleasure he hath done; that we would have him entirely loose the remembrance of the honestest thing that may be done in this world● we command some things more strictly than we aught, to 'cause th●m to return to their true and particular proportion, when we say that he must not remember our meaning is, that he must not publish it abroad, he aught not to vaunt, he should not reproach. For some there are that make the courtesies they have done, their tabletalk amongst their companions; of this talk they when they are sober, of this they talk being drunk, this discover they to strangers, this commit they to their friends. That this inordinate and reproachful memory might be repressed: we commanded that he that had done the courtesy to his friend, should never remember it, and commanding him more than he could perform, we persuaded him to silence. CHAP. XXIII. AS often as thou distrusteth those over whom thou hast command, thou mayest exact far more than thou needest, to the end that that may be performed which is sufficient. Every Hyperbole aimeth at this issue; that by a lie a man may attain unto the truth. He therefore that said, That did exceed the snow in whiteness, And did surpass the winds in lightness. That which could not be said, to the end the most that could be, should be believed. And he that said, Moore fixed than these rocks, more headlong than this torrent. did not think that he should persuade this, that any one was so immovable as a rock. This excessive and superlative kind of speech never hopeth so much as it dareth; but it affirmeth incredible things, to the end it may attain unto credible. When we say, Let him that hath given a benefit forget it; our meaning is, that he should be as one that had forgotten it: let no man perceive that he hath remembrance thereof, or that his memory is awakened. When we say, That we aught not to redemand a benefit again, we do not wholly take away the means of redemanding it; for oft-times evil men have need of an exacter, and good men also of an admonisher. Why then, shall I not show an ignorant man the opportunity of requital? shall I not discover my necessities unto him? why either should he bely himself, or be sorry that he knew it not? now and then let some admonition be intermixed; yet such as is modest, which neither savoureth of importunity or matter of plea. CHAP. XXIIII. SOCRATES in the hearing of his friends; said, I had ●ought me a cloak had I had money. He required of no man, he admonished all: the contention was, who should supply him. And why not? For ●ow small a matter was it that Socrates received? but it was a great matter to be worthy to be such a one, from whom Socrates would receive. He could not more mildly chastise them. I ●●d (said he) bought me a cloak had I had money. After this whosoever was the forwardest he gave too late: for Socrates was already in necessity. For these intemperate exactors sakes we forbidden the redemand of benefits, not that it should never be put in use, but that it might be done modestly and sparingly. CHAP. XXV. ARISTIPPUS having sometimes taken pleasure in good savours and perfumes, said; Beshrew these effeminate fellows that have defamed so worthy a thing. The same must be said, Evil betid these wicked and importunate exactors of their benefits, who have extinguished so worthy an admonition amongst friends: yet will I use this love of friendship, and will redemand a benefit from him from whom I would have requested it if I had need, who will receive it in stead of another benefit. If he have means to requited that which I have done for him, I will never say in way of complaint, I took thee up cast up upon this shore Forlorn and poor, and that which mads me more I made thee partner of my Princely state. This is no admonition, but rather a reproach: this is no less than to bring benefits into hatred: this is the direct means to make it either lawful or delightful to be thankless. It is enough, and too much to refresh the memory with submiss and familiar words; If I have aught demerited from thee, Or aught well liking hath appeared in me. Let the other likewise say, How can it otherwise be, but that thou hast deserved? Thou hast entertained me in thy house, after that by tempest I was cast on shore, denied of all supplies, shipwrecked and poor. CHAP. XXVI. But (saith he) we have done no good, he dissembles, he is forgetful, what should I do? Thou proposest a very necessary question, and in which it becometh us to conclude this discourse, How ingrateful men are to be borne withal? Truly with a peaceable, mild, and great mind. Let never so inhuman, forgetful, and ungrateful man so offend thee, that the delight of thy bounty be extinguished in thee, never let injury enforce these speeches from thee: I would I had not done it. Let the infelicity of thy benefit content thee likewise. It shall repent him ever, if thou hitherto repent thee not. Thou must not be grieved as if some new casualty had befallen thee, thou oughtest rather to wonder if it had not happened. One is affrighted with labour, another with charge, another with danger, and another with unseemly bashfulness, jest in his requital he acknowledge that he hath received. Some forget their duty, another is idle in his affairs, another overbusy. Mark how the immeasurable desires of men do always gape & grasp after money. Thou wilt not wonder then to see no man addressed to requited where no man receiveth enough, which one of these is of so firm and solid a mind, that thou mayest safely trust thy benefits with him. This man is mad with lust, that man serveth his belly, another is wholly addicted to lucre, whose substance thou hardly mayest equal: this man is sick with envy, another with such blinded ambition, that he is ready to run upon the sword's point. Add hereunto dullness of mind and old age, and contrariwise the agitation and perpetual tumult of an unquiet breast. Annex hereunto the too much esteem, and insolent pride of a man's self, for which he is to be contemned. What should I speak of their contumacy, that incline to the worst; or of their inconstancy and levity, that are settled in nothing? Add unto these headlong temerity and fear, that never giveth faithful counsel, and a thousand errors wherewith we are entangled, the boldness of the most cowards, the discord of most familiars; and (which is a common mischief) to trust to uncertainties, to loathe things in possession, to wish for those things which we may not any ways hope to attain. CHAP. XXVII. SEekest thou for faith, a thing so peaceable amidst the passions of the mind, that are most restless? If the true image of our life were presented before thine eyes, thou wouldst suppose that thou sawest the pillage of a great City taken by assault, wherein without respect of shame or any justice, the enemy in stead of counsel useth force and violence, as if by public proclamation he were permitted to exercise at his pleasure all kind of outrage. Neither fire nor sword is spared, murders and mischiefs are not punished: Religion itself, which hath oftentimes amongst the armed enemies saved their lives, who humbled themselves at her feet, cannot now contain those men that are set upon pillage: the one forcibly defaceth the goods of a private house, another of a public: that man stealeth profane things, and that man sacred; the one breaks up, the other passeth over. This man being discontented with the straightness of the passage, overthroweth that which stoppeth his way, and makes his profit of this ruin. This man spoileth without slaughter, that man beareth his booty in a bloody hand: there is no man but catcheth something from another. Amidst this greediness of mankind, I fear me thou art too much forgetful of our common fortune, who seekest to find a grateful man amongst so many robbers. If thou art aggrieved that there are ungrateful men, be sorry that there are some luxurious men, be vexed because there are covetous men, be displeased because there are impudent men, be angry that there are deformed, sick and pale old men. This vice I confess is grievous and intolerable, that breaketh the society of men, that divideth and destroyeth that concord whereby our weakness is supported; yet so common is it, that he himself who complaineth against it cannot avoid it. CHAP. XXVIII. Bethink thyself, whether thou hast been thankful to every one of those to whom thou art óbliged, whether any of those pleasures that have been done thee, are lost; whether thou hast always remembered the benefits which thou hast received from others, and thou shalt see, that those things which were given thee when thou wert a child, were forgotten by thee ere thou wert a stripling, and that those things which were bestowed on thee in thy youth, continued not in thy memory until old age. There are some things which we have lost, some things we have rejected, some things have vanished out of our sight by little and little, and from some things we ourselves have turned our eyes. But to excuse thy weakness, first of all memory is frail, and cannot long time apprehended so great a number of affairs; it must needs loose as much as it entertaineth, and overwhelm the elder with the later. So cometh it to pass● that the authority of thy nurse prevaileth little with thee, because succeeding years have laid the benefits she hath done thee, far from thy thought. Hence groweth it that thou yieldest no reverence to thy Master: so cometh it to pass, that whilst thou art busied in labouring for a Consulship, or pretendest a Priesthood, thou forgettest him that once gave thee his voice to be a Questor. Happily if thou diligently examine thyself, thou shalt find that vice whereof thou complainest in thine own bosom: thou dost amiss to be angry with a public crime, and foolishly to be angry against thyself; to absolve thyself forgive others. By thy sufferance thou mayest make him better, but worse by thy reproaches: thou must not harden his heart; let him, if any shame be left in him, retain it still. Oft-times public and notorious reproaches exile that doubtful modesty, which a man would retain. There is no man feareth to be that which he is seen to be: shame once discovered is lost. CHAP. XXIX. I Have lost a benefit. Shall we say we have lost those things which we consecrated to good uses? A benefit aught to be numbered amongst those things that are consecrated; provided that a man hath well employed the same, although it be badly requited: if he have not showed himself such as we hoped he would be, let us be such as we have been, let us be unlike unto him; the wrong was then done, and now it appeareth. An unthankful man is not accused by us, but with our own disgrace, because the complaint of the loss of our benefit, is a sign it was badly given. As near as we can let us plead his cause with ourselves, and say happily he could not, peradventure he knew not, perhaps he will do it hereafter. The wise and patiented creditor sometimes recovereth his debt which he reputeth lost, in forbearing his debtor, and giving him time: the like must we do; let us nourish the languishing faith of those that forget themselves. CHAP. XXX. I H●ue lost my ben●fite. Thou fool, thou knowest not the times of thy detriment. Thou hast lost, but when thou gau●st, now the matter is discovered. Even in these things which se●me to be lost, moderation hath profited very much. As the infirmities of the body, so those of the mind are to be handled gently; ofttimes that thing which patience and delay hath discovered and unfolded, is broken by his pertinacy and stubbornness that haileth the same. What ne●d● these reproaches? What need these plaints? What needs pursuit? Why dost thou acquit him? Why dismissest thou him, if he be ungrateful? Now oweth he thee nothing; what reason is there to provoke and incense him, whom thou hast many ways pleasured, to the end that of a doubtful friend he may become an assured enemy, and to give him means to defend his cause the better by procuring thine own shame? There be some will say, I am sure there is some great matter in it; but what it is I know not, that he could not abide him to whom he was so much indebted. There is no man that in any sort complained of a superior but stained, though he could not deface his greatness and honour, neither is a man content to fain● trifles, when he seeks for credit by the greatness of his lie. CHAP. XXXI. HOw far better is that way whereby the hope of friendship is reserved to him, and the opinion of our friendship likewise, if he be thankful and entertain a better thought? Incessant goodness conquereth evil men; neither is there any man of so hard and hateful a mind against those things that are to be beloved, that loveth not those, who even in their greatest wrong● continued good men, to whom he beginneth to own this also, that he sustaineth no displeasure a● their hands for not requiting. Reflect thy thoughts therefore upon these: ●here is no correspondency h●ld with me: what shall I do? even that which the gods the best authors of all things do, who begin to bestow their benefits on those, that know not whence they come, and persever also to do good to those that are ungrateful. One chargeth them with little regard of us, another that they have injustly dispensed their graces, another thrusteth them out of his world, and leaveth them there alone in sloth and heaviness, without light or doing any thing; another saith that Sun (to whom we own this, that we have distinguished the time between labour and rest, that being delivered from darkness we have escaped the confusion of a perpetual night; for that by his course he tempereth the year, and nourisheth our bodies, and hasteneth our harvest, and ripeneth our fruit) is some stone or globe of casual fires, and call him any thing rather than god. All this notwithstanding, the gods like good parents that smile at the injuries of their little children, cease not to heap benefits upon those who suspect that they are not the authors of all benefits, but with an equal hand distribute their blessings amongst all nations, reserving only to themselves the power to do good. They water the earth with timely showers, they move the Seas with fitting winds, they distinguish times by the course of the stars, they weaken both winters and summers by the gracious intercourse of gentler winds; they pardon and mildly wink at, and suffer the errors and sins of our sinful souls. Let us imitate them; let us give although many things have been given in vain, yet let us give unto others, let us give ●uen unto those by whom we have sustained the loss, no man forbeareth to build a house ●or fear it should be ruinated, and when as fire hath consumed the place of our abode, we suddenly lay a new foundation again ere the floor be half colde● and oft-times we build cities in that very place where they were destroyed and sunk: so constant and confirmed is the mind to good hopes; men's labours would cease both by land and sea, if they had not a will to re-edify and re-attempt the ruins that were passed. CHAP. XXXII. He is a thankless man, he hath not injured me but himself, I had the use of my benefit when I gave it, neither therefore will I give more slowly but more diligently; what I have lost in him I will recover in others: yea, to this man also will I give a benefit again, and like a good husbandman, with care and labour I will conquer the barrenness of the soil; I have lost my benefit, and that man his credit with all men. It is not the action of a generous mind, to give and loose; this is the mark of a mighty mind to loose and give. The end of the seventh and last Book of Benefits. THE EPISTLES OF LUCIUS ANNAEUS SENECA THE PHILOSOPHER. Written unto LUCILIUS, Together with the Arguments unto every Epistle of JUSTUS LIPSIUS. LONDON Printed by William Stansby. 1613. LUCIUS ANNAEUS SENECA HIS EPISTLES TO LUCILIUS: With the Arguments of justus Lipsius. EPISTLE I He commendeth to LUCILIUS the estimation and use of time, that it aught not to be deferred nor let slip, neither ill employed. DO so, my Lucilius, recover thyself to thyself, and that time which hitherto hath been either taken from thee, or stolen from thee, or that otherwise hath escaped thee, recollect and reserve to thyself. Persuade thyself that it is so as I writ: there are some times which are taken away from us, some other which are stolen from us, and other some which slip away from us: But the shamefullest loss that may be, is that which proceedeth from our negligence, and if thou wilt seriously and nearly observe, thou shalt perceive that a great part of life flitteth from those that do evil, a greater from those that do nothing; and the whole from those that do not that they do. What man wilt thou show me that hath put any price upon time, that esteemeth of a day, and that understandeth that he daily dieth? For herein are we deceived, because we suppose death to be far off from us, and yet notwithstanding the greater part thereof is already overpassed, & all our years that are behind death holdeth in his possession. Do therefore, my Lucilius, that which as thou writest unto me thou dost. Embrace and lay hold on each hour, so will it come to pass, that thou shalt be less in suspense for to morrow, if thou lay hold, and fasten thy hands on to day. Whilst life is deferred it fleeteth. All other things, my Lucilius, are foreign to us: time only is our own. Nature hath put us in possession of this frail and fleeting thing, from which we may be expelled by any man. But so great is the folly of mortal men, that they suffer all things, yea even the lest and vilest, truly recoverable, to be imputed unto them, when as they have obtained them● Let no man think that he oweth any thing, who hath received time, when in the mean while this is the thing, which indeed the grateful man cannot restore. Happily thou wilt ask me what I do, who command thee these things? I will ingeniously confess unto thee, I do that which befalleth a luxurious man; but diligent: I take a very strict account of my expense: I cannot say that I loose nothing, yet know I well what I loose, and why, and how. I am ready to yield a reason of my poverty. It befalleth me, as to many others, brought to poverty, not by their own fault; all men pardon them, no man succoureth them. What is it then? I think him not poor, who supposeth that little remainder which he hath, to be sufficient: yet I had rather thou shouldest keep thine own, and begin to use good time while thou mayest. For as our Elders were of opinion, the sparing that beginneth in the bottom is too late, because not only the lest, but also the worst remaineth in the leeses. EPIST. II. He approveth the quiet of the body, and of the mind also in some one thing or study. He condemneth the overcurious, that run over and read divers Authors and writings. He persuadeth rather to read a ●ew, and those good, and to devil upon them. He counsel●eth always to cu● out some one thing, and commit it to memory, by his example who then made use of a saying of EPICURUS touching poverty. I Conceive a good hope of thee, by reason of those things which thou writest unto me, and that which I hear spoken of thee. Thou art no wanderer, neither disquieted with the desire of transporting thyself from one place unto another; this is but the tossing of a sick mind. In my judgement, the chiefest testimony of a well composed mind, is ●o be able to consist and devil with herself. But beware jest this desire to read many Authors, and all sorts of books, contain not giddiness and inconstancy of mind. Thou must be stayed, and after a manner nourished with certain spirits, if thou wilt apprehended any thing that shall constantly remain in thy memory. He is no where, that is every where. Those tha● pass their life in travel take up many Inns, but entertain few friendships. It must needs so befall such, who acquaint not themselves familiarly with one spirit, but lightly travers, and slightly overrun many things. That meat never nourisheth the body, which is no sooner taken in, but is delivered out. There is nothing that so much hindereth a man's health, as the often change of remedies. The wound can hardly be cured, that is covered with divers sorts of medicines. The tree prospereth not that is transported from one place to another. To be short, there is nothing so profitable, that profiteth by passing i● over. The multitude of books distracteth and distempereth the understanding. Being therefore unable to read● as much as thou hast, it sufficeth to have as much as thou canst read. But now, sayest thou, will I overrun this book, now that. The stomach is distempered, that longeth after divers sorts of meats, which being different and divers, do rather choke then com●ort or nourish. Read therefore (if thou wilt credit me) such books always as are most approved, and though for variety's sake thou sometimes change, let the others be unto thee as thy harbour, those as thine ordinary retreat and house. Purchase unto thy sel●e every day some new forces against poverty, and some couns●ls against death, & fortify thyself with other preservations against th● other plunges of life, and after thou hast tasted divers things, lay hold on one which that day thou mayest digest. This likewise do I of divers things which I read, I apprehended somewhat. See here what I have learned to day of Epicur●s (for I am wont sometime to pass into mine enemy's camp, not as a fugitive, but as a spy) A contented poverty, saith he, is an honest thing; but that is no poverty which is contented: for he that contenteth himself with his poverty, is a rich man, not he that hath little, but he that desireth the most, is the poor man. For what skilleth it how much a man hath in his chest, how much lieth in his barns, how much he feedeth, how much he profiteth by usury, if he still gape after other men's gains, if he make reckoning not of those things he hath gotten, but of that which remaineth to be gotten? Thou requirest of me what measure or) proportion there is of riches? The first is to have that which is necessary, the next that which sufficeth. EPIST. III. That some are oftentimes badly and rashly called friends. If any such there be that deserveth the name of friend, all things are to be reposed and trusted on his faith, and communicated unto him, as another ourselves. Such as are fearful and base minded are reprehended, as likewise those that are over-credulous, or to open. The mean is the best. THou hast delivered thy letters to be conveyed to my hands, as thou sayest, by a friend of thine, by which thou advertisest me, not to communicate all thy pertinent affairs with him, because as thou sayest, thou art not accustomed to do the like: so that in one and the same letter, thou allowest and disavowest him to be thy friend: I believe first of all, that thou hast given him this name of friend at adventure, and as a common name in such sort, as we call every man that passeth by us by the name of Sir, if so we be ignorant by what name he is called. But let me tell thee this, that if thou thinkest to have a friend, in whom thou wilt not put as much confidence, as in thyself, thou deceivest thyself very much, and understandest not sufficiently the force of true amity: deliberate all things with thy friend, but first of all resolve thyself, that he is thy friend. After the friendship is contracted, then aught we to trust; before it be form we aught to judge. But they preposterously confounded offices, who contrary to the precepts of Theophrastus, love before they judge, and after they have judged love not at all. Think therefore long time with thyself, whether any man is to be entertained into thy friendship; but when thou shalt be resolved to accept of his love, discover unto him readily thy whole hart, and ●s boldly communicate thy secrets with him, as with thyself; yet so live thou, that thy thoughts and actions may be such, that thou mayest commit them to the serious observation of thine enemy. But because sometimes divers things fall out, that custom hath made secret, impart freely unto thy friend all thy designs and cogitations, if thou supposest him to be faithful, thou wilt do no less. For many have taught how to deceive, by fearing jest they themselves should be deceived, and have ministered other men a privilege of offence by their own vain suspicion. What is the cause therefore, why I should conceal any thing from my friend? Why before him think I not myself alone? Some there are which commit those things which are only communicable with their friends to every one they meet, and disburden in every ●are whatsoever is distasteful unto them: some again likewise are distrustful of their faith, whom they esteem most dearest, yea and if they could, they would scarcely trust themselves, but inwardly oppress themselves with their own secrets. But neither of these things is to be done, for both of them savour of infirmity, both not to credit all men, and not to credit any: but the one in my opinion is the more laudable vice, the other more secure. So reprehend both of them, both those that are always disquiet, as those that are always idle. For the manner of living in the first is not industry, but rather the course & recourse of a tempest that agitateth their souls: and as touching those that think that all motion is trouble and vexation, it is rather a dissolution and languor in them than moderation Commit that therefore to memory which I have read in Possidonius, There are some, saith he, that are in such sort retired and hidden, that they think all things to be in garboil, which are open to the light. It behoveth thee to temper these things together, and to choose certain intermissions which are proper to action and repast. Deliberate with nature, and she will tell thee, that she made both the day and the night. EPIST. FOUR He exhorteth him to persever in Philosophy, whereby he may be esteemed a serious, grave and perfect man. For the rest he concludeth them to be children that fear such things as are not to be feared, as especially death. And this concludeth he to be the end of our evils; and that either by sudden motion or desperation many have contemned the same: and why not with reason? He concludeth therefore that life is not to be loved, but that we aught daily to think, upon how di●ers and light causes death approacheth us. Finally, he proposeth an Emblem of EPICURUS of true riches. COntinue as thou hast begun, and endeavour thyself as much as in thee lieth, to the end thou mayest more plentifully enjoy a reformed and governed mind. And in reforming and moderating the same thou shalt enjoy it, but the contentment that a man receiveth by the contemplation of a conformed mind, and that is replenished with perfect innocency, is far more pleasant and agreeable. Thou dost remember what pleasure thou didst feel, when having left thy childish livery, thou tookest upon thee the habiliments of a man, being brought before the Praetor into the marketplace. I expect a far greater, beyond comparison, when thou shalt cast off thy childish mind, and that Philosophy hath inrouled thee amongst the number of men: for childhood overslippeth us easily; but that which is most grievous, childishness remaineth with us, and the worst that I see, is that we have already the authority of old men, and nevertheless possess as yet the vices of children; and not only of children, but of infants. For those are afraid of things of small value, and these other of such things as are false: we fear both the one and the other. If thou wilt well bethink thyself, thou shalt understand that there are certain things, which for the same cause for which they bring us much fear, aught the less to be feared; No evil is great which cometh the last. We might fear death if it could abide always with us: but it is necessary that either it befall us not, or that it overpasseth incontinently. And if thou tell me that it is a difficult thing to persuade the mind to contempt of life, do but consider upon how light occasions some have attempted the same: one hath strangled himself with the halter before his Mistress doors, another hath cast himself from the top of the house to the bottom to avoid his Master's displeasure, another hath stabbed himself into the breast, rather than he would be brought back to the place from whence he was fled. Thinkest thou that virtue cannot enforce as much as excessive fear could? Trust me, no man can enjoy a peaceable and secure life, that laboureth over much to prolong it, and that esteemeth it for a great benefit, to see and observe the revolution of of many years. Meditate then every day to have the power to leave thy life freely and willingly, which divers men entertain in another manner than they do who embrace briars and thorns, which have been driven athwart them by the violence of some furious stream. They float betwixt the fear of death, and the torments of life; they will not live, and they know not how to die. Fashion therefore unto thyself a pleasant life, by forsaking solicitude that may befall thee for the love of the same. There is no good more plausible to the possessor then that, to the loss whereof the mind is already prepared; and there is nothing, the loss whereof is more easy to be supported, then of that which being lost cannot be redesired. Take thee courage and assurance against those things that are subject to the same necessity as thou art, even those that are most mighty. A * King of Egypt. Pupil & an * Pothinus Eunuchus. Eunuch gave sentence on great Pompey's head, of Crassus the cruel and insolent Parthian. * Caligula. Caius Caesar commanded that Lepidus should present his neck to the Tribune Decimus, and he himself gave his own to Chaereas. Fortune hath never so much favoured any man, but that she hath affronted him with as many menaces. Trust not overmuch unto this calm. In an instant the Sea is turned, and those ships are swallowed the same day, where they wanton played on the water. Think that either a thief or an enemy may aim his sword at thy throat: and although a greater power be wanting, not the basest slave that liveth, but hath power of thy life and death. I assure thee that whosoever contemneth his life is Lord of thine. Take account of those that are dead, by the complots of their servants, or by open outrage, or by treason, and thou shalt see that there are no less made away by the indignation of their slaves, than the displeasures of their Kings. What importeth it then how mighty he be whom thou fearest, if every man may do that which thou fearest? And if by chance thou fallest into the hands of thine enemies, the conqueror will command that thou be led and kept in a place, where he may have thee always at his mercy. Why deceivest thou thyself? Why beginnest thou then only to understand that which thou hast suffered from thy birth? I tell thee, that from the hour thou wert borne thou art led to die. These and such like things aught continually to live in our remembrance and mind, if we will moderately expect this last hour, the fear whereof replenisheth all others which disquiet. I will here make an end of my Letter, in making thee partaker of the fruit which this day I have gathered in another man's garden. Povertie measured according to the rule of nature, is great riches. But knowest thou well what limits this rule of nature giveth us? Neither to have hunger nor thirst, nor cold. But to the end to drive away this hunger and thirst, thou hast no need to wait or attend on these proud and great gates, nor to suffer these disdainful and imperious contemners, nor to expose thyself to the baits of these contumelious courtesies. Thou needest not for the same to attempt the fortune of the Sea and of arms. That which nature deserveth is found every where: we take pains to obtain superfluous things: these are they that wear our gowns in peace, that make us watch in our Tents, and that cast us on foreign shores. That which sufficeth us is already at hand. EPIST. V He keepeth back his friend from the ostentation of Philosophy, and counseleth him not to make himself noted by his habit or diet: he persuadeth him not to contemn all things that are vulgar, but to make moderate use of them, and without abuse: he detesteth uncleanliness, and calleth us to the law of nature: he urgeth a clause out of HECATON of the conjunction of hope and fear; avowing him to be free of one that hath cast off the other; and obnoxious to both, whosoever is to one. WHereas thou travelest continually, and all other things set apart, endevourest to make thyself daily more virtuous; I praise thee, and am glad to hear it: and not only do I counsel thee to persever therein, but I likewise entreat thee. But thereof I am to admonish thee, that according to the manner of those that seek not so much to profit as to be seen, thou apply not thyself to do certain things which are over-singular, and remarqueable for their strangeness, either in the manner of thy life, or in thy habit. Fly all sluttish behaviours, as to wear thy hair overlong, knotted and filthy, thy beard uncombed, to lie on the ground, and to make profession to have a sworn hatred against gold and silver, and whatsoever followeth ambition by a wrong course. The sole name of Philosophy, how modest soever it be, is of itself sufficiently subject to envy. What if we separate ourselves from the company of men? Well may we inwardly be in all things unlike unto them; but our looks and behaviours must be agreeable to the good liking of the people. Let not our garment either be too gay, or too slovenly: let not our silver be enchased with gold; and yet let us be assured that it is no token of frugality to be destitute either of gold or of silver: let us so do that we lead a better life than the common sort are wont, yet not altogether contrary to theirs; otherwise in stead of correcting them we shall drive and banish them from us, and we are the cause that in disliking all our actions they will not imitate one of them. Philosophy promiseth this first of all, common sense, humanity, and intercourse and society, from which we shall become separated by this dissimilitude of profession. Let us rather take heed jest these fashions for which we would be held in admiration, prove not ridiculous and odious unto others. Our intent is to live according to the direction of nature: but it is a thing altogether contrary unto her, to afflict the body and to hate ordinary cleanliness, and to be loathsome and sordid, to use not only gross meats, but also harmful and distasteful. For even as to affect and seek after delicacy is riot, so also is it a kind of madness to fly from those things which are usual and may be recovered without great expense. Philosophy requireth frugality, and not misery: and since an honest and well seeming frugality may be bad, I think it good for a man to keep this measure. It behoveth us that our life be balanced betwixt good and public manners. I can be well content that men admire our life, but yet let it be within their knowledge. What then? shall we do the same that the rest? shall there be no difference betwixt us and them? yes a great deal: but he only shall reknowledge the same that observeth us nearly. He that shall enter our houses, let him rather look on us then on our movables. That man is great and generous, who useth earthen platters like silver vessel, and no less is he that useth silver vessel as earthen platters. Not to be able to endure riches is the part of a weak mind. But to impart unto thee the profit I have made this day: I have found in Hecaton, that the end of coveting sufficeth to remedy fear. Thou wilt give over, saith he, to fear, if thou ceasest to hope. But thou wilt say, How can these things being so divers, be together? So is it my Lucilius, although that these things seem to be contrary, yet are they joined and united the one with the other. Even as one and the same chain bindeth both the officer and the prisoner, so likewise these things although they seem different, are conjoined and march together. Fear flieth hope, and I wonder not thereat; both of them are passions which proceed from an inconstant and movable mind, and that is in thought and care for that which is to come. But the greatest cause both of the one and other is, for that we moderate not ourselves, and content not ourselves with things that are present, but sand our thoughts out far before us. So providence which is the greatest benefit that betideth mortal men, becometh hurtful and harmful unto us. Brute beasts fly those dangers which they see before their eyes, and having escaped them, their present security extinguisheth the memory of their fear●: but we are affrighted not only with our dangers past, but with those also that are to come. Many of our goods do harm us; for our memory reviveth and representeth unto us the torment of the fear past, and providence anticipateth it. There is no man miserable alone by present evils. EPIST. VI He declareth that it is an argument that he profiteth in Philosophies because he acknowledgeth his vices. He expresseth his affection to communicate all things with him as his true friend, especially such as are profitable. That the counsel of wisemen seemeth very effectual and above their precepts, which he teacheth by example of some Philosophers. I Know, my Lucilius, that I am not only amended, but transfigured and reform; not that I either vaunt myself, or suppose that there remaineth not any thing in me that may not be amended: I know there are many things, that both aught to be corrected, extenuated, and wholly lifted up; but even this is a testimony of a mind that beginneth to be changed for the better, when it knoweth in itself those vices that before times it was ignorant of. There is some hope in those that are seized with certain sicknesses, when as they feel themselves to be diseased. I would therefore with to communicate with thee this sudden change that is made in me; then should I begin to have a more certain confidence of our friendship, of that true friendship I mean, which neither hope nor fear, neither any other consideration of particular profit should distroyne, with which men die, and for which they die. I will reckon up unto thee divers men that have not had want of a friend, but want of friendship: such a thing cannot happen when as two souls are coupled together by a strict alliance, and uniformity of will in desiring honest things. Why can it not? for they know that all things are common unto them, and chief adversity. Thou canst no● conjecture in thy mind how much profit I perceive that every day bringeth me. Sand me, sayeth thou, those things whose efficacy I have so tried. Truly I could wish that I might in some sort pour them all into thee: I am glad to learn, to the end I may teach; and there is not any thing, how rare and commodious soever it be, that can or should yield me content, if I might only know it for my particular profit. If wisdom itself were given me upon condition to conceal it, and not to publish it, I would refuse the same. The possession of no benefit is contenting without a companion. I will sand thee therefore the books themselves: and jest thou shouldest take too much pains in following those things which profit publicly, I will put certain marks to find those things quickly, which I prove and admire; yet our speaking and living together will profit thee more, then only reading. It therefore behoveth thee to transport thyself hither: first of all, because men give better credit to their eyes then to their ears. And again, because the way of precepts is long, where that of example is more short, and far more fruitful. Cleanthes had never expressed Zeno had he only heard him: but he always was conversant with him, and had an eye into the secrets of his study, and warily observed whether he lived according as he taught. Plato, Aristotle, and all other Sages which afterwards spread themselves into divers families, have received more instructions by the manners than the words of Socrates. Metrodorus, Hermacus, and Poliaemus were great men, not because they had frequented the School of Epicurus, but for that they had conversed with him. But I call thee not only unto me, to the intent thou shouldest receive profit, but to the end thou shouldest profit others: for we will continually assist one another; mean while to acquit myself of the rent I own thee, I will tell thee that which pleased me to day in Hecaton: Askest thou, saith he, wherein I have profited? I have begun to be a friend to myself. He hath gotten much: he will never be alone. Know this, that he that is friend to himself is a friend to all men. EPIST. VII. To him that is proficient too much company is to be annoyed, and that vices are contracted thereby, Plays and Shows also, chiefly those that are bloody: neither is it beseeming publicly to recite or dispute amongst unequals. Let● saith he, one or two auditor's of judgement be esteemed, or none at all. WIlt thou know that which in my judgement thou oughtest especially to fly? The multitude. For as yet thou canst not safely commit thyself unto them; and for mine own part I confess my weakness: I never return back again with those manners that I carried out with me. Somewhat of that which I had composed is troubled; somewhat of those things which I had chased away returns back again unawares. That which befalleth the sick who are in such sort attainted with a long debility, that they can never be removed, except they grow worse. So fareth it with us, whose spirits begin to recover from a long sickness. The conversation of the people is contrary unto us; every one dareth us some stain, or imprinteth it in us, and leaveth an impression in us be●ore we can beware: and the greater the company is wherewith we converse the greater is the danger. But nothing is so hurtful to good manners as to sit in a Theatre, ●or there by the pleasures we conceive, the vices steal on us more easily. What thinkest thou that I say? I tell thee that I not only return more covetous, more ambitious, more luxurious, but more cruel and inhuman, because I have been amongst men. By casualty I fell upon the Shows at noon, expecting some sports and witty jests, and recreation whereby men's eyes might be reposed awhile, that in the morning had been, fed with the shedding of men's blood. But I find it contrary; whatsoever was fought before was mercy. Now letting pass trifles, there is nothing but detested murder: combatants have not wherewith to cover them, but expose their naked bodies to the stroke, and never strike without wounding. This spectacle do many prefer before that of the ordinary couples, or that of the extraordinary, asked for by the people. And why should they not prefer the same? The weapon is kept off neither by Helmet nor Target: whereto serve these fencings and Gladiatory Arts? All these are but the delays of death. In the morning men are exposed to Lions and Bears, at noon to the spectators. The killers are commanded to be set against those that are to kill, and they reserve him that is conqueror for another slaughter: the end and aim of those that fight is death, by fire and sword the matter is managed. These are done during the intermission of the spectacle. But some man hath committed a theft: what therefore deserveth he? To be hanged. He slew a man: he that slew him discerned to suffer no less. But what, hast thou deserved to behold this spectacle? Kill, burn, whip, why runs he so fearfully on the weapon? Why kills he not courageously? Why dies he not willingly? By strokes are they compelled to wounds, and with naked and exposed bodies they receive the strokes of one another. Is the spectacle intermitted? in the mean time men are slain, jest nothing should be done. Go too, understand you not this, that evil example reflecteth on those that do this? Give thanks unto the immortal gods, that you teach him to be cruel who cannot learn. A tender mind and too little apprehensive of the truth is to be withdrawn from the common people: it is easy to found out many. The frequentation of a different multitude might peradventure have shaken the great minds of Socrates, Cato, and Laelius. So far is any of us (though in height of our composed judgement) from being able to sustain the force and charge of vices, coming with so great a troop. One only example of lust or avarice causeth much mischief. The company of a delicate man by little and little effeminateth those that converse with him. A rich neighbour kindleth our covetousness. A mischievous and corrupt man rubbeth on the rust of his infirmities, and soileth the most simple and uprightest man. What thinkest thou then will befall those to whom all the world flocketh and approacheth publicly? These of force must thou either imitate or hate; but both the one and the other of these aught to be avoided, for fear jest thou be either like unto the wicked, by reason they are many, or enemy to divers, because they are unlike to thee. Retire thyself therefore into thyself: haunt those who can make thee better, admit those whom thou canst better; for these things are reciprocally done. Men in teaching others learn themselves. Above all things beware jest thou expose thyself to great assemblies, or affectest to dispute or teach by way of ostentation, or desire to show thyself. I could well with that thou shouldest do so, if thou couldst in any sort be profitable to the people: but there is not any one amongst them that can understand thee; and if happily thou find out one or two, yet must thou instruct them how they may understand thee. Why then wilt thou ask me, Have I learned these thing? Fear not that thou hast lost thy labour, if thou hast learned these things for thyself. But jest I should reserve unto myself the profit I have gotten this day, I will communicate with thee three most worthy sentences to one sense; of which the one shall be to acquit this Epistle of that which it oweth thee; the other two shall be given thee aforehand. Democritus saith, I co●nt one only for a whole multitude, and a whole multitude as one. And he whosoever he was ● for it is doubted of the author, when it was demanded of him, why he took so great pains to prefer an art, which should profit but a few, answered very wisely. A few, saith he, suffice me, one is enough, none is enough. And the third is most excellent. Epicurus writing to one of the consorts of his studies. These things, saith he, writ I not to many, but to thyself; for we ourselves are a Theatre great enough for one another. Su●h things as these, friend Lucilius, are they which thou must commit to memory, to the end to contemn this pleasure which proceedeth from the reputation and consent of divers. For to be praised by many, what cause findest thou to rejoice at the more? Than if thou be such as divers do esteem thee, let them see thy goods within thee. EPIST. VIII. This present dependeth on the former Epistle, and is as it were an Objection: what, wilt thou that I avoid the multitude and the people? But thy Stoics teach to follow business, and to die in affairs. He answereth, that he persuadeth not idleness, but a retirement by his example, who dismissing other offices, intendeth wisdom, and propagateth the precepts thereof in writing. This, saith he, is of all actions the greatest and most excellent. In conclusion, he inserteth that of EPICURUS: that Philosophy giveth true liberty. THou commandest me by thy advice to fly the people, to retire myself apart, and to be contented with my conscience: What shall then become of all those precepts of thine, that commanded me to end my life in action? What, seem I then in this interim to entertain idleness? To this end have I withdrawn myself, to this intent have I shut up my doors, that I might profit many men. I spend not a day in idleness; yea, and for the most part of the nights, I spend them in study, maintaining and forcing mine eyes against sleep. I retired myself not from me only, but from affairs, and principally from mine own particular: I wholly traffic for posterity, by writing that which may be profitable unto them: I set before their eyes in writing many good and wholesome counsels, as it were receipts of profitable medicines, which I have found fruitful in mine own ulcers; the which although they be not altogether healed, have desisted to fester. I show others the right way● which I have learned too late: and after I have been too long wearied with wandering and tracing here and there, I cease not to cry out. Fly all those things which either please the common sort, or casualty attributeth: run not after casual benefits, but rather suspiciously and fearfully apprehended, and entertain all uncertain pleasures. Both wild beast and fish is bewitched with the bait is laid for them. Think you that these are the gifts of Fortune? Trust me, they are her lyings in wait; what one soever of us would live a sweet life, let him fly as much as he may these limed benefits, wherein we most miserably be deceived. We think to enjoy them, and they enjoy us: this course carrieth us to a downfall. The issue of a life so eminent is to fall; and that which is worse, it is impossible for us to stand, when as felicity hath begun to transport us, and carry us hither and thither: at lest wise either content thyself with such things as are good and certain, or be thou possessor and lord of thyself. Such as do this, fortune doth not only overturn them, but casteth headlong and crusheth them. Remember therefore to observe this wholesome and fruitful form of life, in affording thy body no further nourishment, then may suffice to continued thee in good health: chastise the same severely, jest it rebel against the soul. Let thy meat appease thy hunger, thy drink assuage thy thirst, thy coat cover thee from cold, thy house be a defence against those things as may offend thy body. It skilleth not whether it be builded of Turf or rich Marble. Know that a man is as well covered with Thatch as with Gold. Contemn all these things which superfluous labour preferreth either for show or ornament. Think that there is nothing admirable in thyself, but thy mind, to which nothing is great, which even itself is great. If I discourse this with myself, if I confer this with posterity, thinkest thou not that I profit more, than when as upon demand I pass my bond for my friend, or set my hand and seal in testimony to a Testament, or should give my hand and suffrage to a candidate in the Senate house? Believe me, those that seem to do least● do the greatest things; for they entreat both of divine and human matters. But it is high time for me now to make an end, and to pay that impost that I own for this Epistle: it shall not be at mine own expense, but on Epicurus charges; in whom this day I read this sentence: Thou must of necessity serve Philosophy, to the end thou mayest obtain true liberty. He that submitteth and subiecteth himself to her, is on the instant made a freeman; for to serve her is to be at liberty. Thou wilt think it strange peradventure why I usurp so often the Epicures words, rather than those of other men; but wherefore thinkest thou not that those sayings are common and public? How many things are they which the Poets have written, which have been or aught to be spoken by the Philosophers? I mention not the Tragedians nor those Poems of ours, which are called Togatae; for these have also some severity, and are the mean betwixt Comedies & Tragedies: how many eloquent verses are there in use even amongst the Cynics? How many things of Publius, which not only exceed the Comedies, but are worthy to be inserted in Tragedies? I will repeat one of his verses, which appertaineth to Philosophy, and to this part which now last of all we debated of, wherein he denieth that we aught to accounted casual things our own; Each thing is foreign that befalls by wishing. I remember this Verse likewise of thine, not much better but more succinct; It is not thine that fortune made thine. Neither will I let slip that likewise which was far better set down by thee: The good that might be given, may be bereft. I require no acquittance for these; for I pay thee with thine own. EPIST. IX. A part and explication also of the former: that a wiseman seeketh not men, but is contented with himself. What then? Not a friend also; yea can he likewise be without him: he can loose him, and having lost him, can repair him again. In himself is the fruit and pleasure whilst he provideth him. What for his own cause as the Epicures think? Not, but rather for another, whom he may profit, for whom he may undergo danger, for whom he may die: the reward of virtue is itself. At length more copiously and subtly: how far content with himself, how far not; and in words some Stoical distinctions. THou desirest to know, whether upon just ground the Epicure in a certain Epistle of his, reprehendeth those that say, that he that is perfectly wise is content with himself, and that for this cause he hath no need of a friend: this is objected by the Epicure to S●●lpho, and those who think that the impassibility of the mind is their chiefest good. We shall fall into ambiguity, if we shall strive significantly to express the Greek word 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 in one word, and call it Impatience. For the contrary of that which we would express may be understood: for we intent, him that despiseth all sense of evil, let him be conceived that can endure no evil: see therefore whether it be better either to say an invulnerable mind, or a mind settled beyond all patience. The difference which is betwixt them and us is this; our wiseman overcometh each incommodity whatsoever, but feeleth the same; theirs hath not so much as a sense thereof. In this we accord, we say that a wiseman is contented with himself, yet notwithstanding that he will have a friend, a neighbour, a companion, although he himself sufficeth, and in such sort sufficeth, that sometimes he is contented with a part of himself. For if either a sickness or enemy hath taken his hand from him, if any accident hath bereft him of his eye, that which remaineth with him shall suffice him, and as joyful shall he be in his maimed and mangled body, as he could be were it whole. He had rather that he wanted nothing; nevertheless he desireth not that which he wanteth. Thus is a wiseman so far content with himself, not that he will be without a friend, but that he can be; which is as much to say, as that he beareth patiently the loss of a friend, without a friend he shall never be; it lieth in his power to repair him as soon as him listeth. As Phidias having lost one statue, can suddenly fashion another; so this good Artesan of amity suddenly substituteth another friend in the place of him that is lost. If thou demandest of me, how he can so suddenly make and repair so many friendships, I will tell thee, if this first all be agreed between us, that I remain acquit of the debt of this letter. I will show thee, saith HECATON, a means to increase love without medicine, herb, or enchantment: if thou wilt be beloved, love. But there is not only a pleasure in the fruition of an old & ancient amity, but likewise in the creation of a new: and the same difference is between him that hath a friend already gotten, and him that is ● getting, as between the labourer when he ●oweth and when he reapeth. Attalus the Philosopher was wont to say, that it was a far more pleasant thing to make a friend, then to have a friend; as it is more agreeable to a painter to paint, then to have finished his picture. This attention which he applieth to his work, hath in itself such sweetness, that he cannot be partaker of that that hath set his last hand to his labour: after he hath painted, he possesseth the fruit of his art, but he took pleasure in the art itself when he painted. The youth of our children is more fruitful unto us, but their infancy more sweet. And to return to our purpose● the wiseman although he be content with himself, will notwithstanding have a friend, if to no other end but to exercise his amity, will not endure that so great a virtue should remain without use, not (as Epicurus said in the same Epistle) to have some one to assist him when he is sick, or to secure him if he be in prison and necessity, but contrariwise to the end he may have some one whom he may assist and secure being sick, relieve and ransom being in need and captivity: for he hath an evil intention, that only respecteth himself, when he maketh friendship's so shall he end his friendship even as he began the same. He that hath purchased himself a friend, to the intent he may be succoured by him in prison, will take his flight as soon as he feeleth himself delivered from his bonds. These are those kinds of friendships, which the common sort call Temporary. He that is made a friend for profit sake, shall please as long as he may be profitable: so those that are in felicity see themselves environed with a multitude of friends, & where the distressed make their abode there is nothing but solitude: ●or such manner of friends fly those places where they shall be proved: from thence we see so many wicked examples of some forsaking for fear, of some betraying for fear. It is necessary that the beginning & the end have correspondence. He that hath begun to be a friend because it is expedient, he that hath thought that there is a gain in friendship beside itself, may well be induced and suborned against the same, by the offer of a greater gain. For what cause then do I entertain a friend? To the end to have one for whom I may die, whom I may accompany in banishment, and for whose life and preservation I may expose myself to danger and death. For the other, which only regardest profit, and that makest accounted of that which may yield thee commodity, is rather a traffic then a friendship. Certain it is that friendship hath in some sort a similitude and likeness to the affections of lovers. And not unfitly may a man call this passion a foolish amity. But the scope of love is neither gain, nor ambition, neither glory; but despising all other consideration of himself, he kindleth in our souls the desire of the beloved form, under hope of a mutual and reciprocal amity. And who dare say that a vicious habitude is produced from a cause more honest. But if thou wilt say unto me, that if friendship be so desired a thing in itself, it behoveth not a wiseman who is contented with himself to follow the same for any other consideration, how honest soever it be, then for the beauty that remaineth in the same: and that it is an abatement of the majesty and dignity thereof, to obtain the same for any other respect. I will answer thee my friend Lucilius, that where we say that the wiseman is contented with himself, is badly interpreted by divers men. They exclude every way the wiseman from every place, and enclose him within himself. But we must distinguish what and how far this word extendeth. The wiseman is contented with himself to live happily, but not to live. To this divers things are requsit; to that there needeth no more than an entire and erected mind, and such as despiseth fortune. I will show thee how Chrysippus distinguisheth them: He saith that a wiseman wanteth nothing, and yet hath need of many things: a fool hath need of nothings because he can make use of nothing, but wanteth all things. The wiseman hath need of hands and eyes, and divers other parts of him for the ordinary uses of life, yet nevertheless he wanteth nothing: for to have need importeth necessity; but to him that is wise nothing is necessary. Thus although he be content with himself, yet desisteth he not to make use of his friends, but desireth to have more, but not in regard that he hath need of them to live happily, for he can live happily without his friends. The sovereign good seeketh not external instruments, it is wholly accomplished in itself. It beginneth to be subject unto fortune, ●f it have need to seek any part of itself out of itself. But yet what shall a wiseman's life be, if he be left in prison without friends, or if in some strange country he be abandoned of all the world, or retained in some long Navigation, or cast on some desert and unknown shore? Even as jupiter, when in the dissolution of the world, and the confused mixture of the gods all into one● when the nature of things beginning to cease by little and little, he reposeth himself, and retireth himself into himself, given over to his own thoughts. The like doth the wiseman, he is hidden in himself, he is only with himself: but whilst it is lawful for him to order his affairs, he is contented with himself: he marrieth a wife; he is contented with himself: he bringeth up children, he is content in himself; and yet would he not live, if he should live without mankind. No pro●it but a natural instinct inciteth him to entertain friendship: for as in other things we have a certain in bred sweetness, so have we of friendship. Even as solitude is odious, so is company agreeable: even as nature associateth man with man, so likewise is there a certain instinct in this, that maketh us desirous of friendships; notwithstanding although he be most affectionate to his friends; although he equal and oftentimes prefer them before himself, yet shall all his good be enclosed, and bounded within himself, and he shall speak as Stilpon did, I mean him against whom Epicurus disputed in his Epistle: for having, upon the surprisal and taking of the City wherein he lived, lost his wife and children, and himself left desolate (yet nevertheless happy and content) delivered from the public ruin & desolation. Demetrius he that was surnamed Poliorcetes, that is to say the destroyer of Cities, demanded of him if he had lost nothing. Not (said he) I have lost nothing, because all my goods are with me. Behold how this great and generous parsonage is victorious over the victory of his own proper enemy. I have not (saith he) lost any thing. He compelled him to doubt, whether he were a conqueror, or no. All my goods, saith he, are with me, that is to say, justice, virtue, temperance, prudence, and especially to think nothing good that may be taken away. We wonder at some creatures that traverse the fire without any harm; how much more admirable was this man, that without loss or harm escaped both fire, sword and ruin? Dost thou see how far more easy it is, to conquer a whole Nation than one man? This voice is common to him with the Stoic, who in his own person beareth away his goods without hurt, thorough the midst of Cities burned down, because he is content in himself: himself is the scope of his own felicity. Think not that we alone are they that utter these great and generous words. Epicurus himself that reprehendeth Stilphon, hath spoken to the like effect; which take in good part, although I have paid thee this days rend already: Whosoever (saith he) supposeth not his own sufficient to content him, though he be the Lord of this whole world, yet is he miserable. Or if thou think it better spoken in this sort (for we must rely on sense, not on words) He is miserable that thinketh not himself most happy, although he command the whole world. And to the end thou mayest know, that these senses are common, which nature infuseth into all in general, thou shalt find that in the Cynique Poet, He is not blest that thinks himself not so. For what prevaileth it thee of what reckoning or estate thou art of, if in thine own judgement it seem but abject? What then mayest thou say, if he that is unworthily rich, and he who is lord over divers other men, but slave unto far more, calleth himself happy; shall he be so? I tell thee that thou oughtest not to regard that which he saith, but that which he thinketh; and not that only which he thinketh one day, but ordinarily. But do not fear jest an unworthy man should enjoy so great a good: to no one but a wiseman can his goods yield any pleasure; all folly laboureth with loathing of itself. EPIST. X. That solitude is only good to those that are good, and have profited in goodness, to others otherwise: for wicked and foolish men commit most sin therein, being removed from a reformer and left to themselves. By the way some precepts of vows, and that we aught not to conceive any thing, except that which we durst make known to every man. SO it is, I change not mine opinion, but counsel thee to fly the great assemblies, yea the lest; and not the lest only, but the frequentation of one alone. I find not any man with whom I would have thee to converse. Consider a little the judgement that I have of thee; I dare well trust thyself to thyself. Cra●es the Auditor of that Stilpon, of whom I made mention in my former Epistle, when he perceived a young man walking apart by himself, asked him what he did there all alone? I speak, said the young man, unto myself. Take heed, I pray thee, replied Crates, that thou speak not with a wicked man. We are accustomed to observe those that mourn and fear, when they retire themselves apart, for fear jest they abuse their solitude. There is no imprudent man that aught to be left alone: for than is the time that they complot and devise their evil designs, and study how to effect their evil intents, both to themselves and others: then dispose they their unlawful desires: at that time the mind discovereth and publisheth that which before time their fear or shame enforced them to conceal: then animate they their boldness, quicken they their lusts, and awaken their choler. To conclude, the only good that solitude hath in itself, which is to commit nothing to any man, and to fear no revealer, that is lost to a fool: for he discovereth and betrayeth himself. Consider thou that which I hope, or rather that which I promise' myself of thee (for to hope is a word of uncertain good) I find not any man with whom I could better find in my hart that thou shouldst be conversant, then with thyself. When I called to remembrance the high and generous discourses that I have heard thee utter, I did congratulate with myself, and said, These are not words only, but these words have their foundations; this man is not of the vulgar, he tendeth to safety. Continued then my friend Lucilius, and speak always after this manner, live continually thus, that one thing abase thee not, neither master thy courage. Give thanks unto god for the ancient vows thou hast made unto him, and recommend unto him all the new thou hast conceived: ask at his hands a good mind, and first of all pray unto him for the health of thy spirit, and next for that of thy body. Why shouldest thou not oftentimes make these vows unto him? boldly beseech god, since thou intendest to ask nothing of him that is another man's. But to the end that according to my custom I may accompany this letter of mine with some present, receive that which I have found to day in Athenodorus: Than know that thou art disburdened of all evil desires, when thou hast attained so far, that thou demand nothing at gods hands, but that which may be required of him openly. For how great at this day is the madness of men? They mumble betwixt their teeth some vileinous prayers, and are suddenly silent if any man yield an ear unto them, supposing to hide that from men which they are not ashamed to discover unto God: judge then if this precept should not be profitable; So live with men as if God saw thee, so speak with God as if men should hear thee. EPIST. XI. That he hoped well of LUCILIUS his friend, in whom appeared much shamefastness and blushing. That the same is sometimes natural, and cannot be shaken off by any precepts, and followeth a wiseman also. that sometimes it appeareth in evil men, and is a sign of evil. Than he citeth a wholesome admonition of EPICURUS. That we aught always represent unto ourselves a good man, who might restrain us as a Tutor; and that we should do and speak all things as if he were present. THat honest natured man thy friend hath spoken with me. The first words he uttered, incontinently testified unto me how great his hurt was, and how good his spirit, and how much he had profited in the study he had enterprised: he left me a taste, whereunto I assure myself he will answer; for I have taken him upon the sudden, and he hath spoken unto me without preparation. When he recollected himself he easily blushed, which is a good sign in a young man, yea, so blushed as he could not moderate it. I doubt not but when he shall be best retired, and despoiled of all his vices, that then this complexion will accompany him, yea, even then when perfect wisdom hath possessed him. For those vices which are connatural either in mind or body, cannot be wholly defaced by any industry. That which is borne with us may be sweetened and corrected by art, but neither mastered or rooted out. It hath been noted that the most assured men in this world, at such time as they presented themselves before a great assembly, to discourse of any thing, were no less troubled with a cold sweat, than they that are weary and pant with travel: to some their knees tremble, to others their teeth chatter, their tongue varies, their lips simper. Neither discipline nor use can wholly take from them these imperfections: for nature exerciseth his force herein, and admonisheth each one of his defects and weakness, and I know that blushing is to be numbered amongst these things. For oft-times we observe that it spreadeth itself, and flusheth even in the face of the gravest men, yet is it more apparent in young men, who have more heat and are of a soft nature, notwithstanding the eldest are not exempt from the ●ame. Some there are that are never so much to be feared then when they blush, as if at that instant they had lavished out all their shamefastness. Than was Sylla most violent when his face was most red. There was nothing more soft than Pompey's countenance. For he never spoke in solemn company without blushing. And I remember that Fabianus did as much, being summoned by the Senate to depose in a certain matter, and herein his blushing did marvelously become him, This happeneth not thorough the feebleness of the mind, but rather from the novelty of the accident, which although it shake not, yet moveth it these which are not accustomed and exercised, and who by a natural facility and tenderness of their body, are subject to blushing. For as th●re a●● some who have their blood both good and well rempered, so othersome have it movable, and ready to flush up into the face. No wisdom, as I have said, can take away this infirmity, otherwise nature itself should be subject thereunto, if wisdom had power to raze out those vices which she had imprinted in us. That which attendeth us thorough the condition of our birth, and the temperature of our bodies, when the mind hath much and long time composed itself, will remain continually. We cannot eschew these things at our pleasures, no more than we can command them to come at our william. The Commedians who imitate affections, who express fear and trembling, who represent sorrow, are accustomed to sergeant shamefastness after this manner: they cast down their countenance, they speak softly, they fix their eyes on the ground, but blush they cannot; for blushing may neither be prohibited nor commanded. Wisdom promiseth nothing against those things; profiteth nothing: such things as these receive no law but from themselves; they come against our wills, and departed without ask leave. Now this Epistle requireth a clausuall; receive then from me this precept, as most necessary and behoveful for thee, & which I wish thee always to retain in memory: We aught to choose out some good man, and always fix him be●ore our eyes, that we may so live as if he always looked on, & do all things as if he continually beheld us. This, O my friend Lucilius, is one of Epicurus precepts. He intendeth to give us a Guardian and a Tutor, and not without cause. The greatest part of sins is taken away, when a witness is always present with him that would offend. Let the mind therefore propose unto itself some parsonage that she respecteth, by whose authority she may make her secret more holy and more religious. O how happy is he that not only reformeth his actions but his thoughts! Happy is he that can respect one of that sort, that by the only remembrance of him he can reform his mind: who can respect in that sort shall suddenly be made worthy to be respected himself. Choose therefore Cato, or if he seem unto thee oversharp and severe, choose L●lius, who is more facile and sweet: choose him whose life and words shall be most agreeable unto thee, and fixing always before thine eyes his mind and countenance, take him either for thy guide or thine example. It behoveth us to have some one, according to whose manners we may conform our own. Such things as are depraved, are not corrected but by rule. EPIST. XII. He pleasantly discourseth of his old age, and showeth how he was admonished thereof in his country-house, but so admonished that it was without grief. That his old age must not be tedious but pleasant, and less subject to vices. That all life is short, but whatsoever to be made ours by use, and that hand is to be laid thereon. Let us daily say and think we have lived. ON which side soever I turn myself I perceive the proofs of mine old age: I repaired lately to my country-farm, which adjoineth the City, and complained of my daily expense in reparations, and my Bailiff that had the keeping thereof answered me, that it was not his fault, alleging that he had done the best that he could, but that the building was over-olde and ruinous; yet notwithstanding it was I myself that builded it, I leave it to thee to judge of me, since the stones of mine age decay so much through antiquity. Being touched herewith I took occasion to be displeased with him upon every first thing that encountereth me in my walk. It well appeareth, said I, that ●hese Plane trees are not well laboured, they are altogether leavelesse, their boughs are knotty and withered, and their stocks covered with moss and filthiness: this would not happen if any man had digged about them, and watered them as they aught to be. He sweareth by my Genius, that he doth his uttermost endeavour, and that he hath neglected them in no manner, but that the trees were old. Than remembered I myself that I had planted them with mine own hands, and seen them bear their first leaf. Turning myself to the door, what decrepit fellow is that, said I, that for his age is left at the gate as dead bodies are wont to be, for he looketh outward? Whence came he? What pleasure hast thou to carry forth the carcase of a strange man? Knowest thou me not, saith he? I am Felicio to whom thou wert wont to bring childish gifts; I am the son of Philo●itus thy Bailiff, thy playfellow. Undoubtedly, said I, this man doteth. My darling then is become an infant; undoubtedly it may so be, for he is almost toothless. This own I to my Farm, that my old age appeareth unto me which way soever I turn myself. Let us then embrace and love the same● it is wholly replenished with agreeable delights, if a man know how to make use of it. The Apples are never so good then when they begin to whither and ripen. Infancy is must agreeable in the end thereof. To those that delight in carousing, the last draft is most pleasant, that which drowneth him in wine, and consummateth his drunkenness. Whatsoever most contenting, all pleasure hath contained in herself, is deferred till the end. The age that declineth is also most agreeable, when as yet it is not wholly decrepit and spent: neither judge I that age, without his particular pleasure, whose foot is almost in the grave, or thus succeedeth in place of pleasure that he needeth none. O how sweet and pleasant a thing is it to see a man's self discharged of all covetousness! But thou mayest say that it is a tedious thing, to have death always before a man's eyes: first of all this aught as well to be presented to a young as to an old man's eyes; for we are not called by the Censor according to our estate, and there is none so old that hopeth not to live at lest one day longer: and one day is a degree of life; for all our age consist●th of many parts, and is a sphere that hath diu●rs circles, the one enclosed within the other. And one there is that encloseth and comprehendeth all the rest, which is that of the Nativity until death; another that excludeth the years of youth, another that containeth all childhood; after these succeedeth the year which encloseth all, the time by the multiplication whereof life is composed. In the circle of the year is the month, and in that of the month is the day, which is the lest of all: yet notwithstanding he hath his beginning and his end, his rise and his set. And for this cause Heraclitus that was called Scotinus, by reason of the obscurity of his speech, said that one day is like to all which another hath interpreted after another manner to wit, that one day is like to all; in number of hours: and he said true; for if a day be the time of four and twenty hours, it is necessary that they should be all alike, because the night hath that which the day hath lost: another said that one day was like to all, by reason of the conformity and resemblance; for there is nothing in the space of a very long time, that thou shalt not find in one day the light and the night, the turns and returns of the heavens. The shortness and length of the nights make these things more plainly appear. Therefore aught we to dispose of every day, in such sort as if it did lead up the rearward of our time, and should consummate our lives. Pa●●uius he that usurped over Syria, being buried in the evening, being buried in his wine, and those meats which he had caused to be richly and sumptuously prepared for him, as if he himselefe had solemnised his own obsequies, caused himself to be transported from his banquet to his bed, in such manner, that amidst the dances and clapping of hands of his courtesans, it was sung to the Music, He hath lived, he hath lived: and no day overpassed his head wherein he buried not himself after this manner. That which he did of an evil conscience let us perform with a good, and addressing ourselves to our rest, let us joyfully and contentedly say, I have lived, and ended the course that fortune gave me. If God vouchsafe us the next morrow, let us receive the same with thanksgiving. He is thrice-happie, & assuredly possessed of himself that expecteth the next day without care. Whosoever hath said I have lived, doth daily rise to his profit. But now I must close my letter: What, sayest thou, shall it come to me without any present? Do not fear, it shall bring somewhat with it. Why said I somewhat? It will be a great deal. For what can be more excellent than this sentence, It bringeth unto thee? It is an evil thing to live in necessity, but there is no necessity to live in necessity: for the way that leadeth unto liberty is on every side open, short, & easy to keep. Let us give God thanks for this, that no man can be constrained to live, and that it is lawful for every one to tread necessity under his feet. Thou wilt say, that these words are of Epicurus. What hast thou to do● with another man's? That which is true is mine, I will persever to urge Epicurus unto thee, that they who swear and consent to the words, and consider not what is spoken, but by whom; let them know, that those things are best that are common. EPIST. XIII. He excellently informeth against casualties, and ●●●●●rageth against them: But especially he adviseth us not to be tormented with the ●eare of things to come; he avoweth them to be uncertain, and such as may not fall out. He concludeth therefore that ●ll fear is to be tempered by hope. Than addeth he this, full of far more confidency; Do and teach things to come, they are of God, and for our good. I Know that thou hast much courage; for before I instructed thee with wholesome precepts, and such as subdue adversity, thou wert contented enough to exercise thyself against fortune, and hast assured thyself also far more, since thou hast made trial of thy forces, and grappled with her hand to hand; which can never give an assured proof of themselves, but where as many difficulties shall appear on every side, yea, sometimes nearly assault them. In like manner a true mind, and such as will not subject itself to other men's wills, approveth itself: This is his touch stone. The wrestler cannot enter lists with an undaunted courage, who hath never been sharply encountered and beaten. He that hath oftentimes seen his blood shed, whose teeth have be●ne shattered by a fist. H● that having been overthrown hath made his enemy loose his footing, that being cast down hath not lost his courage, that as oftentimes as he hath been ●oyled recovered new footing and became more fell and furious, he that, I say entereth the field with the greatest assurance. And to persist in this similitude; Fortune hath oftentimes been above thee, yet hast thou never at any time yielded thyself her prisoner, but hast always restored thyself, and made head against her with more courage and alacrity: and in truth also a generous mind getteth ordinarily some advantage when he is provoked; notwithstanding if thou thinkest it good, accept some forces from me to strengthen and defence thyself more and more. divers things, my Lucilius, do more fear th●n hurt us, & oftentimes we are more troubled by opinion then effect. I reason not with th●e at this time in a Stoical language, but somewhat more submisly and vulgarly: for we say that all these things, which cause in us these fears and groanings, are but light and contemptible. Let us omit these great words, yet notwithstanding most true. I only admonish thee not to make thyself miserable before thy time, by fearing that those things are wholly near unto thee, which happily will never befall thee, or at leastwise are not yet happened. Somethings therefore do more afflict us than they aught, some before they aught, othersome torment us when they should not at all. We either augment our evil, or presuppose the same, or imagine them to ourselves upon no ground at all: that first because the matter is in controversy, and the pleas are already recorded; let us defer for the present. That which I term light thou contendest to be most grievous: I know that some do laugh in their tortures, others groan for a little stroke. We afterwards shall see whether these things are to be valued by their own forces or our weakness. First grant m● this, that as oftentimes as thou shalt be amongst men, that shall endeavour to persuade thee that thou art miserable, thou wilt grow into consideration with thyself, not of that which thou hearest, but of that which thou feelest: consult first of all with thy patience, & ask thou thyself. Who should better know tha● which toucheth thee then thy sel●●● Speak unto thyself thus; Why is it that these men lament my fortune? 〈◊〉 tremble they, as if they feared that the ●●●●gion of my misfortune should attaint and torment them? That which I 〈◊〉 is it not more infamous than dangerous? Inquire of thyself after this ma●ner: Am I not perplexed and sorrowful without cause? Make I not that an evil which is not? How sayest thou, ●hall I understand whether the things I fear be ●yther v●●ne or true? Take this rule to discern the same: either present, or future, or both terrify us: the judgement of the present is facile, if the body be free, healthful, and without any grief, caused by some injury done unto thee. We shall see what shall happen hereafter, to day thou hast no need to complain. But it will come. First consider whether there be any certain arguments of thy future misfortune; for, for the most part we are troubled with suspicions, and affrighted by the illusions of common report, which is accustomed to end whole wars, but much more particular men. Undoubtedly so it is my friend Lucilius, we are quickly conceited and overruled by common opinion: we check not those things which cause our fears, neither shake them off: but tremble thereat, and turn our backs like those whom a cloud of dust, raised by the triumphing of a troop of beasts putteth to flight, or those that are dismayed by a report that runneth abroad, that hath neither ground nor author. And by mishap, I know not how it cometh to pass that false and feigned things do trouble us far more than true; for the true have a certain measure, the others are delivered us to a wandering conjecture, and licence of the fearful mind, which is already affrighted: whence it happeneth that there are no dismays so pernicious and irremediable than those that are mad and distracted; for all the rest are without reason, but this without mind. Let us diligently inquire upon this business; Is it likely some mischance will happen? It is not straightways true. How many unexpected things have chanced? How many expected never came to pass? And put the case it should happen, what helpeth it to meet with a man's sorrow? We shall partake the pain too overtimely when it cometh, mean while let us promise' to ourselves some better success; at the leastwise it shall be so much good time gotten. And again, many things may fall out, by means whereof the danger when it shall be more, yea, almost borne by us, either shall subsist or wholly pass away, or happily shall be diverted on another man's head. Oft-times the flames have broken and given passage thorough the midst of their fury, to avoid themselves. Such a one hath fallen from the top of a house that was softly laid when he light on the ground. Sometimes he that was exposed to his last punishment, hath been saved even in the very attempt of execution, and some have survived to bury those who should have been their hangmen: evil fortune itself is never without her inconstancy and levity. It may be the mischance shall come, it may be it shall not come: and mean while that it is not come, at lest propose unto thyself that better fortune may befall thee. But contrariwise, that happeneth sometimes, that even then when there is no appearance of evil presage, the mind feigneth to itself false imaginations, or interpreteth some word of a doubtful signification to the worst, or proposeth to itself the indignation and displeasure of some one greater than it is, and dreameth not how much he is incensed, but how much he may if so be he be provoked. But there is no more occasion of living, there is no end of misery, if a man fear as much as he may fear. It behoveth contrariwise to reject and contemn the fear itself which is attended every way with apparent occasions. Herein it is, where 〈◊〉 prudence and the force of ou● understanding aught principally to serve 〈…〉 wise it be sitteth us to 〈…〉 one vice by another, and to temp●● 〈…〉 hope. For there is not●●●●●o certain of all that which a man may 〈…〉 ●hat is not also more ceratine, that the things that are feared may 〈◊〉 and vanish, and those that are hoped for deceive. Balance therefore th● 〈◊〉 with thy hope; and if there be doubt on all sides, believe that which be●●●keth thee, and thou couldst desire should fall out; and although thou s●●lt have more and 〈◊〉 probable appearances for to fear, notwithstanding dispose thyself to favour the better part, and cease to afflict thyself. Discourse always in thy understanding, that the greatest part of mortal men are troubled and perplexed in themselves for a thing wherein there is no evil, neither can there be any evil, and the reason hereof is, because no man resisteth himself when he beginneth to be shaken and assaulted. No man pretendeth to take the pains to verify his fear, no man thinketh with himself that the author is a vain man, that either might have dreamt the same, or believed it lightly. We yield ourselves wholly to him that first cometh and reporteth any thing unto us: we fear the incertain as certain, neither can we keep any measure. A doubt doth incontinently become fear. But I am ashamed to talk after this manner with thee, and to apply unto thee so slight remedies: when any other man shall say unto thee; be confident that which thou fearest shall not befall thee, say thou quite contrary, and when it shall happen, what of that? Perhaps it shall be for my good and advantage if it happen, and this death shall do honour to my life. Ceuta hath made Socrates most famous and renowned. Wrist from Cato the sword that assured his liberty, and thou shall detract from him the greatest part of his glory. True it is, that I am too tedious in exhorting thee, who hast no need to be exhorted, but instructed and admonished only. These are not contrary to thy nature, thou art borne to accomplish all that which we speak of; and by so much more oughtest thou to be careful, to augment and beautify the graces that nature hath given thee. But now is it high time to finish my Epistle, as soon as I have signed it with some high and generous sentence, to be conveyed unto thee: Amongst other evils folly hath likewise this, that it beginneth always to live. Consider, worthy Lucilius, what these things signify, and thou shalt understand how loathsome men's levity is, who are always occupied to project new foundations of life, and in their last time bethink them of new hopes. If thou cast thine eye on every man, thou shalt meet with old men that address themselves to ambition, travel, and negotiations. And what is there more absurd, then for an old man to begin to live? I would not allege the author of this sentence, if that it were not one of the most secret, and not couched amongst the vulgar speeches of Epicurus, which I have permitted myself both to usurp and adopt as mine own. EPIST. XIIII. A most wise Epistle. He admonisheth that care must be had of the body and of life, but not too much: but that three things are feared touching the body; Poverty, Sickness, and Violence, but especially this last, which proceedeth from powerful men and tyrants: To the end thou mayest not fear, three things are to be avoided; Hatred, Envy, and Contempt. But how wisdom shall instruct, and in short words he. I Confess that ●●ture hath imprinted in every one 〈◊〉 ●ffection & care of 〈…〉 person. I confess that our body 〈…〉 tuteli● and prote●●●on. I deny not but that we aught to use 〈◊〉 indulgence in the behalf thereof, yet aught it not to hold us in servitude. He shall be slave to ●●ny that will be slave to his own body, shall too much fear for the same, and refer all things unto that. So aught we to behave ourselves, not as though it behoved us to live for our body; but as if we might not live without the same. The too tender affection we bear unto it, disquieteth us with fears, chargeth us with divers thoughts, & exposeth and subiecteth us to disgraces. Honesty is base to him, that maketh too much account of his body. Reason it is that it be kept carefully, yet so, as when reason, honour, and faith requireth it, a man be ready to cast it into the midst of a fire. Let us fly notwithstanding as much as in us lieth, not only the dangers, but the incommodities. Let us secure ourselves and retire us into a place of security, thinking hourly, by what means we may separate from us those things which are to be feared; of which (if I deceive not myself) there are three sorts: we fear poverty, we fear sickness, we fear those things that may befall us thorough the violence of the mighty. Of all these three is no one thing more that shaketh us, then that which hangeth over us from another man's greatness, for that cometh with a great noise and tumult. The natural evils which I have reckoned up, such as are poverties and infirmity, do silently assault us: they neither affright our eyes nor our ears, but the other mischief marcheth forth with greater pomp. He hath about him fire, sword, and bonds, and a troop of greedy wild beasts to glut themselves on our entrails. So many prisons, so many gallows, so many racks and hooks, and the stakes which men are split on, the tortures of drawing a man with wild horses, and such other types of tyranny, the variety whereof is so great, and the preparation so terrible. No marvel though they bring much fear with them: for even as the hangman, the more instruments of torture he presenteth to the condemned, the more he afflicteth him; so amongst those things that surcharge and wound our minds, those have the greatest force that present the most objects to the eye. This is not to infer that other plagues, I mean famine, thirst, ulcers, and impos●umes of the inwards, and the fevor which drieth and burneth our bowels, are not as tedious and painful, but that they are hidden, having nothing that they may produce, or cause to march before them. These as great armies obtain the entry by the greatness of their show and preparation. But the true remedy against these dangers, is to abstain to provoke them. Sometimes the people are those whom we aught to fear; sometimes, if the discipline of the City be such, that divers things are concluded by the Senate, some gracious men therein, or some one particular man that bears the sway of the Commonwealth, and hath the government over the people. To have all these thy friends is too difficult, it is enough for thee that thou hast them not thine enemies. A wiseman therefore will n●uer provoke the displeasure of the mighty, but rather will decline the same, in such sort, as in sailing the Mariner shuneth a storm. When thou shippedst for Sicily, thou didst cut over the Sea, and the unadvised Master of thy ship contemned the threatening Southernly winds, which is that wind which exasperateth the Sicilian Seas, and driveth on the shoals and whirlpooles; he shapeth not his course by the left shore, but saileth by that shore which is nearer Charybdis. But some other more skilful, would have inquired of those of the country before he had embarked himselve, of the nature of this Sea, and of the signs which the clouds imported, and had held his course far aloof from these dangerous places and whirlepools. In like sort doth the wiseman, he flieth those that may hurt him, having an especial regard to this, that he seem not to fly them: for the greatest part of security consisteth in this, to make no show or appearance to search the same; because that those things which a man flieth he condemneth. We must therefore look about us, how we may be secure from the common sort, which we shall bring to pass, if first of all we covet not any of those things, which set competitors together by the ears; and then, if we have not any thing, that by appearance of profit may make us subject to treacheries: I also counsel thee that thou have not any thing in thy body that thou mayest be spoiled of. No man thirsteth after a man's blood only, or at leastwise very few. The greater sort rather hunt after the prize then the life. A naked man walketh freely before the theft & in a dangerous passage a poor man findeth no man to bid him stand. Afterwards it behoveth thee, according to the ancient precept, to endeavour thyself to avoid three things; that is, to be hated, envied, and despised. Wisdom only can show us how this may be affected, otherwise it is a hard thing and much to be feared, jest distrust of envy bring us into contempt, jest whilst we will not be trod upon, we seem able to be trod on. It hath been a cause of much fear to many by having power to be feared. Let us every way retire ourselves: it is no less harmful to be contemned then to be admired at. Let us therefore have recourse unto Philosophy, the instructions whereof shall be as marks of dignity unto us, not only with good men, but such also as are indifferently evil: for eloquence and such other professions, which tend to move the common sort, have their adversary; but it is peaceable and retired, and such as intermixeth itself with nothing but itself, that neither can be contemned, which is respected by all other arts, yea by the consent of the most wicked. Never shall vice obtain so great force, never shall any conspire so much against virtue, but that the name of Philosophy shall always remain holy and venerable; yet must Philosophy itself be moderately and peaceably handled. True it is, that happily thou wilt object unto me, that Marcus Cato hath not handled the same with that modesty, who persuaded himself, that he might repress by his only counsels the heat of civil wars, that thrust himself amidst the armies of two displeased and enraged Princes, that whereas some displeased Pompey, other some Caesar, he feared not to offend them both at once. But I will answer thee, that it may be debated, whether during that time it was wisely done of him to busy himself with public affairs? What pretendest thou to do Cato? The title of liberty was not then in question; for long time before it was trodden under foot: the question is only whether of these two either Caesar or Pompey shall be master of the Commonweal: what hadst thou to do with this quarrel? Thou hadst no part herein; the question was to choose a Sovereign: what could it avail thee which of them it were that conquered? The better cannot conquer, and he may be the worst that shall be subdued; he cannot be the better that getteth the mastery. I have touched the last parts of Cato's life, but neither were his former years ever such, that it was convenient for a wiseman to intermeddle with the Commonweal, which was already exposed for a pray. For what other thing did he but exclaim, and cast out unprofitable speeches, whilst the people taking him up, played with him like a football, spit in his face, and drew him perforce out of his place, and from the Senate-house led him unto prison? But we shall see hereafter, whether a wiseman aught to employ his labour in a place where it should be utterly lost? Mean while I recall thee to ●hese Stoics, who excluded from the Commonweal, retired themselves to reform men's lives, and to make laws for all mankind, without incurring the indignation of the mighty. Undoubtedly it is more expedient for a wiseman to behave himself thus, then to go and trouble public customs, and cause himself to be pointed at through the strangeness of his life. What then? shall he that followeth this course be wholly safe and secured? Not more may a man promise' this then health to a temperate man, and yet temperance entertaineth and causeth the same. It hath been seen sometimes that ships have been lost in the Haven, but the danger is greater when they sail in the main Sea: how much more at hand should his danger be, that intermeddleth with many affairs, and complotteth more, who cannot assure himself, not not in his solitude? The innocent is sometimes condemned, but the faulty far more often. His art costeth him dear, that is harmed by the very ornaments of art. Finally, the wiseman regardeth that which is most expedient in every thing, and not the success: for our deliberations are in our hands; but fortune disposeth of the events, to whose judgement a wiseman never submitteth himself, yet will it bring some vexation and adversity. The thief is not condemned but when he killeth. But I perceive thou stretchest out thy hand to receive a rent which this letter should bring thee, I will pay thee in golde● see thou how the use and fruition of the same may be more grateful unto thee; He most of all possesseth riches; that lest needeth them. Tell me, thou wilt say, who is the author? That thou mayest know how bountiful I am, I intent to praise another man's; it is either Epicurus or Metrodorus saying, or some one of that sect: what skilleth it who spoke it? he spoke to all men. He that wanteth riches, feareth for them: but no man envieth a good that breedeth fear: whilst he thinketh to increase the same, he forgetteth the use of them; it behoveth him always to have the counters in his hand, to assist at the burse time, and visit his books of account: briefly, of a Master he becometh a Factor. EPIST. XV. Exercise tendeth to the care of the body; but let it not be laborious or troublesome: easy and short sufficeth, as running, leaping, carriage of the body, intention of the voice. A clause from the Epicure, to the end that life should not be deferred, content thee with the present. THE ancients had a custom, which hath been observed as yet to my time, to begin their letters with these words; If thou art in health, it is well; for mine own part I am healthy. Now think I that he should say as well, who should begin thus: If thou attendest thy Philosophy, I am glad of it, for that in truth is to be in health. Without it the mind is sick, and the body also notwithstanding it be strong and able: for it is no otherwise healthy then as a man might say, the body of one that is mad and troubled with the frenzy. Have care therefore especially of this first health, afterwards of the second, which will not cost thee much, if thou behave thyself wisely. For it is an unseemly thing for a man that traveleth to obtain wisdom, to employ himself in exercising his arms, to feed himself fat, and to strengthen his sides. When thou shalt make thyself fleshy and brawny to the uttermost thou canst imagine, yet neither in force or weight shalt thou equal a fat and grown Ox. Besides this, the mind being choked up with the great charge of thy body, is far less agile and quick of conceit. Contain therefore and restrain thy body the most that thou mayest, to the end thou mayest give a fairer and more spacious place and harbour unto thy mind. They that are over-careful of the same, draw after them divers incommodities: first of all the travel of exercise spendeth the spirit, and disableth it to apprehended the study of the most secret and hidden secrets. And they lead with them a train of most dangerous revolts and debauchments, as that foul and villainous custom of men, occupied between the wine and the oil, in whose opinion the day is happily passed, if they have sweated well; and if in stead of that which is exhaled by sweat, they have anew replenished their empty stomachs with store of another liquor. To drink and sweat is the life of him that is sick of the Cardiacque conversions of the stomach. There are certain kinds of exercise, which are easy and short, which lose and suppling the body, without great loss of time, to which we aught to have a principal regard, as to run, dance, leap, and vault. Choose of all these which thou wilt: the use will make it easy unto thee: whensoever thou dost retire suddenly from thy body to thy mind, exercise the same day and night. She is nourished and entertained with a little labour: neither cold nor heat hinder not her exercise, not not old age itself. Travel therefore carefully after this good, which is bettered by waxing old, yet will I not always that thou hung over thy book, or that thy hand be continually labouring on thy tables. There must some intermission be granted to the mind; yet so, that it be not given over altogether, but remitted only. The carriage of a man in a Litter or otherwise, stirreth the body, but hindereth not the study. Thou mayest read, dictate, speak and hear also in walking. Contemn not also the elevation of thy voice, which I forbidden thee to raise by certain degrees and manners, and afterwards to depress. Again, if thou wilt learn how thou shouldest walk, admit those whom hunger hath taught new cunnings: some there be that will temper thy pace, and observe thy mouth as thou eatest, and will proceed so far, as by the levity of thy patience thou shalt give way to their boldness; what then? shall thy voice and discourse begin with clamorous accents, and in the entrance be most violently enforced? Undoubtedly it is a thing so natural to raise the voice by little and little, that such as plead are ordinarily accustomed to begin their discourse in an humble and submiss manner, and to prosecute the same with a more lively and louder accent. No man at the first imploreth ●he mercy of the judges. Howsoever therefore the force of thy mind shall persuade thee sometimes to exclaim on vices vehemently, sometime more moderately, according as thy voice and force shall enable thee: when thou hast humbled the same, and drawn it to a lower strain and pitch, so let it fall that it fail not: let it be tempered according to the ability and discretion of the speaker, and not break out after a ru●●icke and uncivil manner. For it is not our intention to exercise the voice, but our mind is, that our voice should exercise us. I have disburdened thee of no small business of requital, now will I add a grateful office to these benefits. Behold a worthy precept: The life of a foolish man is ingrate, and full of ●eare, and wholly transported with expectation of future things. But who, sayest thou, speaketh after this manner? The same that spoke before. Now what life is that which in thy opinion may be called foolish, that of Babae and Ixion, the noted fools of our time? It is not so. It is, and is called our life whom blinded covetousness casteth headlong upon those things which torment us, or at lest whiles never content us, to whom if any thing had been sufficient, already it should be. Who consider not how pleasant a thing it is to demand nothing, and how magnificent a thing it is to be full in himself, and not to hold or acknowledge any thing from fortune. Remember thyself therefore every hour, friend Lucilius, how great those things are to which thou hast attained hitherto, when thou hast beheld those things that march before thee● behold also those that march after. If thou wilt not be ungrateful towards God, and towards thine own life, consider how many thou leavest behind thee. But why compare I thee with others? Thou hast, if thou observest thyself well● gone b●yond thyself. Prefix thyself certain bounds which thou wilt not exceed or break although thou mightest. The flattering and deceivable blessings, and such as prove better to those that hope for them then those that enjoy them, will vanish in the end. If there were any solid thing in them, they would sometime satisfy us: or contrariwise they invite us to taste them only for their appearance; and the more a man tasteth the more is he altered. But that which the incertain fate of future time carrieth with itself, why should I rather entreat fortune to bestow upon me, or myself not to demand the same? And why in demanding the same should I forget the frailty of mankind? Shall I hoard up wealth? To what? Shall I take pains? Behold here the last day, or if it be not, it is the next neighbour to the last. EPIST. XVI. That Philosophy is necessary to life; but that is the true only which is in action and proficient. Dispose by that thine actions and counsa●les. It skilleth not whether ●ate or fortune be: for Philosophy teacheth to obey God, and contemn fortune and casualties. There is a clause likewise of EPICURUS. He that liveth according to nature is rich. Despise opinion. I Know, friend Lucilius, that thou perfectly understandest that no man can live happily, nay, scarcely tolerably without the study of wisdom, and that the life is made happy by the perfection of the same, and tolerable by her only beginning. But it sufficeth not only that thou know this, it behoveth thee also to imprint it in thy soul, and assure the same by continual cotemplation. For there is less to do to propose a thing which is honest, then to conserve the same, when a man hath proposed the same to himself. We must persever, and by continual diligence add strength, till that which is now only a good will, may become an habitual good mind. Thou needest not therefore to court me with many affirmative and long discourses: for I know that thou hast profited very much. I know from what mind the things thou writest do proceed, and that they are neither feigned nor disguised: yet will I tell thee freely mine opinion. I have already some hope of thee, but not as yet an entire assurance; and if thou wilt believe, thou shalt conceive no otherwise of thyself. Believe not thyself so suddenly and so easily. Sound and observe thyself, and above all things se● whether thou hast profited, either in thy science or in thy life itself. Philosophy no vulgar craft, neither is it for ostentation: it consisteth not in words but in deeds. She must not be made use of to pass the time withal, or extinguish the tediousness of idleness. She it is that formeth and conformeth the mind, that disposeth life, and guideth our actions, and showeth us what we aught either to fly or follow. She it is that guideth the helm, and directeth their course that sail amidst the shoals and rocks of this life: without her no man is assured. Daily and hourly there fall out innumerable things which require counsel, which no man may receive from any other but herself. But some one may say, whereto serveth Philosophy, if there be a destiny or a God that ruleth all things, or a fortune that commandeth over all men? For such things as are certain cannot be changed, and against those that are uncertain what provision may be made, if God hath preoccupated all the deliberations of men? If already he hath determined that which aught to be done? or if fortune permitteth nothing unto my counsel? whatsoever be of all this, or if all this were so, we must, my Lucilius, intent Philosophy, whether that destiny detain us captives to her irrevocable laws, or God the governor of the world, disposeth of all things; or fortune confusedly enforceth, or altereth human affairs, Philosophy must be our retreat. She will exhort us to obey God willingly, and to resist fortune constantly: she will teach us to follow God, and to bear with casualties. But we ar● not now to call in question, whether we have any interest, and whether providence be in our will or power, or whether fate with inevitable bonds draweth us to his subjection, or any sudden or casual power be our absolute mistress. I return to exhort thee not to suffer thyself to wax cold, or permit this heat and constancy of thy mind to be weakened. Entertain the same in such sort, that the vivacity and agility that at this present is contained therein may grow into a habitude. From thy very infancy (if I have known thee well) thou hast fixed thine eye on that which this present letter importeth. Peruse it well, and thou shall find it, thou needest not marvel at me. I continued still to be liberal of other men's goods; yet are they not others, because that all that which is well said, by whomsoever it be spoken, I may term mine own. Epicurus saith, If thou livest according to nature, thou shalt never be poor; if according to opinion, thou shalt never be rich: nature hath need but of a little, opinion of infinite. Be it thou were Lord of all that wealth which many mighty men do possess, or that fortune enricheth thee beyond the measure of a private man: although she cover thee with gold, and clothe thee in purple, and bring thee to that height of delights and riches, that thou mayest cover the earth with marble, and mightest not only possess riches, but tread on them: add hereunto moreover pictures and statues, and what else soever any art or engine hath invented; thou shalt learn from those to covet always more. Our natural desires are limited; those that are derived from false opinion have no end: for there is no limit from a false ground; to him that goeth in the right way, there is an end; error is infinite. Retire thyself therefore from vain things, and when thou wouldst know, whether that thou askest have a natural or blind desire, consider whether it may rest any where: if the nearer thou approachest it, the farther daily it flieth from thee, be assured it is not according to nature. EPIST. XVII. That philosophy is not to be deferred, but, all other things laid aside, to be embraced. But I shall be poor. What if this were to be wished for? Thou shalt play the Philosopher more freely. Nature desireth but a little, and that shall not be wanting. A clause. To him that accounteth poverty grievous, riches will be likewise burdensome, for the defect is in the mind. CAst away all these things if thou be'st wise, or rather to the end thou mayest be wise: then address thyself speedily and with all thy power to get a good mind. If any thing detain thee, either unbind thee also out of the bond or break it. I am (thou wilt say) hindered by my home●affaires: I will take such a course that my revenue may maintain me, without doing any thing; to the end that poverty may not be a hindrance to me, nor I to any other. Whilst thou sayest this, thou seemest not to know the power and strength of that thing whereof thou thinkest. Thou seest generally and in sum, how much Philosophy is profitable to thee; but thou dost not subtly examine all her parts, neither knowest thou yet how much she helpeth us, and in what sort she may succour us in great affairs (that I may use Tully's words) and in what sort she assisteth us in great things, and applieth herself to the less things. Believe me, take advice of her, she will counsel thee not to busy thyself about thine accounts. All then that thou searchest is to exempt thyself from poverty; and what wilt thou say if it be desirable? Richeses have hindered many men from studying Philosophy: poverty is always free, is always safe, When the enemy's trumpet soundeth, the poor man knows well that the alarm threateneth not him● in a surprise or yielding up of a town for lost, he takes no care how to get away, or what to carry with him: if he must needs make a voyage by Sea, no man attendeth him at his entrance nor at his launching forth: he hath not so great a troop of servants to attend him, that he must needs nourish them upon the fertility of a foreign country. For it is easy to fill a few bellies, and well taught, that desire but to be filled: it costeth little to appease hunger; but a dainty mouth too much. Povertie is contented with the satisfaction and supply of her necessity: why then wilt thou refuse to make her thy companion, whose manners the richest themselves do imitate? If thou desirest to en●oy the freedom of thy mind, either it behoveth thee to be poor, or like a poor man. A man cannot profit in this study without the care of frugality, which is a voluntary poverty. Lay then apart all these excuses; Say not that thou hast not as yet all that which thou hast need of, and that if thou mightest compass that sum, thou wouldst retire thyself from the world, to consecrated thyself wholly unto Philosophy. But contrariwise, she it is that aught especially to be sought after, which thou deferrest and seekest to attain last of all. By her it is by whom thou oughtest to begin. I will, sayest thou, recover whereupon to live: learn then afterwards how thou oughtest to get; if any thing hinder thee from living well, nothing hindereth thee from dying well. There is no reason that poverty should recall us from Philosophy, not not necessity itself. We aught in her behalf endure hunger, which divers men have voluntarily endured in sieges. As if the only price of this patience was not to yield itself to the discretion of the conqueror: how much more great is that by which a perpetual liberty is promised, and an assurance neither to be affrighted by God nor man? Sometimes hunger enforceth us to this. Whole armies have suffered extreme necessity, yea, so great as to feed upon the roots of herbs, and to support an horrible famine; and all this suffered they (to make the wonder the more) to get a Kingdom, and that which is more strange, for another man's service: who then will doubt to endure poverty, and so free the mind from madness? There needeth not any preparation for maintenance before hand. A man may attain unto Philosophy without provision and supplies. But touching thyself, thou wilt attain thereunto after all other things, thou esteemest it for the last instrument of life, or to speak more aptly, the accession. Contrariwise whether it be that thou hast any thing, apply thyself unto her (for whence mayest thou know whether already thou hast so much?) or be it thou hast nothing at all, seek after her the rather, and more than any other thing. Fear not, the want of any necessary supplies; nature is contented with a little, to which let a wiseman accommodate himself: and if happily extreme necessity do surcharge him, he shall escape from this life, and shall cease to be troublesome to himself. And if he have wherewith to wear out and prolong the same, he will take it in good part, and will no further endeavour himself, but for those things that are necessary: he will bestow that on his belly and his back which appertaineth unto them and being content with himself, shall laugh at the occupations of the rich, and the doings and come of those who sweated to get riches, and shall say, To what end searchest thou the longer way? Wherhfore expectest thou the gain of thy usury or the succession of some old man, or the profit of merchandise, if thou canst become rich suddenly. It concerneth thee no more but to recover wisdom, she will pay thee before hand, and giveth riches to whomsoever she maketh them seem to be superfluous. But this were good payment for another man; for thine own part thou art rich, discharge thyself therefore, for thou hast too much. In every age shalt thou find that which is sufficient. I might in this place end my Letter, if I had not taught thee an evil custom. A man may not salute the Kings of Parthia without a present: but to thee a man may not bid adieu gratis. I will therefore borrow of Epicurus to pay thee● To many the obtaining of riches hath not been the end, but the change of their misery. Hereat wonder I not; for vice is not in the things themselves, but in the mind. The same occasion made riches tedious, that made poverty grievous. Even as it is all one to put a sick man into a bed of wood, or into a bed of gold, because that into what place soever he be removed, he beareth always his grief with him. In like manner, there is no difference to thrust a sick mind into riches or into poverty, because his evil always followeth him. EPIST. XVIII. That a wiseman temperately behaveth himself in public riots, and is tainted little or nothing with their manners. Howsoever, that it is profitable some days to abstain, spare and resemble the poor, it is a sore exercise to try poverty if it come so. A clause ●rom EPICURUS: wrath assisteth madness. DEcember is a month wherein all the City is much busied; every one in public giveth way to lasciviousness, each ear is filled with the rumour and report of those preparations which are made to riot with, as if the time were extraordinary, and that there were some difference betwixt the Saturnals and other delights. So little difference is there, that in my opinion he seemeth to have no way erred, that saithe that in times past December was a month, but that now it is a year. If I had thee here, I would willingly inquire of thee, what in thine opinion aught to be done, whether we should change any thing of our ordinary custom, or if (jest we should seem to distaste the common fashion) we should fall to, and frame ourselves to do that which other men do: for that which was not wont to be done but in times of tumult, and in the turbulent estate of the City, for pleasure and the holidays sake we changed our garment. If I knew thee well, the matter being committed to thy judgement; neither wouldst thou permit that in all things we should resemble the round-cap multitude; neither also in every sort to be unlike unto them, except happily in these days especially, we aught to command our minds to retire themselves, and to abstain from pleasures, wherein all the world is so disordered: she receiveth a most certain proof of her firmity, if she neither yield nor su●fer herself to be transported by adulations, and such things as invite her to superfluity. But it is a matter far more difficult, and worthy a noble mind, to be sober alone: at such time as all the people surfeiteth in drunkenness, this hath more temperance and discretion in itself, not to sequester a man's self wholly from popularity, neither to particularise himself ouer-much● neither intermix himself with them, but to do the same things that they do, but not after the same manner. For a man may celebrated a festival day without drunkenness. But so am I pleased to tempt the constancy of thy mind, that according to the counsels of many great men, I advise thee to choose out certain days, wherein thou mayest content thyself with the lest, and cheapest diet, and mayst clothe thyself in a hard and coarse garment: say to thyself, Is this that which the world so much feared? In the fullness of thy security let thy mind prepare itself unto adversities, and against fortunes injuries confirm itself even in the height of her favours. In the midst of peace the Soldier exerciseth himself in arms and skirmishes, and wearieth himself with superfluous labour, to the end he be more able and exercised when time requireth. If thou desirest a man should not ●eare upon any occurrence, exercise him before hand to the accident. They t●at every month exercise themselves in imitation of poverty, have profited ●o far as not to fear poverty itself, which they so oftentimes had both entertained and apprehended. Think not now that I command thee to go sometimes and take an ill supper with a poor man, contenting thyself with his bre●d an● I win●, or whatsoever else it is, whereby luxury smootheth over, and playe● with the tediousness of riches. I advise thee that both thy bed and thy apparel be truly poor, and that thy bread be stolen and mouldie● and that thou entertain this ●ard pittance for three or four days; yea, sometimes more, to the end it may be unto thee, not as a pastime but as a proof. Than believe ●e, my Lucilius, thou shalt leap for joy, when being satisfied with a little, thou ●ha●t understand that to satisfy ourselves we have no need of fortune, for that which sufficeth necessity she oweth us in spite of her displeasure, yet hast thou no reason in accomplishing all this, to persuade thyself that thou hast done much: for what dost thou that many thousand slaves and beggars do not daily? All the honour thou canst give thyself, is, that thou dost it voluntarily● It shall be as easy for thee to endure it always, as to attempt it sometimes. Let us therefore prepare ourselves to all casualties, jest fortune surprise us unprovided. Let us make poverty familiar unto us: we shall be more assuredly rich, if we know that it is no grievous matter to be poor. That Master of pleasure Epicurus had certain days wherein he very sparingly and niggardly repressed h●s hunger, to prove if any thing were wanting of his full and consummate pleasure, o● how much wanted, or whether it were a thing of that desert, that a man should employ much labour in repairing the same. Himself saith this in his Epistles, which he wrote to Poliaenus Charinus, being magistrate, & he glorieth therein, that all his victuals for one day cost him not three pence halfpenny, and that Metrod●rus diet, who had not so far forth profited as himself, cost him no more. Thinkest thou that in this kind of life there is not a satiety? Undoubtedly there is pleasure in it, and not such pleasure which is foamy and fleeting, and oftentimes to be repaired, but stable and certain: for neither is water, nor broth, nor a morsel of barley bread a pleasant diet; but it is an especial pleasure for a man to be able to take his contentment in these, and to have established himself so far in himself, that no injury of fortune can shake his resolution. The ordinary allowance of the prisons is far more than this, and they that are condemned to die, are not so poorly entreated by him that is their executioner. How great is the magnitude of his mind, that maketh that habitude voluntary in himself, to admit those things with willingness which ordinarily are accustomed to be enjoined for a penalty: this is to preoccupate the weapons of fortune. Begin therefore, my Lucilius, to follow these men's customs, and take some days to thyself, wherein thou mayest retire thyself from thine affairs, and content thyself with a little. Begin to have some converse and familiarity with poverty. Be ●olde my guest, and set proud wealth at naught, And make thee worthy God by modest thought. No other man is worthy God, but he that hath contemned riches, of whose possession I debar thee not; but my desire is, that thou mightest possess them without fear, which by one means thou shalt obtain, if thou canst persuade thyself that thou mayest live happily without them, and regard them no otherwise then as fleeting benefits, thou canst well want. But now let us begin to conclude our Epistle: first, sayest thou, Pay me that thou owest. I will sand Epicurus to pay thee my debt: Immoderate wrath engendereth madness. How true this is thou must needs know, when thou hast had both a slave and an enemy. This affection kindleth itself against all men, it ariseth as well from love as from hate, as well amongst serious things as plays and pastimes; neither skilleth it from how great a cause it grow, but what kind of mind it meeteth with: so, it is no matter how great the fire be, but where it falleth; for the greatest and soundest timbers have sustained a great fire: again, dry trees and such as are apt to be ●ired, nourish a sparkle so long till it break into a flame. So is it, my Lucilius, ●urie is the end of immoderate wrath, and therefore is anger to be avoided, not for moderation, but for health's sake. EPIST. XIX. That public affairs are to be omitted and cast off, and privacy to be affected: but pri●acie and not solitude, and detestation of conversation. He counseleth to for●ake the Court and the pomp thereof, both which are attended with tumults and troubles. A clause of the same Masters. See with whom thou communicatest at the table. I Am hearty glad as oftentimes as I receive thy letters, for they fill me with much good hope: for now they promise' not, but assure me in thy behalf. Do therefore in such sort, I pray and beseech thee, as thy letters do import: for what better thing can I entreat at my friend's hand, then that for which I should implore God in his behalf? Withdraw thyself, if thou mayest from these busy affairs; or if thou canst not forcibly deliver thyself, we have overlong been prodigal of time, let us begin now in our age to play the good husbands. Is this distasteful to thee? We have lived in the stormy Ocean, let us die in a quiet harbour. Yet would I not advise thee to affect a singularity and name by thy retirement, which neither thou oughtest to boast of or to conceal. For never will I so much condemn the ●urie of mankind, that to the end thou mayest a●oyde the same, I would have thee lock thyself up in an hermitage, and bury the affairs of this world in everlasting forgetfulness. Behave thyself in such sort, that retreat of thine be apparent but not eminent; and then shall they who have liberty to live according to their own good liking, perceive whether they aught wholly to hide themselves or no. For thine own part thou mayest not. The vigour of thy wit, the elegancy of thy writings, thy many great and famous alliances have brought thee forth into the face of the world. Thou art already so far engaged in the knowledge of men, that though ●hou wert confined in the furthermost corner of the world, yet would thy former actions discover themselves. Thou canst not be concealed, there will be always some lustre of thy former light, which will attend thee, whithersoever thou retirest thyself. Canst thou settle thyself in repose without the hate of any man, without desire or agony of mind? For what shalt thou leave which thou mayest imagine to have forsaken unwillingly? What thy clients? But of th●se no one affecteth thee, but gapeth for somewhat from thee● Shall it be thy friends? In times past men affected friendships now hunt th●y af●er profits● Art thou afraid that the older sort, being abandoned by thee, should change their wills? Consider in counterpoise of all this that a thing so precious as is liberty, cannot be purchased but very dearly. Finally, bethink thyself, whether thou hadst rather loose either those things that belong unto thee, or thyself. Would to God thou hadst been so happy as to wax old aft●r the manner of thine a●ncestors; and fortune had not made thee so eminent as she hath done; a sudden felicity, thy province and procreation, and whatsoever is promised by these have transported thee very far from the sight of a contented life. And greater things besides these shall seize thee hereafter, and the one shall b●g●t the other. What shall be the end? Thinkest thou thy contents and honours shall be so affluent, that nothing shall remain for thee to desire? That time shall never happen. That which we say to be the order and uniting of causes which tie destiny, the same likewise say we to be of covetousness; the one taketh his beginning from the end of the other. Into that life art thou demised which shall neither ●nd thy misery nor servitude. Pull thy neck therefore out from the yoake● it is better to cut it in pieces all at once, then to suffer it perpetually to be restrained. If thou withdraw thyself to a private life, all things will be lesser, but they will fill thee the more; but now divers things, and heaped one upon another, satisfy thee not. But whether hadst thou rather to hau●●●curitie in want, or hunger in abundance? Felicity is both covetous, and exposed to others greediness. As long as nothing shall suffi●e thee, thou shalt not give contentment to others, How sayest thou, shall I escape this? By any means whatsoever. Bethink thyself, how many things thou hast rashly attempted for mon●y, how many things thou hast laboriously undertaken for honor● something also is to be attempted for thy quiet sake, or in this solicitude of pro●iniation● and afterwards of civil offices, thou must waxy old in travel, and be always tossed with new wa●es, which thou canst not avoid by any modesty o● quiet of life. For what availeth thee to be willing to settle thy quiet, if thy fortune will not? What also if thou permit the same to increase? the better the success is, the 〈◊〉 ●he fear increaseth. I will recount unto thee in this place the saying of M●●●nas ● who spoke truth amidst the tortures of his dignity, and favours in the Court of AV●VSTVS: For Highness itself thundereth at the highest. If you inquire of me in what book he said it: it was in that which was entitled Prometheus. ●his would he say that fear and amaze possesseth the highest. Is there therefore agony power of that esteem that thy speech should be so disordered? The man was ingenious, and such as was to give a great example of Roman eloquence, if felicity had not enfeebled him, nay rather gelded him. This ●nd attendeth if thou restrain not thyself presently, and shorten thy say●es● except (which he to lately affected) thou bear for the land. I could be quit with thee for this sentence of Maecenas, but I fear me thou wilt not recoin●● it for good payment in this sort, but wilt cavil (if I know thee well) and accept of my payment in the coin I hold currant. Howsoever the matter be I will borrow from E●●●CVRVS: Thou art (saith he) to take care with whom thou e●te●● and drinkest before thy meat, than what thou eatest and drinkest: for a plentiful and fleshy feast without a friend, is the life of a Lion or a Wolf. This shall not happen to thee, except thou retire thyself, & separate thee from the multitude; otherwise thou shalt have at thy table, not thy friends, but such as thy remembrancer hath chosen amongst the multitude of thy saluters. But he deceiveth himself that searcheth a friend in the base court, and approveth him in the banquet. A man much occupied and besieged by his goods, hath no one greater mischief, then that he thinketh them to be his friends whom he loveth not, that believeth that his benefits are powerful enough to get him friends, whereas some the more they own a man, the more they hate him. A little debt maketh a man a debtor, a great an enemy? What therefore, do not benefits beget friendships? They do, if a man might make choice of those that should receive them, if they were well employed, and not rashly cast away. Therefore whilst thou beginnest to be thine own man, in the mean while use this counsel of the wisemen, that thou think it to be more pertinent to the matter, to regard who receiveth than what. EPIST. XX. That Philosophy is in deeds not in words, and that therefore we aught to address ourselves to them, and that constantly. For wisdom is the conveniency and uniform tenor of our wills and life. Povertie also is not to be feared, and riches if they be present not to be loved. Moreover, a warning that on certain days we act and imitate poor men. IF thou art in health, and thinkest thyself worthy at some time to be made thine own I rejoice: for it shall be my glory, if I may draw thee out from thence, whereas thou floatest without hope of getting out. But this I hearty beg and earnestly exhort thee too, my Lucilius, that thou shut up Philosophy in the secret of thy heart, and that thou make an experiment of thy progress, not by thy speech or writings, but by the firmity of thy mind, and the diminution of thy desires. Approve the words by the deeds. One is the scope of those that declaim and demand applause of an assembly. Another of those that detain the cares of young and idle men with divers and voluble disputation. Philosophy teacheth us to do and not to speak, and exacteth this of us, that every one live according to her law, jest the life should differ from speech, that the life be in itself of one colour, without any discord of actions. This is both the greatest office, and token of wisdom, that the actions be correspondent to the words, and that he which followeth her be always equal & like unto himself. Who shall perform this? Few, yet some shall. This thing is difficult, neither say I that a wiseman should always march one pace, but one path. Observe therefore whether thy garment and thy house do disagree, whether thou art liberal towards thyself, and niggardly towards thine, whether thou suppest frugally and buildest prodigally? Take once unto thee a certain rule and measure of life, and level the same according to that square. Some men in their houses restrain themselves, abroad are lavish and prodigal. This diversity is a vice, and the sign of an unconstant mind, and not as yet brought in frame. Moreover I will tell thee whence this inconstancy of affairs and counsels doth proceed. No man proposeth unto himself an end whereunto he will tend, neither if he have proposed it, doth he persever in the same, but overshooteth himself; and not only changeth he, but returns and re-intangleth himself in those vices, which he him●elfe had forsaken and condemned. That I may therefore leave the old definitions of wisdom, and comprehend the whole manner of human life, I can be content with this. What is wisdom? To will one thing, and to nill the same: although thou add not the exception, that it be just which thou willest. One and the same thing cannot always please any man, except it be right. Men therefore know not what they will except in that very moment wherein they william. In sum, no man is positive in his willing or nilling. The judgement is daily varied, and turned into the contrary, and to many men life passeth away like a May-game. Pursue then that which thou hast begun, and thou shalt happily attain either to the height, or at leastwise to that thou alone shalt understand that as yet it is not complete. What shall become, sayest thou, of this troup of my familiars? All this troup when thou desistest to feed them will feed themselves, or that which thou canst not know by thy merits, thou shalt understand by the means of poverty. She will retain thy true and certain friends, and whosoever shall leave, followed not thee but another thing. And is not poverty to be loved for this one thing, that she discloseth unto thee who are thy unfeigned friends? O when will that day come that no man will bely thine honour? Let therefore all thy thoughts tend hither, study and wish this, remitting all other vows unto God, that thou mayest be content with thyself and such goods that accrue by thyself. What felicity may be nearer unto God? Reduce thyself, and content thee with the lest estate, lower than which thou canst not fall: and that thou mayest the more willingly do it, to this shall belong the tribute of this Epistle. Although thou envy it, yet shall Epicurus even at this present voluntarily defray the duty for me. Believe me, this thy discourse shall have more lustre and magnificence in a low bed, and under a ragged coat; for it shall not only be said but approved. And for mine own part have I during my life time otherwise heard that which my friend Demetrius said, when as I saw him naked, couched and lying upon less than straw? For than is he not a Master of truth, but a witness. What then, aught we to set light by the riches which are in our possession, and as it were in our bosom? Why may we not? Great is his courage, which having long time and much admired them about him, laugheth at them, and rather heareth than feeleth that they are his. It is much, not to be corrupted by the fellowship of riches. Great is he that is poor in his riches, but more secure is he that wanteth riches. I know not, sayest thou, how this man will bear his poverty, if he fall into the same; neither know I, saith Epicurus, if this poor man will contemn his riches if he fall on them. Therefore in both of them the mind is to be esteemed and looked into; whether the one affected his poverty, the other flattered not his riches. Otherwise the straw bed, and ragged coat would be but a slender argument of good will, except it were manifest, that any one suffered them not of necessity but voluntarily. But it is the sign of a great wit, not to run after the things as if they were the better, but to prepare himself to endure them with facility. And truly, Lucilius, they are easier: but wh●n as with mature consideration thou shalt entertain them, they will be pleasant also: for in them there is a security, without which nothing is pleasant. I therefore judge that necessary, which as I wrote unto thee, great men have often done, to interpose certain days, wherein by imaginary poverty we may exercise ourselves to entertain the true; which is the rather to be done because we have been drowned in delights, and all things in our judgements are hard and difficult: rather aught the mind to be awakened and roused from sleep, & to be instructed and admonished, that nature hath proposed us the lest. No man is borne rich: whosoever entereth life, is commanded to be contented with bread and milk. From these beginnings Kingdoms contain us not. EPIST. XXI. That true splendour is in Philosophy, and proceedeth not from honours or titles. That she gives to those that have her, and clea●e unto her, a perpetual name and fame. An emblem from EPICURUS. To the intent thou mayest increase thy riches diminish thy desires. THinkest thou that thou hast to do with those thoughts whereof thou hadst writ to me? Thou hast a mighty business with thyself, and art troublesome to thyself. Thou knowest not what thou wouldst: thou dost better allow then follow honest things. Thou seest where felicity is planted, but thou darest not attain thereunto. But what it is that hindereth thee, because thou thyself dost little conceive or pry into, I will tell thee. Thou thinkest these things great matters which thou art to leave, and when as thou hast proposed to thyself that security whereunto thou art to pass the light of this life from whence thou art to part, retaineth thee as if thou wert to fall into some loathsome and dark places. Thou abusest thyself Lucilius, we ascend from this life to the other. The difference which is between splendour and light, whereas this hath a certain original and from itself, that shineth by reason of another: the same difference is there twixt this life and that. This because it is reflected upon by an external light will presently yield a thick shadow to whomsoever setteth himself before the same; but that other shineth by his own light. Thy studies will make thee famous and noble. I will relate an example of Epicurus when he wrote to Idomenaeus, and revoked him from a pompous life to a faithful and stable glory, who was a minister at that time of rigorous and regal power and had the handling of many mighty matters. If (saith he) thou art touched with glory, my Epistles shall make thee more famous than all those things which thou honour'st, and for which thou art honoured. Whether, I pray you, lied he? Who had known Idomenaeus except Epicurus had registered and engraved him in his Letters? All those Potentates, Princes, and the King himself, from whom Idomenaeus had his estate and dignity, are buried in eternal oblivion. Cicero's Epistles suffer not the name of Atticus to be extinguished, neither had Agrippa his son in law, nor Tiberius his nieces husband, nor Drusus Caesar his nephew's son, amongst so great names he had been obscured, had not Cicero maintained his reputation, and kept him in memory. After us there shall come a long and hidden tract of time, some few wits shall lift up their heads, and being likely at length to sleep in the same silence, shall resist oblivion, and shall keep themselves long time in reputation. That which Epicurus could promise' his friend, that promise' I thee, Lucilius. I shall have favour with posterity, and can bear away with me the names of such as shall live in memory. One Virgil promised and performed to two eternal memory: You both are fortunate if aught my verses can, No day shall you exempt from memory of man; Whilst haught AENEAS house shall stand, and lasting bide Upon the Capitols rocky and lofty side, And Roman father shall the Roman Empire guide. All those whom fortune hath advanced, all they that have been the members and parcels of another man's power, their credit hath been enhanced, their houses have been frequented during the time that they themselves flourished, after them their memory was quickly extinguished. The reputation of wits increaseth daily, and not only continueth for them, but all that is received, which is adherent unto them. And to the end that Idomenaeus be not gratis enclosed in my Epistle, he shall redeem the same at his own charge. To him Epicurus wrote this noble sentence, wherein he exhorteth him to make Pithocles rich after no vulgar or uncertain manner: If thou wilt (saith he) make PITHOCLES rich, thou must not amplify his possessions, but diminish his desires. This sentence is so plain that it needeth no interpretation, and so express as it needeth no help. I admonish thee this one thing, that thou suppose not this only to be spoken of riches, howsoever thou appliest it, it is all one. If thou wilt make Pithocles honest thou must not amplify his honours, but diminish his desires. If thou wilt that Pithocles be in perpetual pleasure, thou must not amplify his pleasures but diminish his desires. If thou wilt make Pithocles old, and 'cause him to live a complete life, thou must not amplify his years, but diminish his desires. Thou hast no reason to judge that these are only Epicurus speeches, for they are public. That which was wont to be done in the Senate, that also think I fit to be done in Philosophy. When any one hath delivered his mind, which partly pleaseth me, I bid him divide his sentence, and I follow the same so divided. The more willingly recite I these good sayings of Epicurus, to the end I may show those who build thereupon, being conducted with a foolish presumption, and that think to have a cloak for their vices, that they aught to live honestly in what place soever they bide. When they shall approach these Gardens, and shall see written over the gate of them, Hear well mayst thou abide my gentle guest, Hear pleasure is esteemed the chiefest best. The Host of this house courteous unto his guests, full of hospitality and humanity, will be addressed, and shall entertain thee with a cake, and present thee with water, as much as will suffice thee, and in the end. ●ll say unto thee: Hast thou not been well entertained? These Gardens, I tell thee, provoke not but extinguish hunger: neither make th●y thee thrise-more great by the drink; but assuage them by a natural and gratuitall remedy. In this pleasure am I waxed old, I speak with thee of these desires which receive no consolation, to which it is good to release some things, to the end they may cease. For in regard of the extraordinary which a man may defer, chastise and oppress, I will advertise thee of one thing, that this is neither a natural nor necessary voluptuousness. To this thou art in no manner tied, whatsoever thou bestowest on it, it is voluntary. The belly heareth no precepts, it demandeth and calleth on us; yet is he not a troublesome creditor, but satisfied with little, provided thou give him that which thou owest, not that which thou payest. EPIST. XXII. We aught manfully to dislodge ourselves of businesses, and how the snares are either to be loosed or broken; yet let opportunity and good occasion be respected, and not let slip. Furthermore he despiseth and casteth from him these false splendours. Than citeth he a sentence of EPICURUS. That all men part out of this life children, that is ignorant o● the true life. THou understandest now that thou art to acquit thyself of these businesses, in appearance fair, but evil: but how thou mayest effect the same, thou askest my counsel. Many things cannot be taught but in presence. A Physician cannot choose by his Letters the time of repast and bathing, he must feel the pulse. It is an old proverb; That the Fencer taketh counsel in the field appointed for combat. The countenance of his adversary makes him think on somewhat, the motion of his hand, and the inclination of his body adviseth somewhat to him that beeholdeth or looketh on. A man may in general give advice either by speech, or writing of that which hath been accustomed, or of that which is needful to be done; and such counsel both to the absent and to posterity, but that other when it aught to be done, and how, no man will advise from a far o●f: we must deliberate with the things themselves. It is the duty of a good man that is not only present but well advised, to take the occasion when it cometh; and therefore be intentive after her, take her by the forlocke when thou seest her, and with all the force of thy mind, and to the uttermost of thy power labour to disburden thee of all these charges, which thou hast taken on thee. Above all things observe what my counsel is; my opinion is, that either thou must dismiss this kind of life, or loose thy life. But I think this also that thou must keep some moderate course, to the end that what thou hast entangled lewdly, thou mayest rather lose then break off. And when there should be no other means to discharge thyself, that thou mightest boldly break the same. There is no man so faint hearted, that had rather abide always hanging in the air, then to fall once. Mean while beware thou principally, that thou engage not thyself over-far, content thyself with those affairs thou hast undertaken, or (since thou wilt that we believe so) that have surprised thee. Thou must not entangle thyself further; otherwise thou wilt lose thy excuse, and wilt make it known, that they have not surprised thee. For these excuses which are wont to be made, are false. I could not do otherwise; and what if I will not? I was forced to do it. There is no man that is constrained to follow felicity headlong. It is much if a man cannot repulse her, at leastwise to make head against her, and to resist● he swiftness of fortune. Art thou displeased if I come not only to give thee counsel, but if I call others also to thy assistance? Truly they are more wise th●n I am, it is of them that I take advice, if I have any thing to deliberate. I have read an Epistle of Epicurus, that tendeth to this purpose, which is written to Idomenaeus, whom he entreateth that as much as in him lieth, he ●lie and hasten before any greater force intercept, and cut off his liberty from retiring: yet addeth the same man, that nothing is to be attempted except when it may be aptly and lively executed. But when the time that a man hath so long expected shall come, he saith that we aught to dislodge suddenly. He forbiddeth him sleep that supposeth to fly; he hopeth also an happy issue of those things that are most difficult, if we hasten not ourselves before the time, and if we be not negligent when it shall be time to hasten. But I think thou demandest the advice of the Stoics; there is no man aught to accuse them towards thee of temerity, they are more wary than strong. Happily thou expectest that these things be spoken to thee. It is a shame to faint under the burden; thou oughtest to wrestle against the charge thou hast undertaken. A man that flieth travel, is neither valiant nor hardy; he is the man whose courage redoubleth, the more difficult his affairs grow. All this shall be said unto thee, if perseverance aught to bring any profit, if it be necessary if nothing aught to be done or suffered that is unworthy a good man; otherwise he will not tyre himself after a shameful and dishonest travail, and would not meddle with affairs, jest he should reap pain thereby, much less would he do that which thou thinkest he would do, that finding himself entangled in affairs, full of ambition he would always support that passion: but after that he shall know the dangers wherein he is plunged, to be full of incertainty and doubts, he will withdraw his foot, yet not turn his back, but by little and little will retire in safety. Truly it is an easy thing, my Lucilius, to escape from business, if thou contemn the profit of them: they are those that retain and stay us. What shall I do then? shall I leave so long hopes? Shall I then desist when I am to receive the profit? Shall I not have any man to attend me, and give me? Shall my litter be unattended? and my base Court without suitors? With much hearts-grief and unwillingness do men departed from these hopes; they love the profit that proceedeth from these miseries, yet hate they the miseries themselves. So complain they of their ambitions as of their miseries: and if thou consider well their true affection, they hate them not, but they are angry with them. Shake off those men which deplore that which they have desired, and speak of the forsaking of those things which they cannot want, thou shalt see that they incessantly keep company with that which they report incessantly be most distasteful and disliking to them. True it is, my Lucilius, that servitude retaineth few persons, and few persons retain servitude: but if thou art resolved in thy mind to dismiss the same, and that in good earnest liberty best pleaseth thee; and that to this one intent thou demandest counsel, that without perpetual felicity thou mayest have power to do the same. Why should not the whole company of Stoics allow thereof? All zeno's Chrysippi will persuade moderate, honest, and true things. But if for this cause thou recoilest, that thou mayest look about thee, how much thou shalt carry with thee, and what great riches thou needest to live in repose, thou shalt never find an issue: a man loaden with a burden cannot save himself by swimming. Departed from that to enter with the favour of the gods into a better life, provided that this favour be not like unto theirs, to whom they have given evils with a smiling and gracious countenance, excused by this one thing, that the goods which burn and torment, were given to those that wished for them, I had already sealed up my letter, but I must open it again, that I may sand it to thee with a solemn present, and bring with it some magnifical sentence; and behold I know not whether one more true or more eloquent is fallen in my hand. Whose is it, sayest thou? Epicurus: for as yet do I fill my packet with other men's purposes. No man departeth otherwise out of this life, but as if he did but newly enter. Surprise what man thou wilt, young, of middle age or old; thou shalt find them alike afraid of death, and all of them as ignorant of life. No man hath finished any thing: for we always refer our affairs to the time to come. There is nothing in this sentence that pleaseth me so much, then when it reproacheth old men, that as yet they are infants. No man, saith he, doth otherwise departed out of this life, then as he was borne. It is false, we die worse than we were borne: it is our error and not natures; she must complain of us, and say, what meaneth this, I have bred you without desires, without fears, without superstition, without perfidiousnes, and other plagues, departed out of life such as you entered? That man is seasoned in wisdom, who dieth as securely as he is borne. But now fear we, when danger approacheth our heart, our colour faileth us, and fruitless tears fall from our eyes. What is more absurd then to be fearful even in the very entrance of security? But the cause hereof is this; because we are void of all goodness, whereas in the end of our life we labour with the desire of them: for no part thereof remaineth with us, it is lost, it is vanished, no man careth how well he liveth, but how long, whereas all men might have the hap to live well, as no men have to live long. EPIST. XXIII. He warneth to seek out true joy: what is that? That which is severe and bred of true goodness. ●he rest are fallacious and fugitive, this solid and firm, because it is seated in a resolute mind, which is the best part of us: in a word, it is seated in conscience. At list EPICURUS his saying. It is a loathsome and troublesome thing always to begin to live, and such as are inconstant are condemned. THou supposest that I will writ unto thee how kindly the winter hath dealt with us, which was both remiss and short; how unkindly the spring was, and preposterous the cold, and such other toys as delight those that love words. But I will writ something which may profit both thee and me. And what else shall that be but to exhort thee to a good mind? Askest thou me what the foundation thereof is? Do not joy in vain things. Said I that this is the foundation, it is the perfection and fullness thereof. He obtaineth the fullness of this good, who knoweth wherein his pleasure lieth, and hath not builded his felicity on another man's power: he is altogether in care, and ill assured, who is tickled with any hope, although he holdeth it in his hand, although he easily obtain the same, although the things he hoped for have never deceived him. Do this above all things, my Lucilius, learn to rejoice. Thou thinkest now that I take many of thy pleasures from thee, who drive from thee those that are gotten by casualty, who suppose that these hopes and sweetest delights are to be avoided, nay, rather it is quite contrary. I will not that at any time thou be without joy. I will that it be bred unto thee in thine own house● and it is bred, if so be that it be within thyself. All other delights replenish not the soul, but clear the countenance: they are toys except thou judgest him to be merry that laugheth. The mind aught to be resolute and confident, and lifted up above all things. Trust me, true joy is a severe thing. Thinkest thou that a man with a smooth and smiling countenance, and, as these wanton fellows speak, with a merry eye, contemneth death, openeth his house to poverty, bridleth his delights, and meditateth on patience? He that thinketh on all these things is in great gladness, but little pleasing: in possession of this gladness I would have thee be, it will never fail thee, when as thou once findest out from whence it proceedeth. The best of the slightest metals is in the upper part, they are the most rich which have their vain hidden in their centre, and will make him most rich who shall search their mine with diligence. These toys and trifles wherewith the common sort are delighted, have a pleasure tender and facile to melt, and all that joy which cometh from without us, is without foundation. This whereof I speak, whereunto I endeavour to draw thee, is solid and far more apparent inwardly. Endeavour, I beseech thee, my well-beloved Lucilius, to practise that only which may make thee happy: despise and spurn at those things that outwardly shine, and which are promised thee from another: fix thy eye upon the true good, and take thou pleasure in that which is thine own. But what meaneth this? of thyself, and the better part of thyself: think also of thy body (although nothing may be done without it) to be a thing rather necessary then great. It sugge●●eth vain, short and remorsfull pleasures, and such as, if they be not well tempered with great moderation, will turn into a contrary effect. I say this, that pleasure is still falling headlong, and declining unto grief, except it keep a mediocrity; and hard it is to keep a mean in that which thou firmly believest to be good. The desire of true good is assured. Askest thou me what this true good is, and whence it proceedeth? I will tell thee; from a good conscience, from honest deliberations, from virtuous and justifiable actions, from contempt of such things as are casual, from a peaceable, and continual institution of life, which hath always traced the same course. For they who leapt from some purposes to other, or else jump not, but by a certain chance are transported; how can they have any thing certain or permanent, being themselves inconstant and in suspense? Few there are that dispose both themselves and their estates by counsel. The rest after the manner of those sedges that float on great rivers, go not, but are carried; whereof some are detained, and are softly conveyed by a slower stream, othersome carried away by a more vehement, others a soft tide hath slowly carried to the shore, others a strong current hath cast into the Sea. We must therefore be resolved what we will, and in it must we persever. Here is the place to pay my debt: for I can pay thee in the words of thine own Epicurus and discharge this Epistle: It is a tedious thing always to begin life: or if in this manner the sense may be the better expressed; Badly live they who always begin to live. Why sayest thou? for this word requireth an explanation. Because their life is always imperfect but it cannot be that he should be prepared for death, that doth but lately begin to live. We must so do, as if we had lived long enough. No man hath thought it that beginneth to live, when he only beginneth in good earnest: nevertheless think thou not that these are few in number, for almost all are such. Some do then begin to live, when they aught to cease: if thou think this and wonder, I will add that which shall draw thee more into admiration; some have ceased to live before they have begun. EPIST. XXIIII. An Epistle worthy to be ranked amongst the best. He exhorteth not to fear evils to come, although they threaten. But rather to propose them to happen, and so to form a man's self by examining or extenuating them. For what are all these fears? The last of them is death, and contemn that by reason. Great men have done it. Plebeians and Slaves have done it. Why shouldest thou not aspire? Take the vizard from things: that which thou fearest is pain; which a tender woman hath suffered in her childbed. Finally, thou art borne to this, to be tossed, to grieve, to die: acknowledge thy destiny: yet with EPICURUS precept, neither wish for death, neither fear it. THou writest unto me that thou art disquieted in mind about the event of thy judgement, which the fury of thine enemy doth denounce against thee, and thou thinkest that I will persuade thee; to propose unto thyself in the mean time good success, and feed thyself with vain hopes. For what needeth it us to call on and anticipate our calamities, which will befall us too soon, and loose the present good for fear of the evil to come? Undoubtedly it is a great folly to make a man's self miserable for the present, because that sometimes hereafter he must be: but I will lead thee to security by another way, if thou wilt disburden thyself of all care; make account, that whatsoever thou fearest shall befall thee, is already happened, and what evil soever it be, measure it by thyself, and tax thy fear. Thereby shalt thou judge undoubtedly, either that thine evil is not great, or that it is not long; neither mayest thou spend much time in gathering examples, to conform thee, every age is stored with them. In whatsoever part of affairs, either civil or external, thou fixest thy memory, thou shalt meet with wits, either proficient in wisdom, or of great towardness. Can there then, if so be thou be condemned, a worse fortune befall thee, then to be banished, to be led to prison? Is there any thing more to be feared by any man, then that he shall be burned, then that he shall die? Think very nearly on every one of these things, and represent unto thyself all those that have despised them, who are not to be sought for, but chosen out. Rutillius so suffered his condemnation, as if no other thing more troubled him, then for that he was wrongfully judged. Metellus took his exile courageously, and Rutillius also willingly; the one vouchsafeing his return for the good of the Commonweal; the other refusing Sylla his return, to whom in those days nothing was denied. Socrates' disputed in the prison, and whereas there were some that promised him flight, he refused to make escape; yea and he remained to the intent to take from men the fear of two the most dreadfullest things, that is to say, Imprisonment and Death. Mutius thrust his hand into the flame. A bitter thing it is to be burned, but how far more intolerable, if thou suffer it by thine own act? Thou seest an unlearned man, never strengthened by my Precepts against death or grief, only furnished with military fortitude, exacting punishment from himself, of his frustrated attempt: he stood looking on his right hand dropping away in his enemy's fire, neither removed he his scorched hand burned to the bones, before the fire was withdrawn from him by the enemy himself. Something might he have performed in that camp more happily, but nothing more courageously. See how more eager Virtue is to entertain peril, than cruelty to command it. Moore easily did Porsenna pardon Mutius, for that he would have killed him, than Mutius did himself, because he had not murdered him. These fables, thou wilt say are overworn, and sung amidst the Schools. Now wilt thou (now the cause is handled of contempt of death) allege me Cato. And why should I not nominate and represent him reading that last night Plato's book with his sword behind his pillow? These two instruments in extremities had he provided, the one to have will to die, the other to have power. Having then given order to his affairs, as far as a broken and desperate estate permitted him; he thought that only concerned him to act: that no man might either have power to kill, or opportunity to save Cato. And having his sword drawn, which until that time he had kept pure and neat from all murder. Thou hast not O Fortune, said he, as yet done any thing against me, in opposing thyself against all my designs and enterprises. I have not as yet fought for mine own, but my country's liberty, neither have I endeavoured so much to live free, as to live amongst free men. Now since the affairs of human kind are desperate, Cato will well find a means to set himself at liberty. After this he grievously wounded himself in the body, which being dressed and bound up by his Physicians. Cato that had already lost much blood, and much strength, but nothing lost of the greatness and goodness of his mind: now not only angry with Caesar, but incensed against himself; he forced his naked hands into his mortal wound, and rendered or rather thrust out that generous soul of his, that contemned all power. I heap not up together these examples for this present, to the intent to exercise my wit, but rather to give thee courage against a thing that seemeth so dreadful and terrible. And more easily shall I exhort thee in my opinion, if I show, that not only great and generous persons have contemned this moment of yielding up the ghost, but that some men of little value in all other things, have in this equalled the virtue of the most generous, as that Scipio the father in law to Cncius Pompeius, who being forced by a contrary wind to be transported into Africa, and perceiving his ship to be in the possession of his enemies, stabbed himself, answering those, who demanded where the emperor was, that the Emperor was well. This vow of his made him equal with his ancestors, and suffered not that the glory which seemeth to be fatal to the Scipions in Africa, should be interrupted. It was much to conquer Carthage, but more to conquer death. The Emperor, saith he, is well: and in what other sort should an Emperor die, namely, such a one that commanded Cato? I will not refer thee to former Histories, nor gather together from all ages the many contemners and despisers of death. Look only into these very times of ours, whose negligence and daintiness we complain of, thou shalt meet with men of all estates, all fortunes, all ages, which have cut off the course of their misfortunes by their deaths. Believe me lucilius, so little aught death to be feared, that nothing is to be preferred before the benefit thereof. Hear therefore securely and confidently the threats of thine enemy, and although thy conscience make thee confident, yet because that many things have credit, beside the cause, hope for that which is just, and prepare thyself against injustice. But about all things, remember thou to esteem things simply as they be, and despoil them of the tumult and bruit that is accustomably given them, and thou shalt found in them, that there is nothing terrible in them, but the only fear. That which thou seest befall young children, befalleth us also that are greater boys; they are afraid of those whom they love, and with whom they frequent and disport every day, if they see them masked and disguised. Not from men only aught we to take the mask, but from things themselves, and yield them their true and natural appearance. Why showest thou me swords and fire, and a troup of grinning hangmen about thee? Take away this pomp, under which thou liest hidden, and wherewith thou terrifiest fools: thou art Death, which of late my slave or my hand-maiden hath contemned. Again, why showest thou me these whips and torments, under so mighty a preparation? Why several engines for several joints, fitted to torture men, and a thousand other instruments to pluck a man in pieces? Lay aside these things which astonish us, command the groans and exclamations, and the irksomeness of the cries extorted in the midst of the torture. Undoubtedly it is but the pain, which this gouty man contemneth, which that man sick with the pain of the stomach, in his very daintiness endureth, which the tender woman suffereth in her childing. Light it is, if I can endure it, short it is, if I can suffer it. Toss these things in thy mind, which thou hast oftentimes heard, which thou hast often said. Approve it by effect, if thou hast truly said it, or truly heard it. For it is a villainous reproach, which is wont to be objected against us, if we handle the words of Philosophy, but not the works. What thinkest thou? Supposest thou that this is the first time that death, banishment, and grief hovered over thee? Thou art borne to those. Let us think that any thing may be don●, as if it were hereafter to be done. That which I advise thee to do, I surely know thou hast done. Now do I admonish thee, that thou drown not thy mind in this solicitude, for it will be dulled and have less force, when thou hast reason to raise and rouse it. Withdraw the same from a private cause to a public; say that thou hast a mortal and frail body, which foreign injury and tyranny may not only hurt, but the very pleasures themselves may b● transformed into torments. The delicacy of meats causeth the crudity of the stomach; drunkenness, trembling and astonishment of the sinews; the pleasures of the flesh and lusts, a general depravation of hands and feet, and all the joints. If I become poor, I have many fellows; if I be banished, I shall persuade myself, that the place wherein I am confined, is the place of my birth; if I be tied and manackled, what then, now I am free? That nature, as soon as we are borne, imprisoneth us in this lumpish mass of the body, as in a strong prison. If I must die, I will comfort myself in this, that I shall cease to be any more sick; I shall cease to be bound; I shall cease to have power to die. I am not so fond as in this place to persecute Epicurus song, or to say that the fear of hell is vain, that Ixion is not tossed on the wheel, nor Sisyphus tied to roll and return his stone on his shoulder; nor that any man's bowels could be renewed and devoured daily. There is no man so childish as to fear Cerberus, and darkness, and the shadows of ghosts walking by night. Death either consumeth us, or delivereth us. A better condition exempted from all charge, attendeth those who are delivered by death. To those that are consumed, there remaineth nothing more, since both the good and the evil are equally taken from them. Permit m● in this place to put thee in memory of a verse thou hast made, and think that thou hast not written it to others, but to thyself. It is a shameful and unseemly thing to speak one thing and think another, but how odious to writ one thing and to think another? I remember that thou deb●ting sometime on this place, didst say, that we fall not suddenly into death, but by little and little walk unto death. We die daily, and some part of our life is daily scantled: and then also whe● we increase, our life doth decrease. We have lost our infancy, and then our youth, than our man's estate; briefly, all that time which is passed until this present day is death for us. And this very day w● live, w● divide with death. Even as in an hourglass, the last part of the land that falleth is no● the only part that discovereth the hour, but all that also which is fal●e before; so the last hour, in which we cease to be, is not the only that causeth death, but it is that consummateth it. At that time we attain thither, but we come thereto long before. These things when thou hadst described according to thy accustomed style, thou wert always great, but never more witty, then when thou fittedst thy words to truth, and saidest, Death hath degrees, that is not first that fast Attempts to ravish us, but that is last. I had rather thou shouldest read thyself, than my Epistle: it will appear● unto thee, that this death which we fear, is the last, but not the o●ely which we suffer. I perceive thy bent● Thou expectest to see what thing I should insert into this my Epistle, what bold speech of any man, what profitable precept. Of this very matter which we have in hand● I will afford thee somewhat: Epicurus is displeased as much with those that desire death, as those that fear it, & saith thus; It is a ridiculous thing, that the hatred of life maketh us run unto death, when by ●he course of our life we have ●ccasioned no less, but that needs we must have recourse unto death. Likewise in another place he saith: What is more ridiculous th●n to wish for death, when thorough the fear of death, a man hath made his life no less than a torment? Thou mayest also add this, which is of the same stuff: That the folly or rather madness of men is so great, that there are divers who are constrained to die for fear of death. Which of these sentences thou shalt keep in memory, it will confirm thee in the sufferance either of life or death: for we have need both to be admonished and confirmed in both of th●s●, to the end we neither too much love, nor too much loathe our life; and at that very time when reason counseleth us to finish the same, we aught not to do it rashly, neither in fetching our race aught we to run upon it. A courageous and wise man, aught to leave his life but not to sly from it: but above all things avoid that affection wherewith many men are possessed, that is a desire to die: for even as in all other things (my Lucilius) so also in death, there is a disordinate and unbridled inclination of the minde● that oftentimes surpriseth men of high and generous spirits, and oftentimes fearful and fainthearted men; the one despise life, the other loathe the same. Some other there are that are weary of living, and glutted with doing one thing always, and hate not so much their life as th●y are weary of it. And thereunto Philosophy itself leadeth us, whilst we say, How long the same? That is, I shall rise, I shall sleep, I shall be full, I shall be hungry, I shall be a cold, I shall be hot●; there is no ●nd of any thing, but all things are shut in a circle, they fly and follow. The day expelleth the night, the night secondeth the d●y; Summer endeth in Autumn, Winter succeedeth it, and the Spring, Winter: all things pass that they may return again: I see nothing new, I do nothing new. In the end we grow in loathing of these things. There are many that account it not a bitter thing to live, but superfluous. EPIST. XXV. He prescribeth of two friends a young and an old in different sort: how they are to be dealt withal, with the one more roughly, with the other more remissly, jest he despair. He exhorteth LUCILIUS himself to mediocrity or poverty: at length by EPICURUS words, to take to himself a Tutor. Do all things as if a man looked on thee. AS concerning our two friends, we must proceed after a different manner: for the vices of the one are to be amended, of the other to be extinguished. I will use an entire liberty: I love not him except I shall offend him. What then wilt thou say? Thinkest thou to contain under thy discipline a pupil of forty year old? Behold his age already hard and untractable: he cannot be reform, things pliable may be wrought upon. I know not whether I shall prevail or no; I had rather the success than my endeavour should fail me. Despair not but that a man may heal those that have been afflicted with inveterate sicknesses; if thou resist their intemperance, and if thou compel them to do and endure many things against their william. Neither of the other can I ha●e any great hope, except this, that as yet he blusheth to offend. This shamefastness is to be nourished, which as long as it continueth in the mind, there will be some place for good hope. With this old Soldier I think we must deal more sparingly, jest he fall into desperation of himself. Neither was there any more fit time to set upon him then this, whilst he pawseth and pretendeth a show of reformation. This intermission deceived others: for myself it abaseth me not; I expect the return of his vic●s with great usury, which for the present I know are at repose, but not dispossessed. I will bestow some time upon this matter, and I will make trial whether any thing may be done or no. Approve thyself a man unto us, as thou art accustomed, and truss up the baggage. Nothing of that which we have is necessary. Let us reture to the law of nature; riches are at hand, either that we want is gratuitall or vile. Nature desires bread & water, no man is poor to these. Upon those things wherein a man hath confined his desire, he may argue with jupiter himself of his felicity, as Epicurus saith, some speech, of whom I will enclose in this Epistle: So do all things (saith he) as if another man looked on. Undoubtedly it is very profitable to have a guard over a man's self, and to have one whom thou mayest respect, whom thou judgest to have an insight into thy thoughts. But it is far better to live as if one were a slave to some one good man, who should be always at his heels: I likewise hold myself content● provided always that that which thou dost, thou dost it as if a man had an eye upon thee. Solitude induceth us to all evil. When thou hast profited so much that thou art ashamed of thyself, thou mayest let go thy Tutor; in the mean time keep thyself under the authority of some one: either let him be Cato, or Scipio, or Laelius, or such as by whose interview men of lest hope would suppress their vices also, whilst thou makest thyself him before whom thou darest not offend. When thou hast done this, ●nd that thou hast thyself in good esteem, I will begin to permit thee that which Epicurus himself persuadeth. At that time especially retire thyself into thyself, when thou art compelled to be in company, it behoveth thee to differ from many men● but in the mean while it is no security for thee to departed from thyself. Consider the one after the other: there is no man that had not rather be with any man whats●●uer, th●n with himself: then especially retire thyself into self, when as thou art compelled to be in company, if thou be'st a good, quiet, and temperate man; otherwise forsake thyself, and seek out company: for in this case thou approachest more near to a man of evil life. EPIST. XXVI. That he is old and yet flourishing in mind. He speaketh stoutly of death, which only (saith he) showeth if any thing be done. The rest are words. Force and courage shall appear when thou art dying. A clause from EPICURUS. Learn to meditate on death. I Told thee not long since that I am in view of old age, but now I fear me I have left old age behind me: undoubtedly my years and body at this time have need of another word; for old is the name of an age wearied and feeble, and not of that which is altogether wasted and worn out. Number me amongst the most decrepit; and that have, as the proverb runneth, One foot already in the grave. Nevertheless I accompany thee in thy joy: in this I feel not the injury of my years in my mind, although I am sensible of them in my body, only vices and the ministries of them are quenched by old-age. The mind is frolic and rejoiceth, because it hath not much to do with the body: he hath discharged himself of the greatest part of his burden, he exsulteth and quarreleth with me for old age: This, saith he, is his slower. Let us believe him, and suffer him to enjoy his good. I take pleasure to re-knowledge and dis●erne in myself, what part of this tranquility and modesty of manners which I have, I own unto Philosophy, and what part unto mine age, and diligently to discuss what things I cannot do, and what things I would not do, and whether I can any thing that I will not: for if I cannot any thing, I am glad I cannot: for what cause of complaint is there, or what discommodity, if that which n●edes must not be, hath ceased to be? It is a great discommodity, sayest thou, to be diminished and to perish: and to speak more properly, to melt away. For we are not suddenly forced and cast down, we are weakened, and every day depriveth us of some part of our forces. And what end is better, then to steal softly on a man's end by the dissolution of nature? not that there is any evil in this, to be stricken and suddenly deprived of life, but this way is sweet and gentle, to be by little and little dispossessed and rob of a man's self. For mine own part as if I were on the point of trial, and the day were come which should pronounce the sentence of all my years, I observe, and after this manner speak unto myself. All that which we have either spoken or done, until this hour, is naught else but a simple and light promise of the soul, covered with much deceit: death shall be the only faithful testimony, whether I have profited or not. Thus prepare I myself courageously for that day, wherein I will pronounce of myself and judge, all crafts & subtleties laid aside, whether I speak or think constantly, whether the contumacious words, whatsoever which I urged and darted out against fortune, were dissembled or feigned. Remove the estimation of men, it is always doubtful and divided on both parts. Remove th● studies, thou hast handled all thy life time, death must pronounce of thee. I say, this, that the disputes and learned conferences, and the words gathered from the precepts of wisemen, neither the well-composed discourse doth make show, and approve the true value of a man's mind: for the fearfullest and forward, and bold in words. It than will appear what thou hast done when thou departest thy life. I accept this condition: I fear not the judgement. Thus speak I with myself, but suppose likewise that I speak this to thee. Thou art younger: what skilleth it? our years are not numbered, it is uncertain in what place death expecteth thee, therefore expect thou him in all places. I would now have made an end, and my hand was prefixing the period: but all solemnities must be observed, and I must give this Epistle his safe conduct. Think that I tell thee not whence I mean to borrow; for thou knowest whose coffer I use. Tarry a little and thou shalt be satisfied out of mine own stock; in the mean time Epicurus shall lend me somewhat, who saith; Meditate whether it be more commodious that death come unto us, or we unto her. The end hereof is manifest: it is an excellent thing to learn to die. Happily thou thinkest it to be a fruitless thing to learn that which thou must use but once. This is that for which we aught to meditate; we must always learn which whether we know, we cannot make proof of. Meditate on death, who saith thus, commandeth to meditate on liberty: he that hath learned to die, hath forgotten to serve, it is above all power, undoubtedly beyond all. What careth he for prisons, holds, or restraints? He hath always free passage. There is but one chain that holdeth us bound, that is the love of life, which as it is not to be rejected, so is it to be diminished, to the end that if occasion so fall out, nothing may detain or hinder us, but that we may be ready to do that presently, which at some other time hereafter we must needs do. EPIST. XXVII. He warneth and excuseth, but what? Is he already good, already perfect? I am not, saith he, but amongst those that are rich. I debate with thee of the common end, and the remedy of the same. Pleasure's hurt or falsely help. Virtue alone bringeth forth a solid joy. But assume thou and possess thou her, by another thou mayest not. A short and merry history of CALVISIUS. EPICURUS saying: Richeses are a natural poverty. Dost thou admonish me, sayest thou, for already thou hast admonished, already corrected thyself? And therefore employest thou thyself to reform others. And I am not so impudent to go about to cure others, being sick myself; but lying, as it were, in the same Hospital with thee, and of the same sickness, I confer with thee upon our common infirmity, and communicate the remedies. Lend me therefore thine ear, as if I spoke within myself. I give thee entrance into my country-house, and having entertained thee, I expostulate with myself: I cry unto myself: number thy years, and thou wilt blush for shame, that thou willest the same which thou wouldst being a child, and professest the like; do thyself this good at the last, that thy vices may die in thee before the day of thy death befall thee. Forsake these loathsome pleasures, which thou shalt full dearly satisfy for, not only those that are to come, but those also which are passed do hurt thee. Even as the remorse of sins (although unespied when they were committed) remaineth after them, so the repentance of loathsome pleasures liveth after them: they are not solid, they are not faithful. Although they hurt not, they take their flight. Rather look after some good that remaineth firm: and no one there is, except that which the mind of itself findeth out for himself. Virtue only giveth perpetual and assured joy, although there be some obstacle. Yet happeneth it after the manner of clouds, which always fall downwards, and never surmount the day. When shall it be our good hap to attain unto this joy? There remaineth much labour for him that maketh ha●●, what for him that giveth over and ceaseth? In which work it concerneth thee to bestow both thy vigilancy and labour, if thou wilt see it effected. This thing admitteth no procuration. If thou wilt be assisted, thou shalt have need of another form of letters. Caluisius Sabinus in our time was a rich man, and had both the patrimony and wit of a libertine and freed man. Never saw I man more undecently happy than he was. This man had so bad a memory, that now he forgot the name of Ulysses, now of Achilles, and sometimes of Priam, whom he knew as well, as we at this present remember, our Masters. Not old fellow, keeping the rowles of the people and servants, not to report their proper names, but to give them surnames, that more impertinently saluteth the tribes of the people, than he saluted the Troyans' and Grecians, yet would he be esteemed learned. He therefore found out these short means, he bought him slaves with great sums of money, one that held Homer before him, another that held Hesiodus, and to the nine Liriques, beside he assigned a several person. That he bought them so hugely dear, thou needest not wonder, he found them not so, but put them forth to be trained. As soon as he had gotten him this family, he began to importunate those, whom he invited, to eat with him. At his foot he had his slaves, of whom, when he demanded a verse, to recite the same, for the most part he forgot himself in the midst of a word. Satellius Quadratus a smell-feast, and sharker of foolish rich men, and which followeth, a jester, and that which is adjunct to both these, a scoffer, persuaded him to get him Grammarians, who should recollect that he let slip, and new inform him. And when Sabinus had told him, that every one of his slaves had cost him one hundred thousand Sesterces. Thou mightest (said he) have bought so many cabinets for thy Acates, for less price, and better cheap. Yet was he of that opinion, that he thought he knew all that, that any may in his house knew. The same Satellius on a time began to persuade him to wrestle, being both a sick, pale and lean man. After that Sabinus had answered him. Alas, how can I do it, who have scarcely a handful of life? Say not so, I pray you, said the other, seest thou not how many robust and well-set slaves thou hast? A good mind may not be borrowed or bought, and think that if it were to be sold, it should scarcely find a chapman; but the evil and unlettered mind is daily bought. But now receive thou that which I own thee, and farewell. Povertie disposed according to the law of Nature, is a great riches. This doth Epicurus inculcate oftentimes in different manners. But it is never said to much, that is never learned enough. To some we must show, to other some forcibly apply remedies. EPIST. XXVIII. The change of place changeth not the mind, thou oughtest to change thyself. Take from thee thy inward pensiveness, every place will be good and pleasant; yet will I, if I can, choose the quietest and lest subject to troubles or vices. A clause, know thine own sins, now art thou safe. THou supposest that this hath only befallen thee, and admirest it as a novelty, that in so long a voyage, and many diversity of places: thou hast not shaken off the sadness and heaviness of spirit, it is thy mind thou must change, and not the air. Although thou hast oversailed the vast seas, although, as Virgil saith, Lands and Cities retire from thee, yet will thy vices follow thee, and tract thee whithersoever thou travelest. The same answer made Socrates to a certain man, that made the same complaint: Why wonderest thou that thy voyages profit thee nothing, since thou thyself dost nothing but roll thyself up and down in thyself? The same cause stayeth thee, that expelleth thee. What can the novelty of Lands profit thee, whereto serveth the knowledge of Cities and places: it is a fruitless and frivolous labour. Wilt thou hear why these voyages bring thee no good? Thou fliest with thyself. Thou must discharge thyself of the burden of the mind, for before that there is no place will please thee: Imagine thy face that it is as the Poet Virgil induceth and describeth Sibyls, already wholly troubled, touched, and full of spirit, other than his own: The Prophet storms and cries, and doth aspire To thrust that godhead out, that did inspire. Thou goest here and there to shake off the burden that overpresseth thee, which puzleth thee the more by the length of thy journey. As in a ship, the ladings that are less movable, are those that are less troublesome, & those that are unequally trussed, do soon drown that side on which they settle. All whatsoever thou dost, thou dost against thyself, and by thy motion thou hurtest thyself for thou dost shake a sick man. But when thou hast purged thee of this evil, every change of place cannot but give thee pleasure. Thou mayest be driven into the most remotest countries, and be confined in a little corner of Barbary, yet shall that state be hospitable unto thee, whatsoever it be. It importeth more to know what thou art coming, then where thou arrivest. And therefore aught we not to fix our mind on any place. In this opinion you must live. I am not borne for one corner. The whole world is my country. And if thou knewest it well, thou wouldst not think it strange, that in no sort thou art comforted with the variety of countries wherein thou hast been, since that the country wherein thou last livedst was loathsome to thee. For the first thou enteredst had been agreeable unto thee if thou hadst made account that every country had been thrown down. Thou travelest not but runnest the country: thou trottest and removest from place to place, although that very thing thou seekest for (that is to say, to live well) is found in every place. Can there be any thing more turbulent than the Palace; yet if need be, a man may live peaceably even there. And yet if it were lawful for me to make mine own choice, I would retire myself far enough from the frontispiece and view of the Court. For even as melancholy abodes may hazard the firmest constitution, so are things which are less healthful to a good understanding, which is not wholly accomplished, but in the way of recovery. I differ from their opinions that keep the mid stream, approving a tumultuous life, and that courageously fight daily against all sorts of extremes and tribulations. A wise man will endure, but not choose these, and had rather be in peace, then in fight. For it profitteth not a man very much to reject his vices, if he must contest with others. Thirty tyrants, sayest thou, environed Socrates, and yet could not make him falter in his resolutions. What skilleth it how many Lords there be? It is but one servitude. He that hath contemned this servitude, is free before whatsoever troup of Commanders. It is time to give over, provided that I first pay my tollage. The knowledge of a man's fault is the beginning of his health. Epicurus in my opinion hath spoken this very worthily. For he that knoweth not that he hath offended, will not be corrected. Thou must find out thine own error, before thou amendest thyself. Some glory in their vices; thinkest thou that they dream of their remedies, that make no difference between villainies and virtues? Therefore as much as in thee lieth reprove thyself, inquire and search into thyself, play the part of an accuser at the first, then of a judge, and lastly of a suppliant; once in thy life offend thyself. EPIST. XXIX. That MARCLLINUS is hard to be corrected: For he scorneth and mocketh, yet will I not give him over, and happily in this sort I will overcome him. EPICURUS Sentence, study not to please the people, that is to say many. THou inquirest some news of our friend Marcellinus, and wouldst know what he doth. He cometh very seldom unto us, for no other cause, then for that he feareth to hear the truth. From which peril he is now free, for we are to speak to none, but such as will give ear unto us. Therefore it is wont to be doubted, whether Diogenes, or any other Cynics, who have used a promiscuous and indiscreet liberty, to exhort all such as they meet withal, whether they aught to do so or no. For to what intent should a man chide the deaf, or control such as are mute either by nature or sickness? Why, sayest thou, should I spare my words, they cost me nothing? I know not whether I shall profit him whom I admonish. This I know, that I shall profit some one, if I admonish many. The hand must be scattered. It cannot be, but he shall effect once, that attempteth often. But I think not, my Lucilius, that this is to be done to a great man. The authority of the instructor is diminished, and hath almost no power in regard of those that might be corrected by a meaner power. It is not always needful that a good Archer hit the wh●te, sometimes he may miss. It is not an Art that casually cometh to the effect. Wisdom is an Art that must aim at a certain end. Let her therefore seek out those that may be profited by her, and retire herself from those of whom ●he despaireth, provided always that she abandon them not too soon, but forcibly and desperately attempt all remedies, when as there is less hope. I have not yet lost all my hope of our friend Marcellinus, as yet he may be saved, provided he be suddenly assisted. It is to be feared jest he should draw him, that should set hands to help him. The power of wit is mighty in him, but already depraved, and tending to evil. Notwithstanding I will undergo this peril, and dare to show him his infirmities. I know well that he will follow his old custom, he will summon & marshal out all those jests, which can provoke laughter in the eye of lamentation, and will jest at himself first, then at us, and always prevent that in all things, which I am to speak. He will search into our schools, and object to our Philosophers their many gifts, their wenches, and good cheer. He will show me one in adultery, another in a Tavern, another in Court. He will represent unto me that merry Greek, the Philosopher Ariston, which was wont to dispute in his Litter, for he had chosen this time to publish his works. Of whose sect a question being moved, Scaurus said undoubtedly he is no Peripatetiques. Of the same man, when a question was moved to julius Graecinus, a man of good reckoning, what he thought of him: I cannot (saith he) tell thee, for I know not for what he is proper, ●or he hath not ●ixed a firm soot in any degree of Philosophy; as if he were to answer from a warlike Chariot. He will cast in my teeth the Monteba●ckes, which might with more honesty contemn, then cell Philosophy; yet am I resolved to suffer his vpbraids● Let him move me to laughter, happily I will provoke him to tears; or if he persevere in his laughter, I will laugh with him, as in a complete sickness, because he is fallen into so pleasant a manner of madness. But observe this, this jollity is not of long continuance. Thou shalt behold such as th●se for a while laugh very heartily, and in as little while rave most bitterly. I am resolved to set on him, and to show him how far better he were, when they should esteem him f●rre less. If I cannot wholly cut off his vices, at the leastwise I will restrain them, they shall not cease but intermit; but happily they shall cease also, if they take a custom to intermit. Neither is this to be disliked, because in those that are gi●uously sick, a good remission of the sickness is taken for health. Whilst thus I prepare myself for him, see that thou, who canst, and knowest whence thou art escaped, and in what state thou standest, and thereby presumest how far thou oughtest to attain, govern thy manners, raise thy spirit, make head against those things that are to be doubted, and number not those that give thee cause of fear. If a man should be afraid of a multitude of people gathered together in one place, by which every one of them, one after another, must have his passage; wouldst thou not think him a fool? Though divers men threaten thy life, yet divers cannot attempt after the same manner. The ordinance of Nature is such, that one only may as soon rid thee of thy life, as one gave it thee: if thou hadst any shame in thee, thou hadst sent me back the last quarter of my pension. But jest I behave myself untowardly, in paying the usury of another man's money, I will pay thee that I own thee. I would never please the people. For those things I know, the people alloweth not, and that which the people alloweth, I know not. Whose is this, sayeth thou? As if thou knewest not whom I command. Is it Epicurus. But the very same will all of them declaim unto thee, from every house of the Peripatetiques, Academics, Stoics, Cynics. For who pleaseth Virtue, that can please the common people: popular favour is purchased by evil Arts; thou must needs make thyself like unto them. They will not allow thee, except they know thee. But it is far more expedient that thou take heed to that which thou thinkest thyself, then either to attend, or intent the opinion of others. The friendship that is borne to dishonest things, cannot be form, but by dishonest reason. What then; shall this Philosophy, so much esteemed and preferred above all arts, and other things have the upper hand, that is, that rather thou make account to please thyself, then to please the people; that thou esteemest the opinions of one judgement according to their weight, and not according to their number, that thou govern thy life without fear, either of gods, or of men: & as touching misfortunes, either that thou surmount them, or thou end them. But if I shall see thee in credit by common voice, and favoured amidst the multitude, if then when thou comest into the Theatre, the acclamations, the applauses, and all the equipage of Players and Mimics make a bruit: if even to the very women and little children, every one speaketh well of thee throughout the town, why should I not have pity on thee, knowing what way conducteth thee to this favour? EPIST. XXX. That we aught to be prepared for death, and take courage in it by example of AUFIDIUS BASSUS, who being old both willingly heareth of the same, and speaketh and proveth it with many reasons, that it is not to be feared. By the way some other things. I Saw that good man Bassus A●fidius broken and wrestling with age, but at this present he is so much surcharged therewith, that it is impossible for him to raise himself again; age hath thrown himself upon him with his whole weight. Thou knowest very well, that he hath always had a weak, a dry body, which he hath long time continued; or, to speak more properly, repaired and pieced; but in the end it is all at once defeated. Even as in a leaking Ship a man stoppeth a leak or two, but when it taketh in water on every side, there is no more means to avoid the same, but that it must needs sink to the bottom: so in a body which is old and crazed, the weakness may for a time be relieved and fortified, but when the joints fall asunder as an old building, and as the one is repaired, the other is loosened, there is no other circumspection to be had, but to think how a man may get out of it. Yet our Bassus hath a good courage, for this Philosophy yieldeth him● she maketh courageous in all habitudes of the body, joyful in the presence of death, and not faint, hard in the defiance of life. A good Pilot saileth although his sails be rend; and if the tempest hath disarmed him, yet maketh he use of the rest of his rigging to finish his voyage. The like doth our Bassus, and with that mind and countenance beholdeth he his end, that thou wouldst judge him to be over-firme and resolute, who should in the like sort behold another man's end. This is a great virtue Lucilius, and requireth long time to be learned, to forsake this life with a constant resolution, when that unavoidable hour of death shall approach us. All other kinds of death are intermixed with hope: Sicknesses are healed, fire is extinguished, the ruinous house sometimes softly layeth them on the ground, which it should altogether crush to pieces. He that hath been swallowed up with one surge of the Sea, hath been cast a shore whole and sound by an opposite billow: the sword which the soldier had aimed to strike, hath been revoked by his hand from the very neck of the conquered; but he whom age leadeth unto death, hath nothing more to hope, only it is that alone which admitteth no compromise. Men die not more sweetly then after this manner, neither also in any sort are they longer a dying. Our friend Bassus seemeth so to behave himself, as if he should survive himself; so great constancy and wisdom showeth he in this his decadence: for he speaketh much of death, and doth it the more carefully, that if there be either incommodity or fear in this business, it is the fault of him that dieth, not of death; and that there is no more evil in the same, then after the same: and as mad is he, who feareth that which he is to suffer, as he that feareth that which he is not to feel. Can any man think that these should come to pass, that a man should feel death, by which we feel nothing? Therefore, saith he, death is not only out of evil, but out of the fear of all evil. I know very well that such discourses have been often had, and must oftentimes be made: but it never profited me so much to read or hear them; when they that saw the same near themselves, were farr● from danger of those things, which they said should not be feared. But this man had very much credit and authority with me, speaking thus of death, whom I saw in himself addressed to die. I will freely speak that which I think, that he giveth a better testimony of his virtue and constant mind, that approacheth the confines of death, than he that is in death itself, for that it is which giveth heart to the most fearful, and animateth against that which is inevitable. So the fearful and dismayed Fencer during the combat, willingly presenteth his throat unto his enemy, and if the sword slip aside, himself addresseth and guideth it with his own hand. But despise her ●hat giveth us leisure to see her approach, and is upon the point to lay hands on us, there needeth more settled and maturely established constancy, which cannot be but in him that is perfectly wise. I therefore attentively lent ear unto him, and more willingly heard him how he sentenced of death, and discoursed on the nature thereof, as one that had eyed her very nigh. Moore trust and credit, as I think, should he have with thee that were newly revived from death, and that being experienced in the same, should show ●hee that there w●re no evil in death. What perturbation the access of death bringeth, they can best tell thee that have more nearly observed her, that have both seen her coming, and entertained her being come. Amongst these thou mayest number Bassus, who unwilling and loath to have us deceived, telleth us that it is as foolish a thing to fear death, as to fear old age: for even as age followeth youth, so death followeth age. He would not live that will not die: for life is given with an exception of death, to fear which is as much more foolish, then if a man should fear doubtful things, and attend certain. Death hath a necessity equal and invincible, who can complain that he is in that estate which no man is not in? for the first part of equity is equality. But now it is a vain matter to plead nature's cause, which would that our condition should be no other than her own. She resolveth that which she hath compounded, and whatsoever she h●th resolved, that compoundeth she again. Now if it be any man's chance to be gently carried away by age, and not suddenly pulled out of life, but drawn away by minutes, hath he not cause to praise the gods, for sending him after satiety, a necessary repose to humanity, and agreeable unto his weariness. Thou seest some men wishing death, yea with ●arre greater z●●le, than they were accustomed to demand life. I cannot very well tell which of these gives us more heart, either they which demand, or else they which attend death without trouble or tediousness, because rage and sudden indignation may be cause of this first affection, whereas this last can be no other thing, than a tranquility which proceedeth from discourse and judgement. Some man may precipitate himself into death through despite and choler, but no man entertaineth her with contentment when she cometh, but he that is form by long custom and continuance. I confess that I have more often visited this good man, and my great friend, to see if I might always find him the same, and whether the constancy of his mind decayed not through the feebleness of body: but contrariwise, I have always found that it increased in him, even as we see the joy more manifest in those, who after they have been long time tired to gain the prize of a course, approach the place where the palm is proposed. He said (conforming himself to the precepts of Epicurus) that first of all he should have no pain in that last gasp; or if he had, that he comforted himself in this, that it should not be long, because there is no grief which is long, that is, great: and put the case upon the same point of the division of soul and body, if there should fall out any torment; he comforted himself with this assurance, that at leastwise after this grief, there could never any more succeed, and that he knew very well, that the soul and life of an old man stuck but a little within his lips, and with a little breath would be easily severed. The fire that hath sufficient matter to feed upon, is extinguished by water, and sometimes by rain; that fire that wanteth fuel, dieth of itself. I very willingly give ●are to these things, my Lucilius, not as novelties, but such as presently henceforth I must make proof of. What then? have I not seen very m●ny that have abridged the course of their life? I have seen them, but I esteem them far more, which come unto death without hatred of life, and which draw her not on, but entertain her. Furthermore he said, that this trembling and fear which we have, when we believe that death is near unto us, is forged by ourselves, and we travel to ti●e ourselves. For to whom is she not assistant in all places, and at all times? But let us consider, saith he, when any occasion of death seemeth to approach us, how many other causes there be that are more near, which are not feared at all. We should fear death at the hands of our enemy, and in the mean while crudity, or a catarrh cutteth us short. If we would distinguish the causes of our fear, we shall find that they are other then they seem to be. We fear not the stroke of death, but the thought. For we are not further of her at one time than we are at another. So if death be to be feared, it is always to be feared, for what time is exempted from death? But I had need to fear, jest thou hate so long Epistles worse than death. I will therefore make an end. But think thou always on death, that thou mayest never fear her. EPIST. XXXI. That both the vows and judgements of the common people are to be despised. That the true good is to be sought for, and that is the knowledge of things, by which thou mayest discern truth from falsehood, perishable from durable. He doth illustrate it by examples. NOw do I acknowledge my Lucilius, he beginneth to discover himself to be such a one, as he always promised he would be. Continued then to keep this course, and follow this tract and fervour of mind, by which in contemning the popular goods, thou embracest those things that are of better condition. I desire not that thou shouldest make thyself either more great or better, than thou endevourest to be. Thy foundations have occupied a great place, only do as much as thou hast intended to do, and keep thyself to those things which thou hast already conceived. In sum, thou shalt be wise, if thou knewest well how to close up thine ears, which it sufficeth not to dam up with wax: thou must close stop them after another manner, than Ulysses did those of his companions. The voice which he feared was sweet and alluring, yet not public. But that which is to be feared, cometh not from one rock only, it soundeth from all parts of the earth. Pass therefore speedily, not only one suspected place of this traitorous pleasure, but all Cities. Be thou deaf unto those that love thee mos●. They with a good intent afford thee evil wishes, and if thou wilt be happy, beseech the gods that no one of those things that are wished thee, may fall upon thee. They are no goods, which they wish thou shouldest be replenished wi●h. There is but one good, which is the cause and foundation of a blessed life, to trust a man's self. But this cannot happen except labour be contemned, and esteemed in the number of these things, which are neither good nor evil. For i● cannot come to pass, that one thing should be now evil, and strait good; now light and to be suffered, now insupportable, and to be feared. Labour is not good, what then is good? the contempt of labour. I should blame those that are vainly industrious, and to no purpose. Again, such as endeavour a●ter honest ●hings, the more they busy themselves, and the less they permit themselves to be overcome and kept at a stand, I shall admire and cry, arise by so much better, and respire and get the top of this cli●fe with one breath, if thou canst. Labour nourisheth generous minds. Thou art not therefore, according to that old vow of thy parents, to make choice, what thou wouldst, should befall ●hee, or what thou shouldest wish: and in sum, to a man that hath overpassed already mighty things, it is unseemly and loathsome as yet to weary the gods. What need there any vows? Make thou thyself happy, and happy shalt thou make thyself, if thou understand that those things are good, which are mixed with ver●ue; evil, which are coupled with malice. Even as nothing is clear without the mixture of light; nothing black, but ●hat which hath darkness in it, or hath drawn some obscurity into itself. Even as without the help of fire nothing is hot, nothing without the air is cold; so the society of virtue and vice● make things honest, or dishonest. What therefore is good? the knowledge of things: what is evil? the ignorance of things. He is a prudent man, and his arts master, that according to the time repelleth or chooseth every thing. But neither feareth he that which he repelleth, neither admireth he that which he chooseth, if so be his mind be great and invincible. I forbidden thee to submit or su●fer thyself to be depressed. If thou refuse not labour, it is a little matter, require it. What labour therefore, sayest thou, is frivolous and void? that into which base causes have called us, is not evil no more than that which is employed in worthy actions, because it is only the patience of the mind, which encourageth itself to hard and desperate attempts, and saith: Why fearest thou? It is not a manly part to fear labour: and hereto let that be annexed, that thy virtue may be perfect, namely, an equality and tenor of life in every thing consonant unto itself, which cannot be except the knowledge of things happen, and Art, by which both divine and human things may be known. This is the chiefest good, which if thou possessest, thou beginnest to be a companions not a suppliant of ●he gods. But how, sayest thou, may one attain thereunto? It is not by the Apeninne Al●es, or the mount Graius, neither by the deserts of Candavia, neither art thou to p●sse the Syrteses or Scylla, or Charybdis, all which thou hast done, for the price of a base petty government. The way that nature hath made and taught thee, is full of security and pleasure. She hath given thee those things, which if thou forsake not, thou shalt be made like unto God; but equal with God thy money will not make thee. God hath nothing: Thy proud ornaments will not make thee. God is naked: The reputation of men, thy ostentation, and the knowledge of thy name will not make thee. No man knoweth God, divers men have a preposterous opinion of him, yet are they unpunished. The troup of servitors and slaves which are about thy littery and that bear thee upon their arms in ●ield and City, cannot likewise serve thee any thing. That mighty and most powerful God, he it is that carrieth all things. Neither thy beauty or strength likewise can make th●e blessed, none of these but is subject to alteration. Thou art therefore to seek out that, that is not impaired by any, and that is such a thing, as a man cannot wish a better. What is this? a mind: but this right, good, and great. What else wilt thou call this, but a god, dwelling in human body? This mind may fall as well, into a Roman Knight, as a Libertine, or servant. For these names are forged out of ambition or injury. It is lawful from the lest corner of the world, to leap up into heaven. Raise thyself therefore, and fashion thyself worthy of God: but this cannot be made either with gold or silver. Of such matter as this a man cannot make an Image that resembleth God. Remember that they when they were favourable unto us, their Images were made of earth. EPIST. XXXII. He praiseth LUCILIUS his solitude and retiring. Moreover, he exhorteth that no man should steal away the time, being so short, and flitting. That he contemn also v●lgar vows. I Diligently inquire of thy behaviour, and demand of all those that come from the place where thou dwellest, what thou dost, and where, and with whom thou abidest. Thou canst not deceive me, I am with thee. Live thou in that fashion, as if I heard what thou didst, yea as if I saw thine actions. Thou requirest of me, what delighteth me most, of those things I hear of thee? Truly it is that I hear nothing of thee, and that the most part of those whom I question with about thee, know not what thou dost. It is a wholesome advice not to converse with those which are different from thy nature, and that affect other things than thou dost. I am settled in this hope, that thou canst not be mis●ed, and that thou wilt firmly keep thy deliberation, although a troup of troublesome men do haunt round about thee. What is it then? I fear not that they will change thee, but I fear they will hinder thee. But he hurteth very much that delayeth and especially in this life, which is so short, which we abbreviatest by inconstancy, giving it now one beginning, afterwards, and that instantly another. We divide it, and cut it in pieces. Haste thee then, my dearest Lucilius, and think with thyself, how much thou shouldest double thy pace, if behind thee thou wert pressed by thine enemy, if thou thoughtest the horseman pursued thee, and traced after the footsteps of those that fled. Thou art at that point, thou art chased, haste thee, and escape: bring thyself into a place of security; and then incontinently after consider, how worthy a thing it is to consummate a man's life, before death, then to expect security in the remainder part of his time placed in the possession of a blessed life, which is not made more blessed if longer. O when shalt thou see that time, wherein thou knowest that time appertaineth not unto thee, wherein thou shalt be peaceable and contented, and neglectful of to morrow, and in chiefest satiety of thyself? Wilt thou know what it is that maketh men greedy of that which is to come? No man is for himself: thy father and mother have wished thee divers things● but contrariwise, I wish thee the contempt of all those things, whereof they would have thee enjoy the affluence. Their vows spoil many to enrich thee: whatsoever they transfer unto thee, is to be extorted from another. My desire is, that thou shouldest dispose of thyself, that thy spirit being assailed with incertain fantasies should resist them, and be settled, that it should please itself, and understanding true goods, which are possessed as soon as they are known, should need no adjection of age. Finally, he hath over-gone his necessities, and is discharged and free, who liveth when his life is done. EPIST. XXXIII. He denieth that sentences or short lessons should be gathered from t●e Stoics: first, because all things are replenished and ●ull of such things; again, because it is unseemly to speak always by authority. Let us make them ours, and prefer them in our life. THou desirest in these Epistles also, as in the former, that I set down certain sentences of our Masters. They were not much occupied about the flowers of discourse: all their manner of speech was substantial and manly: know thou that inequality is there, where those things that are eminent are notable. No man admireth one tree, when as all the wood is grown to the same height. With these and such like sentences, all Poems and Histories are stuffed. I will not therefore have thee think that they are of Epicurus: they are vulgar, and especially mine own. But in that are they most noted, because they seldom occur, because unexpected, because it is a wonder that any thing should be constantly spoken by a man that professeth delicacy: for so do divers men judge; but in my opinion ●picurus is valiant, although effeminately dressed. Fortitude and industry, and a mind addressed to war, as well lodgeth in a Persian as a high-girt Roman. Thou must not therefore exact at my hands choice and well digested stuff, that is continual amongst our Masters, which amongst others is selected. We vent not therefore these eye-pleasing and odoriferous wares, neither deceive we our Merchant, like to find nothing wh●n he entereth, besides those which are hanged up in the front for a show. We permit them to take their pattern from whence they please. Thinkest thou that I will take out of the whole Map the particular sentences of any? To whom shall I assign them, to Zeno, or Cleanthes, or Chrysippus, or Panaetius, or Possidonius? We are not under a King; ●uery one maintaineth himself in his own liberty: with them whatsoever ●ermarchus saith, whatsoever Metrodorus, it is referred to one. All whatsoever any man hath spoken in that companie● is spoken by authority, and directions of one alone. We cannot, I tell thee, although we attempt that out of so great abundance of equal things, bring forth any thing: It is a poor man's part to count his ●locke. Wheresoever thou fixes● thine eye, thou shalt meet with that which might be eminent, unless it were read amongst others of equal worthiness: for which cause lay apart this hope, which flattereth thee with the possibility, that thou mayest summarily conceive the choicest things, which the greatest spirits have conceited. They are entirely to be looked over, & wholly to be discussed. When a man doth any thing he intendeth the same, and by the project of his spirit the work is compiled, of which a man can dis●member nothing without the ruin of the whole. I deny thee not but that thou mayest consider every member one after another, provided it be in a man that hath them. The woman is not fair whose leg or arm is praised, but she whose full representation is cause that a man admireth not her parts; yet if thou exact the same, I will not deal so niggardly with thee as I make show for, but with a full hand. There is a huge company of them that li● scattered here and there: they are to be taken, but not gathered; for they fall not, but flow perpetually, and are tied together amongst themselves: neither doubt I but that they will profit those who are as yet rude, and yield but a superficial attention. For those things that are circumscribed and moulded after the manner of a verse, are more easily remembered. Therefore give we children certain sentences to commit to memory, and those which the Grecians call Chries, because a childish wit can comprehend them, being as yet uncapable of a more certain and solid science. A complete man hath no honour to gather nosegays, to stay himself and build on certain usual or few words, and to trust unto his memory, he aught to trust himself. Let him speak these but not retain them: for it is a base thing for an old man, or such a one as is stepped in years to be wise in nothing but his notebook. This said Zeno, what sayest thou? This Cleanthes, but what thou? How long art thou directed by others? both command and say what shall be committed to memory, and produce somewhat of thine own. I think therefore that these never-authors, but always interpreters, lying hid under the shadow of other men, have no generous nature in them, which never dared to publish that which they had learned in long space of time, but have exercised their memory on other men's labours. It is one thing to remember, another thing to know: to remember is to keep a thing in memory which is committed; but contrariwise, to know is to make every thing his own, neither to hung on examples, and so oftentimes to look back to his Master. This saith Zeno, that Cleanthes: make some difference betwixt thee and thy book; how long wilt thou be a learner? At last employ thyself to teach others: what profiteth it me to hear that I may read? The living voice, saith he, doth much; not that which is recommended by another man's words, and serveth but in stead of a Register. Add hereunto now, that they who are never their own Masters, first in that thing do follow their ancestors, wherein no man hath not revoked from the former. Again, they follow them in that, which is yet in question: and it will never be found, if we shall be content with those things that are found. Moreover, he that followeth another man hath found nothing, and which is worse, he seeketh nothing. What then? Shall I not follow the steps of mine ancestors? Truly I will keep the old ways: but if I find out one more short, I will take it and maintain it. They that before us have managed these things, were not our Lords, but our guides. Truth is open unto all men: she is not as yet borne away all; there is much of her left for posterity to find out. EPIST. XXXIIII. That he is glad of LUCILIUS proficiency, because it was ●rom him, and he form him. Moreover he exhorteth him to go forward even to perfection. I Grow great, and leap for joy, and shaking off min● old age, I grow young again, as often as I understand by those things thou dost and writest, how much thyself exceedest thyself (for long since thou hadd●st forsaken the troops of common society) If the tree being grown to bear fruit delighteth the husbandman: if the Shepherd take pleasure in the fruitfulness of his flock: if no man beholdeth his ●oster child otherwise, but that he reputeth his young years to be his own: what thinkest thou befalleth them which have form young spirits, when those they have trained up raw, they suddenly see ripe. I challenge thee for mine, thou art mine own labour. When first I saw thine inclination, I laid hold on thee, I exhorted thee, I encouraged thee; neither permitted I thee to place on softly, but I pricked thee forward, and now do I the like, and henceforward I am to give thee courage, as long as thou shalt speedily run forward, and thou reciprocally art to exhort me. What other thing have I desired hitherto, sayest thou? In this the greater part of time is spent. For so even as the beginnings of the work are said to occupy the half, so is this business for the mind. The greater part of good, is to desire to become good. Knowest thou whom I call good? I mean a perfect and absolute man, whom no force or necessity can provoke to do evil. And already, me thinks, I espy such a man in thyself, if thou persever and endeavour, and effect this, that all thy deeds and words may be agreeable and correspondent in themselves, and stamped after one coin. His mind is estranged from the right way, whose acts are discordant. EPIST. XXXV. He wisheth him to be his friend that is a good man, otherwise no man is a friend, although he loveth. Let him therefore do, and especially learn this, to live conveniently; that is constantly, that is wisely. WHen as so earnestly I entreat thee to study, I do mine own business: I will have a friend; which will not come to pass, except thou persever to beautify thyself, as thou hast begun. For now thou lovest me, but thou art not my friend: what then? is there any difference betwixt these two? what else? they are unlike. He that is a friend loves, and he that loveth is not assuredly a friend. For which cause friendship always profiteth, and love sometimes hurteth. If thou dost no other thing, profit at lest wise so well, that thou mayest learn to love well. But above all things haste thyself during the time thou studiest for me, for fear thou learnest not for another. Verily I do already participate the fruit●, when I imagine with myself that we shall be of one mind, and that all that vigour which is eclipsed in mine age, shall return unto me from thine, although there is little difference betwixt the one and the other, yet will I really and essentially take my pleasure. There is a certain contentment that cometh unto us from those, we love although they be absent; but it is but a light and ●raile pleasure. The sight, the presence, and conversation have some living pleasure in them, and principally if thou beholdest not only him whom thou desirest, but him who is such a one whom thou desirest. Present thy s●lf● therefore unto me as an honourable and acceptable gift; and to the end thou mayest press in the more, think me to be old, and thyself to be mortal. Hasten thee to me, but first of all to thyself, profit thyself indeed. And above all things let this be thy care, that thou be constant to thyself. As often times as thou h●st a will to make trial, whether in any sort thou be'st changed, observe thyself, whether thou willest the same things to day, that thou didst yesterday. The change of the will betokeneth that the mind swimmeth in one place, and appeareth in another, even as the wind carrieth it. That which is firm and hath a good foundation varieth not,. This perfectly happeneth to a wise man, and in some measure to a proficient, and he that hath as yet attained further. What difference is there then? This is in a manner moved, yet passeth not further, but is shaken from his place, the other is in no sort moved. EPIST. XXXVI. He praiseth a certain man that had deposed himself to retirement, and forsaken the Commonweal. He adviseth him to contemn the common talk, to proceed in goodness, or rather to be made good. Let him go ●orward to despise death, and that with reason. EXhort thy friend to contemn those with a mighty mind, that blame and reprove him for seeking out retirement and quiet, forsaking his dignities, and for preferring his quiet above all things, when as he might have obtained most honour. Let him make them every day perceive, how profitably he hath managed his affairs. They whose felicity is envied, will not desist from alterations, some shall be strucken down, othersome shall fall. Felicity is a turbulent thing, she tormenteth herself, she moveth the mind after divers fashions: she pusheth some into greatness, other into effeminacy: these she puffeth up, those she mollifieth and wholly dissolveth. But some man beareth his felicity well, yea so as some do their wine. There is no reason therefore, that these men should persuade thee, that he is happy, who is besieged with many suitors, they flock to him, as to a lake whom they draw dry, they trouble grievously. They call this friend, and lover of Philosophy, a trifler and a sluggard. Thou knowest that some men speak perversely in a contrary sense. They called him happy: what of this? was he so? I make no account of this, that to some man he seemeth too severe and sullen minded. Ariston said that he had rather have a sad young man, than such a one as was pleasing and amiable to the common sort. The wine is made good which is ●roubl●d and sharp when it is new, and it becometh flat before maturity, that pleased in the fat. Let them call him sad and enemy to his advancements: this sadness of his will give him good in his latter days. L●t him persever only to love virtue, and exercise himself in the good and Liberal Sciences, not those wherewith it sufficeth to be only tainted and informed, but those wherewith the mind is to be stained and confirmed in. This is the true time of learning. What then? Is there any time wherein we are not to learn? Not so, but even as at all times it is honest for us to study, so in all ages is it not convenient to begin. It is an absurd and base thing to see an old man at his Abee. The young man must get, and the old man enjoy. Thou shalt therefore do a thing profitable for thyself, if thou makest him a good man, we aught to seek to give thee presents, where it is as much expedient to give as to receive. Finally, since he hath already promised very much of himself, it concerneth him to continued. For it is less absurd to play the bankrupt with a man's creditor, then with good hope. To pay this debt of another's: he that trafficketh hath need of a good and happy navigation: he that tilleth the field, of a fertile soil and a favourable climate, he only with a good will may testify that which he oweth. Fortune hath no power over manners. Let him dispose these in such sort, that that most quiet mind of his may come to perfection, which feeleth nothing taken from him, neither added to him, but remaineth in the same state, whatsoever casualties befall him: who, if common fortunes be heaped on him, is eminent above his means, or if any of these things, or all by fortune are taken from him, is no ways lessened by his misery. If he were borne in Parthia, he would presently bend his bow, being an infant, if in Germany he were a very infant, he would shake his tender spear. If he had lived in the time of our ancestors, he had learned to ride, and to combat with the enemy hand to hand. These are the things which the discipline of the Country teacheth and commandeth every one. What is it then that this man aught to learn? That which is proof against all offensive arms, and all sorts of enemies, is the contempt of death. For it is not to be doubted, but that it hath in itself something terrible, that may offend our minds (which Nature hath form in love of herself) neither also should it be needful for him to address and accustom himself to that, whereunto our natural inclination sufficiently disposeth us, as is the desire to conserve a man's self. No man learneth to have power, if need so required, to lie sweetly and softly amongst the roses: but to this is he accustomed not to submit his faith and honour to torments, but to keep watch in the trenches standing, yea sometimes wounded: neither leaning to the dart, because in the interim sleep seemeth to steal on those that lean to any stay. Death hath no incommodity, for there must be some thing, whereby she would be indamnified. And if thou hast so great a desire of prolonging thy life, consider that none of these things that fly before our eyes, and hide themselves in the bosom of Nature, from which once they are parted, and shall again departed, is not consumed. They cease, but perish not, and the death which we fear and refuse, only intermitteth life, but ravisheth it not. A day will come that shall restore us once more to light, which happily divers would refuse, except it reduced those that are forgotten. But hereafter I will show more exactly, if all things which seem to perish are changed: he therefore that must return, aught not to be grieved to departed. Observe the circle of things that return into themselves, thou shalt see that nothing is extinguished in this world, but that all things descend and mount again by changes. The Summer departeth, but another year bringeth it again. The Winter passeth, but yet hath he his months to bring him back again, The night concealeth the Sun, and presently the day driveth this away. This course of the Stars returneth back again to the place where first they began, and which they passed over. A part of the heaven is continually rising and a part setting. To conclude, after I have annexed this one thing, I will make an end, neither infants nor children or mad men fear death. It were therefore more than an abject error in us, if reason should not afford us that security, whereunto folly animateth us. EPIST. XXXVII. That we aught to persevere in the way and warfare of wisdom: on her dependeth health, felicity, and liberty. That we may obtain, and overcome the same by the conduct of war. THat which is the greatest obligation to prepare a man to a good mind, thou hast promised to be a good man, and by oath thou hast confirmed it. If any man tell thee that a soldiers profession is delicate and facile, he deceiveth thee; I will not have thee deceived. The form of that honourable oath, and of that other so dishonourable are in the same terms, that is, To be burnt, bound, and slain with the sword. To those that gave their hands to hire upon the sands of the Theatre, that eat and drink that which they aught to pay with the price of their bloods, it is covenanted with them that they suffer these things against their wills: from thee it is expected, that thou willingly and freely su●fer the same. To them it is permitted to lay down their weapons, and to implore the mercy of the people. Thou shalt neither submit thyself, nor beg for thy life, it is thy part to die constantly, and with an invincible mind. But what profiteth it to gain a few days or years? We come into this world without releasement. How then, sayest thou, may I acquit myself? Thou canst not avoid necessities, but thou mayest overcome them. Make thy way, and Philosophy shall give it thee; to her have thy recourse, if thou wilt be safe, if secure, if blessed; and finally (which is above all) if thou desirest to be free. This cannot otherwise happen. Folly is a base abiect●●ordide, and a servile thing, subject to many, and they most cruel affections. Wisdom which is the sole liberty, dismisseth those rude masters, which sometimes command by course, and sometimes are together. There is but one way to attain thereunto, and certainly it is the righ● way: thou canst not wander out of it, march boldly, if thou wilt make all things subject unto thee, subject thyself to reason; thou shalt govern many; if thou be governed by reason. Thou shalt learn of her, how and to whom thou shalt address thyself. Thou shalt not be surprised in affairs. Thou shalt not bring me any man that knoweth how he began to will that which he willeth. He is not invited thereunto by mature deliberation, but it is an enforcement that driveth him thereunto. Fortune oftentimes doth no less haunt us, than we hunt after her. It is a base thing, not to go, but to be carried perforce, and suddenly (being altogether amazed amidst the storm of affairs) to ask; How came I hither. EPIST. XXXVIII. That precepts are oftentimes more profitable to wisdom then disputes. That they do steal upon the mind, and do fructify and spend themselves after the manner of seed. NOt without cause requirest thou, that we frequent this commerce of Epistles betwixt thee and me. The discourse profiteth much, that by little and little stealeth into the mind. The disputes which a man is addressed to vent in the cares of the attentive multitude, have brute enough and less privacy. Philosophy is good counsel. No man giveth counsel with clamour, yet must we sometimes (as I should say) use these declamations, when he that doubteth had need to be enforced. But where this is not to be effected, to enkindle a will in man to learn; but that in good earnest he learneth, it is good to use these more submissive speeches. They enter more sweetly; but they continued, for there need not many, but such as are effectual. We aught to spread them as seed, which although it be little, dilateth his forces, when it falleth into a good soil; and of so little as it is, it extendeth itself into great and marvelous great increases. The like doth speech, it hath no extent, if thou look into it, it increaseth in the work. They are few things which are spoken, but if the mind entertain them well, they fructificand increase in themselves. The same I tell thee is the condition of precepts, as of seeds, they effect much, although they be short● but as I have said; let a mind well disposed and settled, draw them to itself. Herself will profit very much at her time, and shall restore more than it hath received. EPIST. XXXIX. That divers, and they diversly have written in Philosophy. That we aught to be stirred up, and enkindled by example. That Nature hath this scope to call us to high things. In which there is no plebeian felicity, neither pleasure, because they are either frail or hurtful. THe Commentaries thou demandest at my hands carefully disposed and reduced into an abridgement, I will truly compose. But see whether an ordinary Oration be not more profitable, than this which is now commonly called a breviary, and in times past when we spoke Latin, a Summarie. The one is more necessary for him that learneth, the other for him that understandeth; the one teacheth, the other remembreth. But of both these I will reconcile both the one and the other. It needeth not now that thou exact at my hands, either this or that authority. He is unknown that brings his Proctor with him. I will writ what thou willest; but after mine own manner. In the mean time thou hast many, whose writings I know not whether they be sufficiently digested or no. Take in hand the list of the Philosophers. This very sight will compel thee to rouse thyself, and if thou seest how many have laboured for thee, thou thyself likewise wilt desire to be one of them. For a generous mind hath this excellent impression in it, that it is enkindled and incited to honest things. There is no nobly minded man, that is delighted with base and contemptible things: he only seeketh after and extolleth those things, which make show of greatness and worthiness. Even as the flame directly mounteth upward, neither may be diverted nor depressed, or loose his activity: so is our spirit in continual motion, by so much the more stirring and active, by how much it is more vehement and mighty. But happy is he that hath employed the vivacity hereof in matters of better estimate: he shall settle himself in a place exempted from Fortune's command or jurisdiction: his felicities he shall temper, his adversities conquer, and contemn those things that draw other men to admiration. It is the effect of a great mind to contemn great things, and rather to affect the mean, then be infected with excess. For these are profitable and permanent, the other hurtful, because superfluous. So too great fertility layeth the corn, so boughs overladen are broken, so too much fruitfulness never endeth in maturity. The like also be falleth those minds that are broken, and corrupt with immoderate felicity, because ●hey are not only employed to other men's injury, but also to their own. What enemy so outrageous against any man, as is some men's voluptuousness against themselves? whose impotency and mad lust thou mayest pardon for this one reason, because they suffer that which they offended in. Neither undeservedly doth this fury vex them; for it is necessary, that desire should extend itself above measure, that hath falsified the mediocrity of nature: for natural affection hath his end, but vain things, and such as spring from an excessive lust, are interminable. Profit measureth things necessary; how wilt thou confine superfluities? They therefore drown themselves in pleasures, which they cannot shake off, in that they are brought into a custom: and for this cause are they most miserable, because they are grown unto those terms, that those things which were superfluous unto them, are made necessary; they therefore s●rue their pleasures, and enjoy them not, and love their own mischief, which is the worst of all mischief. And then is infelicity consummate, whereas such things as are dishonest, not only do delight, but also please: and then is the remedy hopeless, where such things as were dishonest, are reputed for common custom. EPIST. XL. He exhorteth to writ, because in it is the Image of the mind. Than of SERAPIONS prompt and profuse speech, which he allegeth to be undecent for a Philosopher. A grave and slow speech entereth and descendeth farther. IN that thou writest often unto me, I thank thee; for by that only means which thou canst, thou showest thyself unto me. I never receive thy Epistle, but that forthwith we are together. If the pictures of our absent friends be pleasing unto us, which renew their memory, and by a false and feigned solace do lighten the grief of their absence; how much more pleasing are letters, which set before our eyes the true trace & lively picture of our absent friends? For that which giveth us an unspeakable conten●, the hand of a friend that writeth a letter unto us, causeth us to feel. Thou writest unto me, that thou heardest Serapion the Philosopher, when he arrived in those parts, and how it was his custom in discoursing to huddle up his worde● with great volubility, which he poureth not out together, but smothe●eth and forceth: for more is uttered then one voice can articulate. This allow I not in a Philosopher, whose pronunciation, as his life, aught to be composed. But no●●ing is well ordered that is precipitate and hasty. For this caus● that running and continuate discourse in Homer that falleth incessantly like snow, is properly attributed to the Orator; where that which is more slow, & sweeter th●n honey floweth from an old man. Resolve therefore on this, that this viole●t and abundant vigour of discourse, is more fit for a jester or Mountebank, then him that debateth on a grave and serious subject, or such a one that will teach another man. Neither will I that the discourse be too headlong, neither to dreaming neither such as may suspend attention, or confounded the hearing For that defect & imbecility of speech maketh the auditor less attentive, by reason of the disgust of interrupted slowness: yet is that more easily imprinted in memory which is expected, then that which passeth away slightly. Furthermore men are said to give precepts to those will learn: it is not given, that flieth. Add hereunto now, that the discourse which serveth to manifest truth, aught to be simple and without flourish. This popular discourse, hath no truth in it, it tendeth only to move the people, & is forcible to ravish inconsiderate ●ares, it admitteth no moderation, but suffereth itself to be carried away. But how can it govern, which cannot be governed? Finally, what should a man think of that discouse, which serveth to heal the infirmities of the spirit, except it should search and descend into us? Medicines cure not except they be digested: moreover, it hath much slightness and vanity in it, and hath more report than reckoning in it. The things that terrify me must be lenified, which provoke me must be pacified, that deceive me must be shaken off: lechery must be restrained, covetousness reproved; what one of these things can be done suddenly? What Physician cur●th his Patients by only passing by them? What profiteth this noise of headlong and unchosen words, which yield not a shadow of any pleasure? But even as it is sufficient to know divers things, which thou wouldst not believe they could be done, so is it sufficient to hear them once, that have exercised themselves in this manner of discourse. For what can a man learn, or what will he imitate, or what can he judge of their minds whose speech is confused and huddled, and cannot be restrained? Even as they that run from a steep hill, stay not themselves in that place where their intention was, but are borne down swiftly by the weight of their bodies, and transported further than they would; so this vivacity and celerite of speech, cannot command itself, neither is it sufficiently beseeming Philosophy, which aught to employ words, and not to cast them away, but by little and little to advance itself. What then? Shall it not sometimes swell also? Why not, provided that the honesty of manners be not interessed; which is not deprived by main force and mimic impetuosity of words? Let her have great force but moderate. The water must have a continual course, but not ravishing. I scarcely will permit an Orator to have such swifnesse in discourse so irrevocable, and boundless: for how can a judge follow the list of his discourse, especially if it be impertinent and rude, if he suffer himself at that time to be borne away by ostentation, or such a passion as he cannot master? Let him in such sort make haste, and infer that his auditories attention may be able to conceive. Thou shalt therefore do well, if thou visit them not who seek how much, and not what they speak. And if it happen that thou art to make an Oration, then make thy choice to speak after the manner of Publius Vinicius, of whom it being on a time demanded, how he discoursed? As●llius answered continually: for Geminius Varius had said, I know not how you call this man an eloquent man, he cannot couple three words together. Why hadst thou not rather say so as Venicius did? Let some fool come hither, and when he shall see him dream out his words one after another, as if he dictated and not discoursed, bid him Speak or never speak. My opinion is, that the form of hasty speech, which in that time the famous Orator Harterius used, aught to be rejected by men of understanding: he never doubted, he never intermitted, he began and ended after the same manner: yet think I, that some things ar● more or less convenient for people of different nations. Amongst the Greeks' this licence were to be borne withal, and we also when we writ, are wont to point every word. And now Cicero also from whom Roman eloquence gathered excellency, was temperate in his discourses. The Roman tongue ouer-look●th all, and will be both respected and courted. Fabianus a worthy man both in life and science (and that is lest of these) in eloquence also, disputed more quickly then vehemently, so as it might be said, that it was a facility, and not a celerity. This admit I in a wiseman: I exact not that his speech be delivered without impediment; rather had I it should be pronounced then lavished. And the more do I deter thee from this sickness, because this thing cannot otherwise befall thee, then by ceasing to have modesty. Thou mayest rub thy brow, and not hear thyself for this unadvised course will draw on many things, which thou wouldst not let slip without reprehension. These things I tell thee cannot happen unto thee without prejudice of thy modesty: Besides, thou hadst need of daily exercise, and thy study is to be transferred from matters to words: and these also, although they flow with thee, and may run fluent without any labour of thine, yet are they to be tempered: for even as a modest gate becometh a wiseman, so doth a settled and not extravagant discourse. The total sum then of this account shall be this, I enjoin thee to be slow in speech. EPIST. XLI. O excellent and deep Epistle! That God dwelleth in us, and that a good man is nothing without him. Let us honour him, and the mind that descendeth from him. In him are our peculiar and proper goods, all other are foreign. But the thing that is good is perfect reason. THou dost a worthy thing, and profitable to thyself, if, as thou writest, thou perseverest to obtain a good mind. How fond is it to wish the same, when as it dependeth on thine own will? Thy hands are not to be lifted up to heaven, neither is the Prelate to be entreated, to admit thee to the ears of an Image, that thou mightest be the better heard: God is near unto thee, he is with thee, he is within thee. Thus tell I thee, Lucilius: A sacred spirit is resident in us, an observer and guardian both of our good and evils: he in like manner as we entreat him, so handleth he us. There is no good man but hath a God within him. May any man insult over fortune, except he be assisted by him? he it is that giveth the noblest and most upright counsels. In every good man (but what God it is uncertain) God inhabiteth. If happily thou light into a thick grove, full of ancient trees, and such as exceed the common height, shadowing the sight of heaven from thee, through the thickness of boughs cou●●ing one another; that height of the wood, and secrecy of the place, and the admiration of the shadow, so thick and continuate in the open sky, will persuade thee there is some divine presence. And if a Cave overhangeth a Mountain, eaten out of the Rock, not made by hands, but hollowed by natural causes into such a concavity, it will strike thy mind with a certain conceit of Religion. We adore the head-springs of great rivers. A sudden eruption of a vast river out of the depth hath altars. The fountains of warm waters are honoured, and the shadow or huge depth of some standing pool hath sacred it. If thou behold a man that is dreadless of perils, untouched with desires, happy in his afflictions, pacified in midst of tempests, beholding men from a high place, the gods from an equal; wilt thou not grow into a certain veneration of him? Wilt thou not say this is a greater and more high thing, then that it might be trusted to so little a body as it inhabiteth? The divine power descendeth hither. This excellent and moderate mind, overpassing all things as if abject, laughing at whatsoever we either fear or hope is enkindled by a celestial power. So great a thing cannot consist without the help of a God. Therefore as touching the greatest part of him, he is there from whence he descended. Even as the Sun beams do in a manner touch the earth, but remain there from whence they are sent; so a great and sacred mind, and to this end humbled, that he may more nearly apprehended divine things is conversant in us, but cleaveth to his original. Thereon it dependeth, thereat it aimeth, and thereto it endeavoureth, to us it appertaineth, as the better part. What a one therefore is this? a mind that dependeth on no other good but his own. For what is more foolish then to praise that in a man which is foreign to him? And what more mad than that man, that admireth those things, which may immediately be transferred unto another man? The golden reinss make not the horse the better. In one sort doth the golden crested Lion subject himself whilst he is handled, and is compelled (being overwearied) patiently to receive his ornaments; in another sort such a one as is generous and untamed. This being sharp in his assault, such as nature would have him to be, fair in his dreadfulness, whose comeliness is in this, not to be beheld without fear, is preferred before that faint and trapped one: no man aught to glory but in that which is his own. We praise the Vine if she load her branches with fruit, if she beareth down her under-props unto the ground, by reason of the weight of those branches she beareth. Will any man prefer that Vine before this, that hath golden grapes and golden leaves hanging from it? The proper virtue in the Vine is fertility: in a man also that is to be praised which is his own. He hath a fair train, a goodly house, he soweth much, he makes much by usury; none of these things is in him but about him. Praise that in him, which neither may be taken away, nor given, which is properly a man's. Askest thou what it is? The mind, and perfect reason in the mind. For man is a reasonable creature; his good therefore is consummate, if he hath fulfilled that to which he was borne. But what is that which this reason exacteth at his hands? An easy matter; to live according to his nature: but common madness maketh this thing difficult. We thrust one another into vices, but how may they be recalled unto health, whom no man restraineth, and the people thrusteth on. EPIST. XLII. That we are not suddenly to give credit or judgement of a good man, because it is a matter of much moment. That some make show, others dissemble; not unlikely to prove evil, if occasion be offered. He teacheth this by a certain man's example. Than, that we are not to labour in external things, which have incommodities, or false commodities in them. THis man hath already persuaded thee, that he is a good man, and yet a good man may not so soon either be made or understood: Knowest thou now whom I term a good man? Him who is ordinarily so reputed: for that other happily like another Phoenix is borne once in five hundredth years: neither is it to be wondered at, that great and rare things are in long continuance and space of time begotten. Fortune often times produceth mean things, such are borne in troops; but such things as are excellent she commendeth in their rarity. But this man as yet is very far from that which he professeth; and if he knew what a good man were, he would not as yet believe himself to be one, and happily also he would despair that he might be one. But he thinketh ill of the evil, and this do the evil also: neither is there any greater punishment of wickedness, then that it displeaseth both himself and his. But he hateth those that impotently use a sudden and great power: the same will he do when he can the same. divers men's vices lie hidden because they are weak, addressed notwithstanding to attempt, and dare as much as they whom felicity hath discovered, as soon as they may have any assurance of their forces. They want the instruments to express their malice. So may a venomous serpent likewise be safely handled whilst he is stiff with cold, not that he wanteth his venom, but because they are benumbed. The cruelty, ambition, and intemperance of divers men would attempt as bad offices as the basest men, if fortune failed them not, give them only the power as much as they list, thou shalt easily perceive their william. Dost thou not remember, that when thou toldest me, that thou hadst such a man in thy power, that I answered thee, that he was unconstant and variable, and that thou heldest him not by the foot but by the feather? Told I thee a lie? He was held by a feather, which he shaked off and fled. Thou knowest very well what Tragedies he afterwards excited, and how many things he attempted, which in all likelihood at last were to fall on his own head: he perceived not how by other men's perils he came headlong into his own, he thought not how burdensome the things were which he asked, although they were not superfluous. This therefore in those things which we affect, and for which we travel; for with great labour we aught to observe and look into, either that there is no commodity in them, or else more incommodity. Some things are superfluous, some are not of so much esteem; but these things we foresee not, and those things that cost us most dearly, seem unto us to be given for nothing. Herein although our stupidity be most apparent, that we only think those things to be bought, for which we pay our money, and those things we call gratuitall, for which we cell and give ourselves; which we would not buy if it should cost us one of our houses, if we should redeem the same with some fruitful and pleasant possession: to these are we most ready to attain with much care, with peril, with hazard of our modesties, liberty, and time, so is there nothing more abject and contemptible to every man then himself. Let us therefore in all our counsels and affairs do that which we are wont to do: as often as we go to the Merchant of any ware to buy, let us see and examine that which we desire, and know the price thereof. That oftentimes is highest prized for which no price is given. I can show thee many things, which being gotten and possessed, have extorted our liberty from us: we should be our own if these were not ours. Thinks therefore very carefully upon these things, not only where there shall be question of gain, but also of loss: is this perishable? for it was casual; thou shalt as easily live without this as thou livedst before. If thou hast had it long, thou lose●● it after thou art glutted therewith: if but a little while, thou losest it before thou hadst the true taste and use therefore. If thou have less money, thy trouble shall be the less; if less favour, thou shalt have less envy also. Look into all these things which enrage us, and which we loose with many tearest and thou shalt know that the opinion of the damage, and not the damage itself is troublesome unto us, no man feeleth but apprehendeth that these are lost. He that hath himself hath lost nothing; but how many have had the hap to possess themselves? EPIST. XLIII. That he doth, lies not hidden, but that rumour publisheth all things. Therefore so live (saith he) as if thou livedst in public. What if thou be hid also? Thy mind knoweth and seethe. THou desirest to know how these news came to mine ears, who it was that told me that thy thought was thus, whereas thou hadst disclosed it to no man living: he that knoweth the most, rumour. What then (sayest thou) am I so great that I can excite a rumour? Thou art not to measure thyself in regard of this place where I bide, but respect thou that wherein thou livest: whatsoever is eminent amidst the places near unto thee, is great in that place where it is eminent. For greatness hath no certain measure; comparison either extinguisheth or depresseth it. The Ship which is great in the River, is little in the Sea: the helm that to one ship is great, to another is little. Now in that Province where thou livest thou art great, although thou contemnethy self. It is both inquired of and known, both how thou suppest and how thou sleepest. So much the more oughtest thou to be more circumspect in thy carriage. Than judge thyself happy when thou canst live publicly, when as thy roof and walls may cover and not hide thee; which for the most part we judge to be builded about us, not to the intent we may live more safely, but to the end we may sin more secretly. I will tell thee a thing by which thou mayest estimate our manners, thou shalt scarcely found any man that can live with an open door. Our conscience, and not our arrogance hath set a guard at our gates: so live we that we esteem a sudden espial to be an actual surprisal. But what pro●iteth it a man to hide himself, and to have both the eyes and ears of men? A good conscience challengeth the whole world, an evil is always doubtful and careful, yea even in the desert. If thine actions be honest, let all men know them: if dishonest, what skilleth it if no man know them, so thou know them thyself? O wretch that thou art, if thou contemnest this witness. EPIST. XLIIII. An excellent Epistle. Let no man contemn himself for his baseness of birth, if he cometh unto wisdom, that is, to virtue. This only enobleth. ONce again thou playest the coward with me, and sayest that nature first; and after her, fortune have been contrary and unkind toward thee, whereas thou mayest exempt thyself from the common sort, and obtain the most high felicity that may befall men. If aught else be good in Philosophy, this is it, that it regardeth not Nobility or descent. If all men be revoked to their first original they are of the gods. Thou art a Roman Knight, and to this order thine industry hath advanced thee: but undoubtedly there are divers to whom the fourteen degrees are closed. The Court admitteth not all men. The Camp likewise cannot without trouble, make choice of those whom they entertain for labour and travel. A good spirit and intention is open to all men, to this we are all noble, neither doth Philosophy reject or elect any man, but shineth unto all. Socrates was no Patrician: Cleanthes drew water and employed his hands in watering his Garden. Philosophy entertained Plato, not so thoroughly noble as she made him. And what cause hast thou to despair, but that thou mayest be like unto these? All these were thine ancestors, if thou behavest thyself worthy of them● and so shalt thou behave and carry thyself, if thou incontinently persuade thyself that no man can outstrip thee in Nobility. There are before us as many as we are, and the original of all very far surpasseth our memory. Plato saith that there is not any King that is not descended of a slave, & that there is not any slave which is not descended from Kings. All these things hath long variety mingled together, and fortune hath turned topsy-turvy: Who is therefore a Gentleman? He that is well composed by nature unto virtue. This only is to be expected, otherwise if thou recallest me to antiquity, no man is not but from thence, before which nothing is. From the first beginning of this world unto this day, the line of alteration hath derived us from noble to villeinies. It maketh not a Nobleman to have his Court full of smoky Images: no man lived for our glory, neither is that which was before us, ours. The mind maketh the Nobleman, which from how base condition soever, enobleth us to rise above fortune. Think thyself therefore that thou art no Roman Knight, but a libertine. Thou mayest attain this, that thou alone mayest be free amongst libertines. But how sayest thou, if thou distinguish not good and evil by the people's judgements? We must regard, not whence they come, but whether they go. For if there be any thing may make the life happy, it is absolutely good, because it may not be depraved or turned into evil: what is it then wherein we err? In this, that all who affect a happy life, take the instruments thereof for the thing itself; and whilst they seek the same, fly the same: for whereas solid security is the scope of a blessed life, and the unshaken confidence thereof, they gather the causes of solicitude, and by a dangerous journey they not only bear, but draw the burdens of life. Thus always recoil they far from the effect of that they seek, and the more labour they employ, the more are they entangled, and carried backward, which happeneth to those that haste them in a labyrinth, their very speed entangleth them. EPIST. XLV. That not many, but good books are necessary to obtain wisdom. That the ancient vainly wrote some things superfluous, some subtly. Than against Cavillers and mistaking of words. The matter, and the difference thereof is to be sought for. Who is blessed, and what is truly good? THou complainest thee of the want of books in those parts where thou bidest. It skilleth not how many, but how good thou hast, a certain reading profiteth, & that which is full of variety delighteth. He that will attain to his predestinated scope, let him follow one way, and not wander in many, for this is not to go, but to err. I had rather, sayest thou, that thou gavest me books, than counsel, and for mine own part, I am ready to sand thee wholly, if I have, and to void my whole store, and I would transport myself unto those parts, if it were possible, and had I not a hope, that very shortly I should accomplish and set an end to thy endeavour, I had undertaken the journey in these mine old years, neither might Charybdis, Scylla, and this fabulous sea affright me. I had not only sailed, but swomne over these seas, so as I might embrace thee, and being present with thee, estimated, how much thou wert increased in thy courage. And whereas thou desirest, that my books should be sent unto thee, I esteem myself no more eloquent, for that then I would accounted myself fair, if so be thou shouldest require my picture of me. I know that this proceedeth from thy goodwill towards me, and not from thy judgement, and that affection hath entangled and deceived thee, and not thy judgement. But whatsoever they be, see thou read them in such sort, as if as yet thou sought the truth, but knew it not, but peremptorily sought it. For I have not severely tied myself to any, I bear the name of no man, I ascribe much to the judgement of great men, and challenge something to myself. For they also le●t us not things only found by them, but also those which remain to be found, and peradventure they had found out things necessary, had they not sought after the superfluous. The cavillation of words, and captious disputations, which exercise a vain brain, stole much time from them. We weave knots, and tie ambiguous signification to words, and then dissolve them. Have we so much leisure? Know we now how to live, and how to die? Thither with all our minds are we to address ourselves, where provision may be taken, that the things themselves may deceive us, and not the words. Why distinguishest thou unto me the similitudes of words, wherewith no man is ever caught, but when he disputeth, the things themselves deceive us, discern them: we embrace evil things in stead of good, we wish contrary to that we have wished, our vows impugn our vows, our counsels our counsels. How much doth flattery resemble friendship? It doth not only imitate the same, but it overcometh and outstrippeth it: it is received with open and favourable ears, and descendeth into the inward heart, gracious in that wherein it hurteth. Teach me how I may know this similitude. There comes unto me, in stead of a friend, a flattering enemy. Vices creep upon us under pretext of virtues; temerity lies hidden under the name of fortitude: moderation is called sloth, a wary man is accounted fearful. In those things we err with great danger; imprint certain notes on these to make them known. But he that is demanded whether he hath horns, is not so foolish to rub his brow; neither again so foolish and beetleheaded, that he is ignorant that he hath none of those horns, which thou wouldst persuade him to have by a subtle collection of arguments. But these deceive without damage; in such manner as the boxes and lots of the jugglers, in which the very deceit is a delight. Bring to pass that I may understand how it is done, I have lost the use. The same say I of these cavelling, for by what more fit name can I call Sophisms? Neither hurt they the ignorant, neither help they the understanding: verily if thou wilt take away all ambiguity of words, teach us this, that he is not blessed whom the common people termeth so, into whose bands great sums of money are gathered; but he, whose mind is all his goodness, who is erect, upright, high minded, and a contemner of those things which other men wonder at, who seethe no man with whom he would exchange himself, which estimateth a man only in that part wherein he is a man, who useth Nature as his mistress, and is composed according to her laws, and so liveth as she prescribeth. From whom no force can ravish his good, who turneth evil into goodness, assured in his judgement, unshaken, undaunted: whom some power moveth, but none perturbeth; whom Fortune, when with her greatest force, she hath darted the most dangerous dart she hath against him, pricketh, but woundeth not, and that very seldom. For all other weapons of hers, wherewith she warreth against mankind, are as the hail which falleth on the house-eves, it striketh on them, without any incommodity to the inhabitants of the same, and maketh a noise, and is dissolved. Why detainest thou me in this, that thou callest thyself Pseudomenon, (that is to say, a liar) of whom so many books have been written. Behold, all my life is but lying, reprove thou it, reduce this to truth, if thou art so subtle. She judgeth those things necessary, the greater part whereof is superfluous, that likewise which is not superfluous, hath no moment in itself, in this that it may make a man fortunate or blessed. For if any thing be necessary, it is not presently good. And we prostitute goodness and abuse it, if we attribute that name to bread and cakes, and such like things, without which life cannot be maintained. That which is truly good is necessary, but that which is necessary is not presently good, for some things are necessary which are most abject. There is no man that is so ignorant of the dignity of goodness, which comparingly will abuse it with those things that have their lasting but for a day. What then? Wilt thou not employ thy study and care to make manifest unto every man, and let them see, that with great loss of time a man searcheth for superfluous and unprofitable things; and that divers have overpassed their life, in only employing themselves in seeking out the instruments of life. Look into every particular, and consider the whole, there is no man's life, but is aimed at to morrow. Thou askest me what evil there is herein? Infinite, for they live not, but are to live, they defer all things. Although we were circumspect, yet life would outstrip us, and now when we are stayed, she cometh and overgoeth us, and is ended in the last day, and every day perisheth. But jest I should exceed the measure of an Epistle, which should not fill a man's left hand in reading. I will defer this debate with the over-subtill Logicians till another time, who only have care of this, and not of that. EPIST. XLVI. He judgeth of LUCILIUS his Book, and praiseth it. I Have received the book which thou promisedst me, and as if I should read it over at leisure; I opened it, and had only a will to taste it. But afterwards it so flattered and toled me on, that I thought fit to pass further, which how eloquent it is, thou mayst conjecture by this, it seemed short unto me, for that neither of thy time nor of mine, but at first sight it seemed to be either Titus Livius, or Epicurus: but with so much sweetness it detained and alured me, that without all delay I overread it. The Sun invited me, hunger admonished me, the shower threatened me, yet did I read it over, not so much delighted as gladded. And I would say unto thee, what a wit hath this man? What a mind? What ability? If he had paused, if he had risen by degrees. Now hath it not been vehemency, but a continuate form, and a composition masculine and holy, notwithstanding there was a mixture of sweetness and grace. Thou art great and upright, this course I advise thee to; so proceed thou. The matter also did somewhat, therefore is it to be chosen fruitful, that may ravish a man's mind and excite him. I will writ more of thy book when I have reexamined it; but as yet my judgement is not settled. I seem but as one that hath heard it, and not overread it. Suffer me likewise to make inquisition. Thou needest not fear, thou shalt hear the truth. O happy man that thou art, that hast nothing for which a man should lie unto thee from so far off: but that (even where the cause is taken away) we lie for custom's sake. EPIST. XLVII. That we aught to behave ourselves, and live with our servants familiarly. That the error of his age was, in their pride and contempt: yet that according to each man's disposition and virtue, that the one and the other are either more freely or severely to be handled. I Have willingly understood by those that come from thee, that thou livest familiarly with thy slaves: this becometh thy prudence, this is answerable to thy wisdom. Are they thy slaves? nay rather thy companions. Are they thy slaves? nay rather thine humble friends. Are they thy slaves? nay rather thy fellow servants. If thou knowest that Fortune hath as much power over the one, as over the other. I therefore laugh at those that think it an abject and base thing to sup with their servants: and why? But for that their overweening custom hath environed the supping Lord with a troup of attending servants. far more eateth he, than he digesteth, and with an excessive greediness loadeth ●ee his distended belly, that with greater labour he may vomit up all those things, when with surfeit he hath ingested them; but his unhappy servants have scarce leave to move their lips, not not to this end, to speak. Each murmur is stilled by the rod, and scarce casual things escape the whip, a cough, a sneeses, a hicket; a great penalty is threatened, if by any speech a renewed silence be interrupted: the livelong night stand they fasting, and wait they mute. So cometh it to pass, that these speak of their Lord, who in his presence have no liberty to discourse. But they who had not only liberty to speak before their Masters, but to confer with them, whose mouth was not sewed up, were ready to hazard their heads for their Masters, and turn their imminent peril on their own necks. At the banquets they spoke, but in their torments they were silent. Furthermore, a proverb of no less arrogancy is published, That as many servants we have, so many enemies. We have them not our enemies, but we make them. In the mean space, I let pass many both cruel and inhuman things: that we abuse them not, as men only, but as beasts. That whereas we are set at supper, one wipeth away our spittings, and other crouching under the table, gathereth the relics of the drunkards: another cutteth up the dearest fowl, and conveying his cunning ●and thorough their breasts and hinder parts, in certain conceits of carving, cut them in pieces: unhappy he that liveth to this one thing, to cut up wild fowl decently. But that he is more miserable, that for voluptuousness sake teacheth this, than he that learneth it for necessity. Another skinking the wine, attired after womanlike fashion, striveth with age: he cannot ●lie childhood, yet is he drawn back, and now sweet faced, his hairs either shaven or pulled up by the roots, in his martial habit attendeth and watcheth he all night, which he divideth betwixt his Lord's drunkenness and lust, and in the chamber is a man, and at the banquet a boy. Another to whom the censure of the guests is permitted, attendeth unhappy as he is, and expecteth those, whom flattery or the intemperance either of their mouths or tongues revoaketh the next day. Ad to these, the Caterers, who have a certain and subtle knowledge of their Lords best liking; who know the savour of that meat, they hold best pleasing to their appetite, what most affecteth their eye, what meat will quicken their loathing stomachs, when he loatheth in his fullness, what he longeth for that very day. With these he cannot abide to sup, and thinketh it a diminution of his majesty, to sit down at the same table with his servant. God forbidden that of those they should found their masters. I saw Callistus master attend at his door, and him excluded amongst many that entered, who had set him a servile schedule on his breast to be sold, and had brought him forth to sail amongst his most ridiculous and abject slaves. That very slave of his did him favour, who was by him set to sail amongst the most abject first rank, fruitlessly prostituted by the Crier, basely made vendible by the master, yea he himself thought him unworthy of his house. The Lord sold Callistus: but how many things did Callistus cell to his master? Wilt thou think, that he whom thou termest thy slave, was borne of the same seed, enjoyeth the same air, equally breatheth, liveth and dieth as thou shalt? Thou mayest see him as noble, as he thee servile. How many men did Fortune depress in the Marian slaughter, of noble birth, and such as after being thrice Tribunes were in election to be Senators? One of those she made a shepherd, the other the keeper of a Cottage. Contemn not the man of that fortune; into which thou mayest be transferred, whilst thou contemnest. I will not intrude myself into a large field of discourse, and dispute of the use of servants, in respect of whom we are most cruel, proud, and contumelious: yet is this the sum of my precept. So live with thine inferior, as thou wouldst thy superior should live with thee. As o●ten as thou bethinkest thyself what power thou hast over thy servant, bethink thy s●lfe that so much power thy master hath over thee. But I, sayest thou, have no master, the better thy fortune, happily thou shalt have. Knowest thou not in what years Hecuba began to serve, in what time Cr●sus, in what time Darius mother, in what time Plat●, in what time Diogenes? Live with thy servant kindly and courteously, vouchsafe him conference, admit him to counsel, and conversation with thee. In this place the whole troup of these nice companions will cry out at me: There is nothing more base, nothing more abject than this is. These very same men will I find kissing the hand of other men's slaves. See you not, that likewise how by this means our ancestors withdrew all envy from the masters, all contumely from the servants? They called the master the father of the household, the servants (which as yet continueth amongst the Mimics) his familiars. They instituted a holy day, wherein not only the masters feasted with their servants, but wherein beside that, they permitted them to bear● honour in their house, and to give sentence and judgement, their house to be a little commonweal. What then? Shall I set all my servants at my table? Not more than all my children. Thou errest, if thou thinkest that I will reject some of them● as destinated to a more servile office, as that Muliter, and that Cow keeper, I will not measure them by their offices, but by their manners. Each one giveth himself manners, casualty assigneth him ministries. Let some of them sup with thee, because they are worthy, some that they may be worthy. For if any thing be servile in them by reason of their sordid conversation, their living & conversing with those that are better nurtured will shake it off. Thou art not, my Lucilius, only to seek thy friend in the Marketplace, and in the Court, if thou diligently attend, thou shalt find him in thy house also. Oftentimes a good matter ceaseth without the workman; try and make experiment. Even as he is a fool, who having a horse to buy, looketh not on him, but on his furniture and bit; so is he most fond, that esteemeth a man, either by his garment, or by his condition, which is wrapped about us after the manner of a garment. Is he a servant? But happily a free man in mind. Is he a servant? Shall this hurt him? Show one that is not. One serveth his lust, another his avarice, another ambition, another fear. I will show you a man that hath been Consul, serving an old woman. I will let you see a rich man serving a poor maid: I will show you the noblest young men, the very bondslaves of Players. There is no servitude more foul, then that which is voluntary. For which cause, thou hast no reason that these disdainful fellows should deter thee from showing thyself affable to thy servants, and not proudly superior. Let them rather honour thee, then fear thee. Will any man say that I call servants to liberty, and cast down masters from their dignity, in that I say they should rather honour their master then fear him? Is it so, saith he, shall they wholly honour thee as clients and saviours? He that saith thus, forgetteth that that is very small to masters, which is enough for God, who is worshipped and loved. Love cannot be mingled with fear. I therefore think, that thou dost most uprightly; if thou wilt not be feared by thy servants, that thou usest the chastisement of words. Such as are dumb are admonished by stripes: every thing that offendeth us, hurteth us not. But daintiness compelleth us to outrage, so that whatsoever is not answerable to our will, provoketh us to wrath. We put upon us the minds of Kings, for they also forgetful of their own strength, and other men's imbecility are so incensed, so wrathful, as if they had received an injury, from the peril of which thing, the greatness of their fortune secureth them most; neither are they ignorant hereof, but they take occasion of hurting by seeking it; they received an injury, that they might do wrong. I will not detain thee longer, for thou hast no need of exhortation. Good manners have this amongst other things, they ple●se themselves and remain. Malice is light, and is often changed, not to the better, but to another thing. EPIST. XLVIII. That the same things are expedient for friends, and that the one is profitable to the other. Than against captious cavils and difficult follies. What do you? What play you? The question is of life. Assist and form it. Of fortune. Against her give defence. TO that Epistle of thine, which thou sendest to me in my journey, so long as the very journey itself was, I will make answer. I must recreate myself, and look about me what I counsel. For thou also who counselest me, didst bethink thee long, whether thou shouldest counsel; how much more aught I to do the like, whereas a longer respite is requisite to dissolve and answer thee, to propound the question: verily one course is expedient for thee, another for me: once more speak I like Epicurus. But to me the same is expedient that to thee, else am I not thy friend, except whatsoever is done that concerneth thee, be mine. Friendship maketh a mutual interchange of all things between us, neither hath any one of us in particular a felicity or adversity, but they are communicable to both. Neither can any man live happily who only respecteth himself, that converteth all things to his own profits: thou must live unto another, if thou wilt live unto thyself. This society both diligently and holily is to be obserued● which mixeth all of us together, and judgeth that there is some one common right of human race. It availeth very much also to perfit that interior society of friendship, of which I spoke. For he shall have all things in common with his friend, that hath many things common with man. This would I have taught me, O Lucilius, the best of men, by those subtle Sophisters, what I aught to perform unto my friend, what unto a man: then after how many manners a friend may be called, and how many this word man signifieth. Behold wisdom, and folly are separated diversly, to which do I incline? to which part willest thou me to go? To this Stoic a man is a friend, to that Epicure a friend is not for a man: he getteth a friend for himself, this other himself for a friend. Thou wrestest my words, and distinguishest syllables. Verily except I compose idle Interrogations, and by a false conclusion derived from truth, I unite a lie, I cannot distinguish those things that are to be desired from such as are to be eschewed. I am ashamed. In so serious a thing as this is, though old, yet we trifle. Mouse is a syllables but Mouse gnaweth the Cheese, Ergo, a syllable gnaweth the Cheese. Think now that I cannot resolve this doubt, what damage should this ignorance of mine do me? What discommodity? Doubtless it is to be feared, jest at sometimes I should catch the syllables in my Mousetrap, or that happily if I should become negligent, my Book should eat the Cheese: unless happily that collection is more acute; Mouse is a syllable, but the syllable gnaweth not the Cheese; the Mouse therefore gnaweth not the Cheese. O childish triflings. For this cause have we humbled our brows? For this cause have we lengthened our beards? Is it this we teach both sad and pale? Wilt thou know what Philosophy promiseth to human kind? It is counsel. One man death calleth, another poverty burneth, another man either his own or other men's riches torment; this man is afraid and terrified at evil fortune, that man would withdraw himself, and escape his felicity, this man disliketh men, that man the gods: Why proposest thou unto me these toys? There is no place of jesting; the miserable cra●e thy assistance. Thou hast promised that thou wilt help such as are shipwrecked, captive, poor, such as subject their heads to axe and block: whether art thou diverted? what dost thou? The very man with whom thou jestest is afraid. Yield succours, whatsoever thou art more endued with eloquence, to the pains of such as perish. All of them, on every side lift up their hands unto thee, and implore some help in their perished and decaying life, in thee is the hope, in thee the means. They beseech thee to draw them out of so great turmoil, that thou wouldst show them that are scattered and wandering the clear light of truth. Show what nature hath made necessary, what superfluous, what easy laws she hath established: how pleasant and expedite the life of those men is that follow them, how bitter and implicit theirs is, that have believed opinion more than truth. What extinguisheth these men's desires? What temperateth them? Would to God they did but only not profit. They hurt. This will I make manifest unto thee when thou wilt, that a generous spirit is broken and weakened, being puzzled with these subtleties. I am ashamed to tell, what weapons it dareth to those, that are to war against fortune, and how they suborn them. This is the way to the chiefest good, by this Philosophical exceptions are black, filthy, and infamous, yea even to those that are young Students: for what else do you, when as wittingly you entangle him whom you ask, then that he might seem to be nonsuited: but even as the Praetor wholly restoreth the one, so doth Philosophy these. Why fail you in your great promises? and having promised mountains, that you will bring to pass that the shining and brightness of gold shall no more dazzle mine eyes, then that of the sword: that with great constancy I should contemn and spurn at, both that which all men wish, and that which all men fear, descend you to the elements of the Grammarian? What say you, is this the way to eternity? For this is it that Philosophy promiseth me, to make me like to God. To this I am invited, to this end I came, perform thy promise. As much as thou mayest therefore my Lucilius, reduce thyself from these exceptions and prescriptions of the Philosophers. Open and simple things become honesty and goodness. Although a better part of life were yet to be spent, yet must it now be sparingly dispensed, that it may suffice for necessaries; now what madness is it to learn such unnecessary things in so great scantling of time? EPIST. XLIX. That by the sight of a house called POMPEY the memory of his LUCILIUS was renewed in him. Of the shortness and swiftness of time, that nothing is long or old in it. By the way against the Logicians, and that all that sort are only to be looked on. He truly my Lucilius, is idle and negligent, who admonished from any Region is reduced to the memory of his friend; yet sometimes familiar places summon and call forth the reposed desire in our mind, neither suffer they the memory to be extinguished, but provoke the same when it is pacified, even as the grief of those that mourn, although for a time it be mitigated, either the familiar admission of a servant, or a garment, or the house reneweth the same. Behold how Campania, and in especial Naples, in the beholding of thy Pompey's it is incredible how living a memory of thee it bred in me. Thou art wholly before mine eyes, even then when I am most separated from thee. I see thee supping up thy tears, and insufficiently resisting thy affections, breaking forth in their restraint. And now seem I to have lost thee; for what is not present, if thou remember'st? Not long since I conversed being a child, with Sotion the Philosopher; anon after I began to plead causes; not long after I desisted from being willing to wrangle in them: now give I over to have power to follow them. Infinite is the swiftness of time, which appeareth most to those that look back: for to those that intent the present, it deceiveth them, so light is the passage of her headlong flight. Dost thou demand the cause hereof? Whatsoever time is passed is in the same place, it is beheld at once, and at once is extinguished, and all things from thence fall into the depth, & otherwise there cannot be long spaces in that thing which is wholly shor●. It is but a point that we live, and as yet less than a point; yet nature hath divided this lest under a certain kind of longer space. Of this point he made one part infancy, another childhood, an other youth, another a certain inclination from youth to age, another age itself. In how small a strait hath he placed so many degrees? Even presently doe● I prosecute thee, and yet this present is a good portion of our age; whose shortness let us think on, will at last show itself. The time was not wont to seem so swift unto me: now doth the course thereof appear incredible, either because I perceive the end at hand, either because I have begun to conceive and sum up my loss. And the more am I vexed, because I see some lavish the greater part of this time in vanities, which scarcely can suffice for necessaries, although it were kept very diligently. Cicero denieth that if his age were doubled, he should have time enough to read the Liriques; and in like sort the Logicians. They are bitterly foolish. These play the professed wantoness: they think that they do somewhat. Neither deny I but these may be looked into, but that they are only to be looked into, and slightly overpast, to this only intent, jest we should be deceived, & that we should judge that there is some great and secret good in th●m. Why dost thou torment and macerate thyself about that question, which is more policy to contemn then satisfy? It is the work of a secure man, and such a one as erreth from his profit to make search after trifles. When the enemy is hard at our heels, and the soldier is commanded to march, necessity shaketh off all that which idle peace had recollected. I have no leisure to affect these equivocating words, and make trial of my craft in them. Behold what armies march, what walls, What war with closed gates. This noise of war sounding on every side, is to be heard by me with a mighty courage. I should worthily be accounted mad in all men's eyess of when as both old men and women gathered and brought stones to fortify the Rampire, when as the young men being armed within the gates, expected or required a s●mmons to sally, when the enemies arms were at the ports, and the very ground did shake with mines, if I should sit idle and employ my time in such like questions. That which thou hast not lost thou hast; thou hast not lost thy horns, Ergo, thou hast horns, and such like, fashioned according to the tenor of this acute madness. And no less foolish should I seem unto thee, if I should employ my studies in these, whereas even now I am beleagred● yet then a foreign peril should threaten me being besieged, the wall should sever me from mine enemy. Now death and danger is with me. Now have I time for these toys. There is a weighty business in hand. What shall I do? Death followeth me, life flieth. Teach me somewhat against these, bring to pass that I may not fly death and that life may not fli● me. Teach me equanimity against disasters, and distress against inevitable harms, give liberty to the straightness of my time. Teach me that the good of life consist●th not in the space thereof, but in the use; and that it may be, yea, that it often falleth out, that he who hath lived longest hath lived a little or nothing. Tell me when I lie down to rest● it may be thou shalt not wake. Tell me when I am awake, it may be thou shalt not sleep any more. Tell me when I go forth of doors it may be thou canst not return: Tell me when I return, it may b● thou canst not go out again. Tho● art deceived, if thou thinkest that in sailing only, that there is but the lest difference and separation twixt life and death● in every place there is as little distance. Every where death shows not himself so nigh, yet every wher● is he as nigh. Shake off these clouds, and thou shalt more easily discover those things, to which I am prepared. Nature bred us docible, and gave us imperfect reason, yet such as may be perfected. Dispute with me of justice & piety, of frugality, of both sorts of modesty, and of that that can abstain from another's body, and this that hath care of his own: if thou wilt not lead me the indirect way, I shall more easily attain to that I affect. For as that tragic Poet saith, The speech of truth is simple: and therefore we must not implicate the same: for nothing is less convenient than is this subtle craft, to those minds that labour after great matters. EPIST. L. That we are blind in vices, or that we seek a cloak for them. Yet that they are to be acknowledged, and that the remedies are to be sought for; whence otherwise is the health of the mind derived, which may likewise happen, even to the most inveterate vices, because he is easy to be bend, and Nature flieth unto goodness. I Received the Epistle which thou sentest me after many months. I thought it therefore an idle thing to inquire of him that brought the same, what thou didst. For it is a sign of a good memory, if he remembreth, and yet hope I that for the present thou livest so, that wheresoever thou art, I know what thou didst. For what other thing shouldest thou do, then that daily thou shouldest better thyself, that thou shouldest lay aside some one of thine errors, that thou mayest understand that they are thine own follies, that thou thinkest to be foreign. Some things ascribe we to places and times, but they, whither soever we transport ourselves, will follow us. Thou knowest, Harpaste, my wives fool, thou knowest that she remained in my house as an hereditary burden. For I am much distasted and disgusted with those prodigies, if at any time I will take pleasure in a fool. I need not seek far off, I find sufficient matter of laughter in myself. This fool suddenly lost her eyesight. I tell thee an incredible matter, but yet true: she knoweth not that she is blind; oftentimes she prayeth her governor to give her leave to walk abroad, she saith the house is dark. This that seemeth ridiculous unto us in her, take thou notice, that it happeneth unto us all: no man understandeth that he is covetous, no man that he is avaricious; yet do the blind seek a guide, but we err without a guide, and say: I am not ambitious, but no man can otherwise live in Rome. I am not sumptuous, but the City itself requireth great expense. It is not my fault that I am wrathful, that as yet I have not settled myself in a certain course of life; it is youth that causeth this: Why deceive we our s●lues? our evil is not extrinsical, it is within us, and is settled in our entrails. And therefore do we hardly recover health, because we know not that we are sick; if we have but begun our cure, when shall we shake off so many plagues and sicknesses? But now scarce seek we for the Physician, who should spend less time and labour, if he were counseled upon the beginning of the disease. Tender and rude minds would follow him, directing them aright. No man is hardly reduced unto Nature, but he that hath revolted from her. We are ashamed to learn a good mind, yet undoubtedly it is a shameful thing to seek a master in this matter. That is to be despaired, that so much good may casually befall us: we must take pains, and (to speak uprightly) the labour is not great: if, as I said, we begin to conform and recorrect our minds, before they be confirmed in wickedness. Yet despair I not of those that are indurate. There is nothing that industrious labour and intent, and diligent care cannot compass and impugn. Thou mayest straighten the stiffest oaks, although crooked; heat straightneth crooked beams, and such as are otherwise fashioned by Nature, are applied to that which our use exacteth. How far more easily ●oth the mind receive a form, being flexible and pliant to any humour. For what other thing is the mind, then after a certain manner a spirit. But you see that a spirit is by so much more facile than any other matter, by how much he is more thin and delicate. That, my Lucilius, hath no reason to hinder thee from hoping well of us, because malice already hath hold of us, that of long time it hath harboured with us. To no man comes a good mind before an evil. We are all preoccupated in learning virtues, and forgetting vices: but therefore the more ardently must we endeavour our amendment, because the possession of a good once imparted to us, is perpetual; virtue is not forgotten. For the contrary evils have a foreign dependence, and therefore may be expelled and excluded, they are surely settled that succeed in their place. Virtue is according to Nature, vices are our enemies and infectors. But even as received virtues cannot easily be dispossessed, and their conservation is easy: so is the beginning to obtain and aim at them very difficult, because this especially is the sign of a weak and sick mind, to fear things unattempted. Therefore is the mind to be enforced, that it may begin: moreover the medicine is not bitter, for it quickly delighteth, while it healeth. Of other remedies, there is a certain pleasure after health: Philosophy is both wholesome and pleasing. EPIST. LIVELY Somewhat of Aetna, and more of Baiae. And upon this occasion he inveigheth against such as are effeminated, and given over to their pleasure. That this is to be driven from us, and that we are to warfare: against whom? against Pleasure, Paine, and others. That he who doth so, doth good in serious and holy places, avoideth lascivious things, or such as are too delightful. EVen as every one can, my Lucilius, thou hast there Aetna that noble Mountain of Sicily, the which Messala called the only Mountain, or Valgius (for in both of them have I read thereof) why I find not, when as many places vomit out fire, not only such as are high, which oftentimes happeneth, because that fire mounteth upwards, but also such as are low. We, howsoever we may, are content with Bay, which the very next day after I had visited, I forsook; a place for this cause to be avoided, although that hath certain natural endowments, because superfluity hath made choice thereof herself, to celebrated the same. What then? Is there any place to be hated? Not, but even as some garment is more decent and comely for a wise and good man, than another; neither hateth he any colour, but thinketh one more fit for him that professeth frugality: so is there a region, which a wise man, or one that tendeth to wisdom, declineth, as if estranged from good manners. Thinking therefore of his retirement, he will never make choice of Canopus, although Canopus hinder no man from being frugal. Neither Baias likewise; they are begun to be the hostrie of vices. There Luxury permitteth herself very much, there as if a certain liberty were due unto the place that hath looseness. It behoveth us to choose a place, not only healthful for our bodies, but for our manners. Even as I would not devil amongst hangmen and torturers, so would I not live amongst victualing-houses. What needeth it to see drunkards reeling up and down the shore, and the banquets of such as sail, and the Lakes reeccoing the Consent of songs, and other things, which lasciviousness (as if freed from all restraint) not only sinneth in, but publisheth? That aught we to do, that we fly far from the provocations of vices. The mind is to be confirmed, and abstracted far from the allurement of pleasures. One only Winter weakened Hannibal, and the delicacies of Campania weakened that man, whom neither Snows nor Alps could otherwise vanquish: he conquered in arms, he was conquered by vices. We must likewise play the soldiers, and in such a kind of service as never affordeth us rest, or ever giveth us leisure. Vices in especial are to be conquered, which (as you see) have drawn the sternest and cruelest wits unto them. If a man propose unto himself, what a task he hath undergone, he shall know that nothing is to be done delicately or effeminately. What have I to do with those hot pools, with those stoves in which a dry vapour is included to waste our bodies? Let all sweat break forth by labour: if we should do as Hannibal did, that interrupting the course of affairs, and neglecting war, we should employ ourselves in nourishing our bodies, there is no man but might justly reprehend our unseasonable sloth, not only dangerous for the conqueror, but for the conquered also? Less is permitted us, than those that followed the Carthaginian wars, more danger impendeth over our heads, if we give way, worse also if we persevere. Fortune wageth war with me, I will not obey her, I receive not her yoke, nay more, (which with greater courage I aught to accomplish) I shake it off. The mind is not to be mollified. If I give place to pleasure, I must be subject to grief, slave to labour, servant to poverty; both ambition and wrath will have the same privilege over me: amongst so many vices I shall be distracted, or rather dismembered. Liberty is proposed: for this reward do we labour. Thou askest me what liberty is? To serve nothing, no necessity, no fortunes; to keep Fortune at staffes-end. That day I understand myself, that I can more than she may; she can nothing. Shall I suffer her when as death is at hand? To him that intendeth these thoughts, retirement both serious and sanctified, aught to be sought for and chosen. Too much pleasantness effeminateth the mind, and undoubtedly the contrary may do somewhat to corrupt the vigour. Those cattle easily travel in any way, whose hooves are hardened on the craggy ways: such as breed in the rotten and soggy pastures, are quickly wearied. The soldier exercised on the mountains, returneth more hardy, the citizen and homebred is recreant. Those hands refuse no labour that are transferred from the plough to the pike. The anointed and nice soldier endureth not the first shock. The severer discipline of the place firmeth the courage, and maketh it more apt to attempts. Scipio was more honestly a banished man at Liternum then at Bayas. His ruin is not to be planted in so effeminate a place. And they also to whom at first, and in especial the fortune of the Roman people translated the public Richeses, Caius Marius, Cneius Pompey, and Caesar builded certain Manor-houses in the region of Bayas, but they planted them on the tops of the highest mountains. This seemed more warlike, from an eminent place to behold the low country far and near. Behold what situation they chose, in what places, and what they builded; & thou shalt know that they were in camping places, and not in houses of pleasure. Thinkest thou Cato would ever devil in Utica, to the end he might number the adulterers that sailed by him, and to behold so many kinds of boats painted with divers colours, and the roses s] floating over the whole lake, that he might hear the night-brawles of such as sing? Had he not rather been within his Trench, which in one night's space he had digged, & caused to be enclosed, why should it not better please him? Whosoever is a man had rather be awakened from sleep by the Trumpet, than a melody or consent of voices. But long enough have we contended about Baias, but never enough with vices, which I beseech thee my Lucilius, persecute beyond measure, and without end; for neither have they end or measure. Cast from thee whatsoever tormenteth thy heart, which if they could not be drawn out otherwise, thy heart were to be pulled out with them. Especially drive from thee pleasures, and hold them in greatest hatred, after the manner of those thieves whom the Egyptians call Philetae; to this end they kiss us, that they may kill us. EPIST. LII. That we are uncertain in the truth, and have need of help and direction. But that some are more easily guided and form; then other some according to their nature. But to the intent that thou mayest be form, make thy choice out of the ancient, and the present. Yet fly prattlers, ambitious, and such as affect applause. WHat is this Lucilius, that, when we intent one way, draweth us another, and forceth us thither, from whence we desire to fly? What is that which wrestleth with our mind, and permitteth us not to will any thing once? We waver twixt divers counsels, we will nothing freely, nothing absolutely, nothing always. It is a folly (sayest thou) he that is constant in nothing, is not long pleased with any thing. But how, or when shall we withdraw ourselves from these? No man is able to accomplish it of himself; some man must lend a helping hand, some one must bring us out. Some, saith Epicurus, contend unto truth without any man's help, of these, that he made himself his own way. These praiseth he most: that had power of themselves, that advanced themselves: that some want foreign ●elpe, and are not like to go, except some one conduct them, yet are willing to follow. Of this sort he accounteth Me●rodorus. And this also is an excellent, but a wit of the second rank. We are not of the first number, it sufficeth us if we be received into this secone rank: neither contemn thou that man that may be saved by another man's means; for it is a very great matter to have a will to be saved. Besides these, as yet thou shalt find another sort of men, and they not to be contemned, namely, they that may be enforced and compelled to the right, who have not only need of a guide but a helper, or to speak more properly, a compeller. This is the third kind. If thou seek an example hereof; Epicurus saith that Hermachus was such a one, therefore gratulateth he more the one, and admireth the other. For although both of them obtained one and the same end, yet the praise is greater, to have performed the same in a more difficult matter. Suppose that a man hath builded two houses, both equal, a like high and magnificent, the one of them planted on a firm foundation, whereon the work is suddenly raised, the other on an uncertain and false ground, where we aught to dig deep, and employ infinite pains before we light on firm land. In the one all appeareth in sight, that hath been builded: in the other the better and more dificult part is hidden. Some wits are facile and expedite, some are (as they say) to be fashioned by the hand, and to be exercised and occupied in making their own foundation: therefore accounted I him more happy, that hath had no business with himself, and him likewise to have deserved best of himself, that hath overcome the malignity of his nature, and hath not led himself, but forcibly drawn himself to wisdom. Thou must know that this hard and troublesome travel is forced on us. We travel a way full of dangers: let us therefore combat & call for assistance. Whom sayest thou shall I call upon, that or this man? For thine own part, I counsel thee to return unto the first, that have now no more to do: for not only they of this time, but those that have been our predecessors may assist us. And amongst those that live, let us choose, not them that divide and precipitate many words with great volubility, and turn over common places, and that in private are most courted: but those whose lives are our instructions, who when they have told us what is to be done, approve the same by their actions who teach that which is to be eschewed, and are never surprised or found guilty in doing that, which they have forbidden to be done. Choose him for thine assistant, whom thou admirest more when thou seest him, then when thou hearest him: neither therefore forbidden I thee to hear them likewise, whose custom it is to admit the people, and to dispute, if so be they expose themselves to community to this intent, that they may amend themselves & make others the better, provided they exercise not this for ambition sake. For what is more base than Philosophy, that searcheth the favours and acclamations of the people? Doth the sick man praise the Physician that lanceth him? Be silent, favour and offer yourselves to the cure. Although you yield me acclamations of honour, I will not otherwise hear you, except you sigh at the touch of your sins. Will you have it testified, that you are attentive, and are moved with the greatness of things? You have free liberty; why should I not permit you to judge, and give your voice to that which you think best? Under Pythagoras, his scholars remained five years without speaking: thinkest thou that it was lawful for them incontinently to speak and praise? But how great is his folly, whom the applauses of the ignorant dismiss with joyfulness out of the auditory? Why art thou glad, because thou art praised by those men, whom thou thyself canst not praise? Fabianus declaimed before the people, but he was heard with modesty. Sometime a great acclamation was raised of those that praised him; but such as the greatness of the things provoked, and not the sound of a discourse smoothed & fluent. There is some difference betwixt the applause of a Theatre, and of the Schools. There is some liberty also in praising. There are always some marks and signs of those things that are discovered. And a man may likewise gather an argument of another's manners, even in the slightest things. The gate, the carriage of the hand, and sometimes one only answer, or the finger dallying with the head, or the bent of the eye discovereth the impudency of a man. A man knoweth a wicked man by his laughter, and a mad man by his countenance and habit. For th●se things are outwardly showed by certain signs. Thou shalt know what every one is● if thou consider how he is praised. On every side the auditor applaudeth the Philosopher with his clapping, and all this troop that admireth him, sitteth above his head; now is not this man praised, if thou understandest it, but whooted at. Let these applauses be reserved to those arts that have a purpose to please the people, let Philosophy be adored. A man may give sometimes leave to young men to use this heat of spirit, but they will do this out of violence, when they cannot command themselves silence. This manner of praise serveth sometimes for some exhortation to the auditors, and animateth the minds of young men. But better were it they should be moved with matter, then with painted words. Otherwise eloquence would but endanger them, if it should rather procure a desire of itself then of matter. I will speak no more for the present: for it desireth a proper and long discourse and execution, to know how a matter is to be handled before the people, what is permitted him by them, what them by him. It is not to be doubted, but that Philosophy hath lost much after it is prostituted, but she may be showed in her most retired abode, if one day she find not a Merchant banckier, but some honest Prelate. EPIST. LIII. He describeth his Navigation and tossing on the Seas, by occasion that we are tossed in our lives, but that very few know and confess their own ●aults. Philosophy will teach and excite. Let us give ourselves unto it, she will make us equal with God. WHat cannot I be persuaded unto, who have been persuaded to sail? I set sail in a calm Sea, yet undoubtedly the sky was overcharged with dark clouds, which for the most part either are resolved into water, or into wind. But I thought that so few miles betwixt thy Parthenope to Puteoli might easily and quickly be cut over, although the sky were doubtful and dangerous. To the end therefore that I might more swiftly finish my journey, I put out forthwith to sea, and shaped my course for Nesida, without bearing by the creeks: when I had passed so far already, that I cared not whether I went forward or returned; first, that equality of heaven that persuaded me to sail, was overblown; as yet it was no tempest, yet begun the Sea to rise, and the surges to swell and beat one another. Than began I to require the Master to set me on some shore. But he told me, that the shores of the sea were dangerous, and unfit to land at, and that he feared nothing more in a tempest then to bear up for land, yet was I so tormented that I remembered not myself of any danger: for a certain languishing desire to vomit, that provoked but prevailed me nothing in emptying my stomach: it pained me infinitely, which stirred but voided not choler. I therefore importuned the Master so, that will he nill he, I compelled him to bear for the shore; whereto when we somewhat neered, I expect not to do any thing that Virgil commandeth, that the Prow of the Ship should be turned towards the Sea, or that the Anchor should be let slip into the Sea; but remembering myself of that I was accustomed to do, I cast myself into the water, covered in a Velvet mantle, as they are wont who wash themselves in cold water. What thinkest thou I suffered, whilst I strive to escape these perils, whilst I seek, whilst I make a way thorough these dangers? I know well, not without cause, that Mariners feared the land. They are incredible things that I suffered, considering that I could not support myself. Learn this of me, that the Sea was not so incensed at the birth of Ulysses, that it should 'cause shipwreck in all places. He vomited easily. For mine own part I had rather remain twenty yeare● upon my way, then pass by Sea to any place. As soon as I had recovered my stomach (for thou knowest well that in leaving the Sea a man loseth not his desire to vomit) and for my recreation had anointed my bodi●, I began to bethink myself, how great forgetfulness of our sins followed us, not only of vices, which because they are more great, keep themselves hidden, but also of the vices of the body, which at all times draw us into remembrance of them. A light alteration may well deceive some one man; but when it is augmented and groweth to be a burning fever, it causeth the most strong and endurate perforce to confess the same. Our feet grieve us, the joints feel some little shootings; we dissemble as yet, and say that it is some strain, or that we have freed ourselves too much in doing some exercise. We are much troubled what to call our infirmity, which is not as yet known, but when it beginneth to swell up our ankles, we are enforced to say it is the gout. It falleth out far otherwise in regard of those sicknesses which seize our souls. For the more that any, one is sick, the less sensible is he of the same. Thou must not wonder dear Lucilius hereat: for he that slumbereth slightly, and dreameth in some sort during his repose: sometimes in his sleeping thinketh that he sleepeth; but a profound sleep extingu●sheth dreams also, and drowneth the mind more deeply, then that it permitteth the same to make use of any her intellective faculties. Why doth no man confess his faults? Because he is as yet plunged in the same. It is the part of one that is a wake to show his dream, and it is a sign of amendss for a man to confess his faults. Let us awake therefore, to the end we may blame and correct our errors. But only Philosophy must quicken us, she only must shake o●f our heavy sleep. To her only dedicated thyself, thou art worthy of her & she worthy of thee, embrace and lusten on another, deny thyself constantly and openly to all other things. Thou canst not Philosophy without taking some pains: if thou wert sick thou wouldst give over the care of thy whole family, and neglect thy foreign business; there is no friend so dear unto thee, whose cause thou wouldst desire to plead. All thy care and cost should be to recover thy health speedily. What then, wilt thou not now do the like? Lay aside all impediments, and think on nothing, but how to make thy soul more perfect, no man cometh unto her that is occupied or distracted. Philosophy useth sovereign power as a King, she giveth time, and taketh it not: she is no secondary care, but will be served seriously; she is a Mistress; she is present and commandeth. Alexander to whom a City promised to give a part of their lands, and the half of all their goods: I am come, saith he, into Asia with this resolution, not to take that which you will give me, but that you should enjoy nothing else, but what I leave you. Philosophy useth the like authority in all things. I will not, saith she, accept that time that you have to come, or have reserved contrariwise: you shall have none, but which I will give you. Address thy whole mind unto her, be always near unto her, give her all the honour thou canst; there will be a great difference betwixt thee and others. Thou shalt far exceed all mortal men, and the gods shall but very little surpass thee. Wilt thou know what difference there is betwixt them and thee? They shall continued more long. But truly it is the honour of a good workman to finish his task speedily. A wiseman is as content with the space of his life, This accord●n● to ●he proud doctrine o● Sto●●ks● 〈…〉. as God is of all the time of his eternity. Some thing there is wherein a wiseman exceedeth God; God is not wise but by the goodness of his nature, and the wiseman is by his own. It is a marvelous thing to have the frailty of a man and the security of a God. Incredible is the force of Philosophy, to repel all the forces of fortune. There are some sorts of arms that can conquer her. She is covered with thick and massive armour, she wearieth some things that combat her, and like light darts, receiveth them with her open breast, some she shaketh off, and darteth them back on him that cast the same. EPIST. liv. That he was troubled with often sighing, and thereupon thought on death. That it is not to be feared, because that we shall be the same after death, that we were before. Let us be prepared. MY sickness, that had given me a long truce and intermission, suddenly invaded me. After what manner, sayest thou? Truly thou hast reason to ask me, for there is not any one sort, but that I have been sensible of it: yet am I, as it were, destituted to one sickness, which why I call by the Greek name I know not, for it may aptly enough be called a sickness. It continueth a very little time in his violence; which is like unto a gust, and passeth away almost in an hour. For who is he that continueth long time a dying? All the dangers and sicknesses that may travel a body, have passed by me, no one of them seemeth more troublesome unto me: and why? For in all other evils whatsoever, a man is but sick, but this is death itself. And therefore the Physicians call it the meditation of death. The shortness of breath will at length effect that, which it hath often endeavoured to do. Thinkest thou that I writ this unto thee with great joy, because I have escaped? If to this end that I took delight to be in health, I do as ridiculously as ●e, that thinketh himself dismissed of the suit, when he hath deferred his putting in bail to the action: yet in the very suffocation intermitted, I cease not to comfort myself with some pleasing & confident cogitations: What is this (say I?) Doth death come so often to assail me? Let him do it hardly. For mine own part, it is a long time I have proved it. When was it (sayest thou?) Before I was borne, it is a death not to be that it was be-before. I know already what thing it is, that shall be after my death, which was before my birth: if a man feel any torment therein, it must needs follow, that we had some sense thereof before we came into this world; but then felt I no vexation. I pray you, should he not be a great fool, that should think that a candle were more unhappy after it were extinguished, than before that it was light? So fareth it with us, we are lightened, & extinguished; betwixt both these times we suffer some things. But before and after is a certain and profound assurance of our evils. For in this, my Lucilius, we err, except I be deceived, in that we judge death to follow; where it goeth before, and is like to follow. Whatsoever was before us, is death? For what difference is there whether thou beginnest not, or whether thou endest; the effect of both these is not to be. With these and such like silent exhortations (for speak I might not) I ceased not to talk unto myself, at length by little and little, this sighing which began already to return to be a breathing, took more long pauses, and having more liberty, kept his accustomed tune and proportion. Neither as yet, although the fit be c●ased, hath my breath his natural course. I feel a certain touch and hanging on thereof. Let him do what he will, provided that I sigh not in my soul; assure thyself thus much of me, that when I shall found myself at the last gasp, I will not be astonished. I am already resolved, I care not when the day cometh. Praise and imitate him that is not aggrieved to die, when as he hath the greatest occasion to reap the pleasures of life. For what virtue is it to issue out, then, when thou art cast out? yet is there a virtue herein. True it is, that I am driven out, but so it is as if I issued voluntarily. And therefore a wise man is never driven out; for to be driven out, is to to be cast out of a place in spite of a man's teeth: but a wise man doth never any thing perforce, he flieth necessity, because he willeth that which she may constrain. EPIST. LV. Of the Manor-house of VATIA, and of VATIA himself. Than of good and evil Leisure. Likewise that friends may and aught to be present in mind. WHen I return hence from my carriage and exercise in my chair, I am for the most part no less weary, then if I had walked so long time, as I was sitting: for it is a labour to be long time carried, and I know not whether in that it be more great, because it is against Nature, which gave us fe●te, that we might walk by ourselves, eyes, that we might see by ourselves. Daintiness hath caused this infirmity in us, and that which we would not, long time we have desisted to be able to do: yet had I need to travel my body, and to do exercise, to the end, that if I had either choler stayed in my throat, I might discuss the same, or if my breath by any cause were grown short, I might extenuate the same by this agitation, which I have known to have done me much good: and therefore caused I myself to be carried more long time, for the pleasure that I took upon the shore, which shooteth out a certain abutment or bowing land, betwixt the town of Cumae and Seruitius Vatia his Lordship, enclosed as a straight passage between the sea, which is on the one side, and the lake which is on the other, because at that time it was more hard and more thick, by reason of the tempest which had reigned a little before. And as thou knowest when the billows of the raging ●louds cover the same very often, the sands become more full and unite, but a long calm time causeth them to relent, and divideth the sand which was hardened by the water, after the humour hath been wholly dried: yet according to my custom I began to look about me, if I could found any thing in that place that might breed me any profit, and I addressed my sight upon a country house which had in times past pertained to Vatia. There it was, where that rich man, who in times past had been Praetors and had never been known by any other means, but for retiring himself thither, spent his later years, and was for this cause reputed happy. For as often as Asinius Gallus friendship, as often as Sejanus hatred or favour had drowned some men, (for it was as dangerous to have offended him, as to have loved him) all men cried out, O Vatia, thou art the only man that knowest how to live; & yet he knew but how to hide himself, but not to live. Truly there is a great difference, whether thy life be idle or slothful. I never passed by this house of Vatia, but that I said Vatia is interred here. But Philosophy, my Lucilius, is a thing so sacred and venerable, that if there be any thing that resembleth it, it pleaseth in the delusion. For the common sort suppose, that a man that is retired from the City, to live in repose, is full of assurance and contentment: and that he liveth but to himself, all things, both the one and the other, cannot but befortune, and attend a wise man. True it is that the wise man careth not for any thing, and that he knoweth how to live unto himself. For (that which is the principal good) he knoweth how to live. For he that flieth both from men and affairs; he whom the misery of his ambitions hath banished out of the City, that cannot see any more happy than himself, that like a fearful and slothful creature, hath been hid for fears, he liveth not to himself, but that which is more loathsome & disliking, he liveth to his belly, his sleep and his lust. He liveth not to himself, that liveth to no man; yet constancy and perseverance in our first designs, is a thing so valued, that obstinate idleness retaineth and hath some authority also. Touching the building itself, I can speak or writ thee nothing certain, for I only know it outwardly, and by the show it maketh to all passengers. There are are two caves of marvelous workmanship, alike with spacious entrance, and builded by hand, the one whereof never admitteth the Sun, and the other is filled with his reflections until he set. There is a place planted with Planetrees, in the midst whereof there runneth a brook, that falleth afterwards into the sea, and into the lake of Acherusium, and it divided is as an Euripus, sufficient to nourish much fish, although a man take them daily: but it is spared when the sea affordeth good fishing time, and when as a tempest restraineth the fishermen: each one may catch and fish them easily. But the greatest commodity that is in this house, is that it hath behind the walls thereof, the Bayas, and that being exempt from all the incommodities thereof, it pertaketh all the pleasures and delights of the same. I myself on my knowledge can give it this commendation, that I believe it to be a place fit to be inhabited all the year long. For it is opposite against the west-wind, and intercepteth it so conveniently, that it hindereth it from blowing upon Bayas: not inconsiderately, as it seemeth, did Vatia make choice of this place, in which he might bestow his idle time, and old age; yet very little or nothing doth place profit to the tranquility of the spirit, it is the mind which commendeth all things, I have seen some live pensive and melancholy in their houses of pleasure: I have seen othersome live in solitary places, as if they had much business. Wherhfore thou art not to think, that therefore thou art little at thine ease, because thou art not in Campania: but why art thou not? sand thy thought hither: Thou mayest confer with thine absent friends, yea as often, and as long as thou wilt, than most of all envy we this pleasure (which is the greatest) when we are absent. For presence maketh us wantoness, and because that we confer together, that we walk together, and that at sometimes we sit together; so soon as we are departed one from another we remember them no more, whose presence we have lost of late. And for this cause aught we not to be grieved with the absence of our friends, for there is not one, that is not far absent from them, even in their very presence: if thou wilt first of all recount the nights, wherein thou art separated from them: the divers occupations that both one and the other have; the secret studies, the doings and come out of the City; and thou shalt see that the time, which long voyages make us lose, is not overgreat. A friend is to be possessed in mind: she seethe always him whom she will see. And therefore I pray thee study with me, sup with me, and walk with me: we should live in a miserable restraint, if any thing were hidden from our thoughts. I see thee, my Lucilius then with most content, when I hear thee. I am so truly with thee, that I am ' in doubt whether I should begin to writ, not Epistles, but books unto thee. EPIST. LVI. That a settled mind enjoyeth itself, and intendeth his studies, yea even amidst the press of men. This teacheth me by his example. That inward silence and peace is more to be wished for. Furthermore, that sloth is evil, and the mother of desires. LEt me die, if silence be as necessary, as it seemeth to him that is retired to his study. Behold what different cries sound about me on every side, I am lodged even over the baths. Represent unto thyself now all sorts of voices, that may draw the ears into hatred of them: when the stronger so●t do their exercises, when they spread their hands loaden with lead, when either they travel, or imitate him that laboureth, I hear their groan●s. As soon as they have given liberty to ●heir retained breath, I hear their wheezings and weighty breathe. When a man falls into the hands of an unmannerly sot, that taketh upon him to anoint men, and is content to serve them, as he would do any one of the inferior people, I hear the stroke of his hand that striketh them on the shoulders; which according as he layeth it on, either flat or hollow, changeth his sound. But if perchance he that casteth the balls, anointed with pitch to nourish the fire under the baynes, cometh in, and that he beginneth to reckon them, all is lost. Count him likewise that cleanseth the ordures, and the thief taken in the a●t, and he also that taketh pleasure to hear his voice ring in the bath. And likewise to this number those that with a full leap, and with a great shout, cast themselves into the bain. Moreover, put them in this rank, who at the lest, if they do no other thing, have their voices and words ful-mouthed; as him that draweth the hair from the armepit, that incessantly breatheth forth a small and trembling voice, to the end he may be the better noted amongst the rest, that never holdeth his peace, but at such time when he riddeth the armpits of hair, to some one whom he constraineth to cry for him. A man hears afterward an infinite cry of Cake-sellers, of Saudsige-mongers, and crackling Merchants, and all the Cook's scullions, who cell their meat, every one of them with their proper tune, to the end they may be the better marked. O how iron a brains is thine (sayest thou) O how deaf art thou, if thy spirit be not troubled, amidst such dim, and diversity of cries, since our Chrysippus fell down almost dead, to hear the good-morrows which men gave him in saluting him. For mine own part, I honestly swear unto thee, that I care as little for all these cries, as for the floods or fall of a river; although that I have heard say, that a people was constrained, for this only cause, to go and rebuild their city in another country, because they could not endure the fall which the noise of Nilus made. In my opinion, words distracted a man more than noises. For words distracted the mind, and noise doth no other thing but fill and beat the ear. Amongst those that make a noise, but distracted not my spirit, I place those coachmen and smiths that hire my shop, the lock-maker my neighbour, and he that dwelleth near to the Temple of peace, when he trieth his Trumpets and Hant-boyes, and who not only singeth, but exclaimeth. The noise likewise more troubleth me that is intermitted, then that which is continued. But I am now in such sort hardened to all this, that I can now hear a Captain of a Galley, when he teacheth his Galleyslaves with a stern voice, how to manage their oars. For I compel my mind to be intentive to itself, and not to be distracted by exterior things. Let whatsoever voice be made exteriorly, provided there be no debate in my soul, provided that desire and ●eare in me are not at odds, provided that avarice and prodigality have not any quarrel together, and that the one maketh not war against the other. For what availeth it us to have silence round about us; if the passions of the mind storm and be distempered. Night covered all composed to quiet rest. This is false, there is no peaceable sleep, but when as reason engendereth it. It is the night that representeth unto us all our troubles, in stead of drawing them from us, and doth nothing but change our cares. For the dreams of those that sleep are as troublesome unto them, as is the day. That is true tranquility, on which a good and holy soul may repose. Mark me him that seeketh for his sleep in a large and spacious house, and how to provide that no noise offend his ears: all the troup of his servants keep silence and are still, and how they that would approach his bed, lift up their feet, and set them softly on the ground. Truly he doth naught else but turn and toss this way and that way, he taketh but a slight rest, intermixed with discontents of the mind, he complaineth that he heareth that which he heareth not. What thinkest thou is the cause hereof? It is a tumult that is engendered in his soul, that it is, which he should appease, it is the sedition of the mind that should be extinguished, which thou must never suppose to have quiet rest, although thy bones be laid to rest. Repose sometimes as without repose. It shall be therefore requisite for us to awake ourselves by the managing of some affairs, and to occupy ourselves, in the search of good arts and sciences, when we perceive that the surge of idleness (which cannot endure itself) doth overwhelm us. The greatest Generals of armies, at such time as they perceive that their soldiers do grow disobedient, they make them march, to keep them in obedience, and 'cause them to undertake some sudden onslaught. They that have business, have no leisure to wax wanton. It is a thing most certain, that there is nothing that more confoundeth those vices, which are engendered by idleness, than travel and occupation doth. We seem very often to have retired ourselves out of the City, by reason of our distaste for the ever managing of public affairs, and for that we repent ourselves, that we have so long time remained in a place, where we receive nothing but miseries and displeasures. And yet notwithstanding, in that very cave, into which our fear and weariness hath cast us, our ambition reviveth and flourisheth. For it is not wholly lost, it is only wearied, it is only repulsed, seeing the affairs grew not answerable to his expectation. As much say I of prodigality and lavish expense, which seemeth sometimes to be retired, and cometh afterwards to solicit those anew, who have resolved with themselves to live soberly and wisely, and in the midst of their thrift she reassumeth those pleasures (which she had not wholly condemned, but only left for a time) with a force as much more violent, as she is covertly hidden. For those vices which appear outwardly are much less dangerous, and infirmities themselves begin to take remedy, when they appear in sight, and manifest their venom. Make account therefore, that avarice, ambition, and those other evil passions which travail our souls, are more pernicious, when we feign ourselves to be healed, and to have lost them. We seem to be idle, and we are not. For if it were true that we are, if we had sounded retreat to retire ourselves from vices, if we have contemned that which seemeth to be fair in outward appearance, as I have said a little before, there is nothing that can recall us, there is neither song of birds nor music of men that may cross our holy thoughts, when they shall already be firmed and assured. That wit is slight, and as yet scarce well retired into itself, that admireth at the bruit of every small accident. He hath some care hidden in his soul, and some fear that maketh him pensive; and as our Virgil saith, And me whom erst no darted weapons moved, Nor Graecian troops for courage once improved, Now every win●e that breathes or beats mine ear, Awakes my sleeps, and breeds my sudden fear, Starting I wake, and fear doth me surprise, For him I bear, and for my charge likewise. The first of these is wise, and is not daunted with the darts that are shot against him, neither with the threatening arms of a great squadron of the enemy, nor with the outcries of a City disturbed with sedition. But the other is an ignorant ●ot, he is afraid to loose his goods, he is affrighted at the first noise he heareth, he thinketh that a little voice is a great rumour, and the lest motion abateth his courage. The burden of his riches maketh him thus fearful: make choice of whom thou wilt, amongst all these rich men, that gather much, and bear great wealth with them, thou shalt see that he is always in fear, both for those that he beareth with him, as for those that follow him. Know therefore that then thou art well composed, when no fear can move thee, when no voice can make thee departed out of thyself, not at that time when it flattereth thee, nor then when it threateneth thee, neither then when with a vain rumour it shall make a noise in thine ear. What then? Is it not more commodious not to hear their slanders? I confess it. Therefore is it that I would retire myself from this place, but my intent was to make trial of, and to exercise my patience. What needeth it a man to suffer himself to be tormented a long time, if Ulysses have found so easy a remedy for his companions, against the Sirens themselves? EPIST. LVII. O● the Neapolitan Vault and the horror there. Than that our first motions are not in our power. Somewhat of the tenuity and celerity of the mind. WHen I would departed from Baias to return to Naples, I easily believed that we should have a tempest, because I would no more travail by sea: but there were so many slows all the way long, that a man might justly imagine that I had journeyed by water. I was enforced that day to suffer all the fatallitie of the wrestlers. For after we had been well wet, we were tormented all the day long with dust in the Vault of Naples. There is nothing more long than that prison, nothing more obscure than the entrance of that cave, which was the cause that we saw not through the darkness, but darkness themselves; nevertheless, although the place had light in it, yet the dust which is likewise as troublesome and displeasant in open air, would obscure the same. What thinkest thou then that it should be in this Vault, where after it is raised like a tempest, enclosed in one place where no air breatheth, it falleth down on those that have raised it. We have suffered two great and contrary commodities, in the same way, and the same day, we have been tormented with dirt and with dust. Yet this obscurity gave me some fit matter to think upon. I felt, as it were a great shake and fearless change in my mind, which the novelty of a thing so unaccustomed, and the loathsomeness of that place had caused. I speak not now with thee of myself, who am far short of a man entirely perfect, but yet of a tolerable taught man. I speak of him, over whom Fortune hath no power, for that other would change both colour and courage. For there are certain passions which a man cannot avoid, by any virtue. Nature admonisheth him that he is mortal. And therefore he will, frown at the first cause of sorrow; he will tremble for fear at a sudden accident, his sight will be troubled, if being carried to the height of a huge mountaie, he behold the huge and vast depth. This is not fear, it is a natural passion, which reason cannot conquer. Therefore is it, that some valiant men, and most ready to shed their own blood, that cannot endure to see another man's. Some that cannot behold a fresh wound, and othersome that swound, with only touching an old and mattery sore; and others that are afraid to see a naked sword drawn in jest, and yet fear not to be killed. I felt then, as I told thee, not an astonishment, but a change. Again, as soon as we came unto the light, a sudden joy surprised me, without thinking of that. Than began I to say in myself; how without cause we fear somethings more, somethings less, although the end of all of them be alike. For what difference makest thou, whether the ruin of a tower, or of a mountain, fall upon a sentinel? Thou shalt found none: notwithstanding there are some that will fear more the fall of the tower, although both of them be powerful enough to make them die: because fear apprehendeth more the effects, than the cause that engendereth them. Thou thinkest (it may be) that I will speak of the Stoics, who are of opinion, that the soul of a man, which is stifled and crushed under a great ruin, cannot issue, but that she disperseth herself incontinently, because she might not escape freely. But I do not; and they that say so are very much deceived, in my opinion. Even as a flame cannot be choked, because it flieth and retireth itself, with that which driveth it: as the air cannot be hurt with a stroke, nor be divided, or harmed by a whip, but spreadeth itself round about the body, to which it maketh place: So the soul, which is the subtilest and purest thing of the world, cannot be either retained or tormented within the body, but by the means of her subtlety, she glideth thorough all that which presseth her. And even as the lightning, after it hath beaten and hugely blasted an house, departeth thorough a very little hole: So that soul which is far more subtle than fire, passeth and penitrateth thorough all sorts of bodies. Therefore may we inquire thereof, whether it may be immortal. But hold this for a thing assured, that if it survive the body, that consequently it cannot perish by any means whatsoever, because it may not perish. For there is not any immortality, that is subject to exception or condition: and there is nothing also which may hurt that which is eternal. EPIST. LVIII. That certain late words are now out of use. He passeth to the Phisiques, and showeth how manifold Ens or Being is out of PLATO. He fitteth it to the Ethnic, and that nothing here is the same, or perpetual. Than what use can subtleties have, and that this it to be taken in every thing. He addeth of old age and death, and that neither is to be wished or refused. Never had I better knowledge of the poverty, or, to speak truly, the indigence which we have of words, than I have at this day. A thousand things happened when as casually we spoke of Plato, which wanted or had not their names, and some which had, and some that through our delicacy had lost that name which they had by antiquity. But who can allow of that disgust in so great poverty? That Ox-flie which the Grecians call Oestrum that stingeth and chafeth beasts, and scattereth them in the Forests, our Latins called Asilus. Thou mayest well believe Virgil: And those Ox-flies that in great troops do fly Near Alburne Mountain, or to Siler wood; The which in Room Asilus signify, And by the Greeks' for Oestrum understood, Stinging and buzzing, which make cattle stray Amidst the Forests scattered with dismay. I think that he understood that this word was wholly lost. And to the end that I delay thee no longer, there were some simple words in use, as when they said amongst themselves Cernere ferro inter se, that is to say, to determine their quarrels betwixt themselves by arms. The same Virgil shall prove this, And King LATINUS too amazed stands To see two men both borne in foreign lands, In several Angles of this mighty frame, Can thus assembled meet, and join their bands, To try their right by sword, and win the same. Which now we call decernere, which is as much to say as Decide. The use of this simple word is lost. Our ancestors said Si iusso, that is to say, Si iusser●, which signifieth, If I command. I will not that thou believe me. Herein Virgil is a faithful witness; Let all the other troops Which I command come after to the fight. I labour not now by this diligence, that I may show how much time I have lost after the Grammarians, but that thou mayest understand this, how many words a man readeth in Ennius and Attius, which at this day are rusty and outworn, since those of Virgil himself, who is daily over-looked and handled by us, are in some sort lost unto us. What meaneth this preparation, sayest thou? Whereto tendeth it? I will not conceal it from thee. My desire is (without offensing thine ear) to say Essensed; if not, I will nevertheless say it, although I should displease thee. I have Marcus Tullius Cicero, the Father of all Roman eloquence, and whom it is no shame to imitate, author and approver of this word; whose example and authority I think is sufficient. If thou art desirous to have one of our late Writers, that hath used this word, I have Fabianus, one of our own profession, a man of great learning and eloquence, of a style full of sharpness and elegancy, and of an extraordinary purity and neatness of tongue, which although it be excellent in his kind, yet sometimes disgusteth with too much affectation. What should I do my Lucilius? How should I call this Greek word 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, that is to say, Essence, or Existence, or Being, or Substance? A thing so necessary, containing in the understanding thereof, all the whole frame of that, which by all Philosophers both ancient and modern is called Nature, and which is the foundation of all things? I pray thee give me leave to use this word. Yet will I make use of the liberty thou hast given me to use this word, most sparingly; & will not use it but upon necessity, when no other word will so perfectly explicate the sense: and it may be that I will not use it all, but content myself with the privilege only. But whereto shall this facility of thine serve me, considering that I cannot in any sort express this word in Latin, which is the cause that I have so much exclaimed against our language? yet more wilt thou condemn the Roman penury and poverty, when thou shalt find there is a syllable which I cannot translate. Askest thou me what it is, 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, which is as much to say as That which is. Thou mayest suppose me to be gross witted, and imagine it a very easy matter to be done, and that a man may translate that after this manner, and say, Quod est, That which is. But there is a great difference between them. For I am constrained to use a Verb for a Noun; and if I must needs give one, I will say Quod est, That which is. A friend of mine, and a man of great knowledge told me this present day, that Plato gave six significations to this word: I will expound all of them unto thee, so soon as I have explicated unto thee, that there is a certain Genus and certain Species also: for first of all we aught to seek out this Gender, on which all the other Species and kinds do depend, from whom all the difference and divisions proceed, and under whom all is comprised. But this shall we find out if we begin to read all things backward: for by this mean we shall ascend and attain unto the ●irst. A man as Aristotle saith, is a kind, a horse is a kind, a dog is a kind. A common bond is therefore to be found out, which knitteth together all these things, and comprehendeth them all in himself; and what shall this be? A living creature. A living creature than hath begun to be the Gender to all those I named of late; of a man, of a horse, & of a dog. But there are certain things which have a soul, which are not living creatures: for it is a thing most certain that seeds and trees have souls; and therefore we say that they live and die. Living creatures than shall hold the highest place, because that all things which have life and sense are under this form, yea, seeds also. Some things want a soul, as stones. Some things therefore shall be more high and greater than such as are living creatures, that is to say a body. This will I divide after this manner, that I may say that all bodies are animated or inaminated: and notwithstanding all this, there is something more high than a body. For we say that there are somethings corporeate, and other incorporate: what then shall that be from whence these are deduced? That it is too much, we have heretofore assigned a name improper enough. That which is: for so will it be divided into Species, if we say, That which is, hath either a body or is incorporate. So here then is the first Gender & the highest, and if I should say so, the general; the rest, to speak truth are Genders, but they are Speciats, as a man is a Genus. For he containeth under him the kinds of Nations, Greeks', Romans, and Parthians; and of colours, as white, black, and red. There are also some particulars, as Plato, Cicero, Lucrece. For this cause when he containeth divers things under him, he taketh th● name of a Gender, and when he is contained under any other he is called a Species. But that Gender which is general hath nothing above itself: it is the beginning of all things. All whatsoever is, is under the same. The Stoics would place another Gender above this as more principal, whereof I will speak anon, so soon as first of all I have made manifest this, that the Gender whereof I have spoken, aught in right to be placed in the first rank, since in itself it comprehendeth all things. I divide That which is, into these kinds; that is to say, into corporeal and incorporeal: for there is no third. But how shall I make division of the body? I must say, that either they are animated, or inanimate. Again, how divide I things animated? I will say that some have understanding, other some have but a soul: or rather thus; some have motion, walk or pass, some others are tied to the earth, and are nourished and increase by their roots. Again, into what kinds should I distinguish living creatures? Either they are mortal, or immortal. Some Stoics suppose the primum Genus to be Quid; but why they so think I will hereafter set down: In nature, say they, there are some things which are and are not, and that nature comprehendeth those things which are not, and present themselves to our understanding, as are Centaurs, Giants, and all other such things; which being form by a false imagination, gins to have some Image, although they have no substance. Now return I to that which I promised thee, that is to say, how Plato hath divided all things that are in six sorts. That first, Which is, a man cannot comprehend either by light or touch, or by any other sense. That which is general is but in imagination. As a man in general is not seen by the eye, but a particular man is, as Cicero and Cato. A living creature is not seen, but is only comprehended in the understanding; yet are the kinds thereof s●ene, as a horse and a dog. Of things which are, Plato putteth for the second Gender, that which is called eminent, and surpasseth all other. He saith that this is in way of excellency. As a Poet is a common name, for all they that make Verses are so called. But now amongst the Greeks' this word signifieth but one, and when thou shalt hear them say Poet, thou must understand that it is Homer. What is it then that thou wouldst say? It is God who is the greatest and the most powerful of all other things. The third kind is of those things which are proper, and these are innumerable, but they are also placed out of our sight. Askest thou me what they are? They are Plato's, proper implements, and movables, he calleth them Ideas, of which all things which we behold are made, and to which all things are form. These are immortal, immutable, and inviolable. Hear I pray you what Idea is, and what Plato thinketh of it. It is a pattern, and eternal mould of all things, which are made by nature: yet will I add an interpretation to this definition, to the end the matter may more plainly appear unto thee, I have a will to make thy picture. Thou art the pattern of my picture, of which my mind gathereth some habit, which he will delineate in his work. So that face which teacheth and instructeth me, and from which I derive my imitation, is Idea. Nature then, the mother of all things, hath an infinity of these patterns, as of men, of fishes, of trees, on which is drawn and expressed all that which she aught to do. The fourth place is given to an Image. But it behoveth thee to be very careful in understanding what this Image is, and that thou lay the blame on Plato and not on me, as touching the difficulty of things. Yet is there nothing that is subtle, which is not accompanied with difficulty. Not long since I used the comparison of the Image which a Painter made. He when in colours he would paint Virgil to the life, beheld him. Virgil's face was the Idea, and the pattern of his intended work; but that which the Painter hath drawn from that visage, and that which he hath painted on his table is 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, that is to say, an Image. Askest thou me what difference there is? The one is the pattern, the other the figure, drawn from the pattern, and put upon the work: th● one is that which the Painter imitat●th, and the other is that which he maketh. A statue that representeth a man, hath some face that is 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, which is as much to say, as an Image. The pattern itself also hath some face, on which the workman in beholding it, hath form his. Image, and that is the Idea. Askest thou as yet another distinction? 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, that is to say, an Image is the work which is made, and the Idea is out of the work, and is not only out of the work, but it is before that the work was. The fift Gender is of those that are commonly, and they begin to appertain unto us. There it is where all things are both men, and beasts, and all other things. The sixth Gender is of those things that seem to be, as void and time, Plato numbereth not amongst these that which we see and touch, because they feet, and pass, and have no being, but in a continual diminution and adjection. There is no one of us that in his old age is that which he was when he was young. Not one man is the same in the morning which he was in the evening, before our bodies are ravished and rolled after the manner of Rivers. All that which thou ●eest runneth with the course of time, nothing is permanent whatsoever we see. I myself, whilst I say that these things are changed, am changed myself. This it is that Heraclitus saith, we never descend two times into the same river: the same name of the River remaineth, but the water is stolen by. This is more manifest in a river then in a man; yet doth a no less current carry us away. And therefore marvel I so much at our folly, that we can so hearty love the body, which is a thing so subject unto flight, and that we have fear to die some day, since every moment is a death of the first estate, wherein we were. Wilt thou fear that, that shall be once done, which is daily done? I have spoken of a man, which is a matter frail, perrishable, and subject to all accidents of fortune. But the world also, although it be eternal and invincible, yet is it subject to changes, and remaineth not in the same estate. For although as yet it hath all that which it ever had, yet hath it the same otherwise then it had it, and changeth his order. What sayest thou, shall this subtlety profit me? If thou ask, I will answer thee nothing. But even as the Graver, after he hath held his eyes so long time fixed on his work, that they are wearied, favoureth and recreateth them, or, as we are wont to say, reposeth them: so likewise aught we sometimes to recreate our spirit, and refect the same with some delights provided that these recreations be works. Amidst which, if thou take good heed, thou shalt find something that may be wholesome. This my Lucilius, am I wont to do. In all things wherein I employ myself, although they be far estranged from Philosophy, I endeavour to draw some profit whereof I may make use. But what profit can I take from this Discourse that I have now entertained, so estranged from reformation of manners? How can these Ideas of Plato make me better? What shall I draw from these that may restrain my desires? At leastwise I shall learn that Plato denieth, that nothing of that which serveth our sensuality, that heateth and provoketh us, is of the number of those things that are really. These things than are imaginary, and bear some appearance for a time: there is nothing in them that is firm and assured; and notwithstanding we desire them as if they should be always durrable, and continually permanent with us. We are wearied and feeble, and linger for a time in the way. Let us fix our minds on those things that are eternal: let us admire the forms of all things that fly on high, and how God conversing amongst them, and providing for all conserveth that against death which he could not make immortal because the matter hindered him, and how by reason he might surmount the vices of the body. For all things remain, not because they are eternal, but because they are defended by the care of him that governeth them. Immortal things need no conserver or tutor, the workman that made them, maintaineth them, surmounting by his virtue the frailty of the matter. Let us contemn all these things which are not so precious, that it is to be doubted whether they be at all. Let us think also by the same means, that if the divine providence freeth and keepeth this world (which is no less mortal than we are) from all perils and dangers, that we likewise may by our providence lengthen out a little time, and prolong life in this little body of ours, if we can bridle and moderate our pleasures, by means whereof the greater part of men are lost. Plato himself by a discreet government, of himself hath attained to old age. He had a strong and able body, and men gave him that name by reason of the broadnes of his breast; but his voyages by Sea, and those dangers he had passed, had very much diminished his forces: yet his sobriety and the moderation of those things which call on, and provoke voracity, and the diligent government of himself; the many others causes hindered him, continued to his old age. For thou knowest this as I think, that this befell Plato by reason of the benefit of his diligence, that he departed on his birthday, and finished the race of fourscore and one y●●res without any deduction. And therefore it was that certain Magis, who by fortune were in the City of Athens at that time, sacrificed unto him after his death, supposing that his nature was more excellent than that of other men's, because that he had justly attained the most perfect number of life, which nine times accomplish. I doubt not but that he was ready to remit some few days of this sum, and sacrifice. Frugality may lengthen old age, which in my opinion, as it is not to be desired, so is it not to be refused. It is a matter of great contentment for a man to be with himself as long as he may, and especially when he hath made himself worthy to enjoy the same. Nearly approacheth he the nature of a coward, that slothfully expecteth the last hour of his life: as he is beyond all measure addicted to wine, who after he hath drunk all the wine out of the tun, would swallow down the leeses likewise. Yet will we notwithstanding dispute further whether the last part of our age be the leeses of our life, or whether it be the most purest and liquidest part of our age, provident that the soul be not any ways enfeebled, and that the senses be as yet entire for the service of the same, and that the body be not destitute of his forces, and half dead before his time. For it availeth much whether a man prolong his life, or linger his death. But if the body be in such sort unprofitable, that it cannot any longer perform his functions; why should not a man draw his soul out of prison, that doth but languish? Peradventure it were the best to do it the soon that a man might, jest when it should be done thou canst not do it. And whereas there is a greater danger of living badly, then of dying quickly: he is a fool the which the price of the loss of a little time will not redeem the hazard of a great inconvenience. Few men hath long age brought to death without injury. And divers men have overpassed their life time idly, without doing any thing. But why shouldest thou esteem him more cruel to loose some part of life, which must likewise take an end? Be not displeased to understand that which I say, as if this sentence should be pronounced against thee; but judge thou of that which I say. I will not abandon mine old age, if she reserve me wholly unto myself. I say wholly in respect of that part which is the best. But if she have begun to trouble mine understanding, or to ruinated some part, or that she hath not left me my life, but my soul: I will departed out of this ruinous and rott●n house: I will not fly a sickness by the remedy of death, provided that it may be healed, and that it breed no damage to my soul: I will not kill myself to make an end of my pain; for it is as much as to be vanquished, to die after this manner: yet if I knew that I should endure the same, all the rest of my life, I would departed from it, not by reason of the grief, but for that it would hinder me from doing all things for which a man desireth to live. A man is a recreant, and of little courage, that dieth to escape from pain. He is a fool likewise that liveth to feel nothing but pain. But I am overlong, there is matter besides which cannot be expressed in a day. But how might he make an end of his life, that cannot make an end of his letter? Farewell then: for thou wilt read these later words more willingly, than the other discourses which entreat of nothing but death. EPIST. LIX. The difference betwixt voluptuousness and joy, and that this is an honest word. Than praiseth he LUCILIUS his style, and that a Philosopher likewise is not to neglect words: and that parables and similitudes are to be loved, yet that we are seriously, and not slightly to study Philosophy, neither must we please ourselves quickly, since flattery confoundeth us. I Have read thy Letter with great pleasure, permit me, I pray the●, to use these common words; neither revoke them to the Stoics signification. We believe that pleasure is a vice. Put case it be● yet are we wont to use this word to express an affection of joy in our soules● I know well, I tell thee, that pleasure (if we will that our words be aimed to our own purpose) is an infamous thing, and that joy cannot happen but to a wiseman. For joy is a certain lifting up of the mind, that trusteth to his proper goods and forces. Yet commonly we speak thus, and say that we have conceived a great joy of such a man's Consulate, or of some marriages, or of our wives bringing to bed, which are not so certain joys, but that oft-times they are the beginnings of future sadness. But true joy hath this benefit to accompany it, that it never hath end, neither is turned to his contrary. Therefore when our Virgil saith, And the evil joys of the mind, he speaketh elegantly, but yet not properly. For there is not any evil that bringeth joy. He hath given this name unto pleasures, and hath very well expressed that which he would say; for he meant and expressed those men that rejoice in their evil and misfortune: yet have not I without cause said that I took great pleasure in thy Epistle. For although an ignorant man rejoice upon a good occasion, yet so it is, that I call that affection which he cannot moderate, and that presently will cas● itself upon other divers subjects. I call it, I say pleasure, conceived by opinion of a feigned good, conducted without measure and discretion. But to return to my purpose, hear what delighted me in thy Epistle: Thou hast words at will, thy discourse transporteth thee not, & draweth thee not further than thou hast destinated. There are some that are drawn by the beauty of some word that best likes them, to writ more than they had purposed, but the same befalleth not thee. All is well ordered and well applied. Thou speakest as much as thou wilt, & signifiest more than thou speakest. This is a sign of some greater matter. Moreover, it appeareth that it hath no superfluity in it, & nothing proud: yet find I sometimes Metaphors, which as they are not overhardie, so are they not unprovided of beauty, and that have already made proof of their good grace. I find certain comparisons, whereof if there be any one that will interdict us the use, and permitteth them only to Poets, he seemeth to me that he hath not read any of the ancient authors: amongst whom as yet a plausible speech was not affected or expected. They that speak simply, and to make us only understand that they would speak, were full of Metaphors & similitudes, which in my opinion were necessary, not for the same cause the Poets had to use them, but to assist the feebleness of our spirit, and to represent most lively to the Disciple, and to the auditor that which they said. As behold when I read amongst other, Sextius a vehement and subtle man, Philosophying in Greek words and Roman manners, I took great pleasure to see the similitude and comparison which he used, that an army which feareth to be assailed by an enemy, martcheth in a square battle, to be more ready for the fight: The wiseman, saith he, should do the like; he aught to stretch out his virtues on all sides, to the end that if there be any danger that threateneth him, his supply may be in a readiness, and that without any disorder they may obey their governor; which we see to fall out in armies, which great Captains know how to arrange, where all the troops are so orderly disposed, that both the one and the other understand at the same time the commandment of their General, and the watchword is as soon heard amongst the battle of footmen, as the troops of horsemen. But Sextius saith, that this is more necessary for us, then for men of war. For they have oftentimes had fear of the enemy without cause, and the highway they feared to be most dangerous to them, was most assured. Folly hath nothing which is exempt from fear. She feareth as much from above, as from beneath; she is afraid both of the one quarter and of the other. There are dangers that come before her, and that follow after her. She is afraid of all things; she is never assured, but feareth her own succours and assistants. But a wiseman is armed, and advised against all fortunes and violences, although poverty, misery, ignominy and pain assault and charge him, he will never retire● he will march, without any fear against his mischiefs, and in the midst of them● divers things hold us bond, and restrain us, divers other take from us our forces, we have so long time lain soiled in these vices, that we can hardly be cleansed from them. For we are not only soiled, but also wholly poisoned. And to the end, that from one comparison we pass not to another. I will ask thee (which I have oftentimes considered in myself) why it is that folly doth so opimatively tie us unto her? First, because we repulse her not valiantly, and that we will not do our uttermost endeavour to seek help. Next, because we give not sufficient credit to those things which are found out by wise men; neither receive them with an open breast, and pass over, and that overlightly, a thing of great importance. But how can any man sufficiently learn what sufficeth against vices, who learneth but then, when he hath leisure to give over the liberty of his vices. There is none of us that diveth to the bottom, we have only gathered the top. It is overmuch to have been employed, and to have given a very little time to Philosophy. But that which most hindereth us, is that we overmuch please ourselves, with our s●lues: If we find any man that will call us good men, wise and holy men, we believe them. We are not satisfied with a moderate praise, whatsoever immoderate flattery hath heaped on us, we receive as due unto us, we consent unto those that say we are very wise and very good, although we know well that they are accustomed to lie. And so far flatter we ourselves, that we will be praised for things wholly contrary to that we do. Such a one there is that heareth, that even they whom he sendeth to execution, call him sweet and merciful, liberal in his thefts and robberies, sober and temperate in his drunkenness and lechery. Whence it cometh to pass, that we will not make any change in ourselves, because we judge ourselves to be honest men. Alexander, at such time as he overranne all India, and pillaged the same by war, as far as those nations that were scantly known to their neighbours, riding about the walls of a City, which he beheld besieged, to know on what side it was most easy to be assaulted, and finding himself wounded by the shot of an arrow, he remained a long time on horseback, and continued his enterprise. But after the blood was staunched, and that the pain of the wound which was already dried, began to increase, and that his leg which hung on his horse pommel, began to be astonished, he was constrained to retire himself, and to say, All the world sweareth that I am JUPITER'S son, but this wound of mine crieth out that I am a man: The like let us do, when as by force of flattery, every one of us are made fools. Let us say, You report that I am wise, but I see how many unprofitable things I desire, and how many hurtful I wish for. Neither understand I this which satiety teacheth brute-beasts, what measure should be allotted for meat, what for drink, as yet I know now how much I should take. Now will I teach thee how thou mayest understand, that as yet thou art not wise. He may be termed, and is wise, who is replenished with joy, glad and moderate, and that feeleth no passion, liveth equal with the gods. Now counsel thou thyself, if thou art never sad, if no hope solicit thy mind, in expectation of that which is to come, if day and night, thy spirit enjoy an squall and assured repose, if it be contented in itself, thou hast attained to the fullness of that felicity a man may desire. But if as yet thou huntest after all sorts of pleasures, both here and there, make account that thou art as far estranged from wisdom, as thou shalt be from joy and content. Thou hast a will to attain thereunto, but thou deceivest thyself, if thou thinkest that thou mayest achieve the same by the means of riches. Searchest thou thy joy amidst honours, that is to say, amongst cares? These things which thou thus desirest, and thinkest to be any tables to breed thee pleasure and content, are but occasions of sorrows. All these, I say, think to find joy and pleasure, but they know not the means to gain a great and perdurable contentment. One taketh that in his banquets and his foolish expenses: another in his ambition and great troup of vassals, that follow and flock about him on every side, and others by the favours of his friends, another by vain ostentation of the study of liberal Arts and Sciences, and letters which heal nothing. All these are besotted with a flattering pleasure, which continueth not long as drunkenness, which yieldeth some foolish joy for an honour, and seethe itself afterwards followed with a tedious repentance. Or as the honour of an applause, and favourable acclamation of the people, which hath been gotten and ended with much pain. Thou must then think this, that the effect of wisdom is the equality of joy. The mind of a wise man is such, as is the state of the world above the Moon, there is the air always peaceable and fair. See here wherefore thou oughtest desire to be wise, for the wise man i● never without joy. This contentment groweth not, but from the conscience of virtues. No man can rejoice, but he that is constant, just, and temperate. What then (sayest thou) do fools and wicked men never rejoice? Not, no more than Lions do, that have found their prey. When they are wearied and glutted with wine, and all other pleasures, when as the night which they wholly overpass in drinking is as yet but very short unto them, when in a little body a man hath included greater pleasures than it may contain, & that he beginneth to give over, & cast them out, than wretches as they are, begin they to exclaim and cry out this verse of Virgil. For how we lewdly spent this later night In feigned pleasures thou well understandest. They which are addicted to foolish expense and superfluity, pass all the night long in foolish pleasures, as if it should be their last. But that pleasure and joy that followeth the gods, and those that live as they do, is never intermixed or brought to end: it should cease, if it proceeded and were borrowed from an other. But because it cometh not by the means of another, it dependeth not also on the power and authority of another. Fortune cannot take that away which she hath not given. EPIST. LX. That the vows of the common sort are to be despised, and Nature is to be heard. I Complain, I wrangle, and am wrathful. As yet deniest thou that which thy Nurse, thy Tutor, or mother have wished thee. Thou knowest not as yet how many evils they have wished thee. O how harmful are the wishes of our friends unto us! Yea even then most hurtful, when they fall out most happily. I do not now marvel if all the mischiefs of the world befall us, from our first infancy. We are grown amidst the execrations of our parents. Let the gods at any time hear our vows, without ask them any thing. How long shall it be, that we will always crave some good at the hands of the gods, as if we had not wherewith to nourish ourselves? how long shall we fill the fields with corn, that might suffice to satisfy great Cities: how long time shall it be that a whole Province or Nation shall be employed in reaping our corn? How long time shall it be, that a great number of ships shall be employed, to carry from divers seas the corn that should serve but one man's table? The Bull is fattened in the pasture of a few acres. One only Forest sufficeth many Elephants. A man feedeth both of the land and sea. What then? Hath Nature given us so unsatiable a belly, in regard of that little body she hath given us, that it should surpass the voracity and hunger of the hugest and most ravenous beasts in this world? No truly. For how little is it that we own unto Nature? A man may content himself with a little. It is not the hunger of our bellies that costeth us so dear, it is our glory and ambition. And for this cause (as Sallust saith) they which follow the pleasures of their belly, aught to be reckoned and ranked amidst the number of beasts, and not of men; and some of them beside, not amongst the number of beasts, but of the dead. H● liveth that useth himself, but they that lie hid in sluggishness, so live in their houses as in a sepulchre. Although in their porches thou register their names in marble: yet they are buried before they are dead. EPIST. LXI. Let us study to be amended and changed. Let us think on death, as if always imminent, and addressed to lay hold on us. LEt us desist to will that which we would, for mine own● part, as old as I am, I endeavour myself not to will that which I would, when I was a child. In this one thing employ I all my days and nights, this is my only labour, this my care, to be able to bring mine old evils to an end. I endeavour that one day may be to me as much as my whole life. And to speak truth, I take it not us yet as if it were the last, but I regard it, as if it might be last of all my days that I am to live. I writ unto thee this letter with such an apprehension, as if death should call me, whilst I am writing of it. I am addressed and ready to departed; and therefore by security enjoy I life, because I am not much troubled how long it shall last. Before●age I took care that I might live in mine old years, that I might die well; and to die well● is to die willingly. Labour with thyself that thou do nothing unwillingly, whatsoever is necessary will come to pass, necessity is but to him that refuseth, and not to him that willeth. There is no necessity for him that hath a william. I aver it, that he who willingly submitteth himself to another man's command, hath fled the most unseasonable and cruelest part of servitude, that is to say, to do that which he would not do. Not he that upon any command doth any thing, is a miserable man, but he that doth it against his william. In such sort therefore let us compose our minds, that we will that which necessity requireth to be done: and above all things let us think upon our end, without any show of heaviness. We must sooner prepare ourselves to death, then to life. Life hath but overmuch to entertain the same, but we are they that long after these instruments, that entertain the same. We think, and so shall we always suppose, that we want somewhat; neither years nor days shall bring to pass that we have lived sufficiently, but the mind. I have lived, my dearest Lucilius, as much as sufficeth, I expect death, as one glutted with life. EPIST. LXII. That neither men or affairs are hindrances to a good mind. The praise of DEMETRIUS. THey that would make men believe, that the multitude of affairs is a hindrance unto them, in the pursuit and search of liberal studies, do naught else but lie. They pretend and feign occupations, they augment them, and busy themselves. I am discharged of affairs, my Lucilius, I am discharged, and wheresoever I am, I am wholly to myself. For I subject not, but accommodate my sel●e to affairs. I run not after the occasions which might make me loose time, and in what place soever I bide, there is it that I entertain my thoughts, and ruminate some profitable matter in my mind. If I give myself unto my friends, for all that, forsake I not myself. I stay not also long time with them, whose company I have entertained for a time, and for some cause that in duty commanded me. But I am with virtuous men. I sand my thoughts and mind unto them, in what places, and what times soever they have been. I lead always with me, my Demetrius, the best of men, and leaving a part these purpurated fellows. I talk with this man half naked, and admire him. But how should I choose but admire him? He wanteth nothing. A man may contemns all things, and no man can have all things. The shortest way to riches is by contempt of riches. But our Demetrius liveth in such sort, that he seemeth not to have contemned all things, but only to have permitted that others should enjoy them. EPIST. LXIII. A consolatory Epistle upon the death of a friend, both wise and excellent. THou art very impatient, because thy friend Flaccus is deceased, yet will I not that thou subject thyself to disordinate sorrow. I dare not exact this at thy hands, that thou shouldest not grieve, yet know I this, that it is the better. But to whom is it, that so firm a constancy of mind may happen, but to him alone, who hath trodden fortune under his feet. Yet him also would this thing trouble and prick, yet would it but only prick. For ourselves we may be pardoned, if we will, in tears, provided that they be not over-lavish, and that we ourselves have repressed them. In the loss of a friend, neither let our eyes be dry, nor overflowing; we must shed tears, but not weep outright. Supposest thou that I subject thee to a rigorous law? When as the greatest Poet amongst the Greeks' gave leave and limit to tears for one day only, when he said that Niobe also bethought her of her meat. Wilt thou know from whence these plaints and immeasurable tears proceed? By tears we seek the testimony that we bewail them, and we follow not grief, but we show it. No man is sad to himself. O unhappy folly, there is also some ambition of grief. What then, sayest thou, shall I forget my friend? Undoubtedly thou promisest him a very short remembrance, if it must continued no longer than thy grief. The lest occasion of fortune, will suddenly change the wrinkles of thy brow into smiles. I grant thee not a more long time, the length whereof notwithstanding might calm and alloy the greatest sorrows of this world, and make an end of the most bitter griefs. As soon as thou shalt cease to flatter and nourish thy grief, this opinion of sadness will forsake thee; now keepest thou, and entertainest thy sorrow, but how charily soever thou keep it, it will escape from thee, and the sooner, the more sharper it is. Above all things, let us labour that the remembrance of our friends which we lose, be agreeable and pleasing unto us. No man taketh pleasure to remember such a subject, whereon he cannot think without torment, notwithstanding if it cannot otherwise be, that the name of our friends, whom we have lost, may be reduced to our memory, without some touch and attaint of sorrow, that very touch itself hath some pleasure in it. For as our Attalus was wont to say; The memory of our deceased friends is pleasing unto us, not otherwise then the sourness of old wine, or as apples eager-sweet are tasteful unto us. But after a little time is overpast, all that which tormented us is extinguished, and then a pure and true pleasure is conceived in our minds, if we will give credit unto him, to think th●t our friends are in health, is to eat honey and cakes. But the memory of those that are deceased can yield no joy, but that which is intermixed with some little bitterness. But who is he that would deny that these sharp things, and such as have in them some acrimony, are not hurtful and displeasing to the stomach? Yet am not I for all this, of that opinion. The remembrance of my friends that are deceased, is agreeable and pleasing unto me. For I had them, as if I were to loose them, and I have lost them, as if I had them. Do therefore, my Lucilius, that which thy deiscretion requireth. Forbear to give an evil interpretation of the benefits of Fortune, she took away, but she had given. Let us then enjoy our friends with a greedy desire, because we know not whether they shall continued with us a long time or Noah. Let us think that we have oftentimes left them, when as we had made some long voyages, and how oftentimes abiding with them in the same place, we have not seen them; and we shall found that we have lost more time when they were alive. But may a man endure those that make no reckoning and account of their friends when they have them, but bewail them afterwards most miserably, and never love any, but even then when they have lost him? And therefore do they then more abundantly weep, because they are afraid, left it should grow in doubt whether they loved them or no. Thus seek they to take testimonies of their amity. If we have other friends, we do them injury, and conceive an evil opinion of them, to think that they cannot comfort us as much, as one only whom we have lost. And if we have not any, we ourselves do ourselves greater wrong, than we have received at Fortune's hands. She hath only taken one from us, and we have not made any. Again, he scarcely loved any one, which could not love more than one. If a man that were rob, and had lost the only one coat that he had, had rather bewail his misfortune, then bethink him by what means he might escape the cold, and find something to cover his shoulders, wouldst thou not esteene him for a great fool? Thou hast buried him thou lovedst, seek now another whom thou mayest love. It is better to get a new friend, then to bewail an old. I know well that the thing which I pretended now to speak is very vulgar, and known unto every man: yet will I not pretermit it, though all the world hath used it. He that by reason and counsel, could not find an end of his sorrow, met with it in time, but it is most contemptible for a wiseman to find no remedy for his sorrow, but by wearying himself with the same. I had rather thou shouldest relinquish thy sorrow, then that thou shouldest be left by it. Desist from doing that as soon as thou canst; which although thou wouldst thou canst not long do. Our ancestors limited the term of a year for women to mourn in, not that they should mourn so long; but that they might not mourn longer. To men they prefixed no distinct time, because no time is honest; yet which of these women wilt thou name me, which could scarcely be drawn from the pile where their husband was burned, or dragged from his dead carcase, whose moans continued for a whole month? Nothing groweth more soon into hatred then grief; which being new, findeth a comforter, and draweth some unto him to solace him, but being inveterate is derided; and not without cause, for either it is feigned, or it is foolish; yet do I writ this unto thee, even I, who have immeasurably bewailed Annaeus Serenus my dear friend, that (which I writ with hearts-grief) I might be numbered amongst the examples of those, whom sorrow hath overcome. But at this present time I condemn mine own action, and thoroughly perceive that the greatest cause of my so mourning, was, because I never thought that I might have died before him. I thought only that he was younger, and far more young than I, as if the destinies called us by order of our birth. Let us therefore continually meditate, as well on our own mortality, as theirs whom we love. Than should I have said: my Serenus is younger, what is this to the purpose? he must die after me, but he might also before me: and having not thought hereupon, fortune surprising me on the sudden, struck me thus. Now know I that all things are mortal, and that they are mortal, under an uncertain law. That may be done to day, what ever may be done. Let us think therefore dear Lucilius, that we shall quickly come thither where he is lodged, whom we so lament for. And happily (if the opinion of wisemen savour of truth, and any place receive us, he whom we suppose to have perished is but sent before us. EPIST. LXIIII The praise of QVINTUS SEXTIUS, and then of wisdom itself. That the true authors thereof are venerable, and that notwithstanding we may add thereunto. THou wert yesterday with us. It may be demanded whether yesterday only, and therefore I added, with vs● for thou art always with me. Certain friends came suddenly to me, upon whose arrival the Chimney smoked more than it was accustomed; not that this smoke was of that kind, as that which was wont to fume from the Kitchens of those that entertain feasts, or to terrify those that watch by night; but a little smoke that signified that some guests were come to me. We had divers and different discourses, as it happeneth to those that sit at banquet, reducing nothing to a resolution; but passing from one thing to another. Afterwards the book of Quintus Sextius the father (a man of much knowledge if thou wilt believe, and a Stoic, although some would deny it) was read unto us. O good God, how is this man replenished with constancy and courage: Thou shalt not found the like amongst all the Philosophers. Some men's writings have only a goodly title, the rest of them are without life, they make institutions, they dispute, and cavil, they add no courage, because they have none. When thou hast read Sextius, thou wilt say he liveth, he is full of vigour, he is free, he is more than a man. He leaveth me always replenished with great assurance. Howsoever my mind be disposed● if I read him (I will confess unto thee) I am addressed to provoke all casualties, and freely to exclaim. Why ceasest thou Fortune? Come and encounter me, thou shalt and dost see me in a readiness. I cloth myself in his courage which serveth for a subject, against which he may approve, and where he may expres●e his virtue. He wisheth freely that he might behold A foaming Boar amidst his idle fold, Or some stern Lion from the hills descend, With golden crest his cattle to offend. I desi●e to have somewhat that I may overcome. I will suffer to exercise my patience● for Sextius likewise hath this admirable quality in him, that he will sh●w thee the excellency of a happy life, and will not put thee out of hope to ob●●ine the same. Thou shalt know that she is lodged in a place very high, notwithstanding a man that hath will, may mount thereunto. Amongst all o●her things, only virtue may give thee the same, that thou mayst admire thereat, without losing thy hope to attain the same. Truly the only contemplation of wisdom, very oftentimes robbeth me of very much time. I behold the same with no less astonishment, than I do the heavens and the world, on which I oftentimes cast mine eyes, as if I had never seen the same: therefore is it that I reverence and honour the intentions of wisdom, and the inverters also: It delighteth me to go and take possession thereof, as of an heritage common unto many. These things are gotten, these things are laboured for me. But let us pl●y the part of a good ●ather of a family: let us increase that inheritage which was left us, ●nd let this possession descend to my posterity, in more ample manner than I received it from mine ancestors. Much there is that as yet remaineth to be done, and much more shall remain: for after the revolution of a thousand ages, the occasion shall never be left to them that are borne hereafter, to add somewhat. And although antiquity hath invented all things, yet the use, the science, and disposition thereof, which hath been invented, shall always remain new. Put case we had some medicines left unto us for the healing of eyes, I need not seek for other; yet are these to be fitted both to the diseases, and to the times: by one of them the heat of the eyes is extinguished, by another the thickness of the eyelids is attenuated; by one a sudden flux of humour and rhum● is diverted, by another the sight is quickened. It behoveth thee to grind these remedies, and alloy them well, to make choice of the time, and that thou observe a measure in every one of them. The remedies of the mind were invented by our ancients, but it behoveth us to seek, how and when they should be applied. They that lived before us have done much, but they have not finished the same. Yet must we honour them, and reverence them as Gods. But why should I not have the Images of these virtuous and great men in my house, to kindle & quicken up my spirit? And why should I not celebrated their birthdays? Why should I not name them always for honour's sake? That veneration that I own to my Masters, the same own I to these Masters of mankind● from whom the beginnings of so many benefits are flown. If I see either a Consul or a Praetor, I will do all that which is usually done in yielding them honour & reverence, I will light off my horse, I will put off my hat, and give him the way: why then can I remember both the Cato's, wise Laelius, Socrates, Plato, Zeno and Cleanthes, without some great acknowledgement of honour? Truly I reverence them, and hearing the greatness of these names, I always arise to yield them honour. EPIST. LXV. He entreateth of the search of natural things, Of cause and matter, and teacheth how much they are profitable, if they be moderately handled, and to a good end, that is of life: by these lifteth he up his mind to God and honesty. I Divided yesterday into two parts; the one was for myself, the other for my sickness, which usurped all the forenoon to itself, and left the afternoon for me: for which cause I first of all assayed the forces of my spirit in reading some book. But I saw that he took pleasure herein● I grew bold to command him far more, yea, I permitted him. I wrote therefore something with a greater care than I was accustomed, whilst I contend with a difficult matter, and will not be overcome, until such time as some of my friends came in unto me, who withdrew me perforce, and reprehended me for a man intemperate in the time of my sickness. In stead of writings some discourse was set abroach, whereof I will relate unto thee that part which is in question, wherein thou art made Vmpeire. Thou hast more business in hand then thou thoughtest of. Certain it is, that there are three causes, & the Stoics, as thou knowest, say, that there are two things in nature, whereof all other things are made, The Cause and the Matter: the matter remaineth idle; yet prepared to all things, which will not stir, except it be moved. But the Cause, ●hat is to say the reason, formeth the matter, and turneth it which way soever he list, and produceth out of it divers works. There must be then some thing, whereof a thing may be made, and after that a means by which it is made. This is the Cause, that the Matter. All arts are the imitation of Nature; and therefore all that which I have said of the world, may be transferred to these, which are to be made by man. A statue had a matter that should receive the workmanship, and an artisan that should give form unto th● matter. Therefore in the statue the matter was brass, and the cause the workman: all other things are of the same and alike condition. They take their Essence from that whereof they are made, and of him which maketh them. The Stoics say that there is but only one cause, namely that which maketh. But Aristotle saith, that the cause may be said after three manners. The first cause, saith he, is the matter itself, without which nothing may be made: the second is the workman: the third is the form, that is annexed to any work whatsoeever as upon a statue: for Aristotle calleth it 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, that is to say, an Image. There is yet another (saith he) which is annexed for the fourth, which is the design and intention of the whole worke● I will tell thee more plainly what it is: The Brass is the first cause of the statue; for it had never been made, if that whereof it was founded and drawn had not been. The second cause is the workman: for this Brass could not have fashioned itself into the form of a statue, if some skilful artist had not been employed therein. The third cause is the form; for neither should this statue be called Doriphoras or Diadumenus, except this form had been expressed in the same. The other fourth cause is, the purpose and intention wherefore it was made; for without it● it had not been made. And what is this intention? It is the same that invited the workmaster, that it is which he followed: it is then either silver, if he made i● to sell● or glory, if he made it for reputation; or his devotion and pity, if he would give it for a present to a Temple. This fourth cause than is that for which it is made. Thinkest thou that amongst the causes of a wo●k which hath been made, that we aught not to count that without which it could not be made? To these doth Plato annex a ●i●t, which he calleth Idea● for this is the example or pattern, on which the workman casting his eyes, doth that which he had destinated and determined to do; and it skilleth not whether he have his pattern abroad whereunto he referreth his eye, or within, in his fancy which he hath conceived and placed in himself. God hath the patterns and examples of all things in himself. He hath conceived in his understanding the members and fashions of all that which should be made by him: he is full of all those forms and figures, which Plato calleth Ideas ● which are immortal, immutable, and indefatigable. So that although men die, yet humanity upon which man is made, remaineth: and although men become sick, and do die, yet that suffereth nothing. There are then five causes according to Plato; That whereof, that by which, that whereby, that whereto, and that wherefore. In the last place● in the work which is made of these things, as in a statue (because of it w● have begun to speak) that whereof is the brass, that by which is the workman, that whereby is the form that is given unto it, that whereto is th● pattern which the workman imitateth, that wherefore is the design and intention of him that made it, and that which is composed of all these is the statue. All these things the world hath also, as Plato saith. The workman is God, that which is made is the matter, and the form is the fashion, and the order which we see in this world● the pattern and example is that whereon God hath form the greatness of this fair work; the intention is the design for which he made it. Askest thou me what Gods intention was? His goodness. Truly Plato saith so. What cause had God to make the world? He is good● he hath made good things. He that is good envieth not any thing which is good: and therefore he hath m●de the best that he could. Give now thy judgement hereupon, and pronounce who he is, that in thy opinion hath most nearly aimed at the truth, not who hath said the truth, for that is far beyond our apprehension, as the truth itself. But this great multitude of causes, set down by Aristotle and Plato, either comprehend over much or too little. For if they think that the cause to make a thing, be all that without which nothing may be made, they have set down too few causes; they should nominate time, for nothing can be done without time; they should set down place, for if there be not a place where a thing should be done, it cannot be made. They should put down motion● without which nothing is made, nothing perisheth: moreover, there is not any art or change without motion. But here seek we the first and general cause. This should be wholly simple, because the matter is simple. We ask what this cause is? It is the reason that maketh, that is to say God. And by this reason that I told you, there are not divers and particular causes; but they depend wholly upon one, that is on that which maketh. Thou sayest that form likewise is one of the causes, and that it is it which the workman putteth upon his work: it is a part but not a cause. The pattern also or example is not a cause, it is a necessary instrument of the cause, so is the pattern necessary to the workman, as the polishing iron, or the file, for without them art can profit nothing: yet are they not parties, or causers of the art. The intention of the workman (saith he) for which he undertaketh to make any thing is a cause; yet though it were a cause it should not be efficient but accessary. Now these causes are innumerable, but we dispute of a general cause: undoubtedly they have not spoken with their accustomed subtlety, when they have said that this whole world and this work so well finished, was the cause: for there is a great difference betwixt the work and the cause of the work. Pronounce then thy sentence, or say (as it is more ●asie in matters that are doubtful) that this question is not yet in state to 〈◊〉 judged, and so dismiss us. Thou wilt say unto me, what pleasure dost thou conceive in lo●ing thy time after these things, which cannot disburden thee of any passion, not master any covetousness? For mine own part, first of all I discourse of that which may settle my mind in repose, and I rather inquire a●ter myself then the world or this Universe Doing this I lose not my time as thou thinkest. For all these discourses, if they be not cut off, if they be not drawn to unprofitable subtleties, do animate and raise the mind, which feeling itself pressed with a heavy burden, desireth naught else but to deliver herself, and to return to those places where she hath been. For this body is but a burden and prison of the soul. She is wearied with the burden, she is in bondage, if Philosophy come not to secure her. But she hath commanded her to breath in the contemplation of nature, and hath permitted her to forsake the earth, and annex herself to divine things. This is the liberty she hath, this is her refectory; mean while she issueth out of prison where she is detained, and goes to recreate herself in heaven. Even as workmen, who have long time held their eyes fixed upon any subtle work, and wearied them thereupon, especially if they labour in some obscure place, and with little light, go out into the open air, and seek out some public place, where the people are accustomed to disport themselves, & recreate their sight in the clear light of the day● so the mind, imprisoned in this dark and obscure receptacle, as often as it may, seeks liberty, & reposeth itself in the contemplation of the works of nature. A wiseman, & he that followeth wisdom, is in some sort tied to his body, but is absent from the same in his best part, and addresseth his best thoughts to high and sublime matters, and as if he had taken the oath of a soldier, he maketh account, that the time that his life lasteth is his pay or wages: and in such sort is he reform and resolved, that he beareth neither love nor hatred to his life, and patiently suffereth all transitory things, although he know that a greater good remaineth hereafter. Wouldst thou interdict me the contemplation of all things in nature, and retiring me wholly, restrain me to one only thing? Shall I not search what the beginnings of all things are? Who it is that form them? Who it was that distinguished all that which was confuse, and mixed in a mass in a matter idle and immovable? Shall I not seek who it was that made this world? By what wisdom this incredible greatness of the Universe hath received his laws and his order? Who it is that hath gathered together so many things that were scattered? Who hath separated those that were confused? Who hath divided the beauty amongst those things which were hidden under an abject deformity? Whence cometh this so great light? Is it fire, or any thing more resplendent than fire? Should I not inquire after these things? Shall I not know whence I descended? or whether I shall see them but once or divers times? Shall I not know whither I must return, and what place attendeth my soul, after it shall be delivered from this human servitude? Wilt thou hinder me from mounting to heaven, that is to say, Wilt thou command me to live abjectly? I am more great, and borne for greater things, then to be a slave to my body, over which I never fix mine eyes, but as on the chains that hold me prisoner, and restrain me from my liberty. It is my body which I expose to Fortune, to withstand her assaults: I permit not any wound to pass thereon, that may afflict my soul. All that which may subject itself, or suffer injury in me, is but this prison of mine, abject and slavish; the soul that remaineth therein is free. Never can this flesh of mine make me partake any fear, nor use any cowardice, undervaluing a good man, nor to lie to do honour to this miserable body. When it pleaseth me, I will break the company I have with him. And now although we are united together, we will not be companions upon equal terms. The soul will say that all appertaineth to her. The contempt of her body is her true liberty. But to return to my purpose. Truly the contemplation of that we spoke of late, may serve very much to this liberty. That is to say, that all things are composed of matter and of God. God governeth all these things, which being spread round about him, follow their Governor and their Chief. And God, who is he that maketh, is more powerful than the matter which suffereth the form that God will give unto it. The same place that God obtaineth in the world, the same hath the soul in the body. That which the matter is to God, the same is the body to us. The Inferior therefore aught to enjoy the Superior. Let us be firm and constant against Fortune, and let us not fear or tremble at injuries, wounds, imprisonment or poverty. What is death? Either it is the end, or a passage: neither fear I to cease to be, for it is the same, as if I had never been, nor to pass, because in no place shall I be lodged more straightly. EPIST. LXVI. That CLARANUS is old, but lively, and that in body he was deformed, but in mind honest. He careth not for the house wherein he dwelleth. The defence of goods among the Stoics, and that all things are equal. What then? Are joy and patience the same? They are so in regard of virtue, not of matter. And that external things also give not any augmentation of good. These things handleth he copiously, distinctly and excellently. O let us read it, and apply the same. I Have seen Claranus my companion in study, whom of long time before I had not seen. Thou expectest not, in my opinion, that I should tell thee he is old, but at lest as yet hath he his spirits lively and vigorous, and such as strive with his little body. To speak the truth, Nature hath done amiss, to lodge so fair a mind in so foul an hostrie. Or else, it may be, she had an intent to teach us, that the strongest and blessedest mind might hide itself under any skin, whatsoever Yet hath he overcome all impediments, and through the contempt of himself hath he attained ●o far, as to contemn all other things. In my opinion, he deceived himself, that said, Virtue is far more gracious, getting place Under the convert of a comely face. For she hath no need of any foreign ornament, she deriveth her dignity from herself, and maketh the body which she possesseth, holy and sacred. Truly I began to behold my friend Claranus very nearly, and in my judgement he seemeth very fair, and as well learned in body, as confirmed in mind. A great man may issue from a sheepcoat, and a virtuous and fair soul may be closed in a deformed and base body. And Nature, in my opinion, expressly causeth some to be borne after this manner, to make us see, that virtue may be lodged in all places, if possibly she could have brought forth naked souls, she would have done it. But now doth she far more disproportioned in nature, notwithstanding overcome these impediments. Claranus, as I suppose, was made to serve for a pattern, and to let us see, that the soul cannot be defiled by the deformity of the body, and that the body may receive ornament by the beauty of the soul. But although we have remained very few day●s together, yet notwithstanding divers discourses passed between us, which I will orderly digest, and afterwards sand unto thee. The first day the question was, how goods should be equal, since there was a threefold condition of them. Some of these goods, as our Philosophers say, are placed in the first rank, namely, joy, peace, and felicity of the Country. The other are in the second, which never make themselves known, but in a miserable subject, as patience in the midst of torments, and temperance in a great sickness. We desire that the first should befall us every day, and the second when need requireth. There is also a third sort, as to walk modestly and gravely, to carry a modest countenance, and use the gestures and behaviours of a wise man. How is it then, that these goods may be equal among themselves, since we are to desire the one, and departed from the other? If we will distinguish, let us return to the first, and consider what it is. A soul that fixeth his eyes upon the truth, that knoweth that which she aught to eschew or desire, that prizeth all things, not by opinion, but by the laws of Nature, that intermixeth itself a midst this great universe, and ●ixeth her contemplation upon the effects thereof, that is, incessantly occupied in thinking and doing, that is, as great as she is vehement, that suffereth not herself to be overcome, neither by adverse, or pleasing things, that submitteth not, neither to the one nor to the other fortune, that is, eminent above all things that may happen or befall her, that is, fair with a good grace, that hath her strength accompanied with health and sobriety, that is, never affrighted nor astonished, whom no violence can shake, whom Fortune cannot raise or depress. Such is the virtue of the soul, such is her face, if she might express herself at once, and might wholly and at once discover herself to our sight: yet many differences hath she in herself, which discover themselves in the diversity of life, and his actions; and yet becometh she neither more great nor more small than she is. For the sovereign good may not decrease, neither hath virtue power to go backward, yet changeth she in divers qualities, and conformeth herself according to the habit of those things she will do. She changeth and trans●igureth into her likeness all that which she toucheth; she maketh the actions, amities, and sometime whole houses where she entereth, and which she hath under her government, honourable: all that which she manageth, she maketh amiable, admirable, and resplendent; & therefore her force and greatness cannot be raised higher, because that which is greatest cannot receive increase. Thou shalt find nothing more just, then that which is just, nothing more true, then that which is true; nothing more temperate, then that which is temperate. Constancy findeth nothing that may advance it, no more than Confidence, verity, or Faith. What thing is that, which may be added to a perfect thing? Nothing nor if any thing might be annexed, it is not perfect: therefore not to Virtue also, for if any thing might be annexed, it were deficient. Honesty also cannot receive any augmentation. For honesty is in the same rank with other things, which I have spoken of But what shall we say of that which is decent, of that which is just, and of that which is lawful? Thinkest thou not that they are of the same form, and comprehended under certain limits. To have power to increase, is a sign of an imperfect thing. All sorts of good are subject to the same laws, the private and public pro●it are joined together, and truly inseparable in such sort, that one may not separate that which is praiseworthy, from that which is to be desired. virtues therefore are equal and alike between themselves, as also their effects are, and all men to whom they befall. But the virtues of vegetables and living creatures, because they are mortal, frail; fluxible, and uncertain, arise and fall, and therefore are they not esteemed in the same reckoning. But human virtues have but one only measure. For there is but one right and simple reason. Nothing is more divine than that which is divined, nor more celestial than that which is celestial. As touching mortal things, we see that they are sometimes high, sometimes low, that sometimes they are abased and increased, exhausted and replenished. And therefore in so uncertain a condition they are unequal; but things that are divine, are of the same nature. But reason is no other thing but a part of the divine spirit, infused and plunged in our human bodies: if therefore reason be divine, and that there is not any good without reason, all goods of what kind soever are divine; but there is no difference betwixt divine things, therefore not between goods. joy therefore, and a stout and obstinate sufferance in torments are equal, for in both there is the same greatness of mind, but in the one more remiss and relenting, in the other more withstanding and intent. What? thinkest thou not his virtue is great, that stoutly entereth his enemy's city, as his that patiently sustaineth the siege? Scipio's courage is great, which holdeth Num●ntia, so closely besieged and beleaguered, that constrained that invincible nation, to make away themselves by their own hands: and great is the mind of of those besieged, that know that nothing is shut up from him to whom death is open, and that expireth in the embracing of his liberty. The like equal are the rest also among themselves, tranquillity, simpliciticy, liberality constancy, equanimity, sufferance: for in all these, there is but one virtue that maketh the mind upright and immutable. What then? is there no difference betwixt joy and the inflexible patience of pains: none at all in regard of the virtues themselves, much in respect of those things, in which both the virtues are exemplified. For in the one there appearth a recreation and repose of spirit, in the other a grief contrary to nature. These subjects than are the means, which receive between them a great difference. But the virtue is equal both in the one, and in the other. The matter changeth not the virtue. That which is distasteful and difficult cannot make it worse, neither that which is joyful and agreeable better. It followeth then, that both the one and the other of these goods are equal. For this man cannot bear himself more virtuously in his joy, nor the other in his torments, and truly two things in which nothing may be bettered, are equal. For if those things which are placed out of virtue, either can diminish or increase the same, that ceaseth to be one good which is honest. If thou grant this, all honesty perisheth. Why? I will tell thee: Because there is nothing honest, that is, done either by an unwilling man, or by him that is enforced: all honesty is voluntary; if thou mix with it slothfulness, complaints, refusals, and fear, he hath lost all that is good in itself, to please himself. It cannot be honest, which is not free, for that which feareth is in bondage. But that which is honest is equally assured, and full of peace and repose. If he refuseth any thing, if he weary, if he judgeth that it is evil, he entereth into some perturbation, and feeleth a great discord in his soul. For on the one side, the appearance of good calleth him, & on the other the fear of evil retireth him. Thus he that will do any thing with honour, aught to judge, that nothing of that which opposeth itself against his will, is evil, although it be incommodious. All that which is honest, aught to be effected, without another man's command or constraint. It is pure and sincere, and no ways intermeddled with any other evil. I know well what a man may answer me here. Thou endevourest to persuade us this, that there is no difference whether any man be in joy, or lie in torture, and weary his executioner. I might answer that which Epicurus saith, That a wise man would cry out with a loud voice, although he were ●o roasted in Phalaris bull: O how sweet is this torment, and how little appertaineth it to me? Why wonderest thou, if I say, that the good of him that is seated in the midst of a banquet, and of that other, which remaineth and standeth firm and constant amidst the torments, are equal, whereas (which is far more incredible) Epicurus saith) that it is a sweet thing to be tortured. But I answer thereunto, that there is a great difference betwixt joy and dolour. For if I should be put to my choice, I would demand the one, and fly the other: the one is amicable to Nature, the other is contrary. As long as they are esteemed after this rate, they are very different between themselves: but when we come unto virtue, both the one and the other are equal, as well that which maketh his way by joy, as the other that maketh it by sorrow. Vexation, grief, and whatsoever other incommodity are of no moment, for they are surmounted by Virtue. Even as the clearness of the Sun extinguisheth the lesser lights: even so pains, afflictions and injuries, are dissipated and abated by virtue; which, in what place soever she shineth, extinguisheth all that which appeareth not to be enlightened by her. And those pains and incommodities that fall upon virtue, have no more power over her, than a little rain over the sea. But to the end thou mayest believe that this is true, a good man will run without any cunctation to every fair thing, although the hangman be there, the torture be prepared, the fire be enkindled, he persevereth, he will not bethink him of that he must suffer, but on that which he aught to do. He will cast himself upon an honest thing, as betwixt the arms of a good man, he will make account that it is profitable, assured, and full of good hap. An honest thing therefore shall have the same place and credit with him, although it be heavy and troublesome, as a good man should have, although he were poor, banished and sick. Well then, set me on one side a good man full of riches, and on the other side, one that hath nothing at all, and yet notwithstanding, hath all things in himself; the one shall be as good a man as the other, although their fortunes be different. The same reckoning aught a man to make in all things, as he doth of men: Virtue is as laudable in a healthful and free body, as in a sick and imprisoned. Thy virtue then shall be no less praiseworthy, if Fortune hath conserved thy body in health, & without harm, then if it were maimed in some member. Otherwise it were to praise the Master by his men's liveries. For all these things on which Fortune exerciseth her power are base and servile, as are riches, the body & honours, they are weak, frail, mortal, and possessed with uncertainty. Contrariwise, the works of virtue are free and invincible, the which are not to be wished for more, when they are savoured by any flattering fortune, nor less also when they are followed with some disaster. That which we call friendship towards men, is a desire and covetousness towards good things. I suppose thou wouldst not rather prize a good rich man for his wealth; then thou wouldst do a poor man, nor a strong and migh●tie man, than a feeble and weak man. By the same reason, thou wouldst not rather wish a fair and peaceable thing, than that thing which is painful and laborious. And if it be so of the two that should be equally good, thou hadst rather like of him that should be neat and perfumed, then him that should be slovenly and uncombed: In fine, thou wouldst come thus far, that thou wouldst more love a man that were complete in all his members, that had never been hurt, than a weak and spurblind fellow. Briefly, by little and little thy disdain would increase so far, that of the two that should be equally sage and just, thou hadst rather have him that were fair locked and frizzled, then him that is disguised and bald. When the virtue both of the one and the other is equal, the inequality of other things appeareth not. Because all these other things are not parts, they are but accessaries. For who is he that would make so injust an esteem amongst his children, that he would make better reckoning of him that were whole, then of him that were sick: of him that were great and high of stature, more than of him that were low and little? Wild beast's distinguish not their young ones, they couch themselves on the ground to nourish them altogether: birds do equally distribute their meat to their young Ulysses maketh as great haste to see his rocks of Ithaca, as Agamemnon his noble walls of Mecaenae. For no man loveth his country because it is great, but because it is his own. But whereto tend these things? To the end that thou mayest know, that virtue carrieth an equal eye and regard on all her works, as on her proper children, that she loveth all of them alike, and those far more than feel any pain, because the love of fathers extendeth more towards those, on whom they have most compassion. In like manner virtue beareth not less affection to those her works, which she seethe suffer more affliction and torment, but following the custom of good parents, she embraceth and cherisheth them the more. But why is it that one good cannot be greater than another? Because there is nothing more apt than that which is apt, nor nothing more full than that which is full. Thou canst not say that this is more like unto a thing then that, consequently there is nothing more honest than that which is honest. So then, if the nature of virtue be all alike, all the three sorts of goods are equal. And therefore I say that it is all one to be moderate in joy, and moderate in pain. joy surmounteth not the constancy of the soul, that devoureth his complaints under the cruelty of a hangman. The one of these goods are to be desired, the other to be admired; yet both of them are equal: for all that which is ill is covered under the cloak of a more great good. He that should be of an opinion that these two things were not equal, he should show that he would never cast his eyes upon virtue, and that he only regarded exterior things. True goods have the same weight and greatness, both the one and the other. But the false are vain and deceivable. Therefore it is that those goods that seem so fair and so great to the exterior eye, deceive us when they are brought to their touch and weight. This is true, my Lucilius, all that which reason and virtue praiseth and prizeth, it is firm, it is eternal, it maketh the soul assured, and lifteth it up to heaven, to remain there everlastingly. But the goods which we commend without reason, and that have their only being in vulgar judgement, do but fill them with wind, that revive in them. Contrariwise, that which a man feareth as evil, doth but affright our minds, and terrify the same no otherwise then apprehension of some danger troubleth beasts. All these things than do recomfort the soul, or torment it without reason: for neither is the one worthy of any joy, nor the other of any fear. There is naught but only reason, which is immutable and constant in her judgement; for she obeyeth not, but commandeth the senses. Reason is equal with reason, as right to that which is right. Virtue then is the like; for she is naught else but right reason. All virtues are rightful reasons, if they be rightful they are equal. Such as the reason is, such are the actions. Therefore all are equal: for since they are like unto reason, they are also like between themselves. And those actions term I equal between themselves, which are upright and honest. But yet they shall be much different, by reason of the varying of the matter, which is now more ample, now more sparing, now more worthy, now more ignoble, now pertaining to many, now unto few. And notwithstanding in all those things, that which is the best is equal. Even as amongst good men, all are equal as they are good men, yet have they some differences in age, the one is elder, the other younger; they have difference in body, the one is fair, the other deformed; they differ in fortune, this is rich, that is poor: he is gracious, powerful, known to Cities and Nations, this unknown to many and obscure. But in that they are good, they are equal. The sense judgeth not of good and evil: it knoweth what is profitable, and is ignorant of that which is unprofitable: he cannot give his advice, but of that which is represented before his eyes: he cannot foresee those things that are to come to pass, neither have remembrance of that which is forepast; less knoweth he that which may ensue: notwithstanding, thereupon dependeth the order and success of things, and all the constancy of life, which should be right and perfect. Reason then is it that judgeth of good and evil, that maketh no account of foreign matters, which come externally, and that thinketh that those things which are neither good nor evil, to be some small and light increasing● all good to him is in the mind. Moreover, there are certain things which she placeth in the first rank, to which she purposely cometh, as to a victory, to wise children and well borne, and the health of his country. There are other goods of the second degree, which are not known but in adversities, as to suffer a sickness or banishment patiently. And certain other indifferent, which nevertheless are more friendly than contrary to nature: as to walk modestly, and to keep a grave countenance when a man sitteth. For it is a thing as natural to sit as to stand, or to walk. But the two first are much different the one from the other; for the first are according to nature, that is to say, to rejoice at the piety of his children, and the felicity of his country. The second are against nature; to sustain torments with a great constancy and endure thirst, when as the infirmity burneth the entrails. What shall it then be? Is there any thing contrary to nature that may be called good? Not truly. But this good is often found in a thing which is enemy to nature: for to be hurt, to be dried and consumed in the fire, to be afflicted with a sickness is against nature, but to conserve a man's soul in such harmony, that she is not wearied to suffer torments, this is friendly to nature. What is reason then? It is an imitation of nature. What is man's chiefest good? It is to do all things according to natures william. It is undoubted (saith he) that a peace which hath never been interrupted, is better than that which hath been gotten with effusion of blood. There is no doubt (saith he) but that health which never hath been shaken, is better and more happy, then that we have recovered perforce, and by a long patience of a sickness that threatened us with death: In like manner it is not to be doubted, but that joy is a greater good, than a soul subject to suffer torments, wounds, and fire, yet are these things nothing. For those things that happen casually receive a great difference, because they are esteemed by the profit of those that receive them. The intention and end of good men is to consent unto nature. She is equal in all. When as the whole Senate followeth the opinion of one man: a man cannot say, This man is better advised then the other; for all of them have followed that opinion. I say the same by virtues; all of them consent unto nature: I say the same by good men; all o● them consent unto nature. One is dead young, another old: some one moreover is dead in infancy, that hath enjoyed no other good then to have the only sight of life: all these were equally subject to die, although death hath suffered some of them to live more long, and that to others she hath cut off the thread of life, even in the flower of their age, and hath interrupted the beginnings and birth of some other. One dieth in the midst of his supper, to another his sleep and death hath been but one, and some also have been strangled amidst the embraces of their minions. Add also to these, those that are dead by the sword, or have been slaughtered by the sting of Serpents, or that have been crushed to death under some ruin, or that are dead through a long convulsion of their sinews, that by little and little hath tortured them. A man may say that the end of some is better, and of others is worse. But the death of them all is equal. The means whereby they come thereunto are divers; but the point where they ended is but one. There is not any death more great, the one than the other: for she hath one and the same measure in all persons, that is to put an end to life. I say the like of goods; one of these goods nourisheth itself, betwixt pleasures and delights, and the other sealeth nothing but adversities and disasters. Some one hath governed at his pleasure the sweetness of a good fortune, and another hath ever borne the force of a tyranny: yet both the one and the other goods are wholly equal, although the one hath not marched but by plain and easy paths, and the other by places both tedious and dangerous. In brief, the end of all is wholly a like. They are goods, they are praiseworthy, they follow virtue and reason: virtue maketh all things equal amongst themselves, which she acknowledgeth. It behoveth thee not, amongst those opinions which I hold, to wonder hereat. In Epicurus opinion there are two sorts of goods, whereof this happy and sovereign good is composed, which are, that the body be without pain, and the soul without passion and perturbation. Th●se goods increase not when they are complete: for which way may that increase which is full? The body is without grief; what may be added to this indolency? The soul is peaceable, and in assured repose; what may be added to this tranquility? Even as the clear sky and the heaven appearing in his brightness cannot receive any more accomplished beauty: so the estate of a man that hath care of his body and of his soul, and will compound his good by the means, both of the one and the other, is wholly perfect; it hath attained the fullness of his desire, if he feeleth no tempest in his soul, nor trouble in his body. If any other foreign contentments befall us, they augment not any ways this sovereign good, but in a sort season the same, and make it pleasing. For this entirely perfect good of human nature, contenteth itself with the placability of body & soul: I will allege you from Epicurus himself, a division of goods wholly like unto ours. For there are some with him that he had rather should happen unto him, that is to say the repose of the body, free from all pain, and the contentment of the soul that may rejoice in the contemplation of her goods. There are others which he praiseth and approveth, although he could not wish, they should befall him, as that patience which I spoke of late in a great sickness, and extreme dolours, which Epicurus supposed his last and fortunatest day of his life. For he said that he suffered torments in his bladder and in his ulcerated belly, which could not receive a more great increase of dolour. And yet he esteemed that day the most happy. But nothing can make a man happy, but him that enjoyeth the sovereign good. There is then amidst Epicurus goods, such as thou wouldst not feel: but since fortune willeth that it must be so, we must embrace, prize, and praise the same as the greatest goods. A man cannot say but that the good which hath given a period to a happy life; and for which Epicurus in his last words, hath given thanks, is not even and equal with the greatest goods. Permit me yet further, my Lucilius, to speak more boldly to thee: if any goods may be greater than others, I had rather follow those that were displeasant, than those that are gracious and delicate. For it is more honour to overcome such things as are difficult, then to moderate those that are joyful. I know well by the same reason that it may be effected, that some one may entertain his felicity modestly, and his calamity constantly. As valiant aught he to be esteemed that hath all night stood Sentinel in the Trenches, although the enemy hath not sallied to force the Camp, as he that after his legs have been cut off, hath entertained the combat on his knees, and hath never forsaken his weapons. We say to those that ordinarily return from the field, conquered with blood, God increase your virtue. Therefore it is that I would always praise those goods far more continually, which are become constant by a continual exercise, and that have combated against fortune. Should I make doubt rather to praise that roasted and maimed hand of Mutius, than the most healthsomest hand of the most valiant man that is he stood upright, contemning his enemies and the flames, he beheld his hand that consumed and dropped thorough his enemy's Torch, until at last Porsena envied the glory of him, at whose grief in the beginning he took pleasure, and caused to his great disgust, the sire to be taken from him. Why should I not accounted this good amidst the first and principal? Why should I not esteem it far more than those, which some enjoy in so much security, without fear of fortune, since it is a thing more rare to have overcome an enemy with a dried and wasted hand, then with a whole and well armed? But why, wilt thou say, wouldst thou desire this good? Wherhfore not? for there is not any one can do the like● but he that can wish the same. Should I wish rather to yield my feet to be softly rubbed by one of mine old varlets, or to some woman, or to some one that from a man should become a woman, to stretch the joints of my little toes? Why should I not think Mutius more happy for managing the fire, in such sort as if he had stretched out his hand to any man● to rub him softly? He salved all the offence he had done, he made an end of the war disarmed and lame, and with that maimed hand he overcame two Kings. EPIST. LXVII. After his small Preface, a question whether every good is to be wished for. He saith that it is, yea even that whose matter is in evils. As to be constantly burned, sick, and whipped. Neither is the burning itself, a sickness, nor the whipping, but that, saith he; is to be wished for, to suffer the same stoutly and constantly. Again, that Virtues are united together, and as one, so all. These also are worthy and befitting a stout and real Stoic. TO the end that I make the beginning of my letter, with those things that are common: the spring began to open itself, but as if it approached already towards Summer, and at such time as it should be hot, it waxed warm. Neither as yet is it to be trusted, for oftentimes it returneth to Winter. Wilt thou know how vnassured it is? As yet I dare not adventure to bathe myself in cold water, as yet do I temper the cold thereof. This is, sayest thou, not to suffer either heat or cold. So it is, my Lucilius, mine age is contented enough with his coldness, that scarcely may be thawed in the midst of summer. And therefore for the most part of the time, I lie couched on my mattress. I thank mine age that hath tied me to my couch. And why should I not give it thanks for this? All that which I should not will, I cannot act. My greatest discourse is with my books: if at any time thy Epistles come between, me thinks I am with thee, and so am I affected in mind, as if I did not writ back unto thee, but answered thee face to face. And therefore will I entreat of that which thou demandest of me, as if I spoke with thee. We will both of us examine what this question is. Thou wilt have me t●ll thee whether every good be to be desired. If it be good, sayest thou to endure torments courageously and to suffer the fire with a great constancy, and to endure a sickness peaceably: it followeth that all that is to be desired, and yet see I nothing in it, that is worthy to be wished. Truly, as yet know I not any man, that hath paid any vow he hath made for being beaten with whips, or made lame by the gout, or made longer by the rack. Thou must, my Lucilius, make a distinction of these things, and then shalt thou find t●at there is some point which may be wished for. I could well wish that torments should be always estranged from me: but when of force I must needs feel the same, then would I wish that I might endure them virtuously, courageously, and honourably. Why should I not rather wish, that the war●e should never happen? But if it be proclaimed and begun, then would I wish, that with a generous courage I might suffer wounds, famine, and all that which the necessity of war bringeth with it. I am not so foolish, as that I would desire to be sick, but if it must so fall out, I would desire also that I might not do any thing intemperately, or effeminately. So the evils and incommodities are not to be desired, but the virtue whereby incommodities are suffered. Some of our Stoics think, that the constancy and patience in torments and evils, neither aught to be desired nor detested. For when a man wisheth, he aught to desire a thing wholly peaceable, pure, and exempt from sorrowes● But I am not of their opinion. Wherhfore? Because it cannot be that a thing should be good, and should not be desired. Furthermore, if virtue is to be desired, and if there be not any good without virtue, it followeth that all good is to be desired. Again, if a constant patience in torments should not be desired. I ask thee again, is not Fortitude to be wished for? But she contemneth and provoketh all perils. The fairest and most admirable part that is in it, is not to fly from any flames, and to present himself to wounds, and sometimes not to avoid them, but to open his breast to receive them. If then fortitude is to be desired, and patience in suffering torments is to be wished for, (for this is a part of fortitude) but separate these things, as I said, there shall be nothing that shall deceive thee. For to suffer torments, is not to be wished for, but to suffer them courageously. That courage wish I for, which is a virtue. Yet who ever wished this to himself? Some vows are open and professed, when they are particularly made: some are obscured, when as many things are comprehended in one vow. As when I desire an honest life, but an honest life consisteth of divers actions. In this is Regulus tomb, Cato's wound rend open by his own hands. R●tilius banishment, the envenomed cup that translated Socrates out of prison into heaven. So when I wished myself an honest life, I wished these things also, without which sometimes it cannot be honest. O thrice and fouretimes happy men were they, That under Troy-towne walls dismembered lay, Before their parents eyes.— What difference makest thou, either that thou wishest it unto any one, or that thou confessest that it is to be desired? Decius made a vow to die for the Commonweal, and seeking naught but death, galloped his horse into the swarms of his enemies. Another after him, that emulated his father's virtue, after he had pronounced the solemn words, which were already familiar unto him, thrust himself mainly into the throng of his enemies, having no other care, but to beseech the gods to effect the intention of his vow, supposing that a good death was a thing to be desired. Doubtest thou then, that it is not a great good to die, to the end, to leave a happy memory of a man, and of some his virtuous enterprise? When any one endureth torments, constantly he employeth all virtues, although it may be he had but patience only, which might appear and show itself. But there is Fortitude, whose patience, sufferance and tolerance are the branches. There is Prudence, without which no counsel is conceived, which persuadeth to endure that valiantly, which thou canst not fly. There is Constancy, which cannot be dejected from her place, and giveth not over her resolution by no fear of torture. There is that inseparable society of all the virtues. All that which is done honourably, one only virtue doth it, but it is by advice of counsel. But that which is allowed by all vertuest although it seem to be done by one, is to be desired. Why? Supposest thou that those things are only to be wished for, which come by pleasure and idleness? And that which we receive from painted, tapissed, and adorned gates? There are some sad pleasures, and some vows that are celebrated, not with rejoice, but with adoration and veneration of the the whole assembly. Thinkest thou not that in this kind Regulus wished not to return into the hands of the Carthaginians? Put upon thee the mind of a generous and virtuous man, and separate thyself a little from the opinions of the common sort. Assume as fair and magnificent a form of virtue as thou oughtest: which is to be honoured by us, not with gauds and garlands, but with sweat and blood. Behold Marcus Cato, thrusting his most pure hands into that his sacred breast, to enlarge his wound, which as yet was not sufficiently deep, whether at length wouldst thou say unto him, I would that which thou wouldst, and I am much grieved at that which thou dost. Happy be it unto thee which thou dost. In this place our friend Demetrius cometh to my mind, who termed a secure life, and such a one as was not subject to Fortune's incursions, the dead sea. For to have nothing to awaken thee, nothing to move thee, nothing by whose advertisement and assault, thou mayest make trial of the firmity of thy mind, but to live always in a repose which hath never been troubled, this is not a tranquility, but a calm, and relent of the sea. Attalus the Stoic was wont to say, I had rather that Fortune should nourish me in the camp, then in her delights. I suffer torments, but it is with constancy: this is well. I am massacred, but endure it constantly; this doth well. Hear moreover what Epicurus saith: And sweet it is: I will never give a delicate name to a thing so honest and severe; I am burned, yet remain I invincible: why should it not be desired● not that the fire burn me, but that it overcome me not? There is nothing more worthy than Virtue. All that whatsoever; which is done by her direction and command, is good and desirable. EPIST. LXVIII. He persuadeth repose, but so as it ●e joined with Philosophy. That we are not to boast thereof. And in it we are to entreat of ourselves, with ourselves, that is, to inquire of our vices, and to amend them. To conclude, that this repose is above all other affairs, because it serveth the great Commonweal. I Will be of thy mind; go to then, and retire and hide thyself in repose, or rather hide thou thy repose. If thou canst not learn this by the Stoics precepts, at lest thou shalt learn it by their example. But by their precepts also thou shalt learn it, which I will approve unto thee when thou wilt. We sand not over to every Commonweal, neither always, neither without any end. Moreover, when we have given a wiseman a Commonweal worthy of himself, that is to say, the world; he is not out of his Commonweal, although he be retired. But it may be rather that forsaking a little corner, he goeth into places more great and spacious, and lodging himself in heaven, he then understandeth, that when he was mounted in his chair, and in his throne, he was rather descended into a more base place. I will shut this secret in thy bosom. That a wiseman never profiteth so much, then when both human and divine things become the objects of his eyes. I return now unto that which I began to persuade thee unto, that is, that no man may know that thou wilt live in repose. It behoveth thee not to cover this resolution under the cloak of retirement, whereby thou mayest intent Philosophy. It were better thou shouldest obscure thine intent under some other title. Thou must call it sickness, feebleness, idleness. It is a foolish ambition to glory in doing nothing. There are certain beasts, which because they will not be tracted, confounded their steps even about that place where they lurk in. The like must thou do; otherwise thou shalt not want them that will follow the quest of thee. There are many that pass before the gates of those that are opened, without entering into them, and peep into the crannies of those those that are closed. The coffer that is closed, whetteth on the thief to break it open, no man maketh reckoning of that which is unlocked, and these lock-pickers assault not the door that is open. These are the manners of the common people, and thus doth the most ignorant. They desire to enter forcibly into others men's secrets. It is therefore most expedient for a man not to boast of his retirement, and it is a kind of boasting, to ●e hidden too much, and to sequester a man's self from the sight of the people. This man is locked up in Tarentum, that man is retired in Naples, and that other man ●or many years hath not overstrid his threshold. Undoubtedly he● summoneth the world to come and see him, that will suffer a report to pass of him through the city, that he is retired. After thou hast retired thyself, thou must do nothing that men may talk of thee; speak thou only with thyself. But what shalt thou talk with thyself? That which some men do willingly entert●ine of others. Have always an ill opinion of thyself. Accustom thyself to speak the truth, and to hear it also. Above all things, speak thou often of those imperfections which thou feelest in thyself. There is no man but knoweth his own infirmities. Therefore it is that some man disburdeneth his stomach by vomit, another stuffs it with continual eating, another emptieth and weakeneth his body by the means of fast. Those that are often tortured with the pains of the gout, abstain either from bathing themselves, or drinking of wine. And without observance of any other manner of diet, they ordinarily overcome the sickness wherewith they are tormented. So likewise there are certain parts in our soul, which are the causes of our infirmities, which how we aught to recover, we diligently must bethink ourselves. What do I in that repose I take? I cure mine ulcer. If I should show thee my foot swollen, my hand wholly mortified, or the dried sinews of my contracted leg, thou wouldst give me leave to lie in one place, and to take pity and regard my grief. But that evil which I cannot see is far greater. It is an inflammation and apostume which I have in my breast. I will not that thou praise me, neither will I that thou say, O great man! He hath despised all things, and after he hath condemned all the furies of human life, he is fled. Alas I have condemned nothing but mine own proper actions. Thou must not desire to come unto me, to the end to profit thyself. Thou art deceived, if hence thou expectest any succours. Hear dwells not the Physician, but the patiented. I had rather when thou art gone, thou shouldest say. I thought this man to be a happy and learned man, I gave ear unto him, I am deceived, I heard nothing, I saw nothing that I might desire, or that might allure me to return again unto him. If this be thy opinion, if this be thy speech, I know thou hast profited somewhat; I had rather thou shouldest pardon my repose, then envy it. What then Seneca, commendest thou repose of spirit unto me? Thou growest an Epicure in thy opinion at length. I recommend unto thee repose, to the end, that by the means thereof, thou mightest do things more great and more excellent, th●n those which thou hast left behind thee. To knock at great men's gates, to keep reckoning of old men that have no children: to have great reputation in Court, is but a momenta●y power, and full of enuie● and if thou wilt speak truth, an abject. This man far surpasseth me in reputation amongst the Lawyers. He in his allowances and pays for service, and his dignities gotten thereby, he in the multitude of his clients, I cannot be so well followed as the one, nor recover so great reputation as the other. But I aught not to make so great account to be overcome by men, provide always that I may overcome Fortune. Would to God that had been thy mind heretofore, to have followed this purpose. Would to God we held not this discourse of happy life, upon that instant, wherein death presenteth herself to our sight, yet let us not delay for all this. For now believe we many things by experience, which we should have believed by the discourse of reason, to be both superfluous and harmful. Let us do like those that set forward on their journey late, and that by diligence would recover the time which they have lost, let us prick forward on the spur. This age is as yet very proper to this study: it is already cleansed from his scum: it hath already left those vices which she could not conquer in the heat of her youth. There wanteth little, but that she hath wholly extinguished them. And when, sayest thou, shall this pro●it thee which thou learnest even in the period of thy years, or to what intent? To this, that I may die the better: yet oughtest thou not to think that there is any age more proper unto wisdom, then that which by long experience, and by a continual and frequent sufferance of casualties hath mortified and overcome herself; and which after it hath triumphed over her affections, hath attained to the knowledge of that which profiteth and concerneth herself. This is the true time of that good which remaineth but a little while● what man soever, and how old soever he be that hath attained wisdom, it is by his years that he hath compassed it. EPIST. LXXIX. That places are not to be changed, but that we aught to be more reposed in body, to the end the mind may be more pacified. That we are to fix the same on a wholesome study, and to avoid those things which distracted us. I Will not that thou change countries, or transport thyself from one place to another, first, because so often change is a token of an instable and unsettled mind. Thou canst never make profit of thy retirement, unless thou give over travel, and wandering from country to country. If thou wilt settle thy mind, limit thy body in some place; then will thy continued remedies profit thee much. Thou must not break the repose or forgetfulness of thy former life: suffer thine eyes to forget; suffer thine ears to accustom themselves to wholesome counsels. As oft-times as thou shalt walk in the streets, thou shalt ●inde in passing by, something that may renew thy affections. Even as he that would despoil himself of love, aught to fly the remembrance of that beauty, which he hath loved: so he also that will discharge himself of the affection of all things, of that desire wherewith he burned in times past, he must retire both his eyes and ears from that he hath forsaken. Affection revolteth suddenly: on which side soeever she turn herself, she shall find a ready recompense of her employment. There is no evil without reward. Avarice promiseth us money, lust many and divers pleasures, ambition the purple and applause, and thereby power and authority, and whatsoever authority may do. Vices solicit thee with rewards, but here must thou live without taking any thing. Scarce can it be effected in a whole age, that those vices which have had their increase by so long liberty, should be subdued & brought in subjections much less may it be done, if we divide the time which is so short, into little parcels. Hardly can continual watch and labour bring one only thing to perfection. Truly, if thou wilt listen to me meditate hereupon, exercise thyself to receive death, and to seek her out when any occasion shall counsel thee thereunto. It skills not whether she come to us, or we to her, persuade thyself that the foolish men's proverb and usual speech is false; It is a fair thing to die a good death. Thou mayst beside this think thus with thyself: Not man dieth but on his prefixed time: thou losest none of thy time; for that which thou leavest behind thee is another man's. EPIST. LXX. That by the sight of the POMPEY'S, and the admonishment of time past, he thought upon the swiftness and slight thereof. That death is at hand, which is the haven of troubles. That she is neither to be ●eared nor desired, or entertained but sometimes, and when? When reason not violent passion persuadeth. Many and most excellent things to this purpose. AFter a long space of time I have seen thy Pompey's, and in seeing them me thought that I had recovered again my former youth: all whatsoever I had done there whilst I was a young man, me thought I could as yet do it, and that but a little while since I did it. We sail by our life, my Lucilius, and as in the Sea, as our Virgil saith; The shores and Cities fly. So likewise in this so swift course of time, we loose the sight, first of our childhood, and after of our youth, and then whatsoever intercurreth betwixt youth and old age, which is confined both to the one and to the other, anon after also the better years of our old age. In the last place the common end of all human race beginneth to discover itself. Are we so foolish to think that it is a rock? It is the Port which we aught one day to desire, and never to refuse; into which, if any man hath been cast and carried in his young years, he aught not to complain, no more than he would, that with a short cut hath ended his Navigation. For as thou knowest there are some whom s●acker winds mock and detain, and weary with gentle tediousness of a peaceable calm, some are swiftly borne away by a sudden gust. Think that the same befalleth us. Life hath brought and ravished some very swiftly thither, whether although they would have delayed, they must needs come. Othersome hath she pined and burned, which as thou knowest are not always to be retained; for it is not good to live, but to live well. And therefore a wiseman liveth as much as he aught, not as much as he can. He will always see in what place he aught to live, with what persons, in what manner, and what he aught to do. If divers troubles and sorrows suddenly surprise him, to the intent to intercept his peace, he openeth the prison himselfe● neither doth he this only in a desperate extremity, but as soon as he hath the lest suspicion of fortune, he taketh a diligent heed whether that day should be his last or no. He makes no great reckoning, whether by his own hand● or another man's hatred he receive his death, or whether it be sooner or later. He feareth not as if he were endangered to loose much; no man can have great loss of water by a dropping Ewer. It skills not whether a man die sooner or later: to die either well or ill, that importeth much; and to die well is to fly the peril of an evil life. Therefore think I that Rhodians speech most effeminate, who by a Tyrant being cast into a cave, and nourished thereof after the manner of a wild beast, being persuaded by some to abstain from his meat, answered, A man aught to hope for all things whilst he liveth. But suppose this were true, yet aught we not buy life an every rate. There are certain things, which although they are good, although they are certain, yet would I not attain them by a confession of feebleness and faintness of heart. Shall I believe that fortune hath power in all things over him that liveth, rather than suppose, that fortune can do nothing over him that knoweth how to die? Yet sometimes, although assured death be dependant, and that a man know that a punishment is destinated for him, yet must ●e not set ha●d and further his punishment. It is a folly to die through the fear of death: Comes he that should kill thee? Expect him. Why puttest thou thyself forward? Why undertakest thou the charge of another man's cruelty? Dost thou envy thy hangman, the officer to execute thee, or wilt thou spare his labour? Socrates could have ended his days by his absence, & might have rather died for hunger then of venom; yet remained he full thirty days in prison, attending his death, not with this mind, that all things might be pacified, or that so long a time might entertain so many hopes, but that he might yield himself unto the laws, and suffer his friends to enjoy Socrates, even until his last. But what more great folly could have been seen, then to despise death and to fear prison? Scribonia a woman of great authority, was aunt on the father's side to Drusus Libo, a young man, who had as weak brain as his descent was noble, and that hoped for far more great fortunes, than any other might hope for in that time, or himself in any other time after; when as he was borne away from the Senate in his Litter, not with frequent observances (for all his nearest friends had forsaken him shamefully, not as a guilty, but a convicted person and executed) he began to ask counsel whether he should hasten his death by his own hands, or expect the same. To whom Scribonia: What pleasure hast thou, said she, to finish that which another aught to execute? But she could no ways persuade him. He murdered himself with his own hands, and not without cause: for being assured that within three or four days after, if he had been found alive, he should die that death whatsoever was best liking to his enemy, he finished that which another man should have executed. Thou canst not then make a general judgement, when as the violence of a foreign tyrant denounceth thee death; whether thou oughtest to further or expect the same. For there are divers reasons, which draw us both to the one and the other opinion. If the one death should be accompanied with torments, and the other should be simple and facile: why should I not allow of that? Even as I would choose a ship to sail in● and a house to devil in; in like manner would I choose the better death to departed out of this life. Furthermore, even as the longest life is not the best, so the longest death is the worst. There is nothing wherein we should give more contentment to our souls, then in the manner of death which they best like of. Let the soul departed by that issue, herself enforceth, whether it be she desire the dagger or the halter, or a poisoned cup that may suddenly seize all the veins, let her proceed and break the bonds of her servitude. Every on● aught to endeavour to approve his life unto others, and his death unto himself. That which pleaseth us most is the best. This is but a folly to think thus. Some will say that I did it not courageously enough, some that too much rashly, some that there was a kind of death more generous. Thinkest thou that it lieth in thy power to make choice of a counsel, which shall not be subject to common report and censure? Think only to dispatch thyself speedily out of the power and hands of fortune; otherwise there will not want some who will conceive an evil opinion of thine action: thou shalt find some, yea even those who have made profession of Philosophy, that will deny that any man aught to violate or shorten his life, and that maintain it for a foul offence, for a man to murder himself, and that it were better to expect the end which Nature hath determined. But he that speaketh thus, seethe not that he cutteth off the way of liberty. The eternal law hath done nothing better, then to give us one only entrance into life, and divers issues. Shall I expulse the cruelty of a sickness, or the tyranny of a man, when as I may escape even through the midst of torments, and drive all adversities far from me? This is one thing, wherein we cannot complain of life, she retaineth not man. It is a great good for human affairs, that there is not one that is miserable, but by his own default. Takest thou pleasure in life? Live. Art thou displeased therewith? Thou mayest return to the place from whence thou camest. To heal thy headache thou hast oft-times let blood, to extenuate thy body thou hast opened thy vein: Thou needest not to open thy breast with a deep and vast wound; a lancet will give way to that great liberty, and in a prick consisteth security. What is it then that maketh us fearful and slack to dislodge? There is not one of us that thinketh that he must departed one day out of this house: so doth the custom and indulgence of the place detain the ancient inhabitants, although to their own undoing. Wilt thou always keep this liberty against this body? Inhabit it as if thou shouldst leave it, and make accounted that one day thou must loose his company. Thou shalt afterwards be more constant and resolute, when any necessity shall constrain thee to departed. But how can they think upon their ends, who covet all things without end? There is nothing in this world, the remembrance and meditation whereof is more necessary. For happily it is in vain, where a man thinketh on other things. Have we prepared our minds against poverty? The riches remain with us. Are we already armed against contempt of pain? The felicity of a whole and healthful body hath had no need, that we should make proof of our virtues. Have we gotten this authority over ourselves, that we can suffer death and the loss of our friends constantly? Yet fortune hath conserved and made all them survive unto us, whom we most love. But the day that shall have need of the use and practic of this only thing, aught undoubtedly to come. Thou must not think that great personages only, have had that courage and force to break the bonds of their human servitude. Thou must not think that Cato only could rend out his soul with his hand, which he could not prick out with his poniard. Since some men of as bad condition as may be, with great heat of courage have attained that place of assurance, and being unable suddenly to find wherewith to make themselves away to their liking, or choose any instrument which was proper for them thereunto, have laid hand on the first thing they could encounter, and have made use of that for weapons, which of their nature were no ways hurtful. Not long since an Alman, one of those that should combat with the beasts, in the sports & shows in the morning, retired himself, feigning that he would withdraw himself to discharge his natural necessities; for they were not suffered to go into any other secret place without guard, there stopped he the stick or staff (to which a spong was fastned● to cleanse and clear the privy parts) wholly into his throat, & forcibly closing up the passage of his breath, stifled himself: this was to brave death and contemn it. It was undoubtedly, although scarce cleanly and honourably. What folly is there greater, then to die effeminately, when we must die assuredly. O strong, O worthy man, deserving the election of that death that best liked him! How courageously had he used his sword, had he found it? with what resolution of mind had he cast himself into the depth of the Sea, or the cavity of a cloven Rock? Being despoiled of all commodities, he found the means how he might be beholding unto himself only, both for the means and weapons for his death. To the end that thou mayest know that there is nothing that hindereth us from dying but want of william. Let each man judge as he list of this violent man's actions, provided that it be resolved upon as a thing assured, that we aught to prefer a base and villeynous death, before the most cleanliest servitude in the world. But because I have begun to use abject examples, I will contive them: for every one will enforce himself to do his best, if he shall perceive that death is contemptible to persons that are most abject and base. We think that these Cato's and Scipios, and those other whose memories we entertain with admiration, are inimitable. But I will prove you presently that this virtue is accompanied with as many examples, amidst the men most miserable, destinated to the sports and spectacles of beasts, as amidst the Chiefetains of civil wars. When as not long since, with sure guard, the soldiers carried forth a wretch, sent out for the morning spectacles, stooping down his head as if he were pressed with sleep, he suffered it to hung so low, that he put it between the Cart-wheels, and held it so long in that place, that the wheel in turning itself broke his neck. He avoided the punishment in the same Chariot, on which he was carried forth to be punished. There is nothing that may hinder a man that hath a will to die, and to be delivered. Nature keepeth us in an open place. He to whom his last necessity is so favourable, as to advise on the issue and end which he shall esteem most conuenient● he that hath divers means in his power to set himself at liberty may choose; he shall do well to think how he may most easily be delivered. But he that hath so hard hap, as not to find any occasion, let him take hold on the first that shall present itself, as if it were the best, although it be strange and unheard of: he that wanteth no courage, wanteth no invention how to die. Thou seest how those sla●es which are most miserable, when as their misery toucheth them to the quick, awaken themselves, and how they deceive their keepers, though never so diligent: he is a man of the greatest courage that hath not only commanded, but also found out the means of his death. I have promised thee divers examples of men of this condition I have spoken of. In the second combat which was made upon the water, one of the Barbarians thrust all that javelin into his throat, which was given him to combat his enemies. Why have I not long since, said he, fled all these torments and all these shames? Why should I attend death, having the arms in my hands? This spectacle was so much the more magnificent, as much as it is more honest for men to learn to die well, as to kill. What then? That which the most abject and contemptible spirits may have; why should not they partake, whom long study and reason (the Lady Mistress of all things) hath instructed? It is the same reason that warneth us, that there are divers manners of death, but that there is but one and the same end, and that it availeth nothing to know whence that beginneth, that must one day come. The same reason warneth thee, if it lie in thy power to die without grief: but if it cannot be, do the best that thou canst, and lay hold on all that which presenteth itself to lay violence on thy life. It is an injurious thing to live by rapine, but it is a most worthy thing to die violently. EPIST. LXXI. That the chiefest good should be continually in our eyes, and that to it all our counsels and actions should be referred. What therefore is that? Only honest. They adulterate the fame that mix internal things, because it is only freed in the mind. Again, that goods are equal, and that contempt differeth not from honour, if both proceed from honesty. He giveth CATO for example, and dilateth the same very worthily. Likewise that an honest death differeth not from such a life. Against the Academics, which make degrees of happiness. That neither it● nor honesty are intended. And therefore the most blessed may be in torment. Is it so? Will he not wax pale, tremble, or grieve? Yes, (for these are natural) but all these shall be overcome by the strength of his mind, yet not presently all. There are differences between wise men and studious. Read diligently, mark and admire. THou askest my counsel in all thy affairs, from time to time, not remembering thyself that we are separated by a large sea. But since the greater part of counsel dependeth on the opportunity of time, it must fall out of necessity, that sometimes in certain things my counsel is then brought unto thee, when as at that time the contrary were more allowable. For counsels are fitted to affairs, and our affairs pass away swiftly, or to speak truth, roll away impetuously. Counsel therefore aught to be given daily, yet is it sometime over old by a day; it must be bred swiftly, as they say, and under hand. But how it is found I will show thee. As often as thou wilt know what either is to be fled, or what aught to be affected, have regard unto the chiefest good and scope of thy whole life. For thereto must all that consent whatsoever we do. He shall not dispose every thing, except he purpose to himself already a certain strain of his whole life. No man, although his colours be ground to his hand, can represent the similitude of any thing, except already he be resolved, what he intendeth to paint. Therefore err we, because we all of us deliberate on the parts of our life, and no man debateth of the whole. He must know whereat he aimeth, that will shoot his arrow; and then must he aim and guide his arrow by his hand. Our Counsels therefore err, because they have not whereunto they should be directed. He that knoweth not what harbour he shall make for, hath no wind fitting for him. It must need fall out that casualty must effect much in our life, because all of us live casually. And to some it happeneth, that they wots not that they know certain things, even as oftentimes we seek for those, with whom we are conversant and present. So for the most part we know not the end of the sovereign good, though it be before our eyes, neither by many words nor long circumstance, shalt thou gather what the chiefest good is. You must show it, as the proverb saith, by the finger, without extending it to so many things. For to what purpose is it to divide the same into parts, when as thou mayest say, That is the chiefest good which is honest; and that which thou shouldest most wonder at, There is but only one good, which is honest; the rest are false & adulterated goods. If thou persuade thyself this, & perfectly lovest virtue (for to love it, is but a small matter) whatsoever she shall touch, that to thee (howsoever it seem to others) shall be both happy and successful, both to be tormented, if thou lie more secure than he that tortureth thee; and to be sick, if so be thou curse not Fortune, and give not way to thy sickness. To conclude all those things, which to other men seem evil, both shall be sweet unto thee, and return thee profit, if so be thou canst overcome them. Resolve on this, that nothing is good, but that which is honest, and that all incommodities may justly be called goods, which are once made honest by virtue. To many we seem to promise' greater things then human nature is capable of, and not without reason. For they respect the body, let them return to the mind, and then shall they measure man with God. Take courage, my Lucilius, the best of men, and dismiss this study of letters, which the Philosophers affect, who reduce the most magnificent thing of the world to syllables, that teach but base and trifling matters, and diminish and waste the understanding. Thou shalt become like unto those that have invented these things; not they that teach them, and endeavour thus much, that Philosophy might rather seem difficult then great. Fellow them, if I have any authority over thee. Socrates, who reduced all Philosophy unto manners, and said that the chiefest wisdom was to distinguish good from evil: To the end that thou mayest be happy (saith he) permit thyself sometimes to be esteemed a fool. Let whosoever will outrage thee in words, and offend thee in deeds, yet shalt thou ●uffer nothing, if so be virtue be with thee. If thou wilt, saith he, be blessed: if thou wilt be an entire honest man, suffer thyself to be contemned. This will no man perform, but he that hath equalled and proportioned all goods, because that neither is good without honesty, and honesty is equal in all. What then? Is there no difference betwixt Cato's Praetorship, and his repulse? It skilleth not whether Cato be overcome in the Pharsalian field, or whether he overcome. This good of his, wherein he cannot be overcome, though his confederates were conquered: was it equal with that good, wherewith he returned a conqueror unto his country, and composed the peace? Why should it not be equal? For by the selfsame virtue evil fortune is overcome, and the good is confirmed; yet virtue cannot be made greater or lesser. She is always in the same measure. Yea but Cneius Pompey shall loose his army: but this fair lustre and pretext of the Commonweal, the principal citizens, and the chiefest bands of Pompey's confederates, which being composed of the Senate that bore arms, shall be defaced in one only battle, and the wrecks and ruins of so great an Empire, shall be noised and scattered through the whole world: one part thereof shall fall in Egypt, another in Africa, and some in Spain. And that which is worse, this miserable Commonweal cannot have this good to be ruinated all at once. Let all happen whatsoever may. Although juba can be no further succoured in his own Kingdom by the knowledge of the passages, and the constant virtues of his people. Although the fidelity of the inhabitants of Utica being broken with so many mishaps, be deficient, and the fortune of Scipio's name abandoneth him in Africa itself. It hath long since been provided, that Cato shall neither feel loss nor detriment; yet was he conquered. Accounted thou this amongst Cato's repulses, he will suffer with as equal constancy, as well that which hath been contrary to his virtue, as to his estate of Praetor. The day that he refused the same, he sported; and that night he would kill himself, he read. He cared as little to loose his life, as his Praetorship, he had persuaded himself, and resolved to endure all that might happen. But why should not he with a stout and confident mind endure the changes of the Commonweal? For what may a man see that is exempt from change? The earth, the heavens, and the structure of all this great world, although it be governed by God, is subject thereunto. It shall not always retain that fair order it now observeth. Some day shall come, that shall cast it out of this accustomed course. All things altar by certain stations, they must be borne, increase, and be extinguished, whatsoever thou seest wheel and wind about us, and all that whereon we are sustained and stayed, as a thing most firm and solid, shall come to nothing, and be defective. There is nothing but hath his age and declination. Nature causeth all those things to descend into one place, by spaces of unequal time. All that which is, shall be no more, yet shall it not perish but be dissolved. To us dissolution is to die: for we respect nothing but that which is before our eyes. The dull mind, and such as hath addicted itself to the body, forseeth no further, for otherwise she would more constantly and courageously suffer, both her own and her friends dissolutions and deaths, if she hoped that all those things should go by turns from death to life, and that those things which are compounded, shall be dissolved, and such as are dissolved shall be reassembled, and that God, which governeth the whole world, employeth his eternal Art on this work. Therefore, when as Cato hath represented before his mind, all the eternity of time, he will say: All mankind whatsoever is or shall be, is condemned to die. All the Cities, in what place soever they be, that have had dominion over their neighbours, and have been greatened and honoured by foreign Empires, the time shall come when it shall he inquired where they were builded, and by sundry sorts of dissolution shall they be extinguished. War shall destroy some: Idleness, and a long peace converted into slothfulness, and foolish expenses, a fatal adjunct of great riches shall consume the others. A sudden inundation of the sea, shall hide all these fertile fields, or an earthquake shall swallow them up in his bottomless bosom. What cause have I therefore to grudge at, or grieve for, if in a small moment I outstrip public fate. A constant soul must obey God, and whatsoever the law of the great universe commandeth, let him suffer without cunctation or delay. For either she shall be translated into a better life, to remain with more brightness and tranquility amongst divine things, or certainly she shall remix herself with her nature, and return into her whole, nevermore to suffer any incommodity or pain. The sovereign good then of Marcus Cato, shall not consist any more in an honest life, but in an honest death; for virtue is not intended. Socrates' said, that verity and virtue were the same. For as she increaseth not, no more doth virtue also, she hath her perfection, she is full. Thou must not wonder then to hear that goods are equal, as well they which we are to take by a certain resolution, as those which a sudden current of Fortune bringeth to us. For if thou admittest any inequality, that thou wilt reckon it amongst the lesser goods, to be constant in torments, thou shalt reckon it also amongst the evils. Thou shalt term Socrates unhappy in his prison, and Cato infortunate, renting open his wounds more courageously than he inflicted them. Thou shalt judge Regulus the unhappiest man in the world, for paying the penalty of his observed faith unto his mortal enemies' and yet there is not one, how delicate soever, and effeminate he be, that hath dared to say thus, for they deny him to be blessed, and yet they deny him to be miserable. The ancient Academics confess, that amidst these torments and pains he was happy, but not perfectly and fully, which can in no manner be allowed of. For if he be happy, he hath attained the sovereign good, and the sovereign good cannot have any degree above the same, if so be it be accompanied with any virtue, provided that adversities overcome it not, provided that it remain entire and safe, although the body be crushed in sunder; but certain it is that she remaineth entire. For I speak of a virtue most excellent and courageous, which is animated and incited against all that which offendeth it. That mind which oftentimes young men of generous hope and dispositions put upon them, whom the beauty of some honest thing hath provoked, so that they contemn all casualties, undoubtedly wisdom will infuse and teach, and persuade us that the only good is that which is honest. And that this can neither be remitted or intended, no more than a rule by which a man measureth that which he would make strait, which if thou bear whatsoever thou changest from it, it is the injury of the right. The same therefore will we say by Virtue, that she also is strait, and admitteth no crookedness, it can be no more intended. She it is that judgeth of all things, and nothing judgeth of her, if she cannot be made straighter, no more are those things which are done by her straighter, the one than the other, for they must needs be answerable to the same; so are they equal. What then sayest thou? Are these things alike to sit at a table banqueting, and to be tortured? Doth this seem strange unto thee? Thou hast more occasion to wonder at this. It is an evil thing to sit at a banquet; it is a good thing to be tortured: if that be done lewdly, this honestly. The matter is not the cause that this is either good or evil; it is the virtue. This wheresoever it appeareth, all things are of the same measure and price. He that judgeth another man's understanding by his own, presently lifteth up his nails to scratch out mine eyes, when I say that his good that suffereth adversities constantly, and his that maketh an honest judgement of prosperity are equal: when I say that the goods of him that triumpheth, and of him that with an invincible courage is led before the triumphant Chariot are alike. For they think that nothing is done which they cannot do, and by their own infirmity, they censure virtue. Why wonderest thou, why some rejoice when they see themselves burned, wounded, harmed, slain and fettered? Sometimes they suffer it for their pleasure. Sobriety sufficeth for a penalty, to a prodigal and dissolute man. Travel is no less than torture to an idle man. The effeminate taketh pity of him that is industrious, and study is a hell to him that is slothful. In like sort, those things (for which our forces seem over feeble) are in our opinion hard and intolerable, whereas in our forgetfulness, we find many that think it a torment to want wine, and trouble to rise early. These by nature are not difficult, but we are recreants, we are effeminate. We aught to judge of great things with a great courage; otherwise it will seem to be their error, which is ours. So certain things that are most strait, when as they are let down into the water, seem crooked and bowed to them, that behold them. It skilleth not what thou seest, but how. Our mind is dimmed in beholding those things, and examining them which are true. Give me a young man well borne and of good spirit: he will say that he supposeth him more fortunate, that hath borne all the burdens of adverse fortune, with a constant mind, on his shoulders, then him that hath wholly trodden Fortune under foot. It is no wonder to be temperate in tranquility, admire him that is high minded, where all men are dejected, that standeth there where all men are suppressed. What evil is there in torments, or what in those things which we call adverse? The evil is, as I think, when the soul is astonished, when it is weakened, when it is smothered under the burden. But none of these may befall a wise man. He remaineth always upright, how overcharged soever he be. There is nothing that lesseneth his courage, nothing that is tedious unto him, which he must suffer. For he never complaineth that such a fortune hath bafallen him, which in any sort may befall any man whatsoever, she knoweth her own forces, and her ability in suffering so great a burden. I will not put a wise man out of the rank of men, I will not exempt him from dolours, no more than I would do a rock which hath no sense. I remember myself that he is compounded of two parts: The one is irrational, and that it is which may feel bitings, burnings, and pains. The other is reasonable, that is it which is never shaken in opinion, that is exempt from all fear, and that is invincible. In this part it is that a man's chiefest good lodgeth; before the accomplishment whereof, the mind wandereth as uncertain and doubtful, but after she hath attained to her perfection, it is in assurance and in immutable firmity. So he that hath but begun, and that nevertheless will ascend unto the highest, and follow virtue, although he approacheth the good which is wholly perfect, yet unable as yet to accomplish the same: he will sometimes stay himself in the way, and temperate, in some sort, the vehemency and strength of his mind, for as yet hath he not overpassed those things which are incertain, and remaineth as yet in danger of disaster. But he that is blessed, and in whom virtues are accomplished, then loveth himself most, when he hath made proof of his constancy, and if there be any thing which other men fear, provided that he may receive some honest reward of his devoir and service, he endureth not only, but he embraceth the same, and had rather hear it spoken, he is more honest; then to hear it said, he is more happy. I have now retired myself thither, whither thy expectation draweth me: jest thou shouldest suppose, that the virtue whereof I speak, should seem to extend itself above all natural things. A wiseman shall tremble, he shall feel pains, he shall be pale, for all these senses appertain unto the body. Where is then the original of his calamities? Where then appeareth his evil most approved? Than it is when his passions astonish his soul. Than it is, when they make her confess that she is a slave, and that they engender some repentance in her. The wiseman undoubtedly surmounteth Fortune by his virtue. But there are divers men who have made profession of wisdom, and notwithstanding have been terrified by very light threatenings. In this place it is our error, who exact that from a proficient, which is spoken of a wiseman. I strive as much as in me lieth, to believe all this which I praise, yet persuade I not them as yet, and although I had persuaded myself I should not have them so ready at hand, or so exercised, that they should be addressed against all casualty. Even as wool taketh some stain of colours at the first, and drinketh not up othersome, without often maceration and boiling: so some wits, when as they have conceited certain disciplines, forthwith make use of them. But this Science, except it be deeply imprinted in the soul, and hath taken deep root and long residence therein, hath not deep died, but superficially coloured the soul, and performeth nothing of that she hath promised. This may be quickly learned, and in few words; namely, that there is but one only good, which is virtue, and that undoubtedly there is not any without virtue. And that virtue is lodged in our better part, which is that, which is reasonable. What shall this virtue be? A true and immovable judgement from whence shall proceed the heat of the soul, whereby the appearance of things which may move this heat, shall become clear and certain. It behoveth that this judgement esteem all those things good and equal in themselves, which shall be achieved by the counsel of virtue. In regard of corporal goods, they are goods for the body, yet are they not entirely perfect goods. Well may they be esteemed at some rate, but it shall be without any supereminency. There is a great difference betwixt them: the one shall be greater, the other lesser. In like sort aught men to confess that there is a great difference between those that follow Philosophy. Some one hath so far profited therein, that he dare lift up his ●ies against fortune: yet not perseverantly; for they are oftentimes obscured by the beams of her too clear light. Some other hath profited so much, that h● dare encounter her face to face, if he have attained to perfection, and be full of assurance. But it must needs so fall out that things which are imperfect grow to ruin, and now frustrate themselves, and anon after come to decay or dissolution, and they shall come unto decay if they persever not to grow forward, and enforce themselves, and if they remit any thing of their study, and faithful intention, they shall grow backward. No man findeth advancement and profit there where he left it: let us therefore be diligent and persever; there remaineth yet more than we have overcome: but the greatest part of profit, is to desire to profit. Herein my conscience shall bear me witness: I will, and with my whole mind I will: I see well also that thou hast this inspiration, and that thou prosecutest with great fervency those things that are more fair. Let us then make haste, and so doing, our life shall be the cause of our great good, otherwise it is but a delay, and truly a very loathsome one, if we converse in base matters: let us endeavour, so that all the time may be ours, but it will not be, except we begin to be our own. When shall it come to pass that we will contemn both fortunes? When shall it come to pass, that suppressing all our affections, and bringing them under our obedience we may say thus: I have overcome. Askest thou me whom I have overcome? Not the Persians', not the far distant Medes, or that warlike nation of the Dacae; but avarice, but ambition, but fear of death, which have vanquished the conquerors and Vanquishers of the whole world. EPIST. LXXII. He delayeth to answer LUCILIUS petition, and that upon just occasion. He showeth that the study of goodness is deferred by us, but badly. That we aught to intent to this only, pretermitting all other things. That nothing happeneth that may hinder him, especially that is wise, and proficient in some sort. The difference betwixt them both. That external things neither add nor detract from a wiseman, that is always contented with himself. I Know well what thou demandest at my hands, if I had recollected and meditated thereupon, but it is long time since I made trial of my memory. And therefore it is that it followeth me not so easily. I know well, and feel it in myself, that the like hath befallen me which happeneth in books that are mouldy, and whose leaves cleave together. I must dilate my mind, & whatsoever things have been heard therein, they aught to be refreshed and brought in use, that they may always be in a readiness as often as we have need to use them. But let us defer this for the present; for it requireth much labour and much diligence. Assoon as I may make more longer residence in a place, I will take this task in hand; for there are some things which thou mayest compose in thy Coach, and some other that deserve the bed, the repose, and solitary places. Yet those very days wherein a man is occupied, we must do somewhat, yea, all the whole days: for now occasions and occupations will be never scanty; we see this ourselves, and from one springs many; and that which is worst, we give ourselves delays. But as soon as I have made an end of this (say we) I will wholly dedicated myself, and if I can end this troublesome matter, I will addict myself unto study. Thou must not expect till thou have leisure to follow Philosophy. Thou must contemn all other things, to be always with her. A man cannot find time that may be sufficiently long for her, although it continued with us from the years of our infancy, until the most longest life of man. It skilleth not much whether thou omittest Philosophy, or intermittest it. For it remaineth not there where it was interrupted; but even as those things that are bend, as soon as they are let slip do forcibly retire themselves, so that which departeth from his continuation, retireth itself, and returneth wholly unto his beginnings. We must reject all affairs and occupations, we must not study how to dispose them, we must wholly dispossess and drive them from us. There is no time unfitting for a wholesome study. But there are many that study not those things which they aught to study. Shall there be any occasion that may let them? Truly not him whose mind in all affairs is watchful and joyful. To these persons only true joy is interrupted, which have not as yet attained perfection. But in regard of the wise, their joy is continual, it keepeth the same tract, there is not any fortune or occasion that can countermand the same. It is always peaceable and reposed; for it hath no dependence of another: she expecteth no favour at fortunes hands, nor men's applause: it is a felicity that is bred in her own house: she would leave the soul if she entered: she is engendered therein. There might some occasion fall out to make him remember that he is mortal, but it very slight, and surpassed not the upper skin. He feeleth, I say, some incommodity, but that good which is the greatest he hath, is never shaken: well wots I that outwardly there are some incommodities, even as upon a strong and able body there appeareth some itch, and pimples, & ulcers, but inwardly there is no evil. The difference, I say, that is between a man that hath already acquired a perfect wisdom, and him that is as yet to attain the same, is such as there is betwixt a man that is healthful, and him that beginneth to recover himself from a long and tedious sickness, who thinketh himself to be then in good health, when the fit of his fever is the shortest. This man, except he be very careful of his health, he feeleth by times certain shake, and easily falleth relapse into his former infirmity. But a wiseman cannot fall again, nay more, he never more can be attainted therewith: for as touching the body, it hath health but for a time, and that Physician that hath recured him, cannot promise' him perpetuity: he is oftentimes recalled by him, whom almost before time he had resusitated: But the soul is healed for ever at one time. I will teach thee how to know when a man is in health, if he be content with himself, if he may trust himself, if he knoweth that all mortal men's vows, that all the benefits which are given and demanded have no moment in a blessed life. For that thing whereunto a man may annex somewhat, is not perfect. But that from whence nothing may be taken continueth eternally. He whose joy is perpetual may rejoice of that which is his own. But all these goods whereunto the common sort aspire inconstantly flow hither and thither: fortune giveth nothing with warrantise; and yet the benefits of fortune are pleasing unto us when they are tempered by reason, and she directeth them. She it is that maketh us allow of exterior things. The use whereof displeaseth if they be desired over-ardently. Attalus was wont to use this comparison: Hast thou seen a dog snatching at a piece of bread with open throat, or a morsel of ●lesh which his master casteth him? He devoureth incontinently all that which is given him, and still openeth his mouth, in hope that some one will cast him more. So falleth it out with us, whatsoever fortune casteth upon us during our expectation, that swallow we without any pleasure● still expecting and affecting some second prey. So fareth not a wiseman; he is full, and if any thing befall him, he securely receiveth and layeth it up; his joy is great, continual, and his own. Is there any one that hath a good will, and that profiteth somewhat, but hath not as yet attained to perfection? Such a one shall be sometimes dejected, sometimes encouraged, sometime is he raised as high as heaven, otherwise ravished as low as earth. The ignorant, and such as have little experience, never make an end of their precipitation, but fall into confusion, and into Epicurus his Chaos, void and infinite. There is another third kind of those that wanton it about wisdom, which as yet they cannot attain, yet are they in sight thereof; and if I might say so, they may clap her on the hand. These are neither shaken, neither do they fall, they are not as yet on the continent, but they are already in the harbort Since then there is so great a distance betwixt those that are on high, & those that are most low, since that they which are in the midst, feel as yet some storm, and that they are followed with more danger to return unto a more wicked life, we must not addict ourselves to any occupations, we must reject them. If they were once entered, they would set some other in their places. Let us hinder their beginnings, and the less labour will there be to keep them from beginning, then to see them take end. EPIST. LXXIII. That Philosophers are not disobedient but more obedient, and faithful to Princes, than these ambitions and Palatines: for these ●ffect envy, and are always unquiet, often displeased, but they love them, because they li●e quietly under them, and are such that is full of good merchandise. They impute this benefits also, although it happen unto many. At length he counseleth him to aspire unto virtue, that is, to God; for that (such is the Stoics pride) they make a wiseman equal with him. THey deceive themselves, in my judgement, that suppose that they who have wholly addicted themselves to Philosophy, are disobedient and rebellious to their Magistrates and Kings, or that they contemn those by whose authority public affairs are administered: for contrariwise there is not any one that reverenceth and respecteth them more than they. And not without cause; for that Kings cannot do● greater good unto any man in this world, then to those that may enjoy a peaceable repose. It must then necessarily ●all out, that they to whom public assurance openeth the way to the intention they have to live well● should reverence the author of the same good as their Lord and Father. And truly far more than those light witted and irresolute men, who being infinitely bound unto their Princes, will notwithstanding have men think that they own them mor●, on whom a man cannot employ any liberality how grea● soever it be, that may satisfy their ambitious desires, which increase always the more, the more they are glutted. But he that thinketh to receive new benefits, hath already forgotten the old, and covetousness hath not any vice more great than ingratitude. Add hereunto now, that there are none of those that are employed, and conversant in public affairs, that respecteth those at any time, whom he hath over-stripped, but looks into those that outstrip him, and it is not so pleasant a matter unto them, to see many men come after them: as it is grievous unto them, that any one should overpass them in dignity. All sort of ambition hath this vice, that it never respecteth that which is past. And ambition is not only inconstant and wandering, but all covetousness likewise; because it beginneth always from the end. But that sincere and poor man, who hath forsaken the Court and the Palace, and all pre-eminency in commonweal to retire himself for more noble intents and ends, loveth those by whose authority it is lawful for him to do these things with security; he alone payeth them with gratuitall testimony of acknowledgement, and confesseth himself to be indebted unto them for a great good, although they know not his good william. Even as he honoureth and reverenceth his Masters, by whose instructions he is despoiled of those vices, in like sort respecteth he those, under whose protection and government he may exercise honest disciplines. But the King protecteth others also by his power. Who denieth it? But even as amongst others that have traveled by Sea, and have been partakers of one and the same calm, he thinketh himself more bound unto Neptune, that hath brought home more great quantity of precious merchandise; and as the Merchant payeth his vow with greater courage than a Passenger doth: And as he also amongst the Merchants that bringeth perfunes, purples, and other precious things which are sold for their weight in gold, reknowledgeth this favour more liberally, then doth he that hath but laid down poor Merchandise, and other things which should serve but to balist and load the ship: So the benefit of thi● peace, appertaining to all, doth more deeply content them that use the same well: For there are many of these Magistrates and mighty men, to whom peace is more troublesome than war. Art thou of that opinion, that they which make no other use of peace, but to employ it in drunkenness, in riot and other sorts of vices; for the extermination of which, it were necessary to enterprise a war, shall be so much obliged for the same? Except happily thou wert of that opinion, that a wiseman were so injust, that he thought that he were no ways obliged to his governor, for public and common benefits. I own much unto the Sun and Moon, and yet they shine not for me alone. I am particularly bound unto the year, and to God that tempereth and governeth the same, although they have not been ordained for my particular honour. It is the foolish avarice of mortal men, that maketh a division of these goods, and assigneth the property unto them, and that believeth nothing to be his that is for public profit. But this wiseman judgeth nothing to be more aptly his, then that which is common between him and all other men. For goods cannot be common, if the portions of them appertained not to particulars. A man is made partaker how little part soever he enjoy in a common thing. Add hereunto also this other reason, that the greatest and truest goods are not so divided, that a little should light upon every private man. They come wholly into every man's possession. Of those presents which Princes make unto the people, the particulars take as much by poll, as hath been promised to every one. At a common banquet, and at the common dole of flesh, and in all that which is received by hand, the alms is distributed in prizes. But these indivisible goods, such as peace and liberty are, these also are entire to all, as they are particular unto every one: and therefore a wiseman considereth what he is, by whose means the public necessity constraineth him no more to bear arms, nor to intent the Watch, nor to stand Sentinel on the walls, and not to pay an infinity of taxes any more which war bringeth with it, and giveth thanks unto his Prince. This doth Philosophy teach vs● especially to be dutifully thankful for benefits, and faithfully to requited them; and the only acknowledgement sometimes serveth for payment. He will therefore confess that he is very much bound unto him, by whose wise government and providence this great and happy repose is befallen him, to be able to pass the term of his life in such tranquility and quiet, which is not interrupted by any public occupations. IT is God O MELIBE that gave this peace, Him as my God I'll honour without cease. If then these calms and contentments are so principally to be ascribed to him that hath procured them for us, the greatest good whereof is He (as thou seest) my yoked team permits To blow the earth, by him in pleasant fits, Mine Oaten pipe I tune as best befits. How much aught we to esteem that repose which we partake with the gods, that maketh us become gods. Thus say I Lucilius, thus call I thee to heaven by a short way. Sextius was wont to say, That JUPITER could not do more than a good man. JUPITER hath more means to be liberal towards men. But among two good men, he is not the better that is the richer, no more then between two that have equal knowledge in governing a ship, thou wilt not call him better that governeth a Carrack or great vessel, and full of rich lading. What advantage hath jupiter over a good man? It is but only this, that he is more long time good. A wiseman reckoneth himself nothing the less, because his virtues are determined in a shorter time. Even as of two wisemen, he which is dead in fullness of his age, is not more happy than he, whose virtue hath taken end in lesser years. So God likewise surmounteth not a wiseman in felicity, although he exceed him in age. That virtue is not greater which is longer. jupiter hath all th●se things, but he hath given the use and possession thereof unto others● This only use appertaineth unto him, that he is the cause that others may use the same. The wiseman likewise is glad to see the possession of all goods in an other man's hands, and maketh as small account also of that as jupiter doth, and further supposeth himself to have this advantage above him, that jupiter cannot have use of them, and a wiseman will not. Let us therefore believe Sextius, who showeth us a fair way, and crieth out, This is the way to heaven, by sobriety, by temperance, and by patience in adversity. The Gods disdain no man, envy no man, they entertain and stretch forth their hand to those that ascend. Wonderest thou to hear that men go unto the Gods? God cometh unto men, nay (which is more near) he cometh into men. There is not any soul that is good without God. There are certain divine seeds dispersed in the bodies of men, which grow answerable to their original, and grow alike unto that grain from whence they took their beginning, if they be entertained in the bosom of a good husbandman. But if he be evil, he choketh them as a barren and faggie ground; and finally, in stead of corn beareth chaff & straw. EPIST. LXXIIII. O fair, O honest Epistle, and of honesty itself, and that indeed it is the only good, the rest but in opinion. He that will safely and securely live, let him so think. What likeness? Let him have a ready buckler against all casualties, which is to follow God. At length he answereth certain objections. Lastly he showeth that a blessed life is as a circle, perfect both in small and great. That nothing is added, nothing taken therefrom by external things. It must be reiterated. O fair, O honest, enjoy thou this, who hast such a mind. THy letter hath delighted me, and awakened me when I was wearied, and quickened my memory also, which is now slow and heavy. Why shouldest thou not, my Lucilius, think this persuasion to be the greatest instrument of blessed life, that there is only one good, that is to say, that which is honest? He that hath circumscribed all sorts of good under honesty, is happy in himself. For he that judgeth that other things are goods, subiecteth himself to the power of Fortune, and dependeth on another man's william. This man is sorrowful for the loss of his children, another careful of them that are sick, and that other, if they be dishonest and noted of infamy. Thou shalt see one man tormented with the love of another man's wife, and another transported with the love he beareth his own. There wanteth not some one likewise, that is distracted with the repulse he receiveth in his affected dignity, and another that is disgusted with the honour which he possesseth. But the greatest number of all those men which are thus miserable, is of them whom the assault and touch of impendent death, which they fear on every side, presseth and tormenteth incessantly, for there is nothing from whence they think not, that she should not assail them. Therefore as if they lived in an enemy's country, they aught to look about them on every side, and on every voice they hear, to turn their necks thitherward: for except this fear be driven out of their breasts, they live in continual heartbreak and suspicion. Some will be found out that have been sent into exile, and deprived of their goods, and some also will occur (which kind of poverty is the most irksome) poor in their riches. Thou shalt meet with some that are shipwrecked, or such as have suffered some such like thing unto shipwreck, whom either the wrath or envy of the common sort (which is a dangerous weapon to wound the better sort) hath overthrown unawares, and when they were most secure, after the manner of a gust, which is wont to break forth in the most seeming securite of a calm, or a sudden lightning, at whose crack the neighbouring countries have trembled. For even as he that is nearest to this ●ire, remaineth as much amazed, as if he had been stricken: in like sort, in these accidents that come by violence, the calamity oppresseth one, but feareth the rest, & maketh the ability to suffer equal with the heaviness of those that do suffer. Other men's misfortunes, which surprise them at unawares, astonish the minds of all those that see them. And even as the only noise of a sling although it be not charged, frighteth the birds. In like manner, we not only tremble at the stroke, but at the lest crack we hear. No man therefore can be blessed, that hath credited himself to this opinion. For nothing is blessed, but that which is without fear: the life is miserable that is incombe●ed with suspicion. Whosoever hath addicted himself very much unto casualties, hath made himself a great and inexplicable matter of perturbation. There is but one way for him to tract, that will search out a life full of assurance, which is to contemn the goods of Fortune, and to content himself with that which is honest. For if any man thinketh that there is any other thing better than virtue, or that there is any other good besides the same: he openeth his bosom to that which Fortune spreadeth, and with extreme care expecteth those goods whereof she maketh largesse. Suppose, and imagine in thy mind, that Fortune maketh public plays, and that she casteth amidst this great assembly of men, honours, riches, and favours, whereof the one part is broken and torn in pieces, between the hands of those that ravish them; another part is unequally divided by a disloyal society; and another hath wrought their inestimable damage, that have engrossed them; and finally also some others, have fallen into the hands of some they thought not any wise of, and others have been lost by running after the same over-greedily, and they have been torn out of our hands by reason of the over-greedy desire which we had to attain them. To conclude, there is not any, how happy soever his ravishment be, whose joy, in respect of that he hath ravished, can endure long time. For which cause, the wiser sort, as soon as they see the presents brought in, fly out of the theatre, as knowing well, that a little thing would cost them dear. No man fighteth with him that retireth, no man striketh him that flieth, it is upon the prey the contention groweth. The same success is there in those things that Fortune casteth down from on high. We burn in miserable desire after these goods, we are in great travel, we desire to have many hands; now regard we this man, presently that man, we think that they are too slowly sent unto us which stir up our desires, and that it can fall but into few men's hands, although it be expected and desired by all men. We desire to encounter those that fall● we laugh if we may surprise any thing, and some other envy, whom vain hope hath deceived. We redeem a lamentable damage with a little prey, or thereby were deceived. Let us therefore departed from these plays, and let us give place to these ravishers. Let these men fix their intention as much as they will on those goods which hung in the air, and let themselves likewise be more in suspense. Whosoever is resolved to be blessed, let him resolve there is but one good, which is honestly. For if he supposeth that there is any other good; first of all he judgeth evil of God's providence, because many mishaps befall good men: and because all that which she hath given us, is but of a very small continuance, if thou compare it with the age of the whole world. From this complaint it groweth, that we are ungrateful interpreters of divine things. We complain, because goods befall us not every day, that they are little, that they are incertain, and that they must suddenly departed from us. Hence cometh it to passe● that we will not live, neither have desire to die; we hate life, and we fear death. All our counsels are uncertain, and ther● is no felicity that can satisfy us. The cause hereof is nothing else, but that we have not as yet attained that sovereign good, which cannot be surmounted by any other thing, and on which we aught to stay our desires, for above the place that is most highest, there is no other place. Askest thou me why virtue hath need of nothing? Because she is pleased with things present, and desireth not the absent. There is nothing but seemeth great unto her, because that every thing sufficeth her. And if thou shouldest separate thyself from this opinion, neither piety nor faith should have any place. He that would follow both the one and the other, shall be constrained to suffer very much of that which we call evil, and to spend much of that which we esteem and reckon of for good. Furthermore, constancy that must make trial of herself is lost, magnanimity is lost also, because she cannot approve herself, except she contemn all things as over base, which the common sort desireth as the most greatest. In brief, the grace and requital of all good turns is lost, it is but pain and travel, if we think that there is any other thing more precious than faith, and if we fix not our eyes on that which is the best. But to let these things pass, either those that are called goods, or none at all; or a man is happier than God. For God maketh no use of those goods which are prepared for us, disordinate pleasures, foolish expenses in banquets, riches, nor any of that which may allure a man, or draw him to loathsome pleasures, appertain not to him. We must then say (that which is incredible) either that God hath want of these goods: or we must conclude upon this argument, that whatsoever God wanteth is not good. Furthermore, there are many things that would be thought to be goods, which are more amply employed on beasts then on men. They eat with more greater appetite, they are not so soon wearied in the act of generation, their forces are more great and lasting, whereby it followeth that they are more happy than man: for they live without wickedness or deceit, they enjoy their pleasures, which they enjoy more fully, and more easily, without any fear of shame or repentance. Consider thou therefore, whether that is to be called good, wherein God is overcome by man. Let us lodge the sovereign good in our mindest He loseth all his grace and dignity, if from the better part, which is in us, it should be translated to the worse, and should be transferred to the senses, which are more active in brute beasts. Our chiefest felicity is not to be planted in the flesh. Those are true goods which reason giveth, they are solid and everlasting; which cannot fall, neither be decreased nor diminished. The rest are goods in opinion, they have only a common name with the true, but they have no property or effects of virtue in them. Let them then be called commodities, or according to our phrase, profits and revenues. But let us know that they are but as our slaves, and not any part of us, let them be in such sort with us; that we remember ourselves that they are without us, and if they be with us, we must put them in the number of those things which are most base and abject, and for which no man aught to wax proud. For what is more foolish, then for a man to please himself, in that which himself hath not done? Let all these things approach us, but not cleave unto us, and if they must be drawn from us, let them be so severed, that we be not distracted and torn thereby. Let us use them, and not glory in them, and let us use them sparingly, as such things as are lent us, and are not to remain with us. Whosoever useth them contrary to reason, he hath not long time enjoyed them. For felicity itself hunteth us, except it be well tempered and governed: is over-pressed, if she trust herself to transitory goods, she is quickly forsaken, and le●t she should be forsaken, she tormenteth herself infinitely. There are few men who ●aue had the fortune to lay by their felicity contentedly. The rest of men, with those goods that made them esteemed above others, are dejected, and that which for a time exalted them, finally humbleth them. Much wisdom therefore must be made use of, which may dispose them with measure and parsimony. For a disordinate liberty over beareth and destroyeth his proper riches in such sort, that immeasurable expense hath never continued long, if reason by her moderation had not restrained the same. The miserable end of divers cities will make thee know this, whose luxurious empires in their first flower and pride have decayed, and will teach thee, that all that which hath been gotten by virtue, is ruinated by superfluity and lavish expense. Against these casualties are we to arm ourselves. There is not any wall that can resist the batteries of ●ortune: and it is within us, that we aught to arm ourselves. If that noble fortress be assured, a man may be assailed, but he cannot be surprised. Wilt thou know what fortification it is? That he trouble not himself with any thing that may happen, that he believe that whatsoever, yea even that which seemeth to offend him, dependeth on the conservation of the whole world, and that it is a part of that which finisheth the course and office of the heavens. A man aught to take pleasure in all that which God taketh pleasure in, he aught to admire himself, and all that which is in him, for this only consideration, that he cannot be vanquished, that he holdeth his evil under his feet, and that with reason, than which nothing is more powerful, he surmounteth Fortune, grief and injury. love reason then, for the love thereof will arm thee against all the greatest misfortunes that may be. The love of their young ones causeth wild beasts, to fall into snares, who otherwise by their fierceness and violence were untameable. Sometimes the desire of glory hath drawn some young and generous minds into contempt, both of sword and fire● the opinion and shadow of virtue hath egged some on to seek out a voluntary death. But the stronger and constanter reason is against all this, the more vehement and violent becometh she against all fear and danger. You do nothing, will some man say, because you deny that there is any other good but honesty. This defence of yours shall not make you strong and impregnable against Fortune. For you say that amongst these goods, a man aught to include obedient children, cities well governed, and parents that are honest. And yet if these be in any danger, you cannot see it without astonishment. For a siege of thy city, the death of thy children, and the bondage of thy parents will trouble thee. But I will set thee down what it is, that is accustomably answered for us in this case● and then again will I add what besides that may be answered in my judgement. There is another condition in those things which being taken from us, substitute some other incommodity in their place, as health being impaired, changeth itself into sickness, the sight of the eye extinguished, affecteth us with blindness, and when the ●ammes are cut, not only sinews perish, but debility followeth in stead thereof. And yet danger is not in those things, which we have spoken of a little before: Why? Because that if I have lost a good friend, I must not therefore be perfidious for him, neither if I have buried good children; there is no reason that impiety should supply their place, to endanger and hurt me. Moreover, by this death, friends and children are not lost, it is but the body. But good cannot be lost, but by one only mean, that is, if it should change itself into evil, which Nature permitteth not, for all virtues' and all their actions remain incorruptible. Again, although that friends, although that well approved children, and have in nothing contradicted their father's commands, be dead, yet notwithstanding, ●here is something that may supply their place. Askest thou me what it may be? It is that virtue that hath made them good men. She suffereth not at any tim●, that there should be any place void. She entirely taketh seizure of our souls, she exterminat●th the sorrow of all things, and contenteth her ●elfe to be alone. For th● power & original of all goods is in her. What skilleth it if the water that floweth be stolen, or ●●ee●e away, if the fountain from whence it issueth be living and replenished. Thou wilt not say, that a man is more just, because his children are yet alive, or for that they ar● dead● no more moderate, more honest, more wise, more better, consequently a great number of friends make not a man more wise, neither the diminution, or want of them, maketh him not more foolish, and consequently also, neither more happy, nor more miserable. As long as thy virtue shall remain entire, thou shalt never feel any loss that thou hast made. What then? Is not he who is environed with a goodly troop of friends and children more happy? Why should he not be? Because the sovereign good cannot be● diminished or augmented. He always remaineth after the same fashion. Howsoever Fortune carry herself, although the years be old, or that he die before he be aged, it is one and the same measure of the sovereign good, although it be different in age. Whether thou make a circle greater or lesser; it is but in respect of the space, but not of the figure: and although the one hath remained a long time painted, and that thou hast incontinently defaced the other, and covered it with dust in the place where thou hast cast it; yet both the one and the other were the same figure. That which is right and just is not esteemed by the greatness, nor by the number, nor by the time; it can neither be lengthened nor strengthened. Take as much as thou wilt, an honest life that endured an hundred years, and reduce and determine it in one only day, the one is as honest as the other. Virtue extendeth itself more at large: she governeth Kingdoms, Cities, and whole Provinces, she maketh laws, she prizeth and honoureth friendships, she distributeth offices and duties between the nearest parents and their children; and presently she circumscribeth herself in a straighter scope of poverty, banishment, and loss of children. Yet is she not lessened, although that from a great and high estate she is fallen, into a private and particular, and from a royal throne, to an abject and base place. And if from a public and ample power, she restrain herself in a homely cottage, or in some corner she is always as great, if after she hath been driven from all places, she solely retire herself into herself. For this notwithstanding, she hath a courage great and invincible, a prudence tha● is perfect, a justice immutable, and consequently she is always happy. For this blessedness and this good is lodged in one only place, that is to say, in the mind. It is everlasting, & full of tranquility, which cannot be without the knowledge of divine and human things. It followeth now, that which I said I would answer. A wiseman tormenteth not himself for the loss of his children, nor his friends, for he endureth their death with as equal constancy and courage, as he expecteth his own. He feareth the one as little as he grieveth for the other, because virtue consisteth in conveniency, all her works are agreeable with he● self, and answer one another. This concord would be last, if the mind which should be assured and constant, should suffer itself to be overcome with sorrow and sadness. All sorts of astonishment, all fear, all idleness and slackness in any act whatsoever, is dishonest. For all that which is honest is full of assurance; and diligence; it is never astonished, but always prepared. What then, shall he not feel some passion like unto trouble? Shall he not change his colour? Shall not his countenance discover some perturbation, shall not his members wax i'll? and all other things which a man doth not by the command of the mind, but by a sudden and inconsiderate heat of nature? I confess he shall. But he shall always be thus persuaded, that none of all this is evil, nor worthy that a good understanding should be astonished at. All that which he aught to do, he will do boldly and readily: for who is he that will not say that it is the proper nature of folly, to perform that cowardly and against his heart which he doth, and to drive the body into one place, and the mind into another; and to suffer himself to be drawn by so many contrary motions. That every thing for which she esteemeth herself so much, and for which she entereth into admiration of herself, maketh her contemptible● and beside, that which is worse, she performeth not that with a good will, from whence she taketh her glory. But if she feareth that any evil should befall her, she perplexeth herself in expectation thereof: she tormenteth herself as if the evil had already attainted her; and all that which she feareth she may suffer hereafter, she presently suffereth by the means of her fear. Even as there are certain signs that appear in the body before the fever cometh (for a man feeleth a dullness in the sinews, a lassitude, a gaping or yawning, and a horror which passeth thorough all the members) In like sort a sick mind feeleth some shake and assaults, which enfeeble him before the evil touch him: he enters into sorrows, and loseth his heart before the time. But what more greater folly may a man see, then for a man to dismay his mind for such things as are yet to come? and not to be able to reserve himself to suffer the torment when it shall come, but to summon miseries a far off, and to approach them, before they press him; which he were better to delay if he might not avoid. Wilt thou know that no man aught to be tormented for that which is to come? Whosoever shall hear it said, that some fifty years hence he must be led to execution, he will not torment himself, because he hath passed the half of this time, and that he is not plunged in this disquiet of mind, which should not come but in an age after. The like befalleth those spirits that are voluntarily sick, and do nothing but seek occasion of sorrow, who are sad for things long since forepast and forgotten. All that which is past and which is to come, is absent. We neither perceive the one nor the other. But there is no grief but of that which thou feelest. EPIST. LXXV. That Philosophy affecteth not words, and yet neither renounceth wit nor good discourse. The chiefest, matter is, that the life be correspondent to the words. Furthermore let us endeavour to proceed, because we are to ascend by degrees, and they are three. The degrees of those that are proficient. THou complainest that the Letters which I sand thee, are not written ouer-curiously● but who is he that writeth in so an affected style, but he that would writ to insinuate? Such as my speech should be if we were sitting together, or if men walked out together, easy and without Art: such will I that my Epistles be, that they neither be extravagant nor affected. If it were possible that a man might understand that which I think, I had rather expressed it by signs, then by words. And if I should dispute likewise, I would not stamp upon the ground, nor cast my hands abroad, nor lift up my voice: I would leave that to Orators, and content myself to have made thee understand my conceit, without enriching my speech, or neglecting it also. I would plainly persuade thee this one point, that I firmly believe that which I say, and that I not only believe the same, but love it also. Men kiss their Mistress in one sort, and their children in another; & notwithstanding in this embracement, so holy and so chaste affection sufficiently discovereth itself. Truly I would not that my discourses which men hold of so great matters, should be dull and dry: for Philosophy renounceth not a happy and gentle spirit, yet will she not likewise that we employ overmuch affectation in our discourse. In brief, see here what is the sum of our intention. Let us speak what we think, and think what we speak; let our speech be answerable to our life: he hath fulfilled his promise who is the same when thou seest him, and when thou hearest him: we shall see what he is, and how great he is; but he must always be one. It is not necessary that our words be pleasing, but that they profit. But if eloquence may befall any man, without much labour and affectation, if it be already acquired, or hath cost him little, let him boldly make use thereof, and employ it in worthy subjects. Let it be such that it rather express the matter, than itself. All other Arts appertain only to the wit, but nothing is entreated of here but the affairs of the mind. The sick-man seeketh not out an eloquent Physician, but such a one as knoweth how to cure well: yet if so be it so fall out, that he who knoweth how to heal well, discourseth eloquently of that which he aught to perform, he aught not to be displeased thereat. Neither also aught he to rejoice, because he is fallen into the hands of a Physician that can speak well: for it is as much as if a skilful Master of a Ship w●re a goodly man also. Why scratchest thou mine ears? Why delightest thou me? Thou must; there is another thing now in hand, thou must minister me an actual cautery, I must be lanced, I must have a Diet prescribed me: for this cause art thou called. Thy duty is to heal an old sickness that is dangerous and public. Thou hast as much to do as the Physician in the plague time. Wilt thou spend the time about words? If thou finish the cure then mayest thou rejoice. When shall it be that thou wilt lodge that which thou hast learned so inwardly in thyself, that it may never more departed from thee? When wilt thou make trial thereof? for it sufficeth not to commit them to memory, as thou dost other sciences: Thou must assay to put them in execution. He that knoweth all this is not happy, but he that doth it. What then, are there no degrees under him? May a man upon the sudden attain unto wisdom? I cannot believe it: for he that profiteth is counted amongst the number of fools, yet is he estranged from them by a great distance, and amongst those that are proficient also there are great differences: they are divided, as some say, into three ranks; The first are they that have not as yet attained wisdom, but are already settled near unto it, although that which is near is as yet without. Thou wilt ask me who these are? They are those who have already laid aside all their affections and vices, & that have learned that which they aught to embrace, but their assurance is not as yet experimented. They have not as yet the use of their good; yet can they not fall again any more on that which they have already fled. They are so far forward that they cannot retire back, but they know it not as yet. And as I remember I have written in a certain Epistle, they know not that they do know it. They can already make use of their good but their confidence is yet vnassured. Some there are that speak thus of this sort of men, who profit and whom I speak heretofore and say that they have already escaped the sicknesses of the mind, but not the passions; and that they are as yet afraid to fall, because no man is out of the danger of vice, but he that hath wholly driven it from him; but no one driveth it away but he that hath assumed wisdom in his place. I have oftentimes told what differences there are betwixt the sicknesses of the soul, and the passions of the mind. Yet will I refresh the memory thereof unto thee. The sicknesses are inveterate and obdurate vices, such as are avarice, and over great ambition, at such time as they have entangled the mind, and have begun to be a perpetual sickness. And to be short, the sickness is an obstinate judgement in wicked things, as if a man should greatly desire that which he aught not to desire but slightly; or if thou like it better, we may define it thus. To desire that over-vehemently which we aught to wish for slightly, or which a man should not any ways wish or desire; or else to prize that overmuch which a man should prize very little or nothing at all. Affections are improbable, sudden and violent motions of the mind, which being frequent an● neglected, have caused a sickness, as a descent and distillation of rheum doth; which being as yet unformed, engendereth a cough: but if it continued and waxeth old, it becometh Phthisis. Even so they who have already profited much, are out of sickness, yet feel they as yet some passions, yet are they near unto perfection. The second sort is of those who have escaped the greatest passions and sicknesses of the soul, but it is in such a sort that they are not certain in the possession of their security; for they may fall again into their infirmities. This other third sort is exempt from a number of the greater vices, but not out o● all: he hath fled from avarice, but is as yet sensible of wrath: he is no more subject to pleasures and voluptuousness, but he is full of ambition: he is not covetous, but he is as yet fearful and timorous; but in this fear● he is sufficiently assured in some things, and showeth himself remiss in some other things: he contemneth death, but he feareth dolour. Let us think a little upon this third place: it will be well with us, if we be admitted unto this third number. It is with a great felicity of nature, and with a study accompanied with a great and industrious diligence, that a man entereth into the second rank: yet must we not despise those of the third order. Think with thyself how many evils thou seest about thee; behold how there is not any offence how detestable soever it be, of which we cannot show some examples. See how wickedness increaseth daily, and what faults are committed both in public and private; and thou shalt understand that we have profited enough, if we be not ranked amongst the worst. But I hope, sayest thou, that I may be made one of the honourable order. I should rather wish us this good fortune, then promise' it. We are already seized and arrested: we run after virtue, but we are entangled and sna●ed in vices. I am ashamed to speak it; we follow not honest things, but then when we can do nothing else. But how great a reward attendeth us, if we would wholly break off our occupations, and shake off those evils which hold us captive. Neither desire, neither fear should compel us, but being freed from all terrors, entire and incorrupted against all pleasures, we should no more be afraid of death, or of the Gods: We should understand that neither death is evil, and that the Gods are good: as infirm and feeble is that which may hurt, as that to whom it hurteth. The best things, and such as never hurt, do expect us when we shall departed one day out of this order, to mount those high and sublime places with a placability of mind, and after the errors shall be driven away, with an entire and perfect liberty. Askest thou what it is? Not to fear men or Gods, neither to will that which is dishonest nor desire overmuch, and to have the greatest power over himself. It is an inestimable good for a man to be able to become his own. EPIST. LXXVI. That he heareth Philosophy, and goeth to the Schools. He complaineth of the negligence and sloth of men, which learn other things, and neglect Philosophy. Do not thou so, my LUCILIUS, make haste and learn goodness. What good? That which is only honest. And again he approveth by arguments that it is so, and that other things are not. A laudable and wise Epistle. THou threatenest me that thou wilt be mine enemy, if so be I conceal aught from thee of those things which I daily do. Behold how freely and simply I live with thee: for this also will I impart unto thee, I hear a Philosopher, and for these five days passed already have I haunted the school, and have heard him dispute from eight of the clock. I am old enough, wilt thou say, to go thither: and why should not this age be good? What greater folly may there be, then because of long time thou hast not learned, not to learn at all? What then, shall I do nothing else but that which those yongfull and refreshed wantoness do, I should think myself happy, if there were nothing ill beseeming mine age but that. This School admitteth men of all ages. Let us wax old in this School, we must follow it, as if as yet we were young. Shall I go unto the Theatre as old as I am? shall I 'cause myself to be carried to the sports and public spectacles? shall not one couple of combatants be singled out to fight, except I be a looker on? and shall I be ashamed to go and see a Philosopher? So long art thou to learn as long as thou art ignorant; and if we give credit to the Proverb, so long as thou livest: neither can this more fitly be applied to any thing then to this, so long art thou to learn in what manner thou shouldest live, as long as thou livest. Yet teach I also something in this School. Askest thou me what I teach? Forsooth this, that how old soever a man be, he aught always to learn. Undoubtedly I am ashamed to see how men live. As often as I enter into the School, I must of necessity, as thou well knowest, pass by the Neapolitan Theatre: it is their way that go to Metronactes house. This Theatre before I come is replenished with people, although the greatest study that they use, is but to judge who it is that playeth best upon the Flute. A great number of men flock thither to hear the mischiefs and the Grecians Trumpets sound; but in that place where a man learneth to be a good man, few men stay there. And these also in divers men's judgement seem to have no good business in hand, they call them men of little spirit and loiterers. I should be glad to see myself mocked in this kind. A man aught to endure patiently the injuries of the ignorant. It becometh him that followeth honest things to contemn this contempt. Courage, my Lucilius, go forward, and make haste, jest that befall thee which is fallen upon me, that is to learn in thine old age: but haste thyself, since for the present thou hast undertaken that which thou canst hardly completely learn, although thou shouldest attain the fullness of thine age: how much, sayest thou, shall I profit? As much as thou wouldst assay. What expectest thou then? No man hath ever been wise by casualty. Richeses will come of itself, honour shall be offered, grace and dignity happily shall be thrust upon thee: but virtue will not befall thee, when thou little thinkest of it, neither also with slight travel, and little pain. He must not be weary of the travel which he taketh, who should at one time gain all the goods of this world. For there is but one only good, that is to say, that which is honest. In those things that are plausible to fame, thou shalt find nothing true, nothing certain. I will tell thee why that is only good which is honest, because thou supposest, that in my former Epistle I have not sufficiently expressed unto thee the reason, and for that thou thinkest then, I have better praised, then proved this proposition, and I will succinctly, and in few words, signify and abridge all that which I have spoken. All things have their proper good. The Vine is commended for his fruitfulness, the wine for his taste, and the Hart for his swift footing. Why askest thou, wherefore horses have strong backs? because he only serveth to bear burdens. The first thing that is required in a dog, that is, to be employed in searching out ●nd hunting wild beasts, is his quick sent; if to overtake them, is his swiftnesse● if to bite and invade them, his fierceness. In all things that whereunto a man is borne, and for which he is prized and esteemed, is always the best. What is the best thing in a man? It is his reason. By it he surpasseth beasts, and followeth the gods very near. So then perfect reason is a man's proper good, all other things are such, as brute beasts partake them in common as well as he. If he be mighty, so are Lions; if he be fair, so is the Peacock; if he be swift, so is the horse: I will not say that he is overcome and surpassed in all these things. I d●spute not what that is, which is most excellent in him, but what it is that is most proper unto him. He hath a body, so have the trees; he hath vehemency and voluntary motion, both beasts and worms have no less. He hath a voice; but how far more clearer have dogs? Moore shriller have E●gles, more strong have Bulls, more sweet and delicate have Nightingales? What then is it which is proper and best in a man? Reason. This it is that being complete and perfect, accomplisheth a man's felicity. If therefore every thing that hath perfected his own good is praiseworthy, and hath attained the end of his nature● and man's particular good is reason; if he hath perfected the same, he is worthy of praise, and hath attained the end whereunto his nature directed him. This perfect reason is called Virtue, and is no other thing then that which is honest. That therefore is the only good in a man, which is the only mark of a man. For now we inquire not what God is, but what man's good is; but man hath no other good but reason: this therefore is his only good, which is the most precious and priseable of all others. If any man be a wicked man, he in my opinion will be misliked of. If a good man, he will as I suppose, be allowed of. That therefore is proper and particularly a man's, whereby he is praised or improved. Thou doubtest not whether this be good, but whether it be his only good. If any man should enjoy all other things; health, riches, many images of his predecessors, adorning his fore-court, a multitude of attendants at his Pallace-doore, and yet in all the world's judgement he were wicked, thou wouldst disallow him. If likewise there were a man that hath none of all these things, which I have related, neither money, nor attendants of courtiers, neither nobility, nor any images of his grandfathers, and great grandfathers are arranged by order: but that were an honest man, in all men's opinion, thou wouldst praise him. There is then one only good in a man, whereof if any man findeth himself possessed, although he be destitute of all others, yet is he to be praised; and if he hath it not, although he have all other things in abundance, yet is he despised and rejected. Such as the condition of all things is, such is the condition of men. That ship is called good, not that which is painted with precious colours, or that hath a silver or golden beak, nor whose tutelar sign is enriched with ivory, or that is laden with goods and royal riches, but that which is strong and firm, that is so well timbered and caulked on every side, that it admitteth no leak, that can sustain the breaking of the sea, that is light of steerage, and is good of sail, howsoever the wind drive it. Thou wilt say, a sword is good, not for that it hath a golden belt, or a sheath covered with precious stones, but that which hath an excellent edge, and a strong point, able to pierce an armour of steel. We inquire not how fair the rule be, but how strait. Every thing aught to be praised, when it is sorted and purveyed of that which is proper unto it. Therefore in a man also it is nothing to the purpose, how many acres of land he blow up, how much money he lend to use, by how many he be saluted; how rich and precious the bed be whereon he resteth, how goodly a cup he drink in, but how good a man he is, and a good man is he, if his reason be perfect and upright, and accommodated to the will of Nature. This is called Virtue, this is honest, and the only good of a man. For since that only reason maketh a man perfect, only perfect reason maketh him likewise happy. But that only good of a man, is that which may only make him happy. We say likewise, that those things which proceed and are engendered by virtue, that is to say, all her actions, are goods; but virtue is the sole and only good, because there is not any good without her. If all good remain in the soul, all that which maketh the same firm and constant, all that which raiseth and enobleth it is good. But it is virtue that maketh the soul more strong, more excellent, and more courageous. for all other passions that animate and incite our pleasures, do deject and ruinated the soul likewise, and when they seem to raise the same, they do but pu●fe her up with pride, and deceive her with their vanities. There is then but one only good, whereby the mind is bettered. All the actions of the whole life are measured, either in that they are honest, or in that they are villanous● Thereby it is that reason is governed, either to do, or not to do any things I will tell thee what this meaneth. A good man will do that which in his thought may be honestly done, although it be accompanied with much travel, and attended with loss and danger. Contrariwise he will do nothing th●● is dishonest, although thereby he reaped riches, pleasures, and authorities. Nothing shall withdraw him from doing a good thing, nothing shall invite him to do that which is villainous. Undoubtedly then, if he must follow that which is virtuous, he will likewise fly all that which is villainous; and in all the actions of his life he will regard these two things, that there is no other good, but that which is honest, nor any other evil, but that which is villainous. Now if there be but one only virtue that remaineth uncorrupted, if she only remain always in her entire virtue, it is the only good, to which nothing may happen that may hinder her from being good. For wisdom is out of the danger of all change, wisdom cannot be ravished, she cannot fall into folly. I have ●old thee, if happily thou remember the same, that divers have contemned and trod●n under feet that which is vulgar, by an inconsiderate heat, either desired of feared. Some have there been, that have thrust their hands into the flame, whose smiles the tormentor could not interrupt, that in the burial of their children have not shed one tear, and that have presented themselves to death without any fear. Love, wrath, covetousness, hath oftentimes made them seek out perils. If therefore a short resolution of the soul pricked forward by some pregnant occasion, may do this, with what more greater resolution shall virtue do it, that gathereth her forces, not from rashness or any sudden motion, but a constancy and perpetual power? It followeth then, that those things which are often contemned by the inconsiderate, and by wise men always, that they are neither good nor evil. Virtue then is the only good, that marcheth proudly between both the one and the other Fortune, and despiseth them both● And if thou enter into this opinion, that there is any other good, but that which is honest, all virtues shall be in trouble. For no man might attain any of them, if she desired any thing that were out of herself; and if this were, it should be contrary to reason, from whence virtues proceed; and to truth, which is always accompanied with reason. But all opinion which is contrary to truth, is false. Thou must needs confess, that a good man carrieth great piety and reverence towards the gods, and for this cause he will patiently endure all that which may befall him. For he well knoweth that all this is befallen him by the will of the gods, by which all things are conducted. And if it be thus, he will think that to be the only good, which is honest. For in honesty consisteth the obedience to the gods, the patiented sufferance of those accidents, which may follow the constant entertainment of fortunes, and the willing acceptance of that the gods will, and the performance of their commandments. If there were any other good, but that which is honest, we should be attended with an insatiable desire of life, and an affection to all that which entertaineth life: a thing intolerable, infinite, and that which extendeth itself over far. The only good than is that which is honest, that hath a certain measure. We have said that the life of man should be more happy than that of the gods, if that whereof the gods make no use were goods, of which kind are riches & estates. Furthermore, if the souls survive the bodies after they are departed from them, a more happy estate attendeth them, then that which they then possessed, when they were imprisoned in the body. And yet if those things which we use by the means of the body were goods, they should be more unfortunate after they were departed from the same, but no man can any ways believe, that being enclosed and imprisoned, they should be more happy, then when they are released and set at liberty through the whole world. I have moreover said this, that if it be a good that equally befalleth both man and brute beasts, that beasts likewise should enjoy a happy life, which cannot be true in any manner. We must suffer all things for honesty sake, which we should not do, if there were any other good but that which is honest. All this, although I have more amply debated upon in my former Epistle, I have thought good to abbreviate in these few words. Yet never will this opinion seem true unto thee, except thou rouse thy mind, and question with thyself, whether, if need required, thou wouldst die for thy country, and to save the life of all other thy fellow citizens, thou wouldst loose thine own, and yield thy neck, not only with patience, but with a free will? If thou canst do this, there is no other good. Thou leavest all things, that thou mayest have this. See how great the force of honesty is. And although thou shouldest not do it presently, yet should it be at lest, as soon as thou oughtest to do it. Sometimes in a very short space of time a man receiveth a great joy of a very fair thing. And although some fruit of a work already performed, can do little profit to the dead, when he shall be out of this world, yet the only thought of that which he would do, rejoiceth and comforteth him; and a just and constant man, when he setteth before his eyes the price of his death, which is the liberty of his country, and the life of all those, for whom he employeth his life, he feeleth a great pleasure, and already pertaketh the fruit of his peril. But he also who is deprived of this pleasure, which the execution of this work would yield him, as the greatest and last pleasure of his life, without any more delay will encounter his death, and content himself that he hath done justly and piously. Contrariwise, set thou now before his eyes divers reasons that may dissuade him. Tell him, that this worthy act which thou hast done, shall be suddenly forgotten, the Citizens will not be so thankful as thou deservest; he will answer thee. All this is out of the action I have done, I contemplate and consider it in itself, I know it is honest. Therefore it is that, into what place soever I am led, into what place soever I am called, I am there. It is then the only good which a perfect soul, not only feeleth, but a generous man, and such a one as is of a good nature. All other things are of little esteem, and subject to change. And therefore it is that a man cannot possess them without much care and trouble of mind, although the favour of Fortune had assembled them all together into one man's possession, yet are they for no other use, but a burden to their master; they pr●sse him always, and sometimes overwhelm him. There is not any one of those, whom thou hast clothed in purple, that is happy, no more than are they that bear a royal Sceptre in their hands, and a Mantle on their backs upon a stage in acting a play. For after they have marched in their proud array and buskins before the people, as soon as they departed from them they are disapparelled, and return to their former estate. There is not one of those, whom riches and honours have raised to the highest places, that is great. Why then seemeth he to be great? Thou measurest him by his show. A dwarf will be always little, although he be set upon a mountain; and huge statue will retain his greatness, though it stand in a ditch. We are blinded with this error, and thus are we deceived, because we esteem no man by that which is in him, but we add unto him his ornaments. But when thou wilt have a true estimate of a man, and know what a one he is, behold him naked: let him lay aside his patrimony, his honours, and those other flattering and false goods of Fortune. Let him dispossess himself of his body, behold his mind, what and how great it is, whether of his own good, or by another's: if he dare look on a drawn sword with a manly eye, if he know that there is no great matter whither his soul departed, by his mouth, or by his throat; call him happy. That at such time when he shall hear that he must endure bodily torments, or such evils as happen by casualty, or by the plot of great men, that if he must suffer bonds and exile, and the vain fears of human minds, securely heareth them, and saith. Not any new suspicion of mishap, O Virgin, shall my settled mind entrap: All these have I forethought long time ago, My dangers are sorecast in weal and woe. Thou tellest me all this to day, I have always denounced it to myself. I have disposed man unto all human things. The stroke of mischief which a man forseeth, is less troublesome and more light. But to fools, and such as credit Fortune, the face and appearance of things seemeth new and unexpected, and novelty for the most part is the greatest cause of evil to the ignorant. That thou mayest know this, they suffer patiently those things that they thought difficult, when they are accustomed thereunto. Therefore it is, that a wiseman inureth himself to evils that may befall him, and that which others by a long patience make light and easy, the wiseman doth it after he hath long time thought: we hear oft-times the discourses of these ignorants, which say, I had not thought that this would as yet befall me; but the wiseman knoweth that all things are incident to him, and confesseth, that he knoweth very well all that which may happen. EPIST. LXXVII. And this by the way, is to be numbered amongst those that are good and profitable. He entreateth by the way of the Alexandrian Fleet, how whilst other ran out to see them, he neglected them. For what avail these? or how long? I am old, I am going hence, and at length I must willingly departed as MARCELLINUS did. Than against the fear of death, and that the reasons thereof are to be contemned. THis day upon the sudden that Alexandrian Ships appeared unto us, which are usually sent before the Fleet, to give tidings of the fortunate approach of the Navy, which men call Friggats or Ships of message. The view of these was grateful and welcome to all Campania. All the people of Pozzolo climbed up upon the Piles to behold them, and by the manner of their sails knew them from the rest, notwithstanding that they were intermingled with a great bulk of other shipping: for they only have liberty to spread their topsail, which in their top all ships have. For there is nothing that helpeth their course so much as that upper part of the sail: for by it the Ships course is most of all furthered; and therefore as often as the wind increaseth, and is more violent than it aught to be, the topyard is stricken for the wind, hath less force over the body of the ship. But when they have entered Capreas and the Promontory, from whence, PALLAS from high of stormy Mountain spies. All other ships are commanded to content themselves with their main sail; the topsail is the mark to know the Alexandrian ships. Amidst the course of all these people that ran thus hastily to the Sea shore, I felt a very great pleasure in my sloth, because that thinking to receive Letters from mine agents, I made no haste to know in what estate my affairs stood, or what they had brought me. For long ago nothing hath been gotten or lost by me. This opinion should I maintain, although I were not old: but now the rather, because how little soever I had, I have more to make use of them, I have time to live, especially since we are entered into that way, which we need not to accomplish. The journey will be imperfect, if thou stay either in the midway or stand on this side the prefixed place: the life is not imperfect, if it be honest. Wheresoever thou endest, if the end be good it is entire: we aught likewise often and courageously to end, and not for great causes, for these are not the mightiest that hold us. Tullius Marcellinus (whom thou knowest very familiarly) who was temperate in his youth, and quickly an old man, being surprised by a sickness which was not incurable yet long and tedious, and such as commanded him to suffer much, began to deliberate and conclude upon his death. To this intent he called together divers of his friends. Every one of these being naturally timorous, gave him that counsel they would have entertained themselves, or if there were a slatterer, or any one that studied to please him, he gave him that advice, that he thought would be best pleasing to him that demanded the question. Our friend Asticho, a worthy man, & that I may dignify him with those titles, wherein he worthily deserveth praise, a man courageous and valiant, counseled him in my opinion very nobly: for he began thus; Torment not thyself, friend MARCELLINE, as if thou deliberatedst on any important affair. It is no great matter to live all thy slaves live, and all other beasts also. It is a great matter to die honestly, prudently and valiantly. Bethink thyself ●or how long time together thou hast done the same thing. Meat, sleep, lust, by this circle all the world cometh. Not only a valiant man, a strong man, a miserable man can have a will to die, but he also that disdaineth life. He needed no man to counsel him hereunto, but some assistant; for his slaves would not obey him. First of all he took from them all fear, and taught them that slaves were in great danger, when as it was incertain whether the death of the Lord were voluntary or no. For otherwise it should be as dangerous an example to hinder a Master to die, as to kill him. Afterwards he admonished Marcellinus himself, that even as when supper is ended, the remainder is divided on those that attend; so when life is ended, somewhat is bequeathed to those who had been attendants during the whole life time. Marcellinus was a man of a gentle and facile disposition, and liberal even in those things which were his proper goods: he therefore distributed some small sums amongst his weeping servants, and comforted them himself: he needed not either sword or shedding of blood, for three days he abstained, and in his very chamber he caused his Pavilion to be raised; afterwards his bath was brought thither, in which he lay long time, and caused water to be oftentimes cast upon him, so by little and little fainted and failed he, not without a certain pleasure, as he said (which a slight fainting is wont to bring) not unapproved unto us, who are sometimes subject to soundings. I have made relation of this story unto thee, which I know will not be distasteful to thee, because thereby thou shalt understand the manner of thy friend's death, which was neither difficult nor miserable: for although he procured his own death, yet departed he and escaped most sweetly out of life. Neither will this story be unprofitable to thee; for necessity oftentimes exacteth such examples. We oft-times must die, yet we will not: we die, and yet we will not. There is no man so ignorant, but that he knoweth that one day he must die, but when the time approacheth near he plays the coward, trembleth & weary. Wouldst thou not esteem him the foolishest of all men, that should weep because he lived not a thousand years ago? As foolish is he that weary because he shall not live a thousand year after. Those are equal thou shalt not be, neither waist thou: both these two times are not our own. Thou art cast upon this point, which although thou mightest prolong, how long wouldst thou prolong it? Why weepest thou? What wishest thou? Thou losest thy labour; Cease thou to hope that prayers so powerful be, That they can change the destiny's decree. They are firm and fixed● they are led by an eternal and powerful necessity. Thou shalt go thither whither all things go. Why thinkest thou this a new matter? Thou art borne under this condition, thy father hath had the like hap, this hath thy mother met withal, this have thy predecessors known, this shall befall all men after thee. It is an invincible success and order that no force can change, and that tieth and traineth all things with it. O how great number of people shall follow thee when thou ar● dead? How many are that shall accompany thee? Thou wouldst in my opinion be more constant, if divers thousands of m●n should die with thee. And yet many thousands of men and beasts shall los● their lives by divers sorts of death, at that very instant when thou makest it a difficulty to die. But didst thou not think that one day thou shouldest attain thither whither thy journey was always intended? There is no journey without end. Thinkest thou that I will recount unto thee at this present examples of divers great personages? Not, I will but tell thee some of young lads: The memory of that young Lacedaemonian will never be lost, who having scarcely a hair upon his chin, and being taken prisoner, cried out in that his Dorique tongue, I will not serve, and confirmed his words by effect; for as soon as he was commanded to do some servile and base office (for some commanded him to empty the close stool) he did beat out his brains against the wall. Our liberty being so near, is there any man will serve? Had d●st thou not rather thy son should die thus, then wax old in idleness? What is there therefore why thou shouldest be perplexed, if to die courageously be but a fchildes' play? Thinkest thou that thou wilt not follow, thou shalt be enforced. Make that to be in thy power which is in another man's. Wilt thou not take upon thee this young man's courage, and say, I will not serve? O miserable wretch! thou art slave unto men, thou art slave unto things, thou art slave to thy life: for life if it want the courage to die, is a true servitude. Hast thou any thing for which thou shouldest expect? Thou hast spent those pleasures that attended and retained thee. There is not any that is new unto thee, not any but is now odious unto thee, because thou hast surfeited therewith. Thou knowest what the taste of wine is, and what is the taste of Metheglin: it skills not whether a hundredth or a thousand vessels of wine pass by thy bladder: thou art a sack: thou hast often learned what the Oyster is, what the Mullet favoureth thou knowest well, thy foolish expense hath reserved nothing for time to come, which thou hast not already devoured. Now these are they from which thou art drawn so unwillingly. What other thing besides this is there which should yield thee discontent, if it were taken from thee? Are they thy friends and thy country? Hast thou so much ever honoured the sun, that for her thou wouldst have deferred thy supper? Thou wouldst sooner choke up the brightness of the sun if thou couldst. For what hath been ever done by thee that is worthy the light? Confess, I pray thee, that there is not any amity that thou bearest to the Senate or Palace, or to the nature of things which withdraweth thee from dying. It is in spite of thy teeth that thou leavest the shambleses, in which thou hast left nothing. Thou fearest death: but how wouldst thou contemn it in the midst of thy pleasures? Thou desirest but to live; for thou knowest well what it is, and hast fear of death: but what is this life, is it not death? Caligula passing thorough the Latin way, when as one of those that were led prisoners, that had a long beard and hoary hairs, besought him to give him leave to die. What said he, livest thou yet? The same answer must be made unto those to whom death might bring any comfort. Hast thou fear to die, and why livest thou yet? But I, saith he, will live; for I employ myself in many honest affairs. I leave those offices and functions of life unwillingly, which I discharge both faithfully and industriously. What, knowest thou not that it is one of the offices of life to die? Thou leavest no office, for the number of the duties which thou art to accomplish being uncertain, it is determined. There is no life is not short: for if thou hast respect to the nature of things. Both Nestor's and Statilias life is short, who ordained that this should be engraven on her tomb, that she had lived ninety nine years. Seest thou how this poor woman vaunteth herself of her long life? but who could have supported her glory, if it had been her fortune to have lived out full one hundred years? It fareth with our life as with a Stage-play, it skilleth not how long, but how well it hath been acted. It importeth nothing in what place thou makest an end of life: die where thou wilt, think only to make a good conclusion. EPIST. LXXVIII. Of his sicknesses, yea, even in his young years, and what relief he found for them. Honest studies (saith he) and friends also, but the remedy of remedies contempt of death. Thither calleth he LUCILIUS, and disputed many things deep, manly, and true against grief. THe more impatiently suffered I to see thee vexed often with rheums and fevers, which follow long defluxions, and such as are already brought into custom, because I myself have had experience of this sickness, whereof at the beginning I made little reckoning. My youth could as yet support this violence, and defend itself confidently against infirmities, but at length I sunk under the burden, and was brought to that estate, that I myself fell into a mortal distillation. Afterwards I became by little and little so extenuate and lean, that a sudden desire surprised me to procure mine own death; yet my father's old years which I dearly tendered, restrained me therein. For I imagined not how constantly I might die, but how patiently he might endure my loss; for which cause I commanded myself to live as yet: for sometimes to live is a manly design. I will tell thee what recomforted me most at that time, but so as thou be before hand advertised, that those things wherein I took most repose, served me for a medicine. Honest pleasures are to us in stead of remedy, and all that which may rejoice the spirit, profiteth the body in like sort. My studies gave me my health. I must confess that I am indebted to Philosophy for my recovery and health, to her I own my life, and less than that I cannot own her. I have been furthered in recovery of my health by the means of my friends, by their exhortations and watchings, and by those discourses they entertained me with, I was very much comforted. There is nothing (my Lucilius the best of men) that more recrea●eth and comforteth a sick man, than the affection of his friends. There is nothing that so much stealeth away the thought & fear of death: I thought not on death when I saw them survive me: me thought, I say, that I should live yet, not with them but by their means: me seemed that I lost not my spirit, but that I rendered it into their hands. All these encouraged me to assist myself, and to suffer all sorts of torments: otherwise it is a miserable matter, when as thou hast lost thy desire to die, not to have an affection to live. Retire thyself therefore unto these remedies. The Physician will show thee how long thou shouldest walk, and how much thou shouldest exercise: he will teach thee not to follow a repose whereunto an idle health is addicted, to read aloud, to exercise and strengthen thy breath, when the passages of the same, and the passages of the lungs are stopped, to sail, and make thy stomach to desist by gentle motion and exercise, what meats thou shouldest use when thou shalt call for wine to strengthen and comfort thee, and when thou shouldest intermit the same, l●st it should provoke and exasperated thy cough. But I teach thee that which is not only a remedy for this infirmity, but of the whole life: Contemn death. There is nothing distasteful when we fly the fear hereof. These three things in every sickness are very tedious; the fear of death, the pain of the body, and the intermission of pleasures. Of death there is enough spoken, I will only say this, that this fear proceedeth not from infirmities, but from nature. Sicknesses have delayed the death of many men, and to them it hath proved security to seem to perish. Thou shal● die, not because thou ar● sick, but because thou livest. This death will attend thee when thou art recovered: wh●n thou art freed from sickness thou shalt escape, not thy death, but thy infirmity. Le● us now return to that incommodity that is proper to sickness: it is accompanied with great and intolerable torments, but the intermissions make them tolerable; for when the grief is most intended, it suddenly groweth to an end. No man can suffer an excessive pain a long time; for Nature that loveth us as much as is possible, hath so providently provided, that she maketh our pains either tolerable or very short. The greatest pains are felt most in those parts that are most lea●e; the nerves, the joints, and all other parts that are thinnest are cruelly tormented, when as corrupted humours are enclosed in th●se narrow passages, but these parts are quickly numbed, & loose the sense of pain, by reason of the pain itself, either because the spirits being hindered, to perform their natural course, and changed to the worst, loose the force which maketh them vigorous, and inciteth us; or because the corrupt humour, when it wanteth force to flow thither, whither it should pass, choketh them, and depriveth those parts of sense which are over much choked. So the gout in feet and hands, and the pains that are felt in our joints, and nerves, are appeased when they have stopped and stupefied the parts they have tormented. It is the first assault, sharpness and pricking that tormenteth, but this violence is extinguished in time, and the end of the pain is to be wholly stupefied. The pain of the teeth, eyes, and ears, is the most violent, because it is bred in the narrowest and straightest parts of the body, and no less, undoubtedly, is that of the head. But the more violent that is, the sooner is it changed into madness or stupidity. This therefore is the comfort in intended grief, that thou must of necessity cease to feel the same, if thou feel it over much. But that which most of all afflicteth ignorant men, during the torment which they feel in their bodies, proce●deth hence, because they are not accustomed to content themselves with the goods of the mind, and for that they entertain too much friendship with their bodies. And therefore a great and prudent man retireth his mind from his body, and is for the most part conversant with the better and diviner part, and but only for necessity sake with the other, which is frail and still plaining. But thou wilt say it is a tedious thing for a man to want his accustomed pleasures, to abstain from meats, to suffer thirst and hunger. I confess that upon the first abstinence it is a tedious thing, but by little and little this desire is diminished, when as the things which we desire are governed, and restrain themselves of themselves. Thence cometh it to pass, that the stomach is more tempered, and they that fed with most ravenous appetite grown in hatred thereof. Desires and appetites die of themselves. It is no grievous thing to want that, that thou hast desisted to long after. Moreover, there is not any grief, but hath some intermission and remission. Furthermore, a man can warrantize himself from evils that are to come, and prevent those by remedies, which threaten and menace him. For there is not any sickness, but hath some precedent sign, yea even that which returneth by custom. Thou mayest bear an infirmity patiently, if thou contemnest the extremity wherewith it threateneth thee. Make not thine evils greater than they be, and charge not thyself with complaints, the pain is light, if opinion aggravateth it not; contrariwise, if thou begin to exhort thyself, and to say, It is nothing, or in effect very little, let us endure the same, and it will suddenly have an end. Thou shalt make it light whilst thou thinkest it so. All things depend upon opinion; not only ambition, but expense and avarice are measured by it; our pain is but opinion. A man is no more miserable, than he supposeth himself to be. I think that the complaints of forepast pains aught to be forgotten, and such words as these: There was never any man more miserable. What torments, what evils have I suffered? No man thought that I should ever rise again. How often have my friends bewailed me? How often have I been given over by my Physicians? Such as have been tortured on the rack, are not so much stretched. Although all this be true, yet is it already passed. What pleasure takest thou in the remembrance of forepassed pains, and to refresh thy misery that is already past: considering likewise, that there is not any one that will add to his evil, and that lieth not to himself? Again, it is a thing very agreeable to recount the evil that is past. It is also a thing natural to rejoice upon the end of his misery. We must therefore drive out of us two things, the one is the fear of future evil, and the other the remembrance of that which is past: this for the present appertaineth not unto me, that not as yet, when he shall find himself in these difficulties, he may say, And these perhaps hereafter called to mind Will move us to rejoice.— Let him sight against the same with all his forces, if he yield, he shall be overcome, if he enforce himself against his grief, he shall overcome. There are many in these days that do this, they draw upon themselves the ruin which they should resist. If thou retirest thy helfe from under that which presseth and oppresseth thee, that hangeth over thy head and menaceth thee, it followeth thee, and falleth upon thee with a great weight; but if thou makest head against it, if thou wilt resist it, thou shalt repulse it. How many strokes and wounds do the wrestlers receive upon their faces, and their whole bodies? yet suffer they all these torments for the ambition of glory; and endure the same, not only because they fight, but to the end they may know how to fight well; the exercise itself is a very torment. Let us then likewise endeavour to surmount all travels, the price and reward whereof, is not a simple crown, a palm, or a trumpet, which commandeth silence, to the end that the praise of our name might be published, but the virtue and constancy of the mind, and a tranquillity of the spirit which we obtain for ever, if in any combat we could surmount Fortune. I feel a cruel pain, but how shouldest thou otherwise do but feel it, if thou endure it in no other sort, than women do. Even as the enemy chargeth those most strongly, who fly most speedily: in like sort, all the evils that Fortune sendeth us, charge him most violently that loseth his courage and playeth the coward. But this grief is ever violent. And why? Are we not constant but to suffer light things? Whether hadst thou rather, either that thy sickness should be long, or that it should be violent and short? If it be long, it hath intermissions, and giveth place to refection, it giveth much time, it must in the end forsake thee and departed. A short and violent sickness will either do the one or the other, it will either suddenly end, or suddenly mend thee. But what skilleth it, whether it be not, or I be not? Since both in the one and the other, the pain hath an end? It may also profit thee much, to divert thy thoughts to some other thing, and not to dream at all of thy pain. Set before thine eyes that which thou hast sometimes virtuously and honourably done: discourse with thyself on the noblest stratagems: cast thy remembrance upon that which thou hast greatly admired, and what at that time the most constant, and they that have overcome grief, present themselves unto thy thought, how he that stretched out his leg to suffer his Varices to be cut, persevered in reading his book. He likewise that never ceased to laugh, whilst his wrathful torturers wondering thereat, wrought upon him with all the tools and instruments of cruelty. Shall not that pain be overcome by reason, which hath been overcome by laughter? Tell me now whatsoever thou wilt, both of the descent of Rheums, and of the virtue of a continual cough, that maketh a man yield up a part of his bowels, and of a fevor that scorcheth the entrails, and of thirst, and of the joints of feet and hands, which grief and pain hath contracted, and dislocated. The flame, the rack, the burning and glowing places, and that which is laid upon the swollen wounds, to renew their pain, and to make it pierce more deep, is yet more cruel. And yet there have been some, that have suffered all this without complaining. It is a small matter. And hath not once besought them to give over. It is a toy. And that hath never answered. It is a trifle. That hath laughed outright with all his heart. After all this, wilt thou laugh at pain? But sickness, thou wilt say, suffereth me to do nothing. It hinders me in all my functions. Sickness attainteth the body, but not the mind. Therefore it is that she stayeth the feet of him that runneth, and toeth the shoemakers hands, and hindereth the smiths hammer. But thou hast well learned to make use of thy soul, thou shalt admonish, thou shalt teach, thou shalt hear, thou shalt learn, thou shalt demand, thou shalt remember thyself. What then? believest thou that thou dost nothing, if thou be temperate in thy sickness? Thou shalt show that the sickness may be overcome, at leastwise that it may be endured. Trust me, virtue findeth place even in the bed itself. Arms, and following the war, do not only testify a valiant heart, and such a one as may not be daunted with fear. A man may approve his valour and courage even in his coverlets and sleeping clothes. Thou hast enough to employ thyself in. Fight valiantly against thy sickness, if it constrain thee to do nothing; if it get no mastery over thee, thou shalt serve for a worthy example. O how great were the matter of our glory, if a man should come and see us when we were sick? But cast thou thine eyes upon thyself, and praise thyself. Beside, there are two sorts of pleasures, sickness hindereth the corporal, yet taketh them not away wholly; but rather if thou wilt judge according to the truth, it inciteth them. There is more pleasure in drinking when a man hath thirst, and the meat is most tasteful to him that is most an hungered. All that which a man findeth after a long abstinence, he eateth with a greater appetite. But as touching those other pleasures of the mind, which are both greater and more assured: there is not any Physician forbiddeth them his patients; those whosoever followeth and understandeth them well, contemneth all the blandishments of the senses. O unfortunate sick man. And why? Because he mixeth not his wine with snow, because he reneweth not the cold that he drinketh mixed in a great cup, by these morsels of ice which he breaketh there into, because those Oysters which are fished in the lake Lucern, are not opened for him at his table, because he heareth not round about his hall the rumour of his Cooks, that bring and serve in his meat, together with the fire to keep them warm. For prodigality and foolish expense hath already ●ound out this invention, to the intent that no meat should be cooled, and that jest the pallet of the mouth, already hardened, should find nothing that were not very hot; the Cook attendeth the supper. O unhappy sick man? he shall eat but what he can digest: he shall not have a whole boar messed into his service, to be sent away as course commons. He shall not be served with the pulpes of souls (for men now adays disdain to see them entire) assembled in dishes apart. What wrong hast thou received hereby? Thou shalt sup like a sick man; yea hereafter like a whole man. But all those things shall we easily suffer, both broths, warm water, and other things whatsoever seemeth intolerable to delicate and voluptuous men, and such as are more sick in mind then in body. Let us only forget the horror and fear of death. But that shall we not forget, if we cannot distinguish the ends of evil and good. And by this means finally we shall not feel any disgust of our life, nor any fear of death: for a man can never be weary, or disliking of life, when it is occupied after things so divers, so high, and so divine. There is nothing but idle and lazy repose that causeth us to hate the same. Truth will never be tedious unto him that traveleth in the secrets of Nature; there is nothing but falsehood that glutteth us. Again, if death come and call us, although it be before our time, although it abridge us of the moiety of our lives, yet long before that time the fruit hath been gathered. All nature for the most part is known unto him, he knoweth that honest things increase not by their durance or continuance. They of necessity must suppose their lives short, who measure the same by vain, and therefore infinite pleasures. Recreate thyself with these thoughts, and in the interim casting thine eyes upon our Epistles, a time will come that shall reunite us, and reassemble us, how little soever it be, the knowledge how to use it well, will make it long enough. For, as Possidoniu● saith, One day amongst learned men dureth longer, than the longest age of an ignorant and unlearned man. In the mean time hold this opinion constantly, that thou must not suffer thyself to be overcome by adversities; nor trust too much in prosperity, to have the power of Fortune always before our eyes, as if she should do all whatsoever she can do. Whatsoever is long looked for, is less tedious when it happeneth. EPIST. LXXIX. Somewhat of Charybdis, Scylla, and AEtna. Than that wisemen are equal amongst themselves: and he exhorteth unto wisdom, although glory accompany it not. But it will accompany the same, though after death. Good. I Expect thy letters, by which thou shouldest certify me what novelty hath encountered thee in all that voyage thou hast made about Sicily, and what thou hast learned of certainty, as touching Charybdis. For I know that Scylla is a rock which is not dreadful to those that sail by it. But I have a great desire to understand, if all those fables which have been reported by Charybdis be true, and if happily thou hast observed any thing, for it is a thing worthy to be marked. Resolve me whether it be one wind that causeth so many Whirlpools, or whether every tempest alike doth exasperated that Sea, and whether it be true likewise, that all that which is devoured in this tempest and storm of Sea by the waves, is carried away secretly under the waves of the Sea for many miles, and afterwards cast on shore on the banks of the gulf of Tauromenitan. When thou hast wholly satisfied me herein, then dare I command thee also to do me that honour, to ascend the mount AEtna, which some men suppose and conclude to be consumed and decayed by little and little, because in times past men were wont to show it more farther off to Passengers. This may happen, not for that the height of the mountain is diminished, but because the fire is weakened, and blazeth out with less vehemency and abundantly; and by the same reason that the smoke by day time is more little. But neither the one or the other is incredible: neither that the mountain which the fire devoureth continually, is not diminished; neither that the fire continueth always in one and the same greatness. For it is not of itself, but engendered in some gulf under earth: it is stirred, and is kindled and nourished by a foreign means, having but one only passage & issue by this mountain, and not his nourishment thereby. There is in Licia a Territory of land, very well known unto all men, the inhabitants thereabouts call it Ephestion, or the land which is pierced in divers places. This country is environed with a fire, that no ways hurteth whatsoever plant it is that groweth thereupon: the Region therefore is fruitful and full of grass, which the flames do never burn, but make shine with a faint and forceless brightness. But let us reserve these to question upon, then when thou hast written me how far distance the snows are from the mouth of the mountain, which the summer thaweth not, so secure are they from the fire. Thou must not say that I am the cause to make thee undertake this labour: for thou wouldst satisfy this Poetical fancy of thine, though no man urged thee thereunto, until thou describest AEtna in thy verse, and described this place, so renowned by all the Poets: for although Virgil had fully described it, yet was not Ovid deterred from handling the same subject, and that which these two had plentifully written did not deter Cornelius Severus. Besides, this place hath proved to all, and they which wrote before, seem not in my judgement to have prevented those things which might be spoken, but to have explained them. But there is a great difference, whether thou address thyself to a matter thoroughly wrought upon, or such a one as is well prepared. This groweth daily, and those things that are already found and invented, cannot hurt those that should invent hereafter. Moreover, the condition of the last comer is the best: he findeth words already prepared, which addressed after another manner, have a new appearance; neither layeth he hold on them, although appertaining to others, for they are public. The lawyers deny that any thing which is public may be held by prescription: either I know thee not, or thy teeth water at AEtna. Thou hast a mind to writ upon some great subject, like to those of the ancients; for more thy modesty permitteth thee not to hope, which is so great in thee, that I suppose thou wouldst restrain the forces of thy spirit, if there were any likelihood thou shouldest conquer: so greatly reverencest thou antiquity. Amongst the rest wisdom hath this goodness in it, no man can be overcome by another, if it be not in mounting when they shall come to the height, all is equal, there is no place for increase, she is settled. Doth the Sun add any thing to his greatness, doth the Moon become more great than she was wont? The Seas increase not, the world observeth the same habit and manner. Those things which have attained to their just greatness, cannot augment themselves more: whosoever shall be wise, they shall be even and equal. But each of them shall be endowed with his proper virtue, the one shall be more mild and affable, the other more ready; the one more prompt in declaiming, the other more eloquent; that whereof we speak, which maketh a man blessed shall be equal to all. I know not whether thine AEtna may sink and be ruinated in itself, whether the continual force of fire impair and consume this high and conspicuous topped hill, which is seen so far at Sea. Neither fire nor rain can bring virtue under. This majesty only cannot be depressed, it cannot be extended further, nor withdrawn backward, her greatness is settled as that of the celestial bodies. Let us endeavour to present ourselves unto her, already have we performed much, and yet not very much if I should speak the truth: for it is not goodness to be better than the badst. Who would glorify himself, or boast that he had eyes that could behold the day, when as the Sun shineth on them thorough misty clouds, although he be contented in the mean space to have fled the darkness, yet as yet he enjoyeth not the good of the light? Than shall our mind have wherewithal to gratulate himself, when as discharged of this darkness in which he is plunged, he shall see those clear things, not with a feeble sight, but after he hath seen the light of the clear day, and restored to his heaven, he recover again the place which he enjoyed by the condition of his birth. His first original summoneth him upward. And in that place shall he be, yea, even before he be delivered out of this prison, where he hath shaken of his vices, and become pure and light he shall be raised into contemplation of divine things. This must we do, my dear Lucilius, hither must we bend all our forces, although few men know it, although no man see it. Glory is the shadow of virtue, and will accompany us against our wills: but even as the shadow sometime goes before, and sometimes followeth; so glory is sometimes before us, and offereth herself to be seen, sometimes she is behind us, and becometh more great, because she cometh somewhat later, when as envy is wholly retired. How long time seemed Democritus to be mad? Socrates had scarcely any reputation? How long was it ere Rome knew what Cato was? How long contemned she him, and never thoroughly knew him, till she had wholly lost him? Rutillius innocency and virtue had lain hid, except he had received injury, whilst he is wronged his worthiness appeared. Did he not thank his fortune, and embrace his exile? I speak of those whom fortune made glorious, when she grieved them; how many men's deserts and worth grew to light after them? How many hath fame neglected in life, and eternised in the grave? Thou seest how much Epicurus is not only admired amongst the learned, but also among the ignorant; and this man was unknown to the Athenians themselves, where he lived always obscured. outliving therefore Metrodorus by many years, when in a certain Epistle of his with grateful commemoration he had notified the friendship betwixt Metrodorus and him, in the conclusion he added this; That amidst so many goods which METRODORUS and he had partaken in their life, it little harmed them, that so renowned Greece was not only ignorant of them, but scarcely had heard of them. Was he not therefore found when as he ceased to be? Did not his opinion grow famous? The like also doth Metrodorus confess in a certain Epistle, That he and EPICURUS were not in sufficient reputation, but that afterwards both he and EPICURUS should have a great and addressed fame at their hands who would follow the way that they had held. No virtue is obscured, neither is it any indignity or damage to it, to have been hidden: the day will come which will bring it to light, though hidden and restrained through the world's wickedness. He is borne for the profit of few men, that thinketh only on the people of his age. Many thousands of years and nations shall succeed us; look thou on them, although envy hath enjoined silence to all those that live with thee, ●here shall others succeed, who shall judge without hatred or favour: and if virtue aught to receive any recompense by glory, she shall not loose it. We shall not understand what words posterity speaketh of us; yet shall they honour us, and frequent us, though we perceive it not. There is not any whom virtue hath not dignified both in life and after death: if so be he hath followed his wholly, and with a good faith, if he have not decked and disguised himself, if he continued on, whether it seemed upon warning, or unprepared and suddenly. Dissembling profiteth nothing; a feigned countenance, and slightly forged externally, deceiveth but very few; virtue which way soever you turn her is all one. Things deceivable are of no stability. A lie is thin, thou shalt easily see thorough it, if thou diligently look upon it. EPIST. LXXX. That the common sort went to the shows and games, he to his study and contemplation. That the mind is to be beautified and not the body, and how easy a thing it is if you desire good things. That we are to search out liberty, which is performed by despising and spurning at desires. That true felicity is therein, and not in external splendour. Good. THis day I am wholly mine own, not only by mine own means, but for that the football play hath withdrawn all those that were troublesome unto me, and came to importunate me. There is not one that thrusteth in upon me, no man distracteth my thoughts, my door creaked not so often as it was accustomed, my hanging was not lifted up, I have freedom to be solitary, which is most necessary for him that walketh alone, and followeth his own way. Do I not therefore follow the ancient? I do. Yet suffer I myself to invent somewhat, and to leave. I servilely tie me not to their opinions, but assent unto them; yet have I spoken a great word, who promised myself silence and secrecy if I were not interrupted. Behold a huge cry is raised in the Theatre, where men exercise their running, which cannot draw myself from myself, but rather transporteth me to contemplate on the combats that are in hand. I think with myself, how many exercise th●ir bodies, how few their minds; how many men throng to a vain and trifling spectacle, and what desolation there is about good arts, how weakly minded they are, whose arms and shoulders we wonder at? But above all I meditate upon this. If a man may by exercise bring his body to this patience, whereby he may sustain not only the strokes and spurns of many men, whereby soiled with his own blood, he may endure the scorching Sun, and hottest sand all the day long: how much more easily may the mind be strengthened, invincibly to entertain the shock of fortune, to the end that being cast to ground, and trod under foot, he may yet raise himself? For the body hath need of many things to strengthen the same, but the mind increaseth by itself, is nourished by itself, exerciseth itself. The bodi● hath need of much meat, of much drink, and much oil, and much exercise; but virtue will come unto thee without any furnishing, without any expense. Whatsoever may make thee good is with thee; what needest thou to make thee good? thy william. But what better mayest thou will, then to deliver thyself out of this servitude, which tyrannizeth over the world, and from which the slaves themselves, of how servile condition whatsoever, & borne even in the ordures thereof, strive by all means to cast off? That stock of cattle they have bought by pinching their own bellies, they pay for their liberty; wilt not thou endeavour at what charge soever, to obtain this liberty, who thinkest thyself a free borne man? Why castest thou thine eye upon thy coffers? I cannot be bought. It is a vain thing therefore to cast the name of liberty into the Tables of Manumission, which neither they that bought, nor those that cell the same may have. It is thou that must give thyself this good, thou must demand it of thyself: first of all discharge thyself of the fear of death; for that is it which first of all bringeth us in subjection, and afterwards from the flare of poverty. If thou wilt know how little evil there is therein, make a comparison betwixt the looks of such as are poor, & those that are rich: the poor man laugheth more often, and more hearty: no pensiveness deeply groundeth itself in his breast, although some trifling affliction befall him, it passeth away like a light cloud. The joy of those who are called rich is feigned, or their sorrow is grievous and rotten; and so much the more grievous, because they dare not discover their miseries, but amidst the sorrows that gnaw their very hearts, they are enforced to set a face of felicity upon their discontent. I must oftentimes make use of this example, for by no other may this minikin of man's life (which assigneth us these parts which we act very awkwardly) be expressed. He that in the Scene stalketh proudly up and down, and looking upward, uttereth these words; Behold I govern Greece, PELOPS my sire Hath left me Kingdoms, and the lands which lie From Hellespont unto the Seas that tyre Th'Ionian shores— Is but a slave, he gaineth five bushels of corn and five pence. That proud fellow, who full of ostentation and puffed up with confidence of his own strength sayeth, Except proud MENELAUS thou be still, And shun debate, this right hand shall thee kill. Hath but his days allowances, and sleeps in a poor ordinary chamber. Thou mayest say as much of all these wanton minions, who are hanged in the air, in a Litter, carried more high than the heads of men, and above the troop of common people. The felicity of all these is but masked. Thou wilt contemn them if thou despoil them. When thou wouldst buy a horse, thou causest his saddle to be taken off of his back. Thou causest the slave thou wouldst buy, to be turned naked, for fear lest any infirmities of his body should be hidden. Wilt thou estimate a man when he is wrapped up? These Regrators' shadow and cover by some slight that which might hinder the Merchandise of their slaves. And therefore it is that a fair garment and ornament maketh them oftentimes suspicious that intent to buy. If thou shouldest see an arm or a knee bound up, thou wouldst command to have it unswathed and laid open, and all the body to be discovered. Seest thou that King of Scythia or Sarmatia adorned with a rich attire upon his head: if thou wilt estimate him, and know him wholly what he is, take from him his royal ornament; much mischief lies hidden thereunder. Why speak I of others? If thou wilt estimate thy ●elfe, lay apart thy money, thy house, and thy dignity, and consider well with thyself what thou art inwardly. For now thou trustest other men to show thee what thou art. EPIST. LXXXI. The beginning concerneth an ungrateful man: and then followeth a question, whether we aught to be thankful unto him who formerly helped us, and afterwards hurt us. He disputeth this matter, both subtly, and diffusedly, and distinguisheth diversly. THou complainest that thou art fallen into an ungrateful man's hands: if this be the first time, either thank thy fortune, or thy diligence. Although diligence in this place can make thee nothing, except it make thee wicked. For if thou wouldst avoid this peril, thou shalt never do any man a courtesy: thus left thy benefits should perish in another man's hands, they shall perish in thine own. It were better they were never recompensed, than never given: yea even after a bad harvest we return to tillage. Oftentimes whatsoever hath been lost by the usual sterility of a barren ground, hath been redeemed by the plenty of one good year. It is so great a matter to find one grateful man, to make trial of many ungrateful: no man hath so certain a hand in giving benefits, but that he is oftentimes deceived, let them fail sometimes once to be assured. The seas are sailed on when the shipwreck is past. The Usurer forbeareth not to lend because he hath met with a bankrupt. Our mind will quickly be benumbed with fruitless idleness, if it should incontinently forsake whatsoever is distasteful unto it. But let this very thing make th●e more bountiful. For if thou wilt that a thing (whose event is uncertain) should have a happy issue, it behoveth thee to assay it oftentimes. But hereof have we sufficiently spoken in our Books which we have written of Benefits. Better it were to dispute of another point, (which, in my judgement, is not sufficiently expressed and decided) whether he that befriendeth us, and afterwards hurt●th us, hath equally his benefit, and whether we are acquit from him. Add if thou wilt hereunto this also, that afterwards he had hurt us more, then before time he profited us. If thou expect a severe sentence of a judge, that would follow the rigour of law, he will release them respectively, and will say. Although the injury be more great, yet let that which remaineth of the injury be given to the benefits. He hath hurt more. But first of all he hath profited, and therefore we must have some regard of time. Now those things are more manifest, then that they need an admonition, that it is necessary to know how willingly he hath profited, how unwillingly harmed. Because both benefits and injuries are measured by the mind. I would not give a benefit, but I was overcome with shame, or by the pertinacy of his instant suit, or by hope. Whatsoever is owing, is examined by the same mind wherewith it is given, neither is it weighed by the greatness thereof, but by the will from whence it proceedeth. Let all conjecture be now taken away. Both that was a benefit, & this that exceeded the measure of the former benefit, is an injury. A good man will in such sort make his account, that he himself will deceive himself. He will add unto the benefit, & take from the injury. But another that would judge more graciously, as I would do, will forget the offence, and remember the favour. Assuredly it is the act of justice (saith he) to give each man that which appertaineth thereunto, to the benefit acknowledgement, to the injury revenge, or at leastwise an evil acceptance. This shall be true, when as one doth an injury, another giveth a benefit. For if it be the same, the force of the injury is extinguished by the benefit. For to him whom we aught to pardon, although no deserts of his were precedent, to him is more than pardon due, if he hurt us after he hath done us kindness; yet take I not them both alike, more prize I the benefit then the injury. Every one knoweth not how to own a benefit gratefully. An imprudent, rude, and base conditioned fellow may restore a benefit, and recompense the same anon after he hath received it, but he knoweth not how much he is obliged. The wiseman only knoweth at what rate each thing is to be taxed. For that fool, of whom I spoke of late, although he have a good will, either restoreth less than he oweth, or doth it not in time and convenient place, and lavisheth and casteth that away, which he should recompense and satisfy. There is a wonderful propriety of words in some things, and the custom of ancient language designeth some things unto us in effectual meats, and duty teaching lessons. Thus truly are we wont to say. This man hath referred or requited that man's favour: to requited, is willingly to return that which thou owest. We say not, he hath returned thanks; for both they who are demanded, and are unwilling, and that in every place, and those that return by another man's hand give satisfaction. We say not, he hath remitted the benefit, or he hath paid it, for those words which are proper to acquit a man of money lent, are no ways pleasing to me in this subject. Refer, is as much to say, as to go and acknowledge, that is, bear back, unto him whom thou hast received. This word signifieth voluntary relation or reknowledgement. He that hath referred, that is to say, reknowledged, hath appealed and summoned himself. The wiseman will examine all things with himself, how much he hath received, from whom, when, where, and how. Therefore is it, that we deny that any man knoweth how to reknowledge a benefit, but a wiseman, no more than any other man, knoweth how to give a benefit, except he be a wiseman, and such a one, who is more glad to give, than another to receive. This some man numbereth amongst those things which we seem to name extravagant and strange unto all men, the Greeks' call them Paradoxes, and saith: Is there no man therefore that knoweth how to requited a good turn but a wiseman? Therefore no other man but he knoweth how to pay his creditor that which he oweth him, nor when he buyeth any thing, to pay the price thereof to him that selleth the same? But jest this blame should fall upon me, know this, that Epicurus saith as much. Metrodorus assuredly saith, That the wiseman only knoweth how to reknowledge a favour. Again, the same man admireth, when we say, The wiseman only knoweth how to love, the wiseman only is a friend: but to requited a favour, is both the part of love and friendship; nay rather this is more vulgar and more casual amongst many, then true friendship. Again, the same man wondereth, because we say, that there is no faith, but in a wiseman, as if he himself had not said the same. Supposest thou this, that he hath any faith, that knoweth not how to acknowledge a benefit? Let them therefore cease to defame us, as if we preferred or maintained uncredible things, & let them know that true honesty is lodged only in a wiseman's breast, and the only images and appearance of honest things with the common sort. No man knoweth how to requited a courtesy, but a wiseman. A fool in some sort also acknowledgeth as he conceiveth the means, and how he may, and let his knowledge rather fail him then his william. The will is not learned. A wiseman will compare all things to their worth: his work although it be the same, is made either greater or lesser, by time, place, and cause. Oft-times riches powered into a house, could not do that that a thousand pence could, being given in season. For there is a great difference whether thou gavest, or succourest. Whether thy liberality hath saved him, or engreatned him. Oft-times that which is given is small, that which followeth thereby is great: but what difference is there, whether any man hath taken back again that which he had given, or received a benefit, to the end he might give? But lest we should return into the examination of those things which he hath sufficiently debated of; in this comparison of benefit and injury, a good man will judge that which is most rightful, yet will he favour the benefit, and be most addicted to that side. But the consideration of the person is of greatest moment in these affairs. Thou hast given me a benefit in the person of my slave, but thou hast done me injury in my father. Thou hast saved me my son, but taken my father from me; consequently he will pursue and examine all the circumstances by which all comparison hath his proceeding: and if it be but a small matter that causeth the difference, he will dissemble that. But if it be great, and that he hath the power to pardon it, without injuring piety or faith, he will remit it, that is, if the whole injury appertain unto himself. The sum of the matter is this, he shall be facile and gracious in this compensation, he shall suffer himself to be more charged in the account, and will never pay a benefit with an injury, except it be by great constraint, he will incline always to this side, he will maintain this part in desiring to acknowledge a benefit, and affecting to requited it. For he is deceived whatsoever he be, that more willingly receiveth a benefit than he restoreth it. By how much the more joyful he is that payeth than he that borroweth, by so much aught he to be more content that dischargeth himself of a great debt by restoring the benefit which be hath received, than the other which obligeth himself by receiving. For in this also ungrateful men are deceived, in that they satisfy their creditor with an overplus besides the principal, and suppose that the use of benefits is gratuitall: yet these increase by delay, and so much more is to be satisfied, by how much it is slackly satisfied. Ingrateful is he that restoreth a benefit without usury; and therefore we aught to have a respect to this length, when we compare the receipts and layings out. We must labour as much as in us lieth, to be most grateful; for this good is truly ours, even as it is not justice as it is commonly believed that appertaineth to others, the greatest part thereof returneth into itself. There is no man that hath profited another, that hath not profited himself. I speak it not with the intent wherewith he that hath been succoured would secure, and he that hath been defended would defend, because a good example returneth to him that giveth it, as also evil examples do finally fall upon their author; neither find they any pity who suffer injuries, and by acting the same have taught others that they may be done, but because the reward of all virtue lieth in them: for they are not put in execution, under hope of reward. The reward of a good action is to have acted the same. I am grateful, not that another should more willingly lend me, being egged thereunto by the former example, but that I might perform a thing both most pleasing and agreeable. I am grateful, not because that shall yield me profit, but because it contenteth my mind. And to the end thou mayest know that which I speak is so truly: if I have not the means to express my gratuity, except in showing myself to be ungrateful, if I cannot yield satisfaction, except it be under a pretext of doing injury, I aught most willingly to follow this counsel, although I be in danger to be noted of infamy. There is no man in my judgement that ●stimates virtue more, no man more devoted thereunto then he that lost the reputation of a good man, because he would not make shipwreck of his conscience. Therefore, as I said, thou art grateful more for thine own good than another man's: for to him there happeneth but an ordinary and common thing to recover that which he had given, but to thee a great contentment, and such as proceedeth from the estate of a happy soul, to have acknowledged a benefit. For if wickedness maketh men miserable, and virtue maketh them blessed, and to be grateful is a virtue, thou hast restored but an usual thing, but attained an inestimable matter, that is to say, the conscience to have been grateful, which seizeth not on a mind but such as is divine and fortunate. But the contrary of this affection is urged with great infelicity. There is no man that is not miserable if he be ingrateful. I dally not with him, he is presently miserable. Let us therefore fly ingratitude; if for no other cause, yet for our owns. The lest part of wickedness, and that which is lest to be feared, redoundeth unto others; but that which is the worst, and (if I may so speak it) that which is the thickest remaineth with him, and tormenteth his possessor. As our Attalus was accustomed to say, Malice and mischief drinketh the greatest part of his own poison. That venom which the Serpent's cast out of them to destroy others, and keep within themselves without their own prejudice, is not like unto this. For this poison is pernicious to those that nourish the same. The ungrateful man tormenteth himself, he becometh lean, he hateth that which hath been given him, because he must restore the same, and extenuateth it: contrariwise, he dilat●th the injuries and augmenteth them. But what man is there that is more miserable, than he that forgetteth the benefits he hath received, and remembreth him of the injuries? Contrariwise, wisdom speaketh honourably of all sorts of benefits, and commendeth them to herself, and delighteth herself with the continual remembrance thereof. The evil sort have but one pleasure, and that very short, and that is whilst they receive benefits, whereof the wiseman feeleth a long & perdurable joy: for he delighteth not in receiving, but in this, that he hath received, whereof he feeleth a continual and immortal pleasure. He contemneth those thing whereby he is harmed, neither forgetteth he negligently but willingly. He turneth not all things to the worst, neither seeketh he to whom he may impart the fault, and rather layeth the blame of men's errors on fortune then on themselves. He taketh exceptions neither to men's words nor looks; whatsoever falleth out he excuseth it with a gracious interpretation, and remembreth not an injury rather than a benefit: He settleth his remembrance on that which was both the first, and the best: he changeth not his mind towards those that have well deserved, except their injuries surpass very much, & the difference be manifest, even though he should shut his eyes, and then also in this only, that he continueth the same man after the greatest injury, as he was before the benefit. For whereas the benefit is equal with the injury, there remaineth some spark of benevolence in the mind. Even as a guilty man is acquit when the opinions of the judges are equally divided, and always in whatsoever thing is doubtful, humanity inclineth to the better: so a wiseman's mind, whereas the merits equal the misdeeds, will forbear to own, but will not desist to be willing to be beholding, and doth this which they are wont to do, who after a general acquittance of all debts, will notwithstanding satisfy. But no man can be grateful, except he contemn these things, that maddeth and besotteth the common sort. If thou wilt be thankful for a benefit, thou must make account to suffer banishment, to shed thy blood, to fall into poverty, and see thine own innocence oft-times stained, and subject to base and scandlous rumours. It costeth a man no small matter to approve himself grateful. We esteem nothing more dearer than a benefit as long as we ask it, nothing more basely when we have received it. Askest thou me what is that maketh us forget the courtesies received? It is the desire and covetousness of those things we would receive hereafter. We think not of that which we have already obtained, but on that only which we would obtain hereafter. Richeses, honour, power, and all such other things which in our opinion we repute of great esteem, but base and abject in their own value, retire us from virtue. We know not how to estimate things, whereof we aught to make our election; not according to the common report, but by the counsel of nature, the mother of all things. These have no magnificence in them, whereby they should draw our minds unto them, except this, that we are accustomed to admire them. For therefore are they praised, not because they are to be coveted, but therefore are they to be coveted, for because they are praised; and when as every particular man's error hath made them public, the public shall make it to be the error of every one. But even as we have believed those things, let us also believe the common sort in this, that there is nothing more honest than a grateful mind. All Cities, all Nations, yea, those of the barbarous and savage Regions will subscribe hereunto, the good and evil will agreed in this point. There will be some that will praise pleasures, there will be some that had rather labour. There will be some that will say that pain is the greatest evil that may be, some that will scarcely call it evil: Some one shall repute riches for the chiefest good, another shall say that they were found out for the ruin and mishap of human life, and that there is no one man more rich, than he to whom fortune hath not found out any thing to give him. In this so great diversity of opinions, all the world will maintain (as it is said) with one voice that we aught to be thankful unto those who have deserved well at our hands. All Nations, though different in many other things, consent and agreed herein, and yet notwithstanding, in the interim we repay benefits with injuries: and the chiefest cause that every one hath to become ungrateful, is this, because he could not be sufficiently grateful. The fury is grown to that head, that it is a very dangerous thing to give great benefits to any one: for in that he thinketh it a dishonest part not to requited, he desireth he should not live, to whom he should make restitution. Reserve that to thyself which thou hast received, I redemand, I exact it not, it contenteth me that I have pleasured thee. There is no hatred more pernicious than his, who is ashamed because he hath violated a benefit. EPIST. LXXXII. Against delicacy and effeminate life, and sluggish idleness also, and that we aught to dedicated the same to study, and in especial to Philosophy, which should defence us against fear and all external evils, yea against death itself. That we are armed all in vain, with subtleties and sophimes against the same, and by the way, against such as use it, that death in itself is indifferent, but such or such honest or dishonest. Again, against Cavillers. Good. NOw have I given over the care I have had of thee. What one sayest thou of the gods, hast thou accepted for my surety: truly even him that deceiveth no man, a mind that is a lover of right and honesty. The better part of thee is in safety. Fortune may do thee an injury, but that which is most pertinent to the matter, I fear not that thou shouldest injury thyself. Keep on the course thou hast begun, and compose thyself in this habit of life temperately, not effeminately. I had rather thou shouldest live ill, then effeminatly. Now so interpret thou ill as it is usually spoken amongst the common sort, hardly, sharply, and laboriously. So are we wont to hear the lives of divers men praised, who are envied. He liveth effeminately. This they say, he is evil. For by little and little the mind is made effeminate, and groweth remiss and negligent, and undertaketh the similitude of that idleness and sloth wherein he is buried. What then? is it not more befitting a man to be more stern and rigid. Again, such as are delicate fear death, whereunto they have made their life alike. There is a great difference betwixt idleness and the grave. What therefore sayest thou, were it not better for a man to repose himself thus, then to toss and tumble himself in these gulfs of affairs? Both these two things are mortal, the convulsion of the nerves and debilitation of the mind. I think him as much dead that lieth buried in his perfumes, as him that is drawn with the hook. Retirement without study is a death, and the sepulchre of a living man. Finally, what profiteth it us to be retired, as if the causes of cares and troubles followed us not beyond the seas? What hidden place is there, whereinto the fear of death entereth not? What so defenced and high raised repose of life, which sorrow terrifieth not? Wheresoever thou shalt hide thyself, human miseries will make a noise about thee. There are divers external things, which wheel about us, whereby they either may deceive or urge us. Many things internal which incense and inflame us also, even in the midst of solitude. We must arm ourselves with Philosophy, which will serve us as an impregnable wall, which Fortune with all her engines cannot pierce. The mind that hath disclaimed external things, is resident in an impregnable place, and defendeth himself in his fortress, each weapon aimed at him, falleth under him. Fortune hath not long hands, as we imagine, she is Mistress over none, but such a one as cleaveth unto her. Let us therefore, as much as in us lieth, retire ourselves from her, which the only knowledge of herself and of Nature will effect. L●t him know whither he is to go, whence he came, what is his good, what is his evil, what he should desire, and what he should eschew, what that reason is, which discerneth, what things are to be desired and esteemed, whereby the fury of desires is meekened, and the cruelties of fears abated. Some there are that think that they have overcome all this without the assistance of Philosophy, but when as any misfortune lighteth upon any of these, that pretend security; too late are they enforced to confess the truth. These great words are forgotten, when the hangman commandeth them to give him their hand, when death approacheth more nigh them. Thou mayest justly say unto him: Thou provokest absent evils: now see here grief, which thou saidst was easy to support: see here death, against which thou spakest so much, and so audaciously: the whips yerk, the sword shineth; Now hast thou need, AENEAS, of a mind Armed with constancy.— But that will continual meditation make strong in thee, if thou exercise not thy words, but thy mind: if thou preparest thyself against death, against which he cannot exhort thee, nor encourage thee, who shall attempt by some cavils to persuade thee that death is not evil. For I will, my Lucilius, (the best of men) laugh at the follies of the Greeks', which as yet I have not well examined, though I wonder at them. Our Zeno useth this collection. There is no evil which is glorious, but de●th is glorious, Ergo, death is no evil. Thou hast profited me much, thou hast put me out of fear, hereafter I will not doubt to stretch out and offer my head. Wilt thou not speak more severely, nor make a man laugh that is ready to die? Undoubtedly, I can hardly tell thee whether he were more foolish, who supposed by this question to extinguish the fear of death, or he that endeavoured to answer the same, as if it were a thing pertinent to the matter. For he himself opposed a contrary argument, taken from that, because we place death amongst things Indifferent, which the Grecians call Adiaphora. Nothing, saith he, that is indifferent, is glorious; but death is glorious death therefore is not indifferent. Thou seest plainly whereto this argument tendeth. Death is not glorious; but to die constantly is glorious. And when, he saith, nothing Indifferent is glorious, I grant it thee; yet say I this, that there is nothing glorious, but in things Indifferent. These things term I indifferent, which are neither good nor evil, as sickness, pain, poverty, exile, death; none of these in itself is glorious, yet nothing without these. For poverty is not praised. But he that is neither humbled, nor dejected by her. Banishment is not praised, but he that sorrowed not for it: grief is not praised, but he whom grief hath enforced nothing. No man praiseth death, but him whom death sooner separated from life, then astonished. All these things are not honest nor glorious in themselves, but if Virtue intermixeth herself amongst them, if she manage them, she maketh them honourable and full of glory. For of themselves they are placed between both, and are indifferent, it only concerneth us to know whether malice or virtue hath passed the same thorough their hands. For that death which is glorious in Cato, is presently base & shameful in Brutus, and to be blushed at. For this is that Brutus, who when he should be slain, sought to delay death, who went aside to do his easement, and being called upon to die, and commanded to lay down his neck; I will lay it down, saith he, so that I may live. What madness is it to fly away, sith that thou art unable to go back? I will lay it down, so that I may live: almost he added there●nto, even under Antonius. O worthy man, to be yielded unto life! But as I began to say● Thou seest that death itself is neither a bad, nor a good thing, Cato most honestly used it; Brutus most dishonestly. Every thing that hath not honour, virtue being added thereunto, it assumeth it. We say that a chamber is full of light: yet this same is most dark by night. The day infuseth light into it, the night taketh it away. So to these things which be by us called indifferent and middle things, namely, to riches, strength, beauty, honours, rule; and contrarily to death, banishment, bad health, sorrows, and what other things we have feared, either less or more; either naughtiness or virtue giveth the name of good or bad. Paste of it sel●e is neither hot nor cold, but being put into the Oven, it waxeth hot; again, it being put into the water waxeth cold. Death is honest, through that which is an honest thing: that is virtue and a mind contemning outward things. There is also, O Lucilius, a great difference of these that we call honest things. For death is not so indifferent, as that whether thou do wear thine hair even or not. Death is amongst those things that be not bad indeed, but yet have a show of that which is bad. There is a love of owns self, and an engrafted will of abiding & of preserving owns self, & a shunning of dissolution, because it seemeth to take away many good things, and to lead us out of the abundance of this, whereunto we have accustomed ourselves. That thing also alienateth us from death, because we have already known these things: those things whereunto we are about to go; we know not of what sort they may be, and we fear things that be unknown. Furthermore, there is a natural fear of darkness, into which it is supposed that death will conduct us. Therefore, although death be an indifferent thing, yet for all that it is not amongst those things, which easily may be neglected. With great exercise the mind is to be hardened, that it may endure the sight and the coming thereof. Death aught to be contemned, more than it is accustomed to be; for we believe many things concerning it. It hath been the strife of many wits to increase the infamy of it. An infernal prison is described, and a region oppressed with continual night, wherein is the great porter of hell. Lying upon bore bones hal●e eaten up In bloody den, where he doth dine and sup, eternally with barking doth affright Each pale and bloodless ghost and shade-like sprite. But also when thou shalt persuade thyself that these things be fables, neither that any other thing remaineth to the dead, which any one aught to fear, another fear cometh in the place of it. For they are alike afraid of being in hell, as of being no where. These things contradicting which long persuasion hath infused unto us, the valiant enduring of death, what else may it be but a glorious thing, and amongst the greatest works of a manly mind? which will never rise up unto virtue, if it believe de●th to be an evil thing; it will rise up unto it, if it suppose it to be a thing indifferent. The nature of things is uncapable of this, that one may come unto that which he supposeth to be an indifferent thing, slowly and lingeringly will he come. And that is not glorious, which is done by an unwilling and backward man. Virtue doth nothing because it is needful to be done. Add now that nothing is honestly done, except the whole mind hath endeavoured and hath been present thereat, and with no part of itself hath resisted it. But when approach is made unto that which is bad● it either cometh to pass by fear of worse things; or by hope of those things that be good, to come unto the which it is of so great worth, that the enduring of one evil is swallowed up. The judgements of the doer do disagree. Hence it is, that he commandeth to accomplish things purposed: thence that he draweth back and flieth from a suspected and perilous thing. Therefore is he distracted into divers parts. If this be, glory perisheth. For virtue accomplisheth decrees with an agreeing mind: it feareth not that which it doth. See this, that thou to evils give no place, But against them go with a bolder face Though thy fortune will permit thee. Thou shalt not the more boldly go, if thou shalt suppose that they be evil things. This is to be taken out of the breast: otherwise suspicion being about to stay the force, will stick hereat. It shall be thrust upon that, which it was to set upon. Some would have the interrogation of our Zeno to be supposed to be true, but that other to be deceitful and false, which is opposed unto it. I reduce not these things to a Logical law, and to those knots of most sluggish workmanship: I judge that all that kind is to be thrust away, whereby he who is asked, supposeth himself to be circumvented, and whereby he being brought to confess, answereth one thing, but thinketh another. We must deal more plainly for the truth, and more strongly against fear. These things which are tossed up and down by them, I had rather to loosen, and to ponder upon, to the end that I may persuade, and not deceive. He that will lead an army into the field ready to die for their wives and children, how will he exhort? I show to thee the Fabiuses, translating the whole war of the Commonwealth into one house. I demonstrate the Lacedæmonians placed in the very straitss of Thermopylae, hoping neither for victory, nor for return. That place was to be a grave unto them. How exhortest thou them to receive the ruin of a whole nation with offering their bodies unto it? and rather to departed from their life, then from their place? Thou wilt say, that which is evil, is not glorious: death is glorious, therefore death is not an evil thing. O effectual speech! who after this doubteth to offer himself to the deadly weapons points, & standing for to die? But that Leonidas how valiantly did he speak unto them? So dine O fellow soldiers saith he, as if ye should sup amongst the dead. The meat increased not in their mouths, it did not stick in their chaps, it did not fall out of their hands. They went cheerfully to dinner and to supper both. What that Roman Captain, who spoke thus unto soldiers, which were sent to take a place, and were to go through a great army of the enemies: It is needful, O fellow-soldiers, to go thither, but it is not needful to return back. Thou seest how plain, and how imperious virtue is. What man can our beguilings make more valiant? Whom can they make more courageous? They break the mind, which is never less to be contracted, and to be compelled with petty and thorny things, then when some great matter is framed. The fear of death aught not to be taken from three hundred alone, but from all mortal men. How wilt thou teach them, that it is not an evil thing? How wilt thou overcome the opinions of all ages, wherewith presently infancy is seasoned? What help wilt thou find? What wilt thou say to the weakness of man? What wilt thou say wherewith they being inflamed may rush into the midst of danger? With what speech wilt thou turn away this consent of fearing; with what speech wilt thou avert the obnoxious persuasion of mankind, which is against thee? Thou compo●est captious words, and knittest petty questions for me. Great monsters are stricken with great weapons. In vain with arrows and slings did they shoot at that great cruel Serpent in Africa, and more terrible to the Legions of Rome then war itself. Not Python indeed was to be wounded, sith huge greatness according to the solid vastness of his body, cast back again weapons, and whatsoever the hands of men had darted against him; at length was he broken with millstones; and against death dost thou dart so petty things? With a bodkin encountrest thou a Lion? These things are sharp which thou speakest of. Nothing is more sharp than the beard of the ear of Corne. smallness itself maketh somethings unprofitable and without effect. EPIST. LXXXIII. We mu●t live as before God our beholder and judge. Than he adjoineth concerning his own life, temperance and watchfulness. Again (as in the former Epistle) against base talkers, who abase wisdom with their mean speech and cavils. He teacheth against ZENO himself, discoursing against drunkenness. But we must do more valiantly and famously: and giving an example thereof, he condemneth that vice. THou commandest my several days, and all of them indeed to be showed unto thee. Well judgest thou of me, if thou supposest nothing to be in them which I will hide. If certainly we must live, let us live as being in sight: so let us think, as if one were able, and could look into our innermost breast. For what pro●itteth it, that any thing should be secret from man? Nothing is closed from God. He is within our souls, and he cometh into the midst of our thoughts. So, I say, he cometh amongst them, as one to departed at length. Therefore I will do that which thou commandest, and what I do, and in what order, I will willingly writ unto thee. I will forthwith observe myself: and that which is a most profitable thing, with myself will I recall the day to mind. This maketh us to be very bad, because no man looketh back upon his life. What things we are about to do, we think upon, and but seldom that: what we have done, we do not think upon. But from that which is past, cometh counsel for that which is to come. This day is solid. No man hath taken any of it from me: it is all of it divided betwixt the book and the bed. The lest part is given unto exercise of the body; and for this cause I give thanks to old age. It costeth me not much. When I have stirred, I am wearied. But this is the end of exercise, even to those that are most strong. Seekest thou with whom I exercise myself? One sufficeth me, Earinus (as thou knowest) a lovely boy: but he shall be changed. Now I seek for one that is more tender. He indeed saith, that we have the same estate of bodie● because that the teeth of us both ●all out: but now I scarce overtake him when he doth run, and within a very few days I shall be unable to do it. See what continual exercise can pro●it. Speedily there is made a great distance betwixt two that go in a contrary journey: at the same time he ascendeth, I descend: and thou knowest, how much the one of these is the more speedily done. I lied: for now our age descendeth not, but falleth. Notwithstanding dost thou seek how this days strife succeeded unto us? As seldom it falleth forth to runners: neither of us both did overcome. From this weariness, rather than exercise, I descended into cold water. This is called by me water scarce warm. I that so great wa●her in cold water, who in the Calendss of januarie leapt into a pond, who in the new year, as I began to read, to writ, to speak somewhat, so began I to leap down into clear water, first translating my tent to Tiber, then to this bathing tub, which because I am most strong, and all things are done in good earnest, the Sun moderateth for me. Not much time after do I tarry at the Bath. Than I eat dry bread, and a dinner without a board: after which I am not to wash mine hands. I sleep very little. Thou hast known my custom: and I use a most short sleep, and as it were by several naps. It is sufficient that I have ceased to watch. Sometimes I know, sometimes I suspect that I have slept. Behold the cry of the Circens●ans maketh a noise in mine ears: mine ears are stricken with some sudden and universal voice. Neither do they put forth, neither indeed do they interrupt my thought: most patiently I bear their clamorous noises, many voices and confused in one, are to me in stead of a wave, or of a wind beating upon a wood, & of other things sounding without sense. O what therefore is it? I will tell thee, whereon now I have set my mind. A thought abideth with me still since yesterday, namely, what most wise men have meant, who have made most light and perplexed proofs for greatest things, which although they be true, are notwithstanding like to a lie. Zeno would deter us from drunkenness, an exceeding great man, the founder of this most valiant & most holy sect. Hear now how he gathereth, that a good man will not be drunk. None committeth secret speech to a drunken man: but he committeth it to a good man; therefore a good man will not be drunk. Mark how he may be derided with the like opposite interrogation. It sufficeth of many to set down one. No man committeth secret speech to one that is a sleep, but he committeth it to a good man; therefore a good man doth not sleep. By what one way he can, Posidonius pleadeth the cause of our Zeno: but so can it not be pleaded indeed, as I suppose. For he saith that a drunken man is so said to be two manner of ways: the one, when one is loaden with wine, and not master of himself; the other, if he be accustomed to be made drunk, and be subject unto this vice. He is spoken of by Zeno, who is accustomed to be made drunk, not he that may be drunk. But no man will commit secrets to him, which through wine he may publish abroad; which is false. For that first interrogation comprehendeth him that is drunk, not him who will so be. For thou wilt grant that there is great difference betwixt him that is drunk, and a drunkard. He that is drunk, may so then be at the first time, and not have this vice: and he that is given to drink, is oftentimes without drunkenness. Therefore I understand that, which is wont to be signified in this word: especially sith it is put by a man professing diligence, and examining words. Add now, that if Zeno understood, and would have us to understand this, by doubtfulness of the word, he hath sought place for deceit: which thing is not to be done, when verity is sought for. But certes although he hath thought thus: yet that which followeth is false; namely, that to him who is accustomed to be made drunk, a secret speech is not to be committed. For think to how many soldiers not always sober, both the Emperor, and Tribune, and Centurion hath committed silent things. Concerning that slaughter of C. Caesar, of him do I speak, who having overcome Pompeius, possessed the Commonwealth: it was as well committed to tilius Cimber, as to C. Cassius. Cassius drank water all his life long. tilius Cimber was both too much given to wine, and was lavish of his tongue: he ie●ted at this thing himself. Can I bear any one, saith he, who cannot bear wine? Let every one now name those unto himself, to whom he knoweth that wine is badly, and that speech is well committed. Notwithstanding I will relate one example that cometh to my mind; le●t it be forgot. For life is to be instructed by famous examples. Let us not always fly to those that be old. Lucius Piso the warden of the City, after that he was once made drunk, spent the greater part of the night in the feast: and did for the most part sleep almost until noon; this was his morning time. Notwithstanding, most diligently he administered his office, wherein the safety of the City was contained. To him both Augustus gave secret commands, when he gave him the government of Thracia, which he did subdue; and Tiberius going into Campania, when he left many things in the City both suspected and hateful, I think, because the drunkenness of Piso had well fallen forth unto him, afterwards made Cossus governor of the City, a grave and moderate man, but drowned and floating in wine, so that sometimes being oppressed with a sound sleep, he was carried out of the Senate, into which he had come from a feast. To him notwithstanding Tiberius wrote many things with his own hand, which he judged aught not to be committed to his own servants. Not private nor public secret escaped from Cossus. Therefore let us remove from amongst us these declamations: The mind hath not power over itself, being bound about with drunkenness. As barrels themselves are broken with new wine: and as all that is in the bottom, the force of heat casteth up into the upper part: so wine foaming forth, whatsoever lieth hid in the bottom is brought ●orth and cometh abroad. As they who are loaded with wine, keep not me●t through abundance of wine, so indeed do they keep no secret thing; that which is their own and other men's, alike do they spread abroad. But although this is wont to fall forth, so also is that, that with these whom we know somewhat freely to drink, we deliberate of necessary things. Therefore this is false, which is put in the place of patronage, that a secret is not to be committed to him, who is accustomed to be made drunk. How much better were it openly to accuse drunkenness, and to lay open the vices thereof? which even a tolerable man hath avoided, much more a perfect and a wise man: to whom it is sufficient to quench thirst: who also if at any time mirth doth arise, and is continued somewhat long upon some other cause, yet notwithstanding resisteth without being drunk. For we will see concerning that, whether the mind of a wise man may be troubled with too much wine, and may do that which is accustomable to drunken men. In the mean space, if thou wilt conclude this, that a good man aught not to be drunk, why dealest thou with syllogisms? Say how dishonest a thing it is, to power in more than one can contain, and not to know the measure of ones stomach: how many things drunken men do, which sober men be ashamed of: that drunkenness is nothing else, than a voluntary madness. Prolong that drunken habit into more days, doubtest thou but it will be madness? Now also it is not lesser, but shorter. Relate the example of Alexander, the Macedonian, who in the midst of a banquet stabbed Clitus, one most dear and most faithful unto him, and understanding that heinous deed, he would have died; certainly he deserved to die. Drunkenness augmenteth and discovereth every vice; it removeth modesty, which hindereth from bad enterprises. For more abstain from forbidden things, through shame to offend, then through good william. When too much wine possesseth the mind, what evil soever did lie hid, cometh forth. Drunkenness causeth not vices, but betrayeth them; then the lecherous person tarrieth not indeed for a chamber, but without delay permitteth to his desires, so much as they shall require: then the shameless man professeth and publisheth his disease: then the wanton containeth not his tongue nor hand. Pride increaseth to the haughty, rage to the cruel, malice to the envious; every vice is discovered, and cometh forth. Add, that not knowing of himself, doubtful and scarce plain words, wandering eyes, staggering gate, turning about in the head, the house it sel●e seeming to turn about: the torment of the stomach, when the wine waxeth warm, and stretcheth out the bowels. Than notwithstanding, howsoever it is tolerable, whilst it is yet in his own power. What when it is corrupted with sleep, and that which was drunkenness is made crudity? Think what slaughters public drunkenness hath committed. This hath delivered most fierce and warlike Nations to their enemies: this hath laid open walls defended against the resolute war of many years: this hath enforced the most resolved, and the refusers of subjection, to the command of other men: this hath conquered those who have been unconquered in war. So many journeys, so many battles, so many Winters, through which Alexander had passed, the difficulty of times and places being overcome, so many floods unexpectedly falling forth, so many Seas dismissed him safe; but the distemper of drinking, and that Herculean and fatal cup buried him. What glory is it to contain much? When the victory shall be achieved by thee, when men lying scattered asleep, and casting shall refuse thy drunken carouses, when thou alone shalt remain of the whole banquet, when thou shalt overcome all men in magnifical valour, and no man shall be so capable of wine as thyself, yet art thou overcome by a Tun: what other thing save drunkenness, and the love of Cleopatra no less than wine destroyed M. Antonius, a great man and of a noble wit, and transferred him into external fashions, and into vices which were not Roman-like? This thing made him an enemy to the Commonwealth, this made him unequal to his enemies, this made him cruel, when the heads of the Princes of the City were set before him as he did sup, when amongst most exquisite feasts & kingly riot, he looked upon to know the heads and hands of the proscribed, when being loaded with wine, he notwithstanding thirsted for blood. It was intolerable which he did when he was drunk, although he did thus being sober: how much more intolerable was it, that he did these things in drunkenness itself? For the more part cruelty followeth drunkenness; for the health of the mind is violated and exasperated. Even as long diseases 'cause tender eyes, yea at the lest lighting upon of a beam of the Sun: so continual drunkenness enrageth the mind. For when oftentimes they are not their own men, vices bred with wine, and obdurated with custom of madness, be also of force without it. Tell therefore why a wiseman aught not to be made drunk. Show the deformity and the importunity of the thing with deeds, not with words, which will be most easy to do. Prove these pleasures, as they are called, when they have passed a mean to be punishments. For if thou shalt argue upon that, that a wiseman can be drunk with much wine, and retain a right tenor, although he be overturned: thou mayst as well conclude, that he may drink poison and not die, that he may take juice of black Poppy and not sleep, that he may take Ellebore, and not cast upward or scour downward, whatsoever sticketh in the bowels. But if his feet be assaulted, if his tongue be not his own, why thinkest thou him to be partly sober, and partly drunk? EPIST. LXXXIIII. Writing and reading are to be changed. Things read are to be turned into one nourishing substance, and are to be made ours. Lastly, there is an exhortation to wisdom. Good and profitable admonitions. I judge these journeys which shake off slothfulness from me, to profit my studies and health. Thou seest why they help mine health: sith the love of learning maketh me slow and negligent of my body, I am exercised by others help. I will show thee why they profit my studies. I have not departed from reading. But it is necessary, as I suppose, first, that I may not be content with myself alone; then, that when I shall know things sought forth by other men, and then that I may judge of things already found out, and that I may think of those that be to be found out. Reading nourisheth the wit; and it being wearied with study, notwithstanding not without study refresheth it. Neither only aught we to writ, or only to read; the one of the things will make sad, and will consume the strength; I speak of writing: the other will dissolve and dissipate it. interchangeably this is to be exchanged with that, and the one is to be moderated with the other; so that whatsoever is gathered together by reading, the pen may reduce into a body. We aught, as they say, to imitate Bees, which wander up and down, and pick fit flowers to make honey: than whatsoever they have brought they dispose and place through their combs, and as our Virgil saith; Moist honey to make thick they much do strive, Spreading the same with sweet dew through their Hive. Concerning them it is not apparent enough, whether they draw a moist substance from the flowers, which is presently honey; or whether that they change those things which they have gathered with a certain mixture and propriety of their breath, into this taste. For it pleaseth some, that not the knowledge of making honey, but of gathering it is unto them. They say that amongst the Indians honey is found upon the leaves of Reeds, which either the dew of that sky or the pleasant and more fat moisture of the very Reed may beget. Upon our herbs also the same force, but less manifest and notable is found, which a creature born for this end may follow after, and gather together. Some think that those things which they have picked from the tender of that which is green & flourishing, are not without a certain leaven, as I may so call it, whereby divers things do knit together into one. But that I be not lead a way to any other thing, then to that which is in hand, we also aught to imitate Bees, and to separate what things soever we have heaped together from divers reading; for distinct things are the better kept. Than using the ability and care of our wit, to mingle divers liquors into one taste: that although it shall appear whence it is taken, yet that it may appear to be some other things then that whence it was taken: which thing we see nature doth in our body, without any help of us. Nourishment which we have taken, so long as it abideth in quality, and swimmeth solid in the stomach is a burden; but when it is changed from that which it was, then at length it passeth into strength and into blood. The same let us do in these things wherewith wits a●e nourished: that whatsoever we have gotten, we suffer not to be whole, nor to be other men's. Let us concoct them, otherwise they will go into the memory, not into the wit. Let us faithfully agreed unto them, and make them ours, that one certain may be made of many things: as one number is made of several ones, when one computation comprehendeth lesser and disagreeing sums. This let our mind do: all things whereby it is helped, let it hide: only let it show that which it hath done. Although in thee the likeness of some one shall appear, whom admiration hath more deeply fastened in thee: I would that thou shouldest be like to him, not as an Image, but as a son. An Image is a thing that is dead. What therefore? is it not understood whose speech thou dost imitate? whose reasoning? whose sentences? I think at length it can not be understood indeed, if they be of a great man, for not in all things, which he hath drawn as examples from every one, hath he so imprinted his shape, that they may agreed into that one thing alone. Seest thou not of the voices of how many, a Choir doth consist? Notwithstanding one sound is made of them all. Some one voice is acute, some base, some in a mean. women's voices are joined with men's, recorders and flutes are added unto them: there the voices of every one in several li●●id, of all appear. I speak of the Choir which the old lovers of music did know of. In our feasts there are more Singers, than once were of spectators upon the theatres. When the row of those that sing hath filled all ways, and the Stage is compassed with Trumpeters, and all kind of Pipes and Organs sound from a gallery above, a consonance is made of discords. Such would I have our mind to be, that there be many arts therein, many precepts, examples of many ages, but conspiring in one. How sayst thou, may this be done? By continual taking of heed; if we shall do nothing but by the persuasion of reason: this if thou wilt hear, it will say unto thee; Leave these things even already now, whereunto men do run; leave riches either the danger or burden of those that possess them; leave the pleasures of the body and of the mind, they mollify and make weak; leave suing for offices, it is a swelling, vain, and windy thing, it hath no bound: as well careful is it, not to see any body before itself, as not not to see itself after another man: it laboureth with envy, and indeed with two sorts thereof. But thou seest how wretched he is, who is envied at, if he himself envy also. Beholdest thou those houses of mighty men, those tumultuous doors with the brawling of them that do salute? Much reproach is there that thou mayest enter in, more when thou hast entered in. Pass by these stairs of the rich, and entries hanged with heaps of ancient spoils. Not only in a craggy, but also in a ●lipperie place shalt thou here stand. Hither rather unto wisdom direct thy course, and seek to attain the most quiet, and therewithal the most ample things. What things soever seem to excel in human affairs, although they be small, and stand above in comparison of the basest things, are notwithstanding by difficult and ●ard ways gone unto. Unto the height of dignity there is a broken way. But if thou wilt climb unto this top, whereunto fortune submitteth itself, thou shalt behold indeed all things under thee, which are accounted exceeding high; but notwithstanding thou shalt come unto highest things by that which is plain. EPIST. LXXXV. He disalloweth Sophisms, and driveth them from serious studies. He giveth certain examples, but leadeth to profitable things; against the Aristotelians, that a wise man aught to want affections. Than, that blessed life sufficeth of itself; it is one and equal, whether it be long or short. Also it is not lessened by outward things, although evils an● losses fall forth, yet a wise man useth all well. A good and wise Epistle. I Had spared thee, and had now passed by whatsoever had remained as yet, contented to give, as it were, a taste unto thee, of those things which are spoken by our men, that it may be proved, that virtue alone is sufficiently effectual to fulfil a blessed life. Thou commandest me to comprehend all the questions, that be either of our own, or de●ised for the teaching of us: which thing, if I will do, it shall not be a letter, but a book. That thing so often do I protest, that in this kind of argument there is no delight unto me. It shameth me (being armed with a bodkin) to descend into a war undertaken by gods and men. He that is wise, is also a temperate man. He that is temperate is a constant man. He that is constant, is a true tempered man. He that is without grief, is a bles●ed man. Therefore he that is prudent is a blessed man, and prudence is sufficient for a blessed life. To this collection, some of the Aristotelians answer after this sort, that thus they may interpret a man of true temper, and constant, and without grief; that a man of true temper may be said to be, who rarely and smally is disturbed, not he who never is. Also without sadness do they say him to be, who is not subject to sadness, nor is too frequent, nor too much in this fault. For that were to deny the nature of man, that the mind of some man should be free from grief: a wise man is not overcome with sorrow, but is touched therewith: so other things, a●ter this sort, correspond to their own sect. They do not with these things take away the affections, but moderate them. But how little do we gi●e to a wise man, if he be stronger than the weakest, and merrier than the saddest, and more moderate, than the most unbridled, and greater than the basest be? What if Ladas admire his own swiftness, looking back unto those that be lame and weak? On tops of grass, not pressing them, she ran, Nor tops of standing corn, her course hurt can; In midst of sea on waters highest tip, Her running feet in water do not dip. This is that swiftness esteemed of by itself, not which is praised in comparison of those that be most slow. What if thou call him, who is slightly sick of an a●ue, a sound man? The smallness of a disease is not good health. Thus, saith he, a wise man is said to be of true temper, as sweet kernel-lesse pomegranates, are called so, not in which there is no hardness of the kernels, but in which less hardness is. It is false: for I do not understand a lessening, but a wanting of evils in a good man: there aught to be none, not those that are small. For if there be any, they will increase, and sometimes will hinder us. As a greater and a perfect web in the eye maketh blind, so a small one troubleth the eye. If thou givest any affections to a wise man, reason shall be unable to master them, and shall be carried away, as it were, with a stream: especially when thou leavest not one, but a whole troop of affections wherewithal it may strive. A troop, although it be of those that be mean, can do more, than the violence of one that is great. He hath covetousness, but it is mean; he hath ambition, but it is not eager; he hath anger, but it is to be appeased; he hath inconstancy, but not very wandering; and subject to motion: he hath lust, but not madness. Better is it with him who hath one whole vice, then with him who hath lighter vices indeed, but yet hath all vice. Than there is no difference, how main the affection be, and how great soever it is; it knoweth not to obey, it receiveth not counsel. As no living creature obeyeth reason, not the wild, not the tame and gentles for the nature of them is deaf to him that doth persuade: so affections do not follow, they do not hear, how small soever they be. Tigers and Lions never put off fierceness, sometimes they submit it; and when thou shalt lest expect, their mitigated frowardness is exasperated. Vices never in good earnest do wax tame. But if reason profiteth, the affections will not begin: if they shall begin against reasons will, they will persever against the will of it. For it is more easy to forbidden the beginnings of them, then to rule their force. Certainly this mediocrity is false, and without gain, and is to be esteemed of in the same place, as if one should say, we might be indifferently mad, or indifferently sick. Virtue alone hath it; the evils of the mind do not receive moderation, more easily shalt thou take them away, then govern them. Is there any doubt, but that the inveterate and hard vices of human mind, which we call diseases, be without moderation; as covetousness, as cruelty, as vn●ulinesse, as impiety? Therefore also the affections are without moderation● for we pass from these unto those. Furthermore, if thou give any power to sadness, to fear, to covetousness, and to other bad motions, they will not be ruled by us. Why? because those things be out of our power, whereby they be stirred up. Therefore they increase, as they have greater or lesser causes, whereby they be provoked. Greater shall the fear be, if there be more wherewithal it may be affrighted, or if one shall look nearer thereunto; covetousness shall be more cruel, when hope of a larger estate shall call it forth. If it be not in our power, whether affections may be or not, that indeed is not, how great they may be: if thou hast permitted them to begin, with their causes they will increase, and they shall be as great, as they are made by thee. Add now, that these, although they be but little things, grow to be greater. Never do hurtful things keep a mean. Beginnings of diseases creep forward, although they be light; and sometimes the lest accession drowneth a body that is already sick. But who is so mad, as to believe that, that the beginnings of those things which are placed without our will, the limits of them are according to our will? How am I sufficiently able to put an end unto that, which I am scarce able to hinder? Sigh it is more easy to exclude, then to suppress things admitted in. Some have distinguished so that they said: A temperate and a prudent man in the frame and habit of the mind is calm, but not in the event thereof: for in regard of the habit of the mind he is not troubled, neither feareth, nor is sad: but many causes do outwardly fall forth, which may bring perturbation unto him. This is it that they would say, that he is not indeed a choleric man, yet that he is angry at sometime. And that he is not a fearful man, yet that he feareth at sometime: that is to say, he wanteth the vice, but not the affection of fear. But if we allow of this fear, with frequent use it becometh a vice: and anger being admitted into the mind, discovereth that habit of the mind that wanted anger. Furthermore, if it contemneth not those causes which outwardly come, and feareth any thing, when that valiantly we are to go against weapons, and fires, for our Country, Laws and liberty, it will lingeringly go forth, and with a mind returning back. But this diversity of mind falleth not upon a wise man. That furthermore do I judge to be observed, jest we confounded two things which are severally to be proved. For by itself it is gathered, that there is one only good, namely, that which is honest: that by itself again virtue is sufficient for a happy life. If there be but one good, namely, that which is honest; all than grant that virtue is sufficient to live well: contrarily it shall not be rejected, if virtue alone do make a blessed man, that there is one good, that is, that which is honest. Xenocrates and Speusippus do suppose, that a blessed man can be made by virtue alone: yet that is not the one only good, which is honest. Epicurus also judgeth, that when one hath virtue, that he is blessed, yet that virtue itself is not sufficient to a blessed life: because pleasure may make a man blessed, which is from virtue, and is not virtue itself. A foolish distinction. For the same man denieth, that virtue is at any time without pleasure: thus if it always be joined unto it, and be inseparable, it also is sufficient alone. But that is absurd, because it is said, that one shall become happy even by virtue alone: but shall not become perfectly happy thereby: which thing how it may be done, I do not find. For a blessed life hath in it a perfect good, such as cannot be overcome: which thing if it be thus, it is perfectly a blessed life. If th● life of the gods hath in it no more nor better thing; and a blessed life is a divine life; it hath nothing whereunto it can more lift up itself. Furthermore, if a blessed life needeth not any things every blessed life is perfect, and a blessed, and a most blessed life is the same. What doubtest thou, but that a blessed life is the chiefest good? Therefore if it be the chiefest good, it is chiefly a blessed life. As the chiefest receiveth not augmentation (for what is above that which shall be the chief?) so is not a blessed life indeed, which is not without the chiefest good. But if thou shalt bring in one who is more blessed, then shalt thou make a great many more innumerable differences of the chiefest good: when I understand the chiefest good, I speak of that which hath not a degree above itself. If any be less blessed than another: it followeth, that he will more desire the life of that other more blessed, rather than his own life: but the bl●ssed man preferreth nothing before his own life. Which of these you will it is incredible; either that any thing remaineth to a blessed, which he had rather have to be, then that which is: or that rather he should not desire that, which is better than that other thing. For certainly, by how much he is more wise, by so much he will extend himself to that thing which is best of all, and every manner of way he will desire to obtain it. But how is he blessed, who can still, yea who aught to desire? I will say what it is, whence this error doth come. They know not that blessed life is one. The quality thereof, not the greatness placeth it in the best estate. Therefore alike is it long and short, broad and narrow, distributed into many places and parts, and gathered into one. He that esteemeth it by number, and measure, and parts, taketh that therefrom, which is the most excellent therein. But what is that which is excellent in a blessed life? That it is full; namely, as the end of eating and drinking is satiety: he eateth more, that man eateth less. What difference? Either of them is full. This man drinketh more, he less: what difference? neither of them i● a thirst. He hath lived more, he lesser years. There is no difference: if many years have made him as well a blessed man, as a few years this man. He whom thou callest less blessed, is not blessed: the name cannot be lessened. He that is valiant, is without fear: he that is without fear, is without sadness: he that is without sadness is blessed. This is our interrogation. Against this they endeavour to answer thus; that we bring in a false and a controverted, for a true thing, namely, that he who is valiant is without fear. What therefore? shall not a valiant man, saith he, fear evils hanging over him? This were the part of a mad man, and of one out of his wits, and not of a valiant man. He indeed, saith he, feareth most moderately, but is not altogether without fear. They who speak th●se things are again returned unto the same thing, that smaller vices be unto them in the place of virtues. For he who feareth indeed, but more seldom and less, wanteth not badness, but is vexed with that which is lighter. But yet I think him mad, who feareth not evils hanging over him. True it is which he saith, if they be evils; but if he know that they be not ●uils, & judgeth dishonesty alone to be that which is ill, he aught securely to look upon dangers, & to contemn those things that are feared by other men: or if it be the part of a fool or of a mad man, not to contemn evil things; by how much any one is the more wise, by so much shall he fear the more. As it seemeth to you, saith he, a valiant man shall thrust himself into dangers. Not; he shall not fear, but shall avoid them. Wariness, not fear becometh him. What therefore? Dost thou say, that he shall not fear death, bands, fire, and other weapons of fortune? Not; for he knoweth that those things be not ill, but seem so to be: he thinketh that all these things be the ●eares of human life. Describe captivity, beating, chains, poverty, tearing asunder of the members, either by sickness or by injury: and whatsoever thou shalt bring hereunto, number them amongst imaginary fears. These things are to be ●eared by those that be fearful. Supposest thou that to be bad, whereunto some times of our own accord we must come. Seekest what is evil? To give place to ●hese things which are called evil, and to yield our own liberty unto them, for which we are to endure all things. Liberty perisheth, except we contemn those things, which lay a yoke upon us. They would not doubt what would become a valiant man, if they knew what valour were. For it is not unadvised rashness, nor love of dangers, nor a desire of fearful things. It is a knowledge of distinguishing, what is evil, and what is not● fortitude is most diligent in defending of itself, and the same is most patiented of those things, wherein is a false show of bad things. What therefore if a sword be thrust into the throat of a valiant man, if first one part and then another be hewed forth, if he see his own bowels in his own arms, if after a space, to the end that he may feel torments the more, he be set upon again, and fresh blood trickleth down by his dried bowels? wilt thou not say, that this man doth not fear, that he doth not feel grief? Certainly he feeleth pain, for no virtue putteth off the sense of a man: but he feareth not: being unconquered, from on high he looketh upon his dolours. Thou demandest, what mind then there is unto him? The same that is unto them who exhort their sick friend. That which is evil hurteth, that which hurteth maketh worse. Dolour and poverty make not worse, therefore they are not bad. False is it, saith he, which is propounded; for if any thing hurt, it doth not also make worse. A tempest and storm hurt a Pilot, but notwithstanding they make him not worse. Certain Stoics do thus answer against this, That a Pilot is made worse by a tempest and by a storm, because that thing which he had purposed he cannot effect, nor keep on his course. Worse is he made, not in his skill, but in his work. To whom the Aristotelian: therefore, saith he, poverty and dolour, and whatsoever such like thing there shall be, shall not take virtue from him, but shall hinder his working thereof. This were rightly said, except the condition of a Pilot, and of a wiseman were unlike. For the purpose of him is in leading his life, not without fail to effect that which he assayeth to do, but to do all things aright. It is the purpose of the Pilot, without fail to bring a ship into an haven. They be servile arts, they aught to perform that which they promise'. Wisdom is a mistress and governess. The arts do serve to, wisdom commandeth over life. I judge that we must answer after another sort, namely, that neither the skill of the governor is made worse by any tempest, nor yet the very administration of art. The governor hath not promised prosperous success unto thee, but his profitable endeavour, and skill to govern the ship. This appeareth the more, by how much the more some force of fortune hath hindered him. He that hath been able to say this, O Neptune, this ship was never but right, hath satisfied skill. A tempest hindereth not the work of a Pilot, but the success. What therefore sayest thou? Doth not that thing hurt a Pilot, which hindereth him from entering the Port? which causeth his endeavours to be vain? which either beareth him back, or detaineth and disarmeth him? It hurteth him not as Pilot, but as one that doth sail. Otherwise it doth not so much hinder, as show the Pilots skill. For every one can, as they say, be a pilot in the calm. These things hinder the ship; not a pilot, as he is a pilot. Two persons a pilot hath; the one common with all who have gone aboard the same ship, wherein he himself also is a passenger; the other proper, as he is a governor. The tempest hurteth him as he is a passenger, not as a Pilot. Furthermore the art of a Pilot is another's good, it appertaineth to those whom he carrieth: as the art of a Physician appertaineth to those whom he doth cure. Wisdom is a common good, and is proper to owns self, for those with whom he doth live. Therefore peradventure a Pilot is hurt, whose promised service to others is let by a tempest. A wiseman is not hurt by poverty, nor by dolour, nor by other tempests of life. For not all works of him be hindered, but only those that pertain to other men: always is he himself indeed; than greatest of all, when fortune hath opposed herself unto him, then manageth he the business of wisdom itself: which wisdom we have said to be both another's and his own good. Furthermore not then indeed is he hindered to profit other men, when some necessities do press him. Through poverty he is hindered to teach, how a Commonwealth may be managed: but he teacheth that thing, how poverty is to be managed. His work is extended all his life long. Thus no fortune, no thing excludeth the acts of a wiseman. For he doth not that very thing, whereby he is fobidden to do other things. He is fit for both chances: a governor of the bad, an ouercomm●r of the good. So I say hath he exercised himself, that he showeth virtue as well in prosperous as in adverse affairs, neither looketh he upon the matter thereof, but upon itself. Therefore neither poverty, nor dolour, nor any other thing, which turneth back the unskilful, and driveth them headlong, hindereth them. Hast thou rather he should be pressed? He maketh use of it. Not only of ivory did Phidias know how to make Images: he made them of brass. If marble were unto him, if thou hadst offered base matter, he would have made such an one thereof, as could be mad● of that which was the best. So a wiseman will show virtue, if he may, in wealth; if not, in poverty: if he shall be able, in his country; if not, in bahishment if he can, being a commander; if not, being a soldier: if he can, being sound; if not, being weak: what fortune soever he shall entertain, he will perform some memorable thing thereby. Certain tamers there be of wild beasts, who teach the fiercest creatures, and which terrify a man when they meet him, to suffer the yoke: and not contented to have shaken fierceness off, do tame them, even to keep them company. The master useth often to thrust out his hand to Lions; they kiss it. The Keeper commandeth his Tiger; the AEthiopian Player commandeth his Elephant to fall upon their knees, and to walk upon a rope: so a wiseman is skilful to subdue evil things. Dolour, poverty, ignominy, prison, banishment, when they come unto him, are made tame. EPIST. LXXXVI. Of the Countri-house of AFRICANUS, of his building and Bath, which was neither garnished nor neat. Against the riot of his time. Last of all, of setting Olives, through occasion of a country-house. LYing in the very town of Scipio Africanus, I writ these things unto thee, having adored the spirit of him, and the Altar, which I suppose to be the sepulchre of so great a man: the soul of him indeed I persuade myself that it hath returned into heaven, whence it was: not because he lead great armies (for this also furious Cambyses did, and prosperously used fury) but for great moderation and piety, more admirable in him when he left his country, then when he defended it. Either Scipio must be deprived of Rome, or Rome of liberty. Nothing, saith he, will I derogate from laws, nothing from decrees. Amongst all Citizens let there be an equal right. O my country, use the benefit of me without me. I have been the cause, I will also be an argument of liberty unto thee: I departed if I have increased more, then is expedient for me. How can I choose but admire this greatness of mind? He departed into voluntary banishment, and disburdened the City. The matter was brought unto that pass, that either liberty should do injury to Scipio, or Scipio to liberty. Neither was lawful to be done. Therefore he gave place to the laws, and betook himself to Liternum, as willing to impute the banishment of himself, as of Hannibal to the Commonwealth. I saw that town builded of four square stone, a wall compassing about a wood, towers also set under both sides of the town for a defence: A Cistern laid under the buildings and green places, which was able to serve even an army of men: A little narrow Bath, somewhat dark, as the old fashion was. It seemed none was warmed for our ancestors, except it were obscure. Great pleasure entered into me, beholding the manners of Scipio and of us. In this corner that horror of Carthage, to whom Rome is in debt, that it was taken but once, washed his body, wearied with the labours of the country: for he exercised himself in work, and he himself tilled the earth, as the fashion of the ancients was. He stood under this so base a root, this so mean a floor sustained him. But now who is he that can sustain to be bathed thus? Poor and base seemeth he to himself, except the walls have shined with great and precious rounds, except Alexandrian marbles be distinguished with Numidian roofe-cast; except all about upon them, a curious varied plastering be laid like a picture that is drawn, except the chamber be covered over with glass, except stone of the I'll Thassus, once a rare gazing stock in some Church, have compassed about our ponds, into which we let down our bodies emptied of much sweat; except silver cocks have powered out water unto us. And as yet I speak of the conduits of the common sort: what when I shall come to the Baths of freed men? how great pictures, how great pillars holding nothing up, but placed for ornament sake to the causing of cost, how great waters sliding down upon stairs with a great noise? To that delicacy are we come, that we will not tread but upon precious stones. In this bath of Scipio, there be very small chinks, rather than windows, cut out in the stone-wall, that without hurt of the fence, they should let the light in. But now are they called the baths of Gnats, if any be not framed so, as to receive with most large windows the Sun all the day long, except they be bathed and coloured both at one time, except from a throne they look upon both land and sea. Those therefore which had concourse and admiration when they were dedicated, these are rejected into the number of the old, when riot hath devised some new thing, wherewithal itself might overcome itself. But in old time there were few baths, neither were they adorned with any trimming up. For why should a thing of a farthing worth be adorned, and which is found forth for use, and not for delight? Water was not still powered in, neither always as from a warm fountain did it run fresh: neither did they suppose that any matter it was, into what shining vessel they put their washed-off filth. But, O the good gods, how delighted it to enter into baths somewhat dark, and covered with ceiling of the common sort, which thou didst know, that Cato, when he was overseer of the buildings, or else Fabius Maximus, or some of the Cornelijs had tempered with their own hand? For also the most noble overseers of houses, performed this duty also of going into those places which received the people, and of exacting neatness, and a profitable and an healthy temperature, not this which is lately found forth, like unto a setting on fire, so that it is meet indeed to be washed alive, as a servant convicted of some wickedness is. No difference now seemeth unto me, whether the bathe be scalding hot; or be but warm. How great rudeness may some condemn Scipio of, because into his warm bathe with large windows he did not let in the day, because with a great deal of daylight he was not sod, and did not see, how he might seethe within a bathe? O miserable man! he knoweth not how to live; he was not washed in fair, but oftentimes in troubled water, & almost muddy, when more vehemently it did rain. Neither much cared he, whether he were washed so, for he came to wash away sweat, and not to wash away ointment therewith. What speeches believest thou there will be of some? I envy not Scipio, he lived in banishment indeed, who was washed thus; yea if thou wilt know it, he was not washed every day. For as they say, who delivered the manners of the City as they were of old, they washed every day arms and legs, as which had with work gathered filth, but all over were they washed every nine days. In this place some one will say, it is apparent that they were most unclean. What thinkest thou they smelled of? Of war, of labour, of playing the men. After that neat baths are found forth, more filthy men be. Horatius Flaccus being to describe an infamous man, and one notorious for too many delights, what saith he? Of Pomander doth RUFILLUS smell— Thou art to grant Rufillus now, that it were all one, as if he smelled of a Goat, and were in Gorgonius his place, whom Horatius hath opposed to Rufillus. It is too little to take ointment upon thee, except it be renewed twice or thrice in the day, jest it vanish from the body. What, that they boast of a smell, as if it were their own? If these things seem too sad unto thee, thou shalt impute it to the village; wherein I learned from AEgialus a most diligent husband (for he now is the possessor of this ground) that a shrub, although it be old, may be translated into another place. This is necessary for us to learn, who be old men, of whom there is none but planteth an Orchard of Olives for another man. That which I have seen, this I speak; namely, that an Orchard of three or four years old, will with a plentiful fall of the leaf yield forth fruit; yea also that tree will cover thee: which Hath been slow to make a shade before, To young nephews and those that were unbore: As our Virgil saith, who beheld, not what might be spoken most truly, but most seemly: neither desired he to teach husbandmen, but to delight those that read. For (to pass by other things) I will add hereunto that, which is needful to reprehend at this day. In Spring be Beans, and dunged Lemons set, And Millet doth a new years care beget. Are these to be set at one time, and whether that the Springtime be for the sowing of them both; thou mayest judge from hence. The month of june, wherein I writ these things unto thee, is near unto july. In the same day I saw some gathering Beans, and sowing Millet. I return to the Orchard of Olives, which I saw disposed after two sorts. He removed the trunks of great trees, the boughs being cut off all about, and being brought to one foot length, with the body of the tree, the roots being cut off, that the very head being only left, whence those did hang. This being besmeared with dung, he put into an hole: afterward he did not heap in the earth, but troad and pressed it down. There is nothing (as h● saith) more effectual than stamping it hard, namely, for that it excludeth the cold and wind; less also it is shaken: and for this it suffereth the springing roots to go forth, and to lay hold upon the ground; which is needful to be tender as yet, and lightly to stick thereunto, light tossing also up and down, plucketh it up again: but it is scarce a tree, until the root do plentifully hide itself in the ground, for from every matter which is made naked, as he saith, new roots do come out. But the stock of the tree aught not to stand out above upon the earth, no more than three or four feet; for presently it will be garnished from below: neither shall a great part thereof, as in old Olive-gardens be withered, and scorchingly dry. This also hath been another manner of planting them. In the same kind I have set in the ground strong boughs, not of an hard bark, such as are accustomed of the tender trees: but when they come, as it were, from a plant, they have no rough nor ill-favoured thing in them. That also have I now seen, an old Vine to be translated from her shrub: The small strings also of this (if it may be) are to be gathered, there the Vine more largely is to be spread abroad, that also it may take root from the body thereof. And I have seen● th●m set, not only in the month of February; but also in the month of March, which laid hold upon, and embraced Elms about, which were none of their own. All these trees which (as I so speak) are in great plenty, are, as he saith, to be helped with Cistern water: which if it profit, we have rain in the power of ourselves. I think it not meet to teach thee any more, jest even as our AEgialus hath made me to be an adversary unto him, so also I procure thee to be unto me. EPIST. LXXXVII. The frugality of SANECA and contempt of external things: an admonition unto others, that their wills and deeds might be such. Than follow small disputations, wherein he approveth, that casual things are not amongst those that be good: only that they may be called Commodities. I Have suffered shipwreck, before I have gone aboard: how it hath come to pass, I set not down, lest amongst the Stoical paradoxes thou suppose, that this also is to be put: of which things, I will approve when thou wilt, yea if thou will not, that none is false, nor so wonderful, as appeareth to be at the first sight. In the mean space this journey hath instructed me, how many things we need not to have, and how easily with judgement we might contemn them, which if at any time necessity hath taken away, we feel them not to be taken away. With a very few servants, whom one Coach could contain, without any stuff, save that which was carried upon our backs, I and my Maximus have now led these two days a happy life. A matteresse lieth upon the ground, I upon the matteresse. Of two cloaks, the one is a blanket to lie upon, the other is made a coverlid. Concerning my dinner, nothing is superfluous therein, it hath been made ready in no more than in an hours time; never without dry figs, never without an handful of herbs: those if I have bread, be made like water-gruel: if not, they be for bread: always are they served in upon newyears day, which I make prosperous and ble●sed by thoughts that be good, and by greatness of the mind: which never is greater than when it hath separated foreign things: and by fearing of nothing hath got peace unto itself; and by coveting of nothing hath got wealth unto itself. The Coach wherein I ride, is a country one. The Mules testify that they live by going only. The Muleteer is unshod, but not for heat: I scarce obtain of myself, that I would have this Coach to be supposed mine. A perverse shamefastness of that which is right abideth as yet: so often as we do fall into some braver company, I blush against my will; which is an argument, that these things which I approve, which I praise, have not as yet a certain and unmovable seat. He that blusheth at a base Coach, glorieth at a precious one. Little have I profited as yet, I dare not publish frugality, yea now do I care for the opinions of those that pass by. A voice was to be sent out against the opinions of all mankind: ye be mad, you err, you be amazed at superfluous things, you esteem no man according to his worth. When ye come to patrimony ye are most diligent reckoners; thus ye set down an account of every o●e, to whom ye will commit either money or benefits. For these also do ye accounted amongst your expenses. He possesseth a great deal, but he oweth much: he hath a fair house, but it is gotten with the money of other men: no man on the sudden can show a more gallant family, but he payeth not his debts. If he shall pay his creditors nothing shall remain unto him. The same ye aught also to do in other things, to examine how much proper goods every man hath. Thou supposest him to be a rich man, because golden household-stuff followeth him upon the way, b●cause he tilleth grounds in all Provinces, because a great book of his accounts is rolled up, because he possesseth so much ground in the Suburbs, as with envy he should possess in the deserts of Apulia: and when thou hast said all, he is a poor man; wherefore? because he is in debt. How much, sayest thou? All that he hath, except peradventure thou thinkest that there is a differenc●, whether that one hath borrowed of a man, or of fortune. What to the purpose do appertain fatted Mules, all of one colour? What these carved Coaches? Tapestry, Scarlet, foot clotheses horses bore, And long gold poitrels on their breasts before. Covered with gold, they champ a yellow bit, And with their teeth the gold they chaw of it. These things can make neither a better Master nor Mule. Marcus Cato the Censor (whose birth truly profited the people of Rome, as much as Scipi●es did; for the one made war with our enemies, the other with manners of the time) was carried on a gelding, and had a cloak-bag behind him, wherein he carried his necessary stuff. O how do I wish that some of these delicate horsemen might meet with him, having footmen and Numidians, and a great deal of dust before him. He without doubt would seem richer and better attended than Cato w●s: he amongst that delicate preparation, yea, when he doubteth exceeding much, whether to bestow himself on the sword, or on the knife. O how great a dignity was it to that age, that an Emperor, who had triumphed, who had been Censor, and which is above all, that Cato should be contented with one horse, nay certainly not with a whole horse; for his farthel hanging down on both sides, possessed part of him. Thus wouldst thou not prefer before all the well-fed ambling nags, before great and easy going horses, that one only horse rubbed by Cato himself? I do not see that any end will be unto this matter, except that which I shall 'cause to myself. Here therefore will I hold my peace as concerning these things: which without doubt he foresaw they would be such, as now they be; who first called them impediments. Now further will I relate a very few interrogations of our men pertaining to virtue, which we strive to be sufficient for a blessed li●e. That which is good, maketh men to be good. For also in musicke-skill, that which is good maketh a physician. Casual goods make not a man good, therefore they be not good. The Aristotelians do thus answer against this, that they say that to be false, which we do first of all propound: from that say they which is good, men are not also made good. In music there is some thing that is good, as a Pipe, an Harpe-string, or some instrument fitted for the use of singing: notwithstanding not any of these things maketh a physician. Here will we answer; you understand not how we have placed that which is good to a physician: for we do not speak of that which instructeth, but of that which maketh a physician: thou comest to the furniture of skill, and not unto skill. But if there be any thing which is good in Music skill, that certainly will make a physician so to be: yea, furthermore I will make that to be more plain. That which is good in music skill, is said so to be two manner of ways; the one whereby musical effects, the other whereby Art is helped. The instruments of the Pipe, and Organs, and Harpe-strings do appertain to the effect, but they do not appertain to the Art itself; for he is a workman without these, but cannot peradventure without them use his skill. This is not alike double in a man: for there is the same good both of a man, and of his life. That is not good which can befall every most base and dishonest man: but riches befall both to the Bawd and Fencer, and therefore they are not good. That which is propounded, say they, is false; for in Grammar skill, and in the Art of Physic and of governing, we see that goods do befall to every one of the basest sort. But these Arts profess not a greatness of the mind, they rise not aloft, neither disdain they such things as come by chance. Virtue extolleth a man, and placeth him above those which are dear to mortal wights: neither doth he too much desire or fear those things that are called good or bad. Chelidon one of those effeminate ones which Cleopatra had, possessed a great Pattimonie: lately Natalis, both of a wicked and of an unpure tongue, into the mouth of whom women were purged, both was the heir of much, and left many heirs. What therefore? did money make him pure, or did not he himself pollute money? which so falleth upon certain men, as a piece of money falleth into the vault. Virtue standeth above the●e things, it is deemed by the worth of itself: it judgeth none of these things to be good, howsoever they fall unto us. Physic and government forbidden not to themselves and to theirs, the admiration of such things. He that is not a good man, may nevertheless be a Physician, may be a Governor, may be a Grammarian forsooth as well as a Cook. To whom it befalleth not to have every thing, him mayest thou not call an universal man. What things every one hath, such a manner of man he is. The Exchequer is worth so much as it hath; yea, into the revenue thereof cometh that which it hath. Who setteth any price upon a full bag, except the sum of the money put therein hath caused him? The same befalleth to a Master of great patrimonies, they are the revenues and the appendices unto them. Why therefore is a wiseman great? Because he hath a great mind. True therefore it is, that that is not good, which befalleth unto every most base man. Therefore will I never say, that the want of sorrow is a good thing, a Grasshopper hath that, a Gnat hath that. Nor indeed will I say, that quietness, and to want trouble is a good thing. What is more idle than a Worm? Seekest thou what maketh a man wise, what maketh a God? It is meet that thou give some divine, some heavenly, some magnificent thing. Good falleth not upon all, neither endureth it every possessor. See thou, What every land will bear, or will not have; This corn, that grapes, more happily doth crave. Somewhere young trees do sprout, and grass amain: Of Saffron smells, hill Tmolus is the vain. Doth not th' Indian clime sand Iu'ry out; Of Sabaeis soft is not their incense bought? From naked Chalybes is Iron brought. These things are assigned to their own place, that commerce might be necessary unto men amongst themselves, if interchangeably one should demand somewhat of another man. That chiefest good itself hath also his seat: it springeth not where ivory or Iron doth. Seekest thou what is the place of the chiefest good? The mind: this except it be pure and holy, entertaineth not God. God is not made of that which is bad; but riches are caused by covetousness; therefore they be not good. It is not good, saith he, that good springeth o● that which is bad. From sacrilege and from theft doth money come: therefore bad indeed is sacrilege and theft: but because, it causeth more bad, then good things. For it giveth gain, but with fear, with care, with torments both of body and of mind. Whosoever speaketh this, it is needful that he admit, that as sacrilege is bad● because it doth many bad things, so also that it is good in some sort, because it doth some good: than which thing what is more monstrous? Although we be altogether persuaded, that sacrilege, theft, and adultery are amongst those things that be good. How many blush not at theft; how many boast of adultery? for small sacrileges are punished, great ones are carried in triumph. Add now that sacrilege, if altogether it be good in any sort, shall also be honest, & shall be said to be well done: for the action is ours, which thing the thought of no man receiveth, therefore good things cannot come of those that be bad. For if, as ye say, for this one thing sacrilege is bad, because it bringeth much evil: if thou shalt remit punishments to it, if thou shalt promise' security, altogether it shall be good. But the greatest punishment of heinous deeds is in themselves. Thou errest, I say, if thou put them off to the Hangman, and to the jail: presently are they punished, when they are done, yea whilst they are in doing them. Therefore good is not borne from that which is bad, no more than a Fig ●rom an Olive tree. They answer that they be borne for seed: good things cannot wax worse. As that which is honest, is not borne from a dishonest thing, so from a bad thing is not that which is good: for the same is an honest and a good thing. Some of ours do thus answer against this: let us suppose that money is a good thing, whence soever it be taken, notwithstanding money is not therefore from sacrilege, although it be taken from sacrilege. Thus understand this. In the same pitcher there is both gold and a viper. If thou shalt take the gold out o● the pitcher, because there also a viper is, not therefore doth the pitcher give gold unto me, because it containeth a viper, but it giveth gold, although it have a viper. After the same sort gain is made from sacrilege, not as sacrilege is dishonest and wicked, but as it hath gain; even as i● that pitcher a viper is bad, not the gold which lieth with the viper: so in sacrilege the heinous deed is bad, but not the gain. Again, it is argued: the condition of both the things is most unlike: there can I take away gold without the viper: here I cannot make gain without sacrilege: this gain is not added to, but is mingled with wickedness. Which whilst we will obtain, we fall into many evil things: that is not good, whilst we will obtain riches, that we fall into many bad things; therefore riches are not good. Your proposition, saith he, hath two significations; the one whilst we will obtain riches, that we fall into many bad things: but into many bad things do we fall, whilst also we would obtain virtue. Some one whilst he hath sailed to study, hath suffered shipwreck; another hath been taken. Another signification is thus, that whereby we fall into evils, that is not good. The consequent to this proposition will not be: by riches or by pleasures we fall into evils: or if by riches we fall into many evils, riches are not only not good, but be bad. But ye only say, that they be not that which is good. Furthermore, saith he, ye grant that riches have some use, and amongst commodities do ye number them. But by the same reason they shall not be a profit indeed: for by them many discommodities come to us. Some men answer thus unto these things: ye err, who impute discommodities unto riches. They hurt no man, either doth folly hurt every man, or the wickedness of other men: so, even as a sword which killeth no man, yet is the weapon of him that doth kill. Richeses therefore do not hurt thee, if for riches there be hurt unto thee. Posidonius speaketh better, as I suppose, who saith, that riches are the cause of evil things, not because themselves can do any thing, but because they provoke those that will do. For there is one efficient cause, which of necessity forthwith must hurt: another is a precedent cause, riches have in them this precedent cause. They pu●fe up the mind, bring forth pride, procure envy, and so far forth estrange the mind, that the fame of money, yea that which will hurt delighteth us. But good things aught to want all manner of blame: they be pure, they do not corrupt, nor solicit the mind: they lift up indeed and dilate, but without swelling. Those things that be good, cause confidence, riches 'cause boldness. Those things that are good cause magnanimity, riches insolency. But insolency is nothing else, than a false show of greatness. After this sort sayest thou, riches are not only not that which is good, but also that which is bad. They were a bad thing, if by themselves they should hurt; if (as I have said) they should have an efficient cause: now they have a precedent cause, and indeed not only one provoking, but drawing minds thereunto. For they show forth a very likely shape of that which is good, and credible to most men. Virtue also hath a precedent cause unto envy, for many through wisdom, many through justice are envied at: but neither from itself hath it this cause, nor any like unto it. For contrarily that more likely shape is by ver●ue set before the minds of men, which may call them unto love and admiration thereof. Posidonius saith, that we must reason thus: What things give neither greatness, nor confidence, nor security to the mind, are not good: but riches, and good health, and things like unto these, cause none of these things; therefore they are not good: yea also he enforceth this reason after this sort. Those things be bad which give neither greatness, nor confidence, nor security to the mind; but contrarily beget insolency, pride, arrogancy: but by casual things we are enforced into these; therefore they are not good. By this reason, saith he, they shall not be commodities indeed. There is one condition of commodities, another of good things. A commodity is which hath more use, than trouble: a good thing aught to be sincere and without hurt on ●uery part. That is not good which profiteth more, but that which bringeth pro●it alone. Wherhfore, commodity pertaineth both to living creatures, and to unperfect men, and to fools. Therefore discommodity may be mixed therewithal: but it is called commodity, being esteemed by the greater part thereof. That which is good, appertaineth to a wiseman alone, it is meet that it should be without hurt. Be of good courage: one, but an Herculean knot remaineth unto thee. From bad things good is not made; from many poverties riches do not come; therefore riches are not good. Our men acknowledge not this reason. The Aristotelians both feign and loosen it. But Posidonius saith, that this Sophism is tossed through all the Logicians Schools, and by Antipater is refelled thus. Povertie is not called according to a putting to, but according to a taking from, or (as the Ancients have said by privation: the Grecians say, 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉: not because it hath, is it called, but because it hath not. Therefore by many void things nothing can be filled: many things, and not much want, are the cause of riches. Thou understandest poverty, otherwise than thou oughtest to do. Povertie is, not which possesseth a few, but which possesseth not many things. Therefore it is called not from that which it hath, but from that which is wanting unto. Moore easily would I express that which I mean, if there were a Latin word, whereby 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 is signified. Antipater assigneth this to poverty. I see not what other thing poverty may be, than possession of a small thing. Concerning this we will see, if there shall be great leisure at any time, what the substance of riches, what the substance of poverty may be: but then also will we consider, whether it were better to assuage poverty, to take lofty looks from riches, then to strive concerning words, as though already we had judged of the things. Let us suppose that we are called to a Parliament. A law is propounded for the abolishing of riches: by these reasons shall we persuade or dissuade? By these shall we 'cause the people of Rome to require, and to praise poverty, the foundation and cause of their Empire? and to fear their wealth? to think how they have found these amongst the conquered? that hence ambition, and bribery, and tumults have broken into a most holy and a most temperate City? That too luxuriously the spoils of the Nations are showed out? That one people hath taken from all, more easily that from one it might be taken by all. It is better to persuade these things, and to fight against the affections, not to beguile them. If we can, let us speak more valiantly; if not, more openly. EPIST. LXXXVIII. Liberal studies are not amongst good things, neither do they of themselves lead to virtue. Severally teacheth he this in Grammar, in Music, in Geometry, in Astronomy. But although they do not lead, yet they help: that is, they further and prepare. Than there is another division of Arts, into Vulgar, Sporting, Childish, Liberal: and amongst these he maketh Philosophy to be only that, which truly maketh free. Yea it alone searcheth forth concerning Good and Bad things, it alone knoweth them; it therefore alone, or chiefly is to be embraced: and showeth how unprofitable and superfluous things Great Readers ●ollow after, yea some Philosophers too. O good, O golden things be here! Read ye both young and old. THou desirest to know what I think concerning liberal studies. I admire none, I number none amongst those things that be good, whose end is for gain. Hired workmanships they be, so far profitable, as they prepare, and not detain the wit. For so long must we abide in them, as the mind can perform no greater thing; they be our rudiments, not our works. Wherhfore, thou seest they be called liberal studies, because they be worthy of a free man. But one study is liberal indeed, which maketh a free man; this is of wisdom, high, valiant, magnanimous; other be petty and childish things. Believest thou that there is any good in these things? the professors whereof thou seest to be the most dishonest, and the most wicked of all men? We aught not to learn, but to have learned these. Some have judged that that question is to be propounded concerning liberal studies, whether they could make a man good. They promise' it not indeed, neither do they affect the knowledge of this thing. A Grammarian is conversant about the care of speech, and if he will wander any further, about Histories yea that he may extend his limits the farthest of all, about verses. What of these maketh the way to virtue? Doth the unfolding of Syllables, and diligence of words, and memory of fables, and the law and scanning of verses? Which of these taketh away fear, taketh out covetousness, refraineth lust? Let us pass to Geometry, and to music: nothing shalt thou find with them, which forbiddeth to fear, forbiddeth to covet: which whosoever is ignorant of, in vain he knoweth other things. Let us see whether these teach virtue, or not, if they do not teach, they deliver it not indeed: if they do teach● they be Philosophers. Wilt thou know, how that they have not sit down to teach virtue? behold how unlike the studies of all be amongst themselves: but likeness had been if they had taught the same things. Except peradventure they persuade thee, that Homer was a Philosopher, with these very things whereby they conclude, they may deny it. For sometimes they make him a Stoic, allowing of virtue alone, & flying back from pleasures, and not retiring back from that which is honest, for the price of immortality itself: sometime an Epicurean praising the state of a quiet City, and amongst banquets and songs spending his life: sometime an Aristotelian bringing in three kinds of good things: sometime an Academic, teaching all things to be uncertain. It appeareth that none of these things be in him, because that all be: for these things disagree amongst themselves. Let us grant unto them, that Homer was a Philosopher: certainly he was made wise before he knew any verse: therefore let us learn those things, which have made Homer to be a wiseman. For me to seek after this thing indeed, whether Homer or Hesiod were elder by birth, no more appertaineth to the business, then to know, whether Hecuba was younger than Helen ● and why so badly she did bear her age. What, I say, supposest thou that it appertaineth to the purpose, to inquire for the years of Patroclus and Achilles? Seekest thou where Vlixes did wander, rather than that thou cause, that we do not always go astray? There is not idle time to hear, whether that Vlixes were tossed betwixt Italy and Sicily, or was without the world that is known unto us: for so long a wandering could not be in so narrow a place. Tempests of the mind do daily toss us, and wickedness driveth us upon all the evils, which Vlixes ●ad. Beauty is not wan●ing which may solicit the eyes, not an enemy: hence are very cruel monsters and delighting in human blood: hence are deceitful allurements of the ears: hence are shipwrecks and so many varieties of evil things. Teach me this thing how I may love my Country, how my wife, how my father, how even suffering shipwreck, I may s●ile unto these so honest things. What inquirest thou, whether Penelope was unchaste whether she deceived her age, whether she suspected him to be Vlixes whom she saw, before that she knew it to be true? Teach me what chastity is, and how great a good there is in it● whether it be placed in the body or in the mind. I pass to a physician. Thou teachest me how acute and grave sounds may agreed amongst themselves, how a concord may be of strings making an unlike sound. Make rather that my mind may agreed with itself, and that my counsels may not disagree. Thou showest unto me which be the mourning tunes: show rather how in adversity I may not utter a mourning voice. The Geometrician teacheth me to measure large pieces of grounds: rather let him teach, how I may measure, how much may be sufficient to a man. Arithmetic teacheth me to number, and to lend my fingers to covetousness: rather let it teach● that these computations do nothing appertain to mine estate. He is not an happier man, whose patrimony wearieth the casters up of his accounts: yea very superfluous things may he possess, who shall become most unhappy, if he be constrained to reckon up, how much he hath. What profiteth it me to know, how to divide a small field into parts, if I know not with my brother how to divide it? What profiteth it subtly to know how many feet are in an acre of ground, and also to comprehend if any thing hath escaped the perch; if a mighty neighbour maketh me sad and encroacheth on somewhat of that which is mine? Teachest thou me, how I may loose nothing of my bounds? but I am willing to learn how I may loose them all with mirth. I am expelled, saith he, from my fathers and from my grandfathers land. What? before thy grandfather who possessed this ground? Tell if thou canst; not what man's, but what peoples it was? Thereon hast thou entered, not as a Lord, but as a Tenant. Whose Tenant art thou? Thine heirs, if thou hast good luck. Lawyers deny, that any thing can be prescribed upon, which i● publike● this is public which thou possessest, and belongeth indeed unto mankind. O remarkable Art! thou knowest to measure round things, thou bringest into a quadrate what shape soever thou shalt receive: thou tellest of the distances of the stars: nothing is there but falleth within the measure. If thou be a workman, measure the mind of man: tell how great, tell how little it is. Thou knowest which is a straight line; what profiteth it to thee, if thou be ignorant what is straight in life? Now I come to him who boasteth in the knowledge of heavenly things. Whether cold SATURN doth itself betake, And what circle's CYLLENIUS star doth make. What shall it profit to know this? that I may be careful when Saturn and Mars shall be in opposition, or when Mercury shall make his evening fall Saturn looking? Rather I will learn this, that wheresoever these things be, that they be prosperous, that they cannot be changed. A continual order and an inevitable course of destinies moveth these: by set courses they do retire. They either move or note forth the effects of all things. But whether they be the cause, why every thing falleth forth, what shall the knowledge of an unchangeable thing profit thee? or whether they signify, what skilleth it to provide for that which thou canst not avoid? Whether thou do know or not know these things, they shall come to pass. On the swift Sun, and stars that follow it, If that thou look in order as they sit, Th' ensuing day will never thee deceive, Nor clear nights slights of foresight will bereave. Sufficiently and abundantly it is provided, that I should be safe from ambushes. Doth not the time that is to morrow deceive me? for it deceiveth him that is ignorant hereof. I know not what shall be; I know what may come to pass. I despair nothing of this, I expect the whole. If any thing be remitted, I take it in good part. Time deceiveth, if it spareth mee● but neither so indeed deceiveth it. For as I know that all things may fall forth, so also I know that for certain they will not fall forth. For certain I expect prosperous things: I am prepared for those that be bad. In that it is needful that thou suffer me not going by that which is put in writing. For I am not persuaded to receive Painters into the number of the liberal arts, no more than makers of statues, or workers in marble● or other servants of riotousness. Alike do I expel wrestlers from these liberal studies, & all the skill consisting in oil and clay; or may I receive those that make sweet oils, & Cooks and others, that do apply their wits for the pleasures of us? For liberal things, I pray thee have these ●asting vomitors, whose bodies be fat, but minds be lean and asleep? Do we believe that this is a liberal study for our youth, which our ancestors have exercised to be right, to cast Darts, to toss a Spear, to ride an horse, to handle weapons. Nothing did they teach their children, that was to be learned by those that lie still. But neither these nor those do teach or nourish virtue. For what profiteth it to govern a horse, and with a bridle to moderate his course, and with most unbridled affections to be led away? What profiteth it with wrestling, or with buffets to overcome many men, and to be overcome by anger? What therefore? Do liberal studies bestow nothing upon us? For other things much, for virtue nothing. For these base professed Arts, which consist of the hand, confer very much to the instruments of life, notwithstanding to virtue they do not belong. Why therefore do we instruct our children in liberal studies? Not because they can give virtue, but because they prepare the mind to the receiving of it. For as that first literature, as the ancients called it, whereby the first principles are delivered to children, teacheth not the liberal Arts, but prepareth a place for the first receiving of them: so liberal Arts lead not the mind to virtue, but make it fit. Posidonius saith that there be ●oure kinds of Arts; the vulgar and base, sporting, childish, and the liberal Arts. Vulgar be of craftsmen, which consist of the hand, and be busied for the furnishing of life; wherein there is no counterfeiting of comeliness, nor of any honest thing. Sporting Arts be those which tend to the pleasure of the eyes & of the ears. To these you may number the Engineers, who devise frames rising up of themselves, and boards secretly increasing to a great height, and other varieties scarce thought upon; either those things separating which did cleave together, or these things which s●ood asunder, coming together of their own accord, or these things which stood up by little and little, settling down again upon themselves. The eyes of the unskilful are stricken with these things, wondering (because they have not known the causes) at all sudden things. Childish they be, and have some similitude with the Liberal Arts, namely, these which the Grecians call 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, and our men call Liberal Arts. But they alone are Liberal Arts (and as I may more truly speak) be free, which have a care of virtue. Even as, saith he, some part of the mind is for natural, some for moral, some for reasoning Philosophy; so also this troup of Liberal Arts, doth in Philosophy challenge a place unto itself. When we come to Natural questions, we stand to the testimony of Geometry. Therefore is it a part of that which it doth help? Many things help us, yet for that they are no parts of us: yea if th●y were parts, they would not help. Meat is an help of the body, yet is it not a part. The service of Geometry performeth somewhat unto us: so is it needful to Philosophy, as a Carpenter is unto it: but neither is he a part of Geometry, nor that of Philosophy. Furthermore, both have their ends: for a wiseman both seeks and knoweth the causes of natural things, the numbers and measures of which, a Geometrician followeth after and counteth. A wise man knoweth after what manner heavenly things consist, what forc●, or what nature is unto them: a Mathematician collecteth the courses, and returnings back, and the observations, by which they descend and be ●ifted up, and sometimes make a show as though they stood still, although that heavenly things cannot stand. A wiseman knoweth what the cause is that expresseth images in a glass: a Geometrician can tell that unto thee, how much a body aught to be absent from the image, and what form is of the glass that may represent images. A Philosopher will prove the Sun to be great: the Mathematician will show how great it is, who proceedeth by a certain exercise and use; but that he may proceed, certain principles are to be obtained by him. But that Art standeth not upon her own right, whose foundation is by request. Philosophy desireth nothing from another thing, it raiseth up the whole work from the ground. The Mathematics (as I may so speak) is a superficial Art, it receiveth principles from others, by the benefit of which it may come to farther things: if by itself it could come to that which is true, if it could comprehend the nature of the whole world, I should say that it would bestow much upon our minds, which increase by the handling of heavenly things, and draw somewhat from it. The mind is made perfect by one thing, namely, by the unchangeable knowledge of good and bad things; which agreeth unto Philosophy only. But none other Art inquireth about good and bad things: let us consider all Virtues in particular. Fortitude is a contemner of things to be feared: it despiseth, provoketh and breaketh terrible things, and such as sand our liberty under the yoke: what therefore do liberal studies strengthen this? Fidelity is the most holy good thing of a human breast, by no necessity is it constrained to deceive, it is corrupted by no reward. Burn, saith he, beat, kill, I will not betray; but by how much the more pain shall seek to discover secret things, by so much will I the more deeply hide them: what are liberal studies able to 'cause these minds? Temperance ruleth over pleasures; it hateth and driveth away some, it dispenseth with other some, and reduceth them to a sound mean, neither at any time doth it for themselves come unto them. It knoweth that the best mean of desired things is, not to take how much thou wilt, but how much thou oughtest. Humanity forbiddeth to be proud over thy fellows, to be covetous: in words, in deeds, in affections it showeth itself gentle and easy unto all; it supposeth none ●uill to be estranged from him, but especially it loveth that good of itself which shall be for another's good; what do liberal studies command these manners? Not more than simplicity, modesty, frugality, and parsimony; no more than clemency, which spareth the blood of another as it were his own, and knoweth that a man must not prodigally use a man. When ye say (saith he) that without liberal studies virtue cannot be attained unto: how deny ye that those things confer nothing to virtue? Because neither without meat can vert●e be attained unto, yet notwithstanding meat appertaineth not to virtue. Wood conferreth nothing upon a ship, although that a ship cannot be made without wood. There is no cause, saith he, that thou mayest think any thing to be made with the help of that thing, without which it could not be made. That also may be spoken indeed, that without liberal studies wisdom may be comen by: for although that virtue be to be learned, notwithstanding it is not learned by these things. But why is it, wherefore I should esteem that he shall not become wise, who is ignorant of learning, seeing wisdom is not in learning? It delivereth deeds, not words; and I cannot tell whether the memory may be more sure, which hath no help out of itself. Wisdom is a great and spacious thing; it hath need of an empty place: we must learn divine and human things, things past, things to come, things fading an eternal, and time itself: concerning which one thing, see how many things may be sought for; first, whether any thing may be by itself, then, whether any thing may be before time: if time hath begun with the world, whether also before the world; because somewhat hath been, time hath also been. Innumerable questions be only concerning the mind; whence it may be, and what, when it beginneth to be, how long it may be: whether it may pass from one place to another, and may change her house, and may be cast from one form of living creatures into another: or that it may serve no more than once, and being sent forth may wander in the whole world: whether it be a body, or no: what it will do, when it hath ceased to do any thing by us: how she will use her liberty when she shall flee out of this den: whether it may forget former things, and there begin to know it sel●e, after that it being led out of the body, hath departed on high. Whatsoever part of divine and human affairs thou shalt comprehend, thou shalt be wearied with huge abundance of things to be sought for, and to be learned. That these so many, and so great things may have ●ree place of remaining, superfluous things are to be taken out of the mind. Virtue will not put itself into these straits: a great matter desireth a large space: let all things be expelled; let the whole br●st be empty for it. But the knowledge of many Arts delighteth. Let us therefore retain so much of them, as is necessary. Supposest thou that it is a thing to be reprehended in him, who getteth superfluous things for his use, and layeth abroad the pomp of precious things in his house: and thinkest thou him not to be blameworthy, who is occupied in the superfluous implements of learning? To be willing to know more, then may be sufficient, is a kind of intemperancy. What, that this following after Liberal Arts maketh men troublesome, full of words, unseasonable, pleasures of themselves, and therefore not learning necessary things, because they have learned superfluous things. Dydimus the Grammarian wrote four thousand books: wretched, if he had read so many superfluous things. In these book it is sought of the Country of Homer; in these of the true mother of AEnaeas: in these whether Anacreon led a more lustful or a more drunken life: whether Sapph was a whore; and other which were to be unlearned, if thou shouldest know them. Go now, and deny life to be long. But also when thou shalt come to our own men, I will show that many things with axes are to be cut off. This praising, O learned man! costeth great expense of time, great trouble of the ●are of other men. Let us be content with this more rustic title: O good man. Is it even so? Shall I toss over the Chronicles of all Nations, and shall I search who first hath written verses: how much time m●y be betwixt Orpheus and Homer; when I have not records of time, shall I reckon it: and shall I review the note of Aris●archus, wherewith he noted the verses of other men: and in Syllables shall I spend my time? What shall I so stick in the Geometrical dust? Hath that wholesome precept, Spare time, so fallen out of mind? Shall I know these things, and be ignorant of myself? Appion the Grammarian, who under Caius Caesar was carried about in all Greece, and by all Cities was adopted into Homer's name, said, that Homer having finished the matter both of the Odysseys and Iliads, added a beginning to his work, wherein he comprehended the Trojan war. He brought an argument of this thing, because of purpose he had placed two letters in the first verse, containing the number of his books. It is meet that he know these things, who will know many things. Wilt thou not think how much time bad health may take from thee, how much public and private business, how much business by day, how much sleep, measure thine age, it is not capable of so many things. I speak of Liberal study's: how much superfluity Philosophers have, how much retiring from use. They also have descended to the distinction of Syllables, and to the proprieties of conjunctions and prepositions, and to envy Grammarians, to envy Geometricians. Whatsoever was superfluous in the Arts of them, they translated into their own Art. Thus it is come to pass, that through more diligence they know rather to speak, then to live. Hear how great evil too great subtlety can 'cause, and how great an enemy it is to truth. Protagoras saith, that alike, concerning every thing it may be disputed on upon both parts: and concerning this very thing, whether that every thing may be disputed on upon both parts. Nausiphanes saith, that of these things that seem to be, that nothing rather is, then is not. Parmenides saith, that of these things that are seen, there is nothing at all. Z●no El●ates hath cast all business out of business; he saith, that nothing is. The Pyrrhonians are for the most part conversant about the same things, so are the Meg●ricans, and Eretricans, and the Academics, who have brought in a new knowledge, of knowing nothing. Cast all these things into that superfluous flock of Liberal studies. Those deliver a knowledge that will not profit; these take away the hope of all knowledge: it is better to know superfluous things, than nothing at all. These do not carry a light before, whereby the eye may be directed to that which is true: these put out mine eyes. If I believe Protagoras, there is nothing but doubts in the nature of things: if Nausiphanes, this one thing is certain, that nothing is certain: if Parmenides, there is nothing but one thing: if Zen●, there is not one thing indeed. What therefore be we? What these things which stand about, nourish, and sustain us? The whole nature of things is a shade, or vain, or deceitful. I cannot easily tell, whether I may be more angry at them, who would have us to know nothing: or at them, who have not indeed left this thing unto us, to know nothing. EPIST. LXXXIX. The difference betwixt Philosophy and wisdom: and a diverse division thereof, and again a division and description of the parts. Than an admonition, that these and such like are to be referred to manners and to the mind: and by the way he inveigheth against those that be badly rich, and therewithal he chastiseth riotousness and covetousness. THou desirest a profitable thing, and which is for certain necessary unto wisdom, namely, that Philosophy be divided, and that the huge body thereof be disposed into members. For more easily by parts are we brought to the knowledge of the whole. I would that as the face of the whole world cometh into sight, so that whole Philosophy might come unto us, a sight most like to the world. For truly it would speedily draw all mortal men into admiration of itself, these things being left, which now with great admiration of the great ones, we do believe. But because this cannot fall forth, so shall it be looked upon by us, as the secrets of the world are seen. The mind of a wiseman indeed comprehendeth the whole frame thereof, neither less swiftly goeth about it, than our eye goeth about the sky: but to us, to whom darkness is to be broken thorough, and whose sight faileth in that which is hard by, several things can more easily be showed, we being as yet not capable of the whole. I will therefore do that which thou requirest, and I will divide Philosophy into parts, not into pieces. For it is profitable to be divided, and not to be hacked small. For as to comprehend the greatest, so hard it is, to comprehend the smallest things The people are described into Tribes, an army into hundreths. Whatsoever hath increased to be very great, is more easily taken notice of, if it hath departed into partest which (as I have said) it is no● meet, they should be innumerable and small. For too great a division hath the same fault, that no division hath: it is like to that which is confused, whatsoever is ●ut even unto dust. First therefore as it seemeth I will tell, what difference there may be between wisdom and Philosophy. Wisdom is a perfect good thing of the mind of man: Philosophy is a love, an affectation of wisdom. This showeth that which it hath attained unto. It appeareth, whence Philosophy may be named: for it confesseth with the name itself. Some have defined wisdom thus; that they called it a knowledge of divine and of human things. Some thus; Wisdom is to have known divine and human things, and the causes of these. This addition seemeth superfluous unto me, because causes be parts of divine and of human things. Also there have been who have defined Philosophy, some one way, and some another way: some have said, that it is a study of virtue; some a study of correcting the mind. By some it is called a desire of true reason. As though it were manifest, that there were some difference betwixt Philosophy and Wisdom. For it cannot come to pass, that that which is affected, and that which affecteth is the same thing. As there is much difference betwixt money and covetousness, seeing the one desireth, the other is desired: so is there betwixt Philosophy and Wisdom. For this is the reward and effect of thate that cometh, this is come unto. Wisdom is that which the Grecians call 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉. This word did the Romans also use, as also they now use Philosophy; thing which the ancient Comedies acted in gowns will prove, and the title written upon the monument of Dossennus: Stranger stand still, to go do not proceed, But slay, the wisdom of DOSSENNUS read. Some of our men, although Philosophy were the study of virtue, and this were sought for, and that did seek, have notwithstanding thought, that those might not be severed. For neither Philosophy is without virtue, nor virtue without Philosophy. Philosophy is a study of virtue, but by virtue itself: but neither can virtue be without the study of itself, nor the study of virtue be without itself. For not as in these who endeavour to strike any thing from a far off, in one place is he that striketh, in another that which is stricken: nor as journeys which lead unto Cities, be without them. By virtue we come unto it. Therefore Philosophy and virtue do cleave together betwixt themselves. Both the greatest and most authors have said, that there be three parts of Philosophy; namely, Moral, Natural, and Reasonable. The first composeth the mind, the second searcheth the nature of things, the third exacteth the proprieties of words, and their frame, and manner of reasoning, that false things may not creep in for that which is true. But there be found, who likewise would divide Philosophy into lesser things, and who would divide it into more. Some of the Aristotelians have added a fourth part, namely, Civil skill, because it desireth a certain proper exercise, and is occupied about another matter. Certain have added a part unto these, which the Grecians call 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, the knowledge of governing a family. Some also have separated a place for the kinds of life. But is not any part of these, which is not found in that Moral part. The Epicur●ans have supposed, that there be two parts of Philosophy, Natural and Moral. The reasoning part they have removed away. Than when they were constrained with the things themselves to separate doubtful things, to reprove false things lying hid under the show of that which is true, themselves also brought in a place, which they call Concerning judgement and rule, it being called Reasonable after another name: but they suppose that place to be an augmentation of a Natural part. The Cyrenians took natural things away together with the reasonable, and were content with Moral: but these also, who remove them away, do bring them in another way. For they divide Moral things into five parts: that one part is of things to be desired and to be fled from, another of the affections, a third of the actions, a fourth of the causes, a fift of the arguments. Causes of things are from the natural part, arguments from the reasonable, actions from the Moral. Aristo Chius not only said, that the natural and reasonable were superfluous, but also contrary, he also clipped Moral Philosophy round about, which he had left alone. For he took away that place, which containeth admonitions, and said, it appertained to a Tutor, and not to a Philosopher or a lover of Wisdom: as though that a wiseman is any thing else, than a Tutor of mankind. Therefore sith Philosophy or the love of Wisdom is threefold, let us first begin to dispose the Moral part thereof, or that which ordereth the manners of men. Which it pleaseth again to be divided into three: that the first might be a contemplation distributing his own to every man, and esteeming how much every thing is worthy of; this part is most profitable; for what is so necessary as to set prices upon things? The second part is of endeavour, the third of actions. For the first is, that thou judge of how great worth every thing may be: the second, that thou take an ordered and temperate affection to these things: the third, that there may be an agreement betwixt thine endeavour and action, that in all these things thou mayest agreed with thyself. Whatsoever of these three shall be wanting, it also troubleth the rest. For what profiteth it, to have all things judged of within, if thou be too much in eagerness? What profiteth it to have repressed eagerness, and to have desires in thine own power, if in the very action of things thou be ignorant of times, and knowest not when, and where, and how every thing aught to be done? For it is one thing to have known the worth and prices of things; another, the opportunities; another to refrain eagerness, and to go, not to rush to the doing of things. Therefore then is life agreeable to itself, when action hath not forsaken eagerness. Eagerness is conceived from the worth of every thing, therefore it is remiss or more fierce, according as that thing is worthy to be sought for. The part of Philosophy which teacheth concerning the nature of things is cut into two; things that have bodies, or into those that be without bodies. Both are divided (as I may so speak) into their own degrees. The place of bodies into these first, namely into those things which make, and those things which are begotten of these: but the elements are begotten. The very place of an element (as some suppose) is simple, or without any mixture at all; as othersome think, it is divided into a matter, and into a cause moving all things, and into the elements. It remaineth that we divide the reasonable part of Philosophy. Every speech is either continued or divided betwixt him that answereth and asketh. It hath pleased that the one should be called dialectic, or the Art of Logic, the other Rhetoric, This careth for words, and sense, and order. dialectic is divided into two parts; into words and significations: that is, into things which are spoken of, and into words, wherewith they are spoken. Than there followeth an huge division of them both: therefore I will make an end in this place. I only will relate Of things their chiefest s●ate. Otherwise, if I would make parts of parts, there will be made a book of questions. I scar thee not, O Lucilius, the best amongst men, from reading these things, so that whatsoever thou shalt read, thou do presently refer it unto manners. Bridle thou those, stir up that which languisheth in th●e, bind that which is lose, tame that which is stubborn, and vex thy public desires as much as thou canst and these saying, How long the same things? Answer, I aught to say, How long will ye the same offend? Ye will have the remedies to cease before the vices. But I so much the rather will speak, and because ye refuse, I will go on. Than beginneth Physic to profit, when touching causeth grief in a troubled body. I will also speak those things which shall profit the unwilling. Sometime not some flattering voice shall come unto you: and because each of you will not hear the truth, hear it in public. How far will ye propagate the limits of your possessions? The ground is narrow for one Master, which received a people. How far will ye stretch out your tillage, not being contented indeed with sowing of Provinces, to limit a measure of your Farms. The run of famous ●louds through the ground of private men, and great Rivers, and the bounds of great Nations, from the Fountain unto the mouth, be yours. This also is too little, except ye have compassed Seas with your large possessions: except your Bailiff reign beyond the Hadrian, and Ionian, and AEgaean Sea, except islands, the houses of great Captains, be numbered amongst the basest things. Possess ye so largely as ye will; let that be private ground, which sometimes was an Empire: make yours whatsoever ye can, so that more belongeth to another man. Now I talk with you, whose riotousness is alike spaciously spread abroad, as the covetousness of those is. I will tell you; How long shall be no water-lake, over which the height of your Villages may not hung? No stream, whose banks your buildings may not cover about? Wheresoever veins of warm water shall spring up, there new lodgings of riot shall be builded. Wheresoever the shore shall bend crookedly into some creak, ye presently will lay foundations; not being contented with ground, except ye force with hand, to drive the Sea farther in. Although your houses gli●●er in all places, somewhere being set upon Mountains, for the vast prospect both of Land and Sea: somewhere being reared up from the plain ground to the height of Mountains; when ye have builded many, when ye have builded huge things, ye are notwithstanding but several and small bodies. What do many chambers profit, ye lie but in one. It is not yours, wheresoever ye are not. Than I pass to you, whose deep and unsatiable throa●e, on the one side searcheth Seas, on the other side searcheth Landes. Through great labour he followeth after some creatures with hooks, some with snares, some with divers kinds of Nets: no living creature's have peace, except it be by loathing and detesting them. For how little of these banquets, which ye prepare through so many hands, do ye taste of with a mouth wearied with pleasures? How little of this wild beast, taken with danger, doth the master with a raw and loathing stomach taste of? How little of so many shellfish brought from so far, slideth down by this insatiable stomach? Unhappy also ye are, because ye understand not, that ye have a greater hungry than a belly. Tell these things to other men, so that whilst thou tellest them, thou mayest hear them thyself. Writ, so that when thou hast written, thou read, and refer all to the manners, and to the assuaging of the outrage of affections. Study, not to know any thing more, but better to know things. EPIST. XC. The praise of Philosophy, it hath form life, it hath framed societies and Empires, it hath given laws and equity. Also whether Arts be profitable to life, as working with the hammer, working in Marble, in metals, on clothes, and such like? Himself denieth it, against POSIDONIUS, and saith, that these things are inferior to the majesty thereof, and that many of these be superfluous. It manageth, and hath managed the affairs, not of the body, but of the mind. Also whether wisemen were in the rude age? Not, but those that were like to wisemen, by the benefit not of learning, but of nature. There are many good things amongst these, and fruitful for knowledge, and for life. WHo can doubt, my Lucilius, but that it is the gift of the immortal gods, that we liue● but of Philosophy, that we live well? Therefore by so much that we own more to it, then to the gods, by how much more a good life is a greater benefit, than life? For certain it should be due, except the gods had given Philosophy itself: the knowledge whereof they have given to none, but the ability to all. For if they also had made this a common good, we likewise should be borne wise: wisdom had lost that which is the best therein, that it is not amongst casual things. For now this is precious and magnificent in that, that it cometh not by chance, that every man oweth that unto himself, that it is not sought for from another man. What shouldest thou have, to admire in Philosophy, if it had been a thing coming by gift? One work of this is, to find forth the truth concerning divine and human things: justice, Godliness, Religion, and all the other train of virtues united and agreeing amongst themselves, never do departed from this. This hath taught to honour divine things, to love human things, and that government is in power of the gods, and that society is to be amongst men: which sometime remained inviolable, before covetousness distracted society, and was a cause of poverty even unto them whom it hath made rich. For they have ceased to possess all things, whilst they would have them to be their own. But the first men, and who were begotten of these without corruption, followed nature, and had the same, both for a Captain and law, according to the judgement of him that was better. For it is the part of Nature to submit worse things to the better. For either the greatest or the most vigorous bodies do indeed rule over the dumb flocks. A base Bull goeth not before, but he who hath overcome other males in greatness, and in strength of limbs: the highest of Elephants leadeth the flock: amongst men for chiefest is he accounted who is the best. Therefore a Governor was chosen by the mind: and so it was the chiefest happiness of the Nations; amongst whom one could not be more mighty, except he were better. For he is able to do so much as he will, who thinketh that he cannot do, save that which he aught. Posidonius therefore doth judge, that rule was in the power of wisemen, in that which is called the golden age. These contained their hands, and defended the weaker from those that were more strong: they persuaded and dissuaded, and showed both profitable and unprofitable things. The wisdom of these men provided that nothing might be wanting unto theirs, their fortitude kept dangers back, their bounty increased, and adorned those that were subject unto them. It was not a Kingdom to rule over other men, but an office. No man tried how much he was able to do against them, through whom he had begun to be able to do. Neither was there either mind or cause to injury any one, when there was good obedience to him who governed well, and a King could threaten nothing besides, to those who did badly obey, then that they should departed out of his Kingdom. But after that, vices creeping up, Kingdoms were turned into tyranny: there began to be need of laws, the which were made by wise men at their beginning. Solon who founded Athens with equal right: amongst the seven noted for wisdom in his age. If the same age had brought forth Lycorgus, he had been in that holy number accounted the eight. The laws of Zaleucus and of Charondas are praised; these learned not right at the Bar, nor at Counsellors doors, but in that secret and holy solitary place of Pythagaras, which they gave to Sicily, which flourished then, and to Greece in Italy. Hitherto I agreed to Posidonius: that Arts were invented by Philosophy, which Arts life useth in continual practice: I will not grant; neither that glory which is adjoined to building. That, saith he, taught those who were scattered up and down, and covered with a cottage, or with some rock, under which they digged, or with the trunk of an hollow tree, to devise houses for them. But I judge Philosophy, no more to have invented these frames of one house arising upon another, and pressing down Cities, than the ponds of fishes shut herein, to the end that the throat might not undergo perils of tempests, and although that the sea were exc●●dingly rough, yet that riot might have her havens, wherein she might fatten several sorts of fish. What sayest thou? hath Philosophy taught men to have a lock and key? and what else was it, then to give a sign to covetousness? Hath Philosophy with so great peril of the inhabitants, hung up these tops of houses that hung over us? For it was too little to be covered by those things which by hap did befall unto us, and without difficulty and art to find out some receptacle for ourselves. Believe that age was happy, which was before builders of houses were. These things were borne when riot began to be, to h●w wood into a four square, and with an instrument of iron cutting it, as it is marked out, and to polish a beam with a certain hand. Our forefathers with wedges clave Such wood as they then cut would have. For houses were not prepared for a supper, which could encertaine the people: neither for this use were Pine or Fir-trees carried upon a long row of carts, the streets trembling thereat, whilst from that tree, roofs being loaded with gold did hang. Forks underpropped a cottage hanging down upon both sides: thick dead boughs and leaves being heaped together, and set a sidelong, caused rain although it were great to run of. They being secure, dwelled under these houses. Thatch covered freemen, bondage enhabiteth under marble and gold. In that also I disagree from Posidonius, because he judgeth that working-tools were devised by wisemen. For after this manner he might say, that they were wise, by whom Devised it was the wild with net and gin To take; with dogs great fields to compass in. For the craft of men, not wisdom hath devised all these things. In this thing also I disagree, that they were wisemen, who invented the metals of iron and brass: when the burned ground through the firing of woods had powered forth the veins that did lie above. Such men invent these things, as honour them. This indeed seemeth not so subtle a question to me, as it seemeth to Posidonius: whether the hammer or the pincers began to be used first. One of an exercised, sharp, of no great, nor high wit found them both forth, and every thing besides which is to be sought for with a bended body, and with a mind looking towards the earth. A wiseman hath been easy to feed. What else? sith even also in this age, he desireth to be most soon provided. How I pray thee agreeth it, that thou admire both Diogenes and Daedalus? Whether of these seemeth unto thee to be wise, he that invented the saw: or he who seeing a boy drinking water in his hollow hand, presently broke a cup taken out of his bag, thus reproving himself: How long have I, foolish man, had superfluous burdens? Who folded himself double in a Tub, and did lie therein? At this day whether thinkest thou him the wiser man, who hath found forth, how out of secret pipes he may cast forth Saffron up to a great height; who with a sudden force of water filleth and drieth little seas; who so coucheth together the changeable roofs of supping Parlours, that one fashion after another may presently succeed, and so often the roof may be changed as the dishes themselves: or him, who showeth this both to himself, and to other men, that Nature hath commanded no hard or difficult thing unto us? That we may devil without a cutter of marble, that we may be clothed without traffic with the Serians, that we may have necessary things for our uses, if we shall be content with these things, which the earth hath laid in the highest part thereof? Whom if mankind would hear, they should know that a Cook were as superfluous as a Soldier. They were wisemen, or for certain, like unto wisemen, to the bodies of whom there was a speedy fence. Necessary things cost but a simple care: men labour for delights. Thou wilt not desire workmen, if thou follow nature. It would not have us to be entangled, it hath furnished us, unto whatsoever things it hath constrained us. Cold is intolerable for a naked body. What therefore? What, cannot the skins of wild beasts, and of other creatures, enough and abundantly defend us from cold? Do not many Nations cover their bodies with barks of trees? Are not the feathers of birds sewed together for the use of apparel? And are not at this day a great part of the Scythians covered with the skins of Foxes and of Miso, which be so●t, and not to be pierced thorough by the winds? Notwithstanding there is need of a thicker shade, to drive back the heat of the Summer Sun. What therefore, hath not Antiquity hidden many places, which either by injury of time, or by some other chance being made hollow, have retired into the form of a den? What therefore? have they not with their hands woven an hurdle of twigs, and plastered it with base clay, then have they not covered the top thereof with stubble, and with other things fetched out of the wood, and whilst rain hath slidden down by the caves thereof, have they not in security spent the Winter? What therefore? do not the Syrtick Nations lie in a place digged out of the ground? who because of the too great heat of the Sun, have no covering sufficient enough for the repelling of the heat, but the very dry ground itself? Nature was not so much an enemy, that seeing she gave an easy passage of life to all other creatures beside, man alone should not live without so many Arts. None of these things is by it commanded unto us, nothing is to be sought for with labour to prolong our life. We be borne to prepared things: we have made all things difficult unto us by disdain of easy things. Houses and clotheses and nourishments of bodies and meats, and those things which be now made a great business were easy to come by, and freely gotten, and prepared with a light labour: for the measure of all things was as necessity required; we have made these things precious, we have made them marvelous, we have made them to be sought for with great and with many Arts. Nature sufficeth to that, which it requireth. Riot hath revolted from nature, which continually inciteth itself, and increaseth in so many ages, and helpeth vices with wit. First it began to desire superfluous, then contrary things, last of all it sold the mind to the body, and commanded it to serve the lust thereof. All these Arts, wherewith the City is continually set on work, or maketh such a stir, do● manage the affairs of the body: to which all things were once performed as to a servant, but now are provided as for a Lord. Therefore hence be the shops of weavers, hence of hammer-men, hence of those that seethe perfumes, hence of those that teach effeminate motions of the body, and effeminate and wanton songs. For that natural mean hath retired back, which finished desires with necessary help: now is it clownishness and misery to be willing to have so much as doth suffice. It is incredible● my Lucilius, how easily sweetness of speech can draw from the truth, even those that be great men. Behold Posidonius, as mine opinion is, one of those who have added much to Philosophy, whilst first of all he will describe how some threads may be ●ard spun, and how some may be drawn from the soft and loosened tow: then how a web of cloth extendeth the yarn with weights hung thereon, how the woof is woven in to mollify the hardness of the cloth● pressing it together on both sides, and how the broad places may be constrained to come, and to be joined together: he also said, that the weavers Art was invented by wisemen, forgetting this most subtle kind, which was afterwards found out, wherein The web is joined to beam, a small stick doth divide They yarn, the middle woo●es with shuttle slide, Which teeth in stay of weavers loom fast put, With their broad comb the woven yarn do cut. But if it had happened unto him to see the webs of our time, of which apparel is made that will not cover, wherein I will not say, that there is no help to the bodie● but that there is no help for shame? Than he passeth to husbandmen, and no less eloquently describeth how the ground is ploughed up, and tilled again, to the end that the earth may more easily lie open to the roots, than he describeth the seed that is sown, and weeds picked out by the hand, jest some casual and wild thing may increase under it, to kill the corn. This also, saith he, that it is the work of wisemen; as though that now also tilers of ground did not find out very many new things, whereby fertility might be increased. Than not contented with these Arts, sendeth a wiseman down into the handmill; for he declareth how imitating the nature of things, men began to make bread. The hardness of the teeth meeting together, one with another, breaketh, saith he, the corn that is received into the mouth, and whatsoever falleth from them, is brought again by the tongue unto the same teeth: then is it mingled with spittle, that more easily it might pass thorough the slippery jaws; but when it cometh into the belly, it is concocted with the heat of the stomach, then at length cometh it to the body. Some following this example, laid one rough stone upon another, in likeness of the teeth, of which the unmovable part expecteth the motion of the other: then the grains are broken by the grinding of them both, and more are they turned back again, until being ground they be brought unto meal: then sprinkled he flower with water, and mixed it with continual kneading, and made bread thereof; which first of all warm ashes and an hot stone did bake: afterwards by little and little were Ovens found forth, and other means, whose heat might serve, according to the pleasure of men. There wanted not much, but that he said, the shoemakers craft to be, also found forth by wisemen. Reason indeed, but not right reason hath invented all these things. These are inventions of a man, not of a wiseman: so verily indeed as ships, by which we pass over Rivers, and by which we pass over Seas, sails being fitted for the receiving of the force of winds, and a stern being added to the end of the poop, which hither and thither might enforce the course of the ship: and an example is drawn from fishes, who be stired by the tail, and with the small force thereof do bend their swiftness into either side. All these things indeed, saith he, did a wiseman find forth, but being lesser than that himself might handle them, he gave them to more base servants; yet they were invented by none other, then by such as at this day take charge of them. We know that certain things have at length comen forth in our memory; as the use of windows made of stone, sending clear light thorough them, by reason of a slate that the light shineth thorough as the hanging up of baths, and pipes pressed into the walls, by which heat might be dispersed all about, which should alike cherish at one time, both those things that be below, and those that be above. What shall I speak of Marbles, wherewith Temples, wherewith houses do shine? What of heaps of stone, fashioned to be round and smooth, whereof we make galleries and houses capable to receive whole peoples? What of the notes of words, whereby speedy speech is taken, and the hand followeth the swiftness of the tongue? These are the devices of the most vile slaves: wisdom sitteth more deep, neither teacheth it the hands, it is a mistress of minds. Wilt thou know what thing that hath found forth, or what it hath made? Not unseemly motions of the body, nor variable sing by the Trumpet and Flute, by which breath being received, either in the going forth, or in the passing thorough, is form into voice: nor weapons, nor walls, nor warr●s; it endeavoureth profitable things, it favoureth peace, and calleth all mankind to an agreement. It is not, I say, an artificer of instruments for necessary uses. Why assignest thou so small things unto it? Thou seest a framer of thy life. It hath other Arts indeed under rule: for he that hath life, the ornaments of life do also serve unto him. But he tendeth to a blessed estate, to that he leadeth, to that he openeth the way. He showeth what be, and what seem to be evil things. He putteth vanity out of the mind. He giveth solid greatness: but he represseth that which is puffed up, and beautiful to be seen, through that which is vain: neither suffereth he to be unknown, what difference there is betwixt great and swelling things; he delivereth the knowledge of all nature, and of his own. He declareth what the gods, and of what manner they be; what be the infernal, what the household and the genies be: what be those everlasting souls, having the second nature of deities, where they abide, what they do, what they can, what they william. This is the initiation of him, whereby not a private hallowed place, but the huge Temple of all the gods, even this world is laid open: whose true images, and true representations he hath brought forth to be seen in the souls of men: for the sight is dull unto so great sights. Than it returneth to the beginning of things, and to eternal reason infused into the whole, and to the force of all seeds properly figuring every thing. Than he beginneth to inquire of the mind, whence it was, where, how long, and in how many parts it is divided. Than from corporal he hath translated himself to incorporal things, and hath examined the truth, and the arguments of them: after these, how the doubts of life and of death should be discerned. A wiseman withdraweth not himself, I say, as it seemeth to Posidonius, from these Arts, but not at all cometh he unto them. For he had judged nothing worthy of invention, which he would not judge worthy of perpetual use. He would not take up things to be laid down. Anacharsis, saith he, found out the Potters-wheele by the turning whereof vessels be fashioned. Than because that the Potter's wheel is found in Homer, he had rather that the verses should seem to be false, than a fable. I do not contend, that Anacharsis was the author of this thing: and if he was, a wiseman indeed invented it, but not as being a wiseman: as wisemen do many things, as they be men, not as they be wisemen. Suppose that a wiseman is exceeding swift, he will excel all in running, as he is swift, not as he is wise. I would desire to show some glasse-maker to Posidonius, who with breath fashioneth glass into many forms, which would scarce be framed by a diligent hand. These things are found out, since we have ceased to find out a wiseman. Democritus himself is said to have found out the Arch of stone, that the bending of stones by little and little declining on one side, might be fastened to a stone in the midst. I say, that this is false. For it is needful that before Democritus, both bridges and gates were, whose tops for the most part are crooked. Furthermore, ye have forgotten, how the same Democritus found out, how ivory should be polished, how a well purged stone should be turned into Emrold, by which purging even at this day, stones profitable in this kind being found out, are coloured. Although that a wiseman hath found out these things, yet found he not them out, as he is a wiseman: for he doth many things, which we see as well to be done, even by those that are most unwise, but either more skilfully or more practically. Seekest thou what a wiseman hath found out● what he hath brought forth into light? First the nature of things, which he hath looked upon, as other living creatures have done, with eyes slow to divine things. Than the law of life, which he hath directed according to all things: neither only hath he taught to know, but to follow the gods, and to receive accidents no otherwise then commands. He hath forbidden to obey false opinions, and he hath weighed with true estimation, of how great worth every thing was: he hath condemned pleasures mixed with repentance. And hath praised good things which will always please, and hath made apparent, that he is the happiest man, who hath no need of happiness: that he is the most mighty man who hath power over himself. I speak not of that Philosophy, which hath placed a Citizen out of his country, gods out of the world, which hath given ver●ue to pleasure: but concerning that, which supposeth that there is no good thing, save that which is honest, which cannot be mollified neither by the gifts of man, nor of Fourtune; the price of whom is this, not to be able to be taken with any price. I do not suppose that this Philosophy was in that rude age, wherein as yet workmanship was wanting, and they learned profitable things by use itself: as before those fortunate times, when benefits of Nature did lie to be used in common, before covetousness and riot had severed mortal men, and that by consort they ran out to spoil, they were not wisemen, although they did things to be done by those that are wise. Certainly not any one shall more admire any other estate; neither if God permitted him to fashion earthly things, and to give manners to the Nations, shall allow any other thing, then that which is remembered to have been amongst them, with whom The ground than none did blow, none might divide Land that to him alone might then betide. The earth itself in common all did lie; No toiling was, but things to grow did high. What was more happy than that kind of men? They enjoyed the nature of things in common: that sufficed to be a parent for the defence of all: this was the secure possession of public wealth. Why have I not said that, that kind of mortal men was the richest of all, wherein thou couldst not find one that was poor? Covetousness broke into things that were settled exceeding well: and whilst it desired to take somewhat apart, and to turn it to the use of itself, it hath made all things other men's, and from being unmeasurable, hath brought them into a straight, and hath brought in poverty, and by coveting many things, hath lost all things. Therefore although it should now convert and repair that which it hath lost; although it should add fields unto fields, and drive out neighbours from their lands, either by price, or wrong; although it should enlarge grounds to be as big as provinces; and call a long wandering through their own, a possession: yet no enlarging of limits shall bring us thither, whence we have departed. When we have done all, we shall have much; whereas we had all. The earth itself was more fertile without labour, and was large for the use of the people who rob it not. Whatsoever Nature had brought forth, it was a pleasure no less to have found it out, then to show the invention to another: neither could there be either too much or too little to any one: it was divided amongst those that did agreed. As yet the stronger had not laid hand upon the weaker, as yet a covetous man did not by hiding that which did lie up for him, also exclude another from necessary things. There was the like care of another, and of a man's own self. Weapons did cease, and hands were not tainted with human blood; they turned all their hatred upon beasts. They whom some thick wood had covered from the Sun, who lived safe under leaves in a base cottage, against the rigour of Winter or of rain, passed over pleasant nights, without sighing. Carefulness, tosseth us in our purple and stirreth us up with most sharp pricks; the hard ground gave soft sleep unto them. Carved roofs did not hung over them, but they lying in the open air, the stars did slide over them, and the notable spectacle of the nights, the world was driven on apace, leading so great a work with silence: as well by day, as by night, the prospect of this most beautiful house did lie open: one might behold the signs, declining from the middle part of heaven, and again some arising from their hidden place. How could it not but delight to wander amongst miracles that be so largely spread abroad? But ye be afraid of every sound of the houses, and if any thing make a noise amongst your pictures, ye flee away astonished. They had not houses like Cities. The air and wind was free in open places, and the light shade of a rock or of a tree, and very clear fountains, and rivers not made stolen by any work, nor by a conduit, nor by any constrained course, but running of their own accord, and meadows beautiful without art, amongst these things there is country little houses, reared up by a rustical hand. This house was according to Nature, wherein one might be lawful to devil, neither fearing it, nor for it; now houses be a great part of our fear. But although a notable, and a life wanting deceit was unto them, yet were they not wisemen, sith now this is a name in greatest work. Notwithstanding I deny not that they were men of an high spirit, and freshly sprung from the gods: for the world being not as yet wasted in strength sent forth better things. But as wit was more valiant in all, and more prepared for labours; so wits were not consummated in all things. For Nature giveth not virtue; it is a skill to be made good. They indeed did not seek for gold, nor silver, nor glistering stones shining amongst the lowest dregss of the earth, yea as yet they even spared dumb creatures: so far was it off, that a man not angry should kill a man not fearing; only coming to see him, should kill any one. Not as yet any one had garnished apparel, as yet gold was not woven in; as yet it was not delved out. What therefore? they were innocent in ignorance of things: but there is much difference, whether one will not, or know not to sin. justice was wanting to them, wisdom was wanting, temperance and fortitude was wanting. A rude life had certain things like unto all these virtues: virtue befalleth not but to a mind instructed and taught, and brought to the highest by continual exercise. Furthermore, indeed we are borne to this, but without this: and also in the best, before thou instruct, there is matter of virtue, not virtue itself. EPIST. XCI. The doleful and sudden burning of the Colony at Lions: by casting in of that, we are to think of sudden things, and which may fall forth to a man. He setteth before our eyes the uncertainty and variableness of things: the greatest and most firm things may be diminished, changed, withdrawn, by earthquake, waters and fire. All mortal things are condemned to perish. Therefore neither death nor infamy is to be feared by a man. OUR Liberalis is now sad, the fire, wherewith the Colony at Lions was burned up, being related unto him. This accident might move any man, much more one who loveth his country exceeding much. Which thing causeth to seek out the resolution of ones mind, namely, which he hath exercised, for those things which he supposed might be feared: but I wonder not, if this so unthought of mischief, and almost unheard of hath not been without fear, sith it was without example. For fire hath vexed many Cities, it hath destroyed none. For also where fire is set upon houses by the enemy's hand, it faileth in many places: and although forthwith it be raised up again, notwithstanding seldom doth it so devour all, that nothing be left to the sword. Scarce also at any time hath there been so grievous and so pernicious an earthquake, as to overthrow whole Towns. Lastly, never hath there any where been so terrible a fire, that nothing remained to another burning. One night hath laid along so many most fair works, every one of which might have made several Cities to have been famous; and it falleth forth in so great peace, as could not indeed be feared in war. Who can believe this? that arms being quiet every where, when security is spread abroad throughout the whole earth, Lions that was pointed at in Gaul, is sought for. Fortune hath permitted all, whom publicly it hath afflicted, to fear that which they were to suffer: no great thing but hath had some space of the ruin thereof. In this there was only one night between a great City and none at all. To conclude, I am longer in telling thee that it hath perished, than it was in perishing. O Liberalis, all these things incline our affection to be firm and undaunted against the evils thereof. Neither is it stricken without a cause. Unexpected things do aggravate the more: novelty addeth weight to miseries: neither any man but hath the more grieved at that thing which he hath admired. Therefore nothing aught to be unprovided for by us: the mind is to be sent before unto all things: and we must think, not whatsoever is accustomed, but whatsoever may be done. For what is it, that fortune cannot when she will, take away even from the most flourishing? which he cannot by so much the more assault and shake, by how much it shineth the more beautifully, What is hard, or what is difficult unto her? Not always one way, nor all of her runneth upon us. Sometimes she calleth for our own hands upon us, sometimes contented with her own strength, she findeth forth dangers without an author. No time is expected, in pleasures themselves causes of dolour do arise. War ariseth in the midst of peace, and the helps of security pass over into fear. He is an enemy from a friend, a foe from a fellow. The calms of summer is driven into sudden tempests and those which be greater the winter storms. Without an enemy we suffer hostile things; and too great felicity hath found forth causes of slaughter unto itself, if other things fail. Diseases set upon the most temperate, the consumption upon the strongest, punishment upon the most innocent, tumult upon the most secret. Chance chooseth some new thing, by which as it were forgetting, she reneweth her own strength. Whatsoever long continuance of many labours, and much favour of God hath builded up, one day scattereth and dissipateth it. He gave long delay to evils hasting on, who hath said that a day, an hour and a moment of time sufficeth for the overthrowing of Empires. There were some comfort to our weakness, and to our affairs, if all things were repaired with so great speed as they be finished by. Now increasings go softly, but they make haste to loss: nothing in private, nothing in public is firm: as well the destinies of men as of Cities are turned about. Fear nearly attendeth the choicest pleasure; & although there are no occasions of troubles outwardly, mischiefs break forth from such places where they were least expected. These Kingdoms which stood both in civil and foreign wars, are ruined without any opposition. What Commonwealth could support her felicity? All things therefore are to be thought upon, and the mind is to be confirmed against those things that may happen. Think upon exiles, torments, wars, sicknesses and shipwrecks. Fortune may bereave thee of thy country, and thy country of thee: she can cast thee into a desert, she can make that place desolate, wherein the people is almost stifled with thronging. Let the whole condition of man's life be set before our eyes, and let us consider in our minds (if we would not be oppressed, neither stupefied with any unusual miseries, as if they were new) not how much happeneth oftentimes, but how much may for the most part fall out. We must wholly apprehended the inconstancy of the affairs of this world. How often have the Cities of Asia & Achaia been ruinated by one earthquake? How many Cities in Syria, and how much hath the earth devoured in Macedon? How often hath this misery afflicted Cyprus? how often hath Paphos been buried in her own ruins? Oftentimes have we heard news of the destructions of whole Cities, and we amongst whom these rumours are ordinarily spread; how small a part are we of all things? Let us therefore erect ourselves against adversities, and whatsoever thing may happen, let us know that it is not so great as is reported. A rich City, the ornament of all those Provinces, into the which it was inserted and received by them, being built upon a hill, and that not over-high is burned. And time also shall consume the very foundations of all these Cities, which now thou hearest praised for their magnficence and riches. Seest thou not how in Achaia the foundations of famous Cities are consumed? and that nothing is extant whereby it may be known that in times past they have been. Not only those things which are framed by hand do perish. Not only such things as man's Art and industry hath planted doth time overturn, but the mountain tops moulder, and whole regions are come to naught. Those places are covered with the sea that stood far off from the sight of the same. The fire hath consumed the Mountains from the hollow whereof it flamed out. And in times past hath eaten away the highest Promontories which were a solace to Sailors, & brought the proudest hills to humble shores. The very works of nature are vexed, and therefore aught we to suffer patiently the destruction of Cities. All things that stand must fall, and an end remaineth to all things: whether the winds shut in by an internal force and blast have shaken of the weight under which they be held; or the force of floods in secret, hath thrown down those things that stand against them; or the violence of flames hath broken the joining together of the ground; or oldness, from which nothing is safe, hath by little and little overcome them: or the unwholesomeness of the sky hath cast out people, and situation hath corrupted deserts. It is a long thing to reckon up all the ways of the destinies. This one thing I know, that all the works of mortal men are condemned by mortality. We live amongst those things that perish. These and such like comforts I apply to our Liberalis, he being set on fire with a certain burning love to his country; which peradventure is consumed, that it might be the better builded up. Oftentimes injury hath made place to greater fortune. Many things have fallen that they might rise higher and greater. Timagines an enemy to the prosperity of the City, did say, that he grieved at the firing of Rome for this one things because he knew that better would rise again, then had been burned. In this City also it is very like, that all will strive, that greater and more certain things may be restored than they have lost. I wish that they may be more long-lasting and builded with better signs of luck for a longer age to come. For the hundredth year is scarce to this Colony from the beginning thereof, an age scarce long enough for a man. It being lead forth into this frequency, waxed well again with the opportunity of the place: which notwithstanding hath suffered most grievous chances within the space of the old age of a man. Therefore let the mind be framed to understanding, and to patience of her lot, and let her know, that there is nothing which fortune dare not do. That she hath the same right against Empires, which she hath against those that do rule: that she can do the same against Cities, that she doth against men. None of these things is to be fretted at. We have entered into that world, wherein men live by these laws. Pleaseth it? Obey. Pleaseth it not? Departed which way thou wil Be angry, if any thing be foolishly, unjustly resolved upon by thyself. But if this necessity tieth the highest and lowest, therefore return into favour with destiny, by which all things are dissolved. There is no cause that thou measure us with Tombs, and with these Monuments, which being of unequal bigness, do compass the way about. The dust maketh all equal. We are borne unlike, we die alike. The same I say of Cities, that of the inhabitants of Cities. As well was Ardea taken, as Rome. That maker of mankind hath not distinguished us by birth, nor by famousness of names, no longer than we be. But when we come to the end of mortal things: O ambition, saith he, departed thou; let there be the same law to all things which press the earth. We be alike to the suffering of all things. No man is more frail than another, no man is more certain of his own until next day. Alexander the King of the Macedonians, began like a wretch to learn Geometry, that he might know how little the earth was, whereof he had possessed very little. Thus, I say, like a wretch for this, because he was to understand that he did bear a false surname. For who can be great in so small a thing? Those things that were delivered were subtle, and to be learned by diligent attention: not which that mad man could perceive, who sent his thoughts beyond the Ocean Sea. Teach me, saith he, easy things. To whom his Master said; These things be the same, and alike difficult unto all. Think thou that the nature of things saith this. These things whereof thou complainest, they are the same unto all: more easy things can be given unto none; but whosoever will, shall make those things more easy unto himself. How? With uprightness of minde● It is meet both that thou grieve, and thirst, and be hungry, and wax old, and if longer stay amongst men befall unto thee, that thou be sick, and loose somewhat and do perish. Notwithstanding there is no cause that thou mayest believe these things which make a noise about thee. None of these things is bad, nothing intolerable or hard. Fear is from consent unto these things. Thus thou fearest death as report. But what is more foolish than a man fearing words? Our Demetrius is accustomed elegantly to say, that the speeches of the unskilful are as much esteemed by him, as is the breaking of wind. For what difference, saith he, is there unto me, whether that these do make a noise from above or from below. How great madness is it to be afraid, jest thou be discredited by those that have no credit? As ye have feared fame without cause, so also those things, which ye should never fear, except fame had commanded it. What shall a good man suffer loss, being bespotted with unjust reports? Neither indeed let this hurt death in the judgement of us: for this also endeavoureth that which is bad. None of them who accuse it, have tried it. In the mean space it is rashness to condemn that which thou knowest not. But thou knowest that, how profitable to many it is, how many it freeth from torments, from poverty, from complaints, from punishments, from tediousness. We are not in the power of any thing, sith death is in our own power. EPIST. XCII. That reason ruleth in man, and that all things are to be referred to this, and that blessed life is in that being perfect. That external things have light or no weight. Also that pleasure is of no moment, it is the good of unreasonable creatures. And yet that external things may be assumed, which are according to nature; but with judgement: and that this then is good in them, to be well chosen. Nevertheless also without them, that one is blessed, yea most blessed by virtue alone. These things may befall: yet being added, they do not increase, nor being taken away do decrease blessedness: against which no time can do any thing. That we are to be made like to God, and that we go to him. I Think that thou and I agreed of this, that external things are gotten for the body, and that the body is reverenced for the honour of the mind, that there be servile parts in the mind, whereby we be moved and nourished, given unto us for that principal thing. In this principal there is somewhat that is unreasonable and reasonable. That serveth to this. This is one thing, that is not referred unto any besides: but it carrieth all things unto itself. For also that divine reason is set over all things, itself is under none. And also this of ours is the same, because it is from it. If we agreed amongst ourselves concerning this, it followeth also that we agreed concerning that, that blessed life is placed in this one thing, that reason may be perfect in us. For this alone submitteth not the mind, it standeth against Fortune. In every habit of things, it being preserved, preserveth. But that is the only good, which is never broken off. He, I say, is blessed, whom nothing maketh lesser; he holdeth the chief, and leaneth not indeed upon any thing, save upon himself, For he may fall, who is sustained by the help of another. If it be otherwise, those things that be not ours shall begin to prevail much in us. But who shall stand by Fortune, or what wiseman admireth himself for those things that be others? What is blessed life? security and perpetual tranquility. The greatness of the mind will give this, and a firm constancy of a thing well judged of. But how come we to this? If all verity be thoroughly looked upon; if an order, manner, comeliness, and an hurtless will, or that which is bountiful, and bend to reason, and never departing from it, being both lovely, and to be admired, be preserved in the doing of things. Lastly, that I may briefly writ the form unto thee, such aught the mind of a wiseman to be, as may become a god. What can he desire, to whom all honest things do befall? For if things that be not honest, can confer any thing to the best estate, blessed life shall be in those things, without which it is not. And what is more foolish or more dishonest, then to tie the good of a reasonable soul unto unreasonable things? Notwithstanding, some judge the chiefest good to be increased, because it is scarcefull, casual things resisting it. Antipater also amongst the great Authors of this sect, saith, that himself giveth somewhat to external things, but very little. But thou seest what manner of thing it is, not to be contented with daylight, except some petty fire shined unto us. What moment in this clearness of the Sun can a spark of fire have? If thou art not contented with honesty alone● it is needful that thou wilt have quiet to be added thereunto, which the Grecians call hesychian, or pleasure. The one of these things howsoever may be received. For the mind is void of trouble, being free to the beholding of the universe, and nothing calleth it away from the contemplation of Nature. That other thing, namely, pleasure is the good of a beast. We add an unreasonable thing to that which is reasonable, a dishonest thing to that which is honest. Doth the tickling of the body cause a happy life? Why therefore doubt ye to say, that a man is well, if his taste be well? And numbrest thou him, I do not say, amongst men, but amongst mankind, whose chiefest good consisteth of tastes, and colours, and sounds? Let that creature which is borne to eat, only departed from that most beautiful number of living creatures, and next unto the gods, and let him be numbered with brute beasts. The unreasonable part of the mind hath two parts: the one courageous, ambitious, unbridled, placed in the affections: the other base, languishing, given unto pleasures. They have left that unbridled, but better, certainly more valiant and more worthy a man: and have thought this feeble and abject to be necessary to a blessed life. They have commanded reason to serve this, and have made that which is demisse and ignoble, to be the good of a most generous creature. Furthermore, it is mixed, and monstrous, and framed of the divers agreeing members of living creatures. For as our Virgil saith of Sylla: A woman's face and virgins breasts most fair Until her middlepart: after she bore Fishlike, a body vast with Dolphins tails, And many a wolvish paunch with her she trails. But although that fierce, horrible, and swift living creatures are joined to this Sylla, yet of what monsters have these men compounded wisdom? The first part of a man is virtue itself; the brittle and fading flesh, and apt only to receive meats, as Posidonius saith, is committed unto this. That divine virtue endeth in a mutable thing; and a sluggish and decaying living creature is adjoined to the higher, venerable, and heavenly parts thereof. That rest how quiet soever gave of itself nothing indeed to the mind, but removed impediments. Pleasure of it own accord dissolveth and mollifieth all strength. What so disagreeing conjunction of bodies amongst themselves shall be found? A most sluggish thing is adjoined to that which is most valiant; scarce serious things to that which is most severe, even a distemperate and confused thing to that which is most holy. What therefore, saith he, if good health, and quiet, and a wanting of griefs shall no ways hinder virtue, wilt thou not seek for those things? What else but that I should seek? Not because they be good, but because they be according to nature, and because with good judgement they be taken by me. What good then shall there be in them? this one, to be chosen well. For when I take such a garment as is meet, when I walk as is requisite; when I sup as I aught: not the supper, or walking, or apparel are good things, but my purpose in these of keeping a mean agreeable unto reason in every thing. Yea now I will add, the choice of neat apparel is to be desired by a man. For man is by nature a neat and an elegant living creature. Therefore neat apparel is not a good thing by itself, but the choice of neat apparel; because it is not good in the thing, but in the choice: because our actions be honest, not those things that are acted. That which I have spoken of apparel, suppose that I have spoken the same concerning the body. For Nature hath also compassed the mind with this, as a certain apparel, it is the clothing thereof. But who at any time hath esteemed his apparel by a chest? A sheath maketh the sword to be neither good nor bad. I also do answer thee the same concerning the body: I would take indeed, if choice be given, both health and strength. But my judgement concerning them, and not they themselves, shall be that which is good. A wiseman is blessed indeed, saith he; notwithstanding, he obtaineth not that chiefest good, except also that natural instruments be correspondent unto him. Thus wretched indeed he cannot be, who hath virtue: but he is not most blessed, who is forsaken of natural good things, as of health, and of soundness of members. Thou grantest that which seemeth more incredible, that one is not miserable in the greatest and in continual dolours, yea also that he is blessed: thou deniest that which is more light, that he is most blessed. But if virtue can 'cause that a man be not miserable, it will more easily cause that he be most blessed. For less distance remaineth from blessed to most blessed, then from miserable to blessed. Or what thing prevaileth so much, that it may place him amongst the blessed, who is taken from calamities: can it not add that which remaineth, to make him most blessed? Faileth it in the highest top? Commodities and discommodities are in life; both are without us. If a good man be not miserable, although he be pressed with all discommodities; how is he not most blessed, although he be destitute of some commodities? For ●u●n as he is not depressed with a burden of discommodities, to be even a miserable man; so is he not led with want of commodities, from being a most blessed man. But as well he is most blessed without commodities, as he is not miserable by discommodities. Cannot his good be taken from him, if it can be diminished? A little before I said, that a small fire helpeth not the light of the Sun. For whatsoever shineth without it, is hid with the clearness thereof. But certain things, saith he, do also hinder the Sun. But the force and the light of the Sun is whole, even amongst opposite things: and although somewhat may lie between, which may hinder us from the sight of it, yet is it in work, and is carried in his own course. So often as it hath shined amongst the clouds, it is no less, nor slow indeed, then when it shineth bright, because there is great difference, whether that somewhat do only stand against or hinder. After the same sort opposite things detract nothing from virtue. It is not less, but shineth less: peradventure it so appeareth not, nor shineth unto us: it is the same unto itself, and after the fashion of the obscured Sun, doth in secret exercise her force. Therefore calamities, and losses, and injuries, can do this against virtue, that a small cloud can do against the Sun. There is found, who saith, that a wiseman having scarce good health, is neither miserable nor blessed. He also is deceived; for he matcheth casual things with virtues, and giveth so much to honest things, as to things wanting honesty. But what is more filthy, what is more unworthy, then to compare venerable things with those that are base? For faith, justice, piety, fortitude, prudence, are venerable things: on the contraries those be vile, which do befall more full to the most base, namely, a sound thigh, and arm, and teeth, and the health and strength of these. Again, if a wise man who hath a diseased body, shall be accounted neither miserable nor blessed, but shall be left in the midst: his life also shall neither Bee to be desired nor to be fled from. But what is so absurd, as that a wise man's life should not be desired? and what is so without credit, as that there is a life which is not to be desired, or to be fled from? Than if the losses of the body do not make miserable, they suffer to be blessed. For they which have not power of translating into a worse estate, have not power indeed of hindering the best estate. We know, saith he, that somewhat is hot, and somewhat cold: and that lukewarm is betwixt them both. So one is blessed, and another miserable; another neither miserable nor blessed. I will diligently search this Image that is set against us. If I shall put more cold into that lukewarm, it will be made cold: if I shall power on more warm, it shall at last be made warm. But how much soever I shall add to the miseries of this man, who is neither miserable nor blessed, he shall not be miserable, as ye say, therefore this similitude is unlike. Than I deliver to thee a man neither miserable nor blessed: I add blindness to him, he is not made miserable: I add weakness, he is not made miserable: I add continual and grievous dolours, he is not made miserable. Whom so many evils translate not into a miserable life, they do not indeed lead him from a blessed life. If a wiseman, as ye say, cannot fall from being blessed, to be miserable, he cannot fall into not blessed. For why should he, who hath begun to slide, s●ay any where? That thing which suffered him not to be rolled to the bottom, keepeth him in the top. But why cannot a blessed life be undone? indeed it cannot be lessened; and therefore virtue itself, by itself, is sufficient unto it. What therefore, saith he, is not a wiseman more blessed, who hath lived longer, whom no dolour hath called away: then he who oftentimes hath wrestled with bad success? Answer me: Is he not both better and honester? If these things be not, he is not more blessed indeed. It is meet that he live more rightly, that he may live more blessedly: if he cannot live more rightly, he cannot live more blessedly indeed. Virtue is not augmented: therefore not a blessed life indeed which is from virtue. For virtue is so great a good thing, that it feeleth not these small additions, namely, shortness of life, and dolour, and divers discommodities of the body. For pleasure is not worthy, to which it may have respect. What is the chiefest in virtue? Not to need a future thing, nor to reckon his days. In whatsoever time ye will, eternal good maketh absolutely perfect. These things seem incredible unto us, and running out above human nature. For we measure the majesty thereof by our weakness, and we put the name of virtue upon our vices. What furthermore, seemeth it not alike incredible, that one being placed in greatest torments, should say, I am blessed? But this voice is heard in the very shop of pleasure: I live, saith EPICURUS, this most blessed and last day: when on the one side difficulty of making water tormented him, and on the other side an incurable dolour of an exulcerated belly tormented him. Why therefore are these things incredible with them, who embrace virtue: sith also they are found amongst them, over whom pleasure ruleth? These degenerate also and of a most base mind say, that a wiseman shall not be miserable, nor blessed, in greatest dolours, in greatest calamities. But this also is incredible, yea more incredible. For I see not, how virtue being cast from her own height, how it may not be driven into the lowest. It either aught to make blessed; or if it be driven from this, it shall not forbidden to be made wretched. He that standeth cannot be overcome: it is requisite that either he be overcomne, or overcome. Both virtue and blessed life befalleth to the immortal gods alone: a certain shadow and similitude of those good things be unto us. We come to those things, we attain them not. But reason is common to gods and men: this is consummated in them, it is consummable in us. But our vices draw us to despair. For that other second man, as one scarce constant to keep the best things, whose judgement as yet slideth and is uncertain, desireth the sense of the eyes and of the ears, good health, and no ill-favoured aspect of the body, and abiding in his fashion, and furthermore, a longer space of life. By this he may be busied in things not to be repent of, according as an unperfect man may. There is a certain force in this badness, whereby it maketh the mind prove to bad things: he worketh wanting badness, and that working is different from that which is good. As yet he is not good, but is fashioned for good: but whosoever wanteth any good thing, is bad. If present virtue and a mind In any man thou shalt forth find; He matcheth the gods, he striveth thither being mindful of his original. No man doth wickedly endeavour to ascend thither, whence he had descended. But what is it, why thou esteemest not, that there is some divine thing in him, who is a part of God? All this wherein we are contained, both is one thing, and is God: and we are the fellows and the members of him. Our mind is capable; it is carried thither, if vices press it not down. As the shape of our bodies is lifted up, and looketh towards heaven: so the soul, to which so much as it will, it is lawful to be stretched forth, is fashioned for this by nature, to will things equal to the gods, and so to use her strength, and to extend herself into her own space. For if it endeavoured to the highest by force of another, it were great labour, to go into heaven: it returneth, when it hath gone this journey, it goeth boldly, and is a contemner of all things, neither hath it respect to money: gold and silver are most worthy of that darkness wherein they have lain, it esteemeth not this glittering, wherewith they strike the eyes of the unskilful: it knoweth that they be digged out of the mud, from the which our covetousness hath separated and digged them up. It knoweth, I say, that riches are seated some where else, then where they are heaped up; the mind, not the chest aught to be filled. One may set this over the rule of all things, one may bring this into the possession of nature, as being his own. Let the East and We●t be his limit, and let him possess all things after the manner of the gods; let him from above despise rich men with their riches: of whom none is so joyful in his own, as sorrowful at another man's. When he hath lifted up himself into this loftiness, he is also not a lover, but a manager of the body, as of a necessary burden: neither subiecteth he himself to that, over which he is set. No man is free who serveth the body: for to pass by other masters, whom too great care for it hath found forth, the command of it is austere and delicate. Sometime it departeth from this with an upright mind, sometime it breaketh from it with a great mind; neither seeketh it what end there shall be afterwards to the remainders thereof. But as we neglect the hairs tha● be shaven from the beard; so that divine mind being to departed out of a man, judgeth that it no more pertaineth to himself, how his receptacle be bestowed, whether the fire burn it up, or the beasts pluck it asunder, or the earth cover it, no more than the secondines pertain to an infant new borne. Whether when it is cast out, the birds carry it asunder, or it be consumed. When cast it is away To Sea-dogges for a pray, What is it to him? Who then also whilst he is amongst men, feareth no threats: shall he after death fear any threats of them, whom we scarce aught to fear until death? The hook, saith he, shall not tear me, nor the rending of my dead carcase cast out to reproach, although loathsome to them that shall look on. I request no man for a last duty: I commend my relics to no man. Nature itself hath provided that no man should be unburied. Whom cruelty hath cast forth, the day shall bury. Maecenas saith eloquently: I care not for a Tomb or any Grave, To bury my remains Nature will crave. Thou wouldst have thought that one girded like a man had spoken it: for he had both a great and a manly wit, except he himself effeminately had managed it. EPIST. XCIII. Concerning the death of the Philosopher METRONACTES, who died a young man. That is of small regard: also life is to be measured, not by space, but by act. Every good life is that which is long: lastly, nothing here is long. IN the Epistle wherein thou bewailedst the death of Metronactes the Philosopher, as though he might & aught to have lived longer, I have desired thy equity, which is abundant in thee to every person and in every business, but faileth in one thing, wherein it faileth all men. I have found many upright towards men, but none towards the gods. We daily chide destiny: why was he taken away in the midst of his course? Why is not he snatched away? Why extendeth it old age grievous both to himself and to others? Whether I pray thee, judgest thou it to be more fit, that thou obey nature, or that nature obey thee? But what difference is there how speedily thou departed, whence likewise thou must departed. We must not care to live long, but to live enough. For there is need of destiny, that thou mayest live long; that thou mayest live enough, there is need only of the mind. Life is long if it be full: but it is filled, when the soul hath restored his own good unto himself, and hath translated the power of itself to itself. What do fourscore years spent in sloth help him? This man lived not, but made an abode in life; neither lately, but long ago did he die. He lived fourscore years. The difference is from what day thou accountest his death. But he died young; yet he performed the duties of a good citizen, of a good friend, of a good son: he failed in no part: although his age were imperfect, his life was perfect. He lived fourscore years: yea, rather he was fourscore years; except p●raduenture thou sayest him to have lived so, as trees are said to live. I desire thee my Lucilius, that we endeavour this, that even as precious things, so our life may not lie much open, but may be worth much. Let us measure it by the actions, not by time. Wilt thou know what difference there is between this courageous man, and contemner of fortune● who hath gone through all the degrees of human life, and is promoted unto the highest good, and him over whom many years have passed? The one is also after death the other perished before death. Therefore let us praise and place him in the number of the happy, to whom how little time soever hath happened, it is bestowed well. For he hath seen true light, he hath not been one of the ordinary sort; he liveth, and hath lived, and hath flourished. Sometime he hath used prosperous success: sometime, as it cometh to pass, the brightness of a strong Planet hath shined through the clouds. Why seekest thou, how long he hath lived? He lived even until posterity: he passed away, and gave himself to the memory of ages to come. Neither therefore have I refused that many years should befall unto me. But yet will I not say, that any thing hath been wanting to a blessed life, if the space thereof be cut off. For I have not fitted myself unto that day, which greedy hope hath promised to be the last unto me: but I have looked upon every one as being my last. Why askest thou me, when I was borne? Am I as yet reckoned amongst those that be more young? I have that which is mine own. Even as in a lesser habit of body, one may be a perfect man: so in a lesser measure of time, there may be a perfect life. Age is amongst external things. So long as I am, it is another's time: so long as I am a good man, it is mine own time. Exact this of me, jest as it were in darkness I measure out an unnoble age; that I may lead a life, not that I may be carried through it. Seekest thou what is the largest space of life? To live even unto wisdom: He that cometh unto that, hath touched, not the longest but the greatest end. But let him glory, and give thanks unto the gods; and amongst them, let him impute it to himself, and to the nature of things, that he hath been. Deservedly shall he ascribe it: for he hath returned a better life than he received. He hath set down the pattern of a good man: he hath showed what an one and how great he was: if he had added any thing, it had been like unto that which was passed. And notwithstanding how long do we live? We enjoy the knowledge of all things. We know from what things the principal Nature lifteth up itself on high, how it ordereth the world, by what courses it recalleth the year, how it hath shut up all things which were at any time, and hath made itself the end of itself. We know that the stars go by their own force: that nothing but the earth standeth still: that other things with a continual swiftness run on. We know how the Moon passeth by the Sun: wherefore being more slow, she leaveth the swifter behind her: how it receiveth or loseth light: what cause bringeth on the night, what bringeth back the day. Thither must we go, where thou mayest behold these things nearer unto thee: neither, saith that wiseman, do I the more valiantly departed, because I judge a way to lie open for me unto the gods. I have deserved indeed to be admitted, and now have I been amongst them: and I have sent my mind unto that place, and they have sent theirs unto me. But suppose that I be taken away, and that nothing of a man remaineth after death: I have alike as great a mind, although I departed to pass into no place. He lived not so many years as he might have done. Also it is a book of a few verses, but to be praised and profitable indeed: thou knowest the Chronicle of Tamusius, that it is not fashionable, and what it is called: alike is the long life of certain men, and that which followeth the Chronicle of Tamusius. What judgest thou him to be more happy, who is slain in the last day of the show of Gladiators, than he who is slain in the midst of the days? What thinkest thou that any one is so desirous of life, that he had rather have his throat cut in the untiring house, then on the Theatre? Not greater space do we one go before another. Death goeth through all; he that killeth, followeth him close who is killed. That is the small●st thing, concerning which men do most carefully deal. But what pertaineth it to the purpose how long thou avoydest, that which thou canst not avoid? EPIST. XCIIII. A discourse, whether the Teaching or Exhorting part of Philosophy be more profitable? and whether the one can suffice without the other? ARISTO preferreth the former, and admitteth it alone: and his arguments be here. And other adjoin the other part, and show the great uses thereof; and SENECA distinguisheth finely, wittily, and fruitfully. Read and delight. SOme have received that part of Philosophy alone, which giveth proper precepts to every person, but frameth not the whole man, persuading the husband how to carry himself towards his wife; the father how to bring up children; the master how to govern servants: and have left the other as wandering without our profit: as though any one could in part persuade, except first he had comprehended the sum of universal life. But Aristo a Stoic, on the contrary esteemeth this to be a light part, and which descendeth not even unto the breast: but that which hath not precepts, he saith, that it profiteth very much; and that the decrees themselves of Philosophy, are the constitution of the chiefest good, which he that hath understood and learned well, himself commandeth himself, what is to be done on either part. Even as he who learneth to cast a Dart, taketh a fit place, and frameth his hand for the direction of those things which he delivereth; when he hath gotten this force by instruction and exercise, he useth it at whatsoever he will; for he hath learned not to hit this or that, but whatsoever he will: so he who hath instructed himself for his whole life, desireth not particularly to be admonished, he being taught for the whole; not how to live with a wife or with a son, but how he may live well: in this also it is how he may live with his wife and children. Cleanthes judgeth this part also to be profitable indeed, but weak except it flowed from the whole, except one knew the very decrees and heads of Philosophy. Therefore this place is divided into two questions; Whether it be profitable or unprofitable, and whether it alone can make a good man, that is, whether it be superfluous, or can make all things else superfluous. They who would have this part to be thought superfluous, say thus: If any thing set against the eyes hindereth the sight, it is to be removed; but that not being cast away he hath lost his labour, who hath given instructions: thus thou shalt walk, thither shalt thou stretch out thine hand; after the same manner, when any thing blindeth the mind, and hindereth it from discerning the order of duties, he dot● nothing who delivereth precepts: thus shalt thou live with thy father, thus with thy wife. For precepts will profit nothing, so long as error is spread before the mind: if that be driven away, it will appear● what is due to every duty. Otherwise thou teachest him what a sound man must do, thou makest him not sound. Thou showest to him that is poor, how to play the rich man: but how can this be done, if so be that poverty remain? Thou showest to him that is hungry, what he may do as a man being full: rather take away hunger, which is fastened to the inward parts. The same will I say unto thee concerning all vices; the things themselves are to be removed away; we are not to command that which cannot be done, whilst they do remain. Except thou shalt expel false opinions, that we be troubled withal; neither will a covetous man hear how he must use money, nor a fearful man how he may contemn dangers. It is requisite that thou make him know that money is neither good nor bad: that thou show unto him most miserable rich men: that thou cause, that whatsoever we have feared in public, he may know that it is not so to be feared, as fame relateth it is: no not dolour nor death: that it is a great comfort often in death, which the law constraineth us to suffer, because it returneth to no man: obstinacy of mind shall be for a remedy in grief: he that suffered any thing resolutely, maketh it to be lighter unto himself: that the nature of grief is the best, because neither that which is extended can be great; nor that which is great can be extended: that all things are to be valiantly received, which the necessity of the world commandeth us. When thou hast brought him by these decrees unto the sight of his own condition, and he shall know that a blessed life is, not which is according to pleasure, but according to nature: when he shall altogether love virtue, the only good of a man, and shall fly from dishonesty as that which is only bad, he shall know that all other things, namely, riches, honours, good health, strength, empire be in the middle part, and are neither to be numbered amongst the good, nor reckoned amongst the evil. He shall need no instructor to say unto him, walk thus, sup after this manner; this becometh a man, that a woman; this a married man, that a bachelor. For these things which they so diligently prescribe, they themselves cannot do. These things doth the Schoolmaster teach his scholar, the grandmother her nephew; and the choleric master argues that a man must not be angry. If thou enter into the schools, thou shalt find that children are taught all that for their lesson, which Philosophers boast of with such lofty looks. Finally, whether wilt thou propose such things as are manifest, or such as are doubtful? Those things that are evident need not to be taught, and he that teacheth such things as are doubtful, is hardly believed. It is therefore a superfluous thing to teach. This learn thus: If thou proposest things that are obscure and ambiguous, thou must confirm them by proofs. If thou wilt prove them, those things by which thou provest are more available, and are sufficient enough of themselves. Thus use thy friend, thus thy fellow Citizen, thus thy companion. Why? Because it is just. All these things the common place as touching justice, will furnish me with. There find I that equity is a thing to be desired of itself, that fear cannot compel us thereunto, and that for gain we will not respect it: briefly, that he is not just and upright who approveth any thing in this virtue, but the virtue itself. When as I have persuaded myself of these things, and learned it perfectly, what do these precepts profit me, which instruct the learned man? To give precepts to a wiseman is a superfluous travail, to an ignorant man it sufficeth not. For he must hear not only what is taught him, but why it is taught him: that is to say, whether they be necessary to him that hath true opinions as touching goods and evils, or to him that hath not: he that hath them not, will be no ways profited by thee, for a common report contrary to thy admonitions hath filled and possessed his ears. He that hath an exact judgement of that he aught to fly and follow, knoweth that which he aught to do, although thou be silent. All this part of Philosophy therefore may be cut off. There are in us two evils, which make us commit others. Either in our minds is there a malice contracted by evil opinions; or although it be not occupied with falsities, yet is it inclined unto error, and is quickly corrupted by some vain appearance, which draweth him thither whether he should not pretend. It behoveth us therefore either to cure the sick mind, and to deliver it from vices, or that it be not as yet infected, but inclined unto evil, to prevent it. The decrees of Philosophy do both the one and the other. Therefore such a kind of teaching doth nothing. Furthermore, if we give instructions to all in particular: we should never make an end. For we must instruct the Usurer one way, the Husbandman another way, the Merchant thus, him that affected the friendship of Princes, otherwise: thu●, those that should love their equals: that way, such as affect their inferiors. In matrimony they must teach how a man must live with a wife, whom he married a maid; how with her that had a husband before, how with a rich, how with a poor one. Thinkest thou there is no difference betwixt a barren and a fruitful woman, between an old, and a young maiden, betwixt a mother, and a stepdame? we cannot comprehend all kinds; and yet every one of them requireth several lessons and advertisements. But the laws of Philosophy are short, and contain and writ all things. Add hereunto that a wiseman's precepts aught to be limited and certain; if they are found to be infinite, they are out of the limits of Philosophy, wisdom knoweth what the bounds of all things should be. This part therefore which proposeth things in particular aught to be removed, because that what she promiseth to perform to a few, she cannot perform to all. Contrariwise wisdom embraceth and containeth all men. There is little difference between public madness, and that which the Physicians describe, but that the particular is possessed with a certain sickness, the public is besotted with false opinions: the one hath drawn the causes of his fury from the indisposition of the body, the other from the infirmities of the mind. If a man should give precepts to a furious man, and teach him how to speak, how to walk out, how to behave himself in public, how in private, he should be more mad, than the mad man he teacheth. He must purge the melancholy humour, and the cause of fury must be removed. The like must be done in this other fury of the mind; it must be discussed and driven away, otherwise all advertisement will be to no end. These things are spoken by Ariston. To whom we will answer in particular. First to that where he saith, that if any thing hindereth the eye and letteth the sight, it aught to be removed. I confess that he hath no need of precepts to make him see, but of medicines to purge his sight, and means to drive away that which blemisheth the same. For by nature we see, and he that taketh away the obstacles, he returneth the eye to his sight. But Nature teacheth not a particular duty to every one. Secondly, he that is cured of his suffusion, cannot as soon as he hath recovered his sight, give sight to other men likewise. He that is rid of an infirmity recureth also. The eye needeth neither exhortation nor counsel to understand the proprieties of colours, it will distinguish white from black without any teacher. Contrariwise, the mind needeth many precepts to discern what is to be done in life. Albeit the Physician not only cureth the infirm eye, but counseleth also. Thou must not (saith he) expose thy weak eyesight suddenly to the open air and brighter light, first from an obscure place seek out a shady, then be more bold, and by little and little accustom thyself to endure the clear light. Thou must not study after meat, keep thyself quiet where thine eyes are great and swollen. Avoid the wind and force of cold, jest it beat upon thy face, and such like, which were no less profitable than the medicines were. In brief, Physic annexeth counsels to remedies. Error, saith he, is the cause of sin, which sin counsel acquitteth us not of, neither convinceth false opinions of good and evil things I grant that precepts suffice not of themselves to drive a perverse opinion out of the understandings but it followeth not, that being aunexed to others, they should be unprofitable. First of all, they refresh the memory. Secondly, by their means, those things which in general seemed confused, being divided into pa●ts, are more diligently considered. Happily thou after this manner supposest consolations and exhortations superfluous, but they are not; consequently not admonitions. It is a folly (saith Ariston) to command a sick man such a thing as he should do in his health, whereas his health is to be restored unto him, without which all his precepts are vain. But have not both the sick and whole certain things common to them both, whereof they aught to be admonished, as not to eat over-greedily, nor travel excessively? Both poor and rich have certain common precepts. Cure avarice (saith he) and thou shalt have nothing wherein thou shalt admonish either the poor or rich: if the covetousness both of the one and the other be abated. Is it a different thing not to desire money, and to know well to use it? The covetous have no measure in their desires, they that are not covetous, know not how to make use of money as they aught. Take away the errors (saith he) the precepts are superfluous. It is false: for suppose that avarice be moderated, dissolution restrained, rashness bridled, idleness awakened: although the vices are driven away, yet aught we learn that which we aught to do and how. The admonitions se●ue to no use, being applied to enormous vices. I answer that Physic healeth not incurable diseases, yet is it ministered to some for remedy, to othersome for mitigation: not all the whole power of Philosophy, although she intent all her forces to this end, can root out an indurate and inveterate plague out of our minds: and yet she remedieth some evils, though she cureth not all. What profiteth it, saith he, to show that which is discovered? Greatly, for sometimes although we know a thing, yet we regard it not. Admonition teacheth not, but it awakeneth and settleth the memorie● and preventeth forgetfulness. We take little heed of many things, which pass before our eyes. To admonish is a kind of exhortation. Oftentimes our mind pretendeth not to comprehend that which is apparent: we aught therefore to refresh the memory with the knowledge of things best known. In this place it shall not be amiss to repeat the notable saying of CALWS against VATINIUS, You know there hath been bribing, and all men know that you know it. Thou knowest that we aught to entertain friendship religiously, but thou dost it not. Thou knowest him to be a wicked man, that requireth his wife should be honest, and himself hunteth after other men's wives. Thou knowest that as she aught not to acquaint herself with an adulterer, so thou shouldest not have to do with a strumpet, and yet thou usest to prostitute. For this cause oftentimes oughtest thou to call thy duty to memory, for thy memory must not be distracted, but at hand and before thine eyes. All wholesome things aught to be oftentimes remembered, and renewed, to the end that besides the knowledge thereof, we may have them ready to assist us. Besides that which is already well comprehended, is understood and remembered far better. If those things (saith h●e) be doubtful which thou teachest. Thou oughtest to add proof unto them, they therefore be not the precepts will pro●it. I answer, that the authority of him that admonisheth, sufficeth without any proof of his saying. As the answers of the Lawyers are of force although they yield no reason of their counsel. Moreover, precepts have a great weight in themselves, especially if we intermix them with poesy, or that in prose they be shut up together in a few, but grave words. As those of CATO'S, Buy not that which thou needest, but that which is necessary. That which thou hast no need of is dear of a farthing. And these other sentences proceeding from Oracles or other excellent men. Spare time. Know thyself. Wouldst thou ask the cause thereof, if a man should repeat thee these sentences. Forgetfulness is the remedy of injuries. Fortune favoureth the audacious. The idle man hinders himself. These sentences seek no advocate, they touch the affections and profit, because Nature vnfouldeth virtue in them. Our minds contain all the seeds of virtue, and these seeds fructify by means of admonitions, not otherwise then a sparkle being assisted with a light blast, becometh a great flame: virtue is awakened, when she is either touched or shaken. Furthermore, there are certain things, which buried in our understanding, begin to show their worth, when they are quickened by admonitions. There are other sorts of things which lie here and there, which a dull understanding and unexercised cannot recollect. It behoveth therefore to gather them into one, and to join them together, to the end they may be more forcible, and raise the mind the more. Or if precepts have no power, we must exterminate all institution, and be contented with Nature herself. They that see this, consider not that there are some that have a stirring and noble spirit; the other of a dull and heavy. In brief, that all are not equally, are not of one ingenuity. The power of the mind is nourished, and increaseth by precepts, and annexeth new persuasions to those that are innate, and correcteth those that are depraved. If any man (saith he) hath not the true decrees, what shall admonitions profit him, that is plagued and drowned in vices? Truly this, that he may be delivered of them. For the natural disposition is not extinguished in him, but obscured and oppressed. In pursuit whereof she endeavoureth to raise herself, and to resist evil. As soon as she is succoured and assisted by precepts, she receiveth her forces, provided that this contagion of sin, which hath so long time infected her, hath not wholly mortified her. For then the whole disciplines of Philosophy uniting all her forces, cannot restore her. For what difference is there between the decrees and precepts of Philosophy, but that the one are general, the other particular. Both of them command; the decrees are general, the precepts particular. If any one (saith he) hath just and honest decrees, such a one is admonished in vain; not so. For this man, although he know that which he aught to do, yet seethe he not exactly all the parts of his duty. For we are not only hindered by our affections, from executing that which is good, but for want of a knowledge how to find out that which is requisite in every thing. Sometimes we have a mind well composed, but heavy and unaddressed to find out the tract of the offices of our life, which is discovered unto us by admonitions. Drive away (saith he) the false opinions, as touching goods and evils, settle the true in stead of the false, and then will admonition be profitable. Assuredly the mind is governed by such means, but not by this means only. For although it be by arguments gathered, what are good, and what are evil, notwithstanding precepts have their parts, and both Prudence and justice consist in offices, and offices are disposed by precepts. Furthermore, the judgement that we have of goods and evils, is confirmed by the execution of offices, whereunto we are guided by precepts. For they agreed together, neither may those go before, but these will follow after, and keep their rank; whence it appeareth that the General march before. Precepts, saith he, are infinite. It is false. For they are not infinite in things that are great and necessary, but their differences according to time, place, and persons are small. But to these likewise are general precepts given. There is no man (saith he) that cureth madness by precepts, and consequently not malice. There is a difference. For in curing a mad man of his madness, he is restored to his health. If we have excluded false opinions, we presently apprehended not that which we aught to do, and were it so, yet our admonition would confirm the right apprehension and judgement we have of goods and evils. This likewise is ●alse, that precepts no ways profit mad men. For as they profit not always, so further they the cure. Both threatenings and chastisements have restrained mad men: I speak now of those mad men whose wits are altered, but not taken from them. The laws, replieth he, 'cause us not to do that which we aught. And what other thing are they, but precepts intermixed with threatenings? First of all they persuade not, because they menace; but precepts constrain not, but persuade. Secondly, laws deter us from doing evil: precepts exhort every one to do his duty. Add hereunto, that laws are profitable to good manners, provided, that precepts be united to their commandments. In this thing differ I from Posidonius: I allow not the principles that are set in the beginning of Plato's laws. For a law should be short, to the end that the ignorant might apprehended it more easily, as if it were an Oracle. Let it command, not dispute. Nothing seemeth more impertinent and foolish to me, than a law garnished with a Preface. Admonish, tell me what thou wouldst have me do; I listen not to thee to learn, but to obey. The laws are profitable, so see we that Commonweals, which have had evil ordinances, have had worse manners. But laws profit not all men; no more doth Philosophy, and yet it ceaseth not to be profitable and powerful in forming men's minds. And what other thing is Philosophy but the law of our life? But let us presuppose that the laws are unprofitable, it followeth not therefore that admonitions are unnecessary: otherwise we should say that consolations, exhortations, dissuasions, reprehensions and praises, served to no purpose. These are sorts of admonitions, & by their means the spirit attaineth his perfection. There is nothing that more revesteth our understandings with virtue, nor that retireth them more from an evil custom, and confirmeth them in goodness, then good men's conversation. For by little and little it descendeth and distilleth into the heart, and to be often seen and heard, standeth in stead of precepts, undoubtedly the only meeting with wisemen doth great good; and thou mayest learn somewhat of a virtuous man, even then when he is silent. I cannot so well tell thee how it profiteth, as I have found that it profited me. Some small creatures (as Phaedon saith) when they sting are not felt, so small and ready is their sting to give the prick, but the swelling is discovered although there appear no wound in the same. The like will befall thee in thy conversation with wisemen, thou shalt not perceive when or how he profiteth thee, but thou shalt find the profit. Whereto (saith he) tendeth all this? Good precepts and admonitions, oft-times reiterated, will profit thee as much as good examples. Pythagoras saith, that they who entered into a Temple, or that saw near unto them any image of the gods, or heard the voice of some Oracle, changed their minds and thoughts. Who dare deny, but that the most Idiots of the world are powerfully stricken with some precepts? As for example, by these which ensue, which are short, but sententious, and of great weight, namely, Nothing too much. The greedy mind is never satisfi●● with gain. Such measure as thou meetest, the same shall be meet to thee. These things hear we with strong apprehension, neither may any man doubt or dispute upon them: Why? Because truth persuadeth without any assistance of reason: if the respect we bear unto any man bridleth our spirit's, and represseth our vices, why should not admonition do the like? If correction maketh men ashamed, what should hinder the same effect in good admonition although it were accompanied but with simple precepts? But what admonition is more powerful, and pierceth deeper, which fortifieth his commandments with good reasons, that allegeth why a man should do this or that, and what good may befall a man by his obedience? If commandment and authority serve, so doth admonition; but authority is of great use, and consequently admonition. Virtue is divided into two parts, into contemplation of truth, and into action. Institution teacheth contemplation, admonition action. A just action both exerciseth and showeth virtue. But if he that persuadeth profiteth him that is to act, he likewise will profit that admonisheth. If therefore upright action be necessary to virtue, and admonition showeth what just actions be, it followeth that admonition is necessary. There are two things which greatly fortify the mind, assurance of the truth, and confidence. Admonition produceth both these. For there is credit given to the same, and when she is believed, the mind conceiveth high hopes, and is filled with confidence: admonition therefore is not superfluous. Marcus Agrippa, a man of great understanding, and only happy to the public good, amongst all those that were raised by civil wars, was wont to avow, that he was very much indebted to this sentence; For by concord small things increase, by discord the greatest are ruined. This, saith he, made me become a good brother, and a sure friend. If such sentences familiarly entertained in the mind do form the same, why should not this part of Philosophy which consisteth of such like sentences, do the like? A part of virtue consisteth in discipline, another in action. Thou must learn, and that which thou hast learned thou must confirm by action: which if it be so, not only decrees of wisemen are profitable, but also the precepts, which restrain and oblige our affections as it were with an Edict. Philosophy, saith he, is divided into these, into science and the habit of the mind. For he that hath comprehended any thing and knoweth that which he aught to do and avoid, is not yet wise, except his spirit be transformed into those things which he hath learned. The third part, consisting in precepts, is composed of the two precedent, both of decrees and of habit, and consequently superfluous to make virtue complete, whereas they two are sufficient. By this reckoning then consolation is unnecessary, for this also consisteth of both; neither exhortation, persuasion, neither argumentation. For she taketh her original from the habit of a composed and strong mind, But although these parts proceed from that habitude of the mind, the best habit of the mind is both of the one, and of the other. Furthermore, all that which thou sayest respecteth a perfect man, and such a one as hath attained the sum of human felicity. But to this a man attaineth very slowly; mean while we must show an unperfect man, yet such a one as is toward the way which he aught to hold in his actions. It may be that wisdom may address herself without admonition, considering she hath already led the spirit so outward that he cannot be moved but on the right way. But as touching those that are more feeble, they had need of a conductor that may say unto them, Thou shalt shun this, thou shalt do this. Besides, if he expect the time, wherein of himself he may know that which is best to be done, he shall in the mean space err, and erring shall be hindered from attaining to that whereby he may be contented with himself. He must therefore be governed till he begin to be able to govern himself. Children are taught to form their letters, their fingers are held, and their hand directed, and led to teach them to fashion and sergeant letters, then are they commanded to follow such and such examples, and by them to reform their writing. So is our mind strengthened if it be instructed by proposing some example unto it which she may follow. These are the things whereby it is approved that this part of Philosophy is not superfluous. Furthermore it is demanded whether she alone sufficeth to make a wiseman. We will answer this question at another time: for the present, omitting those arguments, doth it not appear unto us that we had need of some advocate, who may give us instructions contrary to the precepts of the people? A man cannot speak any thing that toucheth us not. They that wish us good hurt us, and they also that curse us: for the imprecation of those impresseth in us false fears, and the love of others spoileth us, in desiring our prosperity, because it driveth us to goods that are foreign, wandering, and uncertain, whereas we might draw felicity from ourselves. I say that we are not permitted to follow the right way. Our parents and servants draw us unto evil. No man erreth to himself only, but spreadeth his folly amongst his neighbours, and learneth of theirs likewise. And therefore the vices of the common sort are in every private man, because the people amongst whom he converseth hath given them him, and in making others bad he becometh bad himself, he hath learned the worse, and afterwards teacheth the same; and when that which each one knew to be most wicked was gathered and put together, that great heap of iniquity was made and discovered. Let there be therefore some guide that may pull thee by the ear, drive thee from the bruit of Cities, and reclaim thee from the flatteries of the common sort. For thou abusest thyself if thou thinkest that vices are borne with us; they steal upon us, and were ingested into us. Let us therefore repress those opinions which buzz about our ears by frequent admonitions. Nature neither tieth nor obligeth us to any vice: she hath engendered us entire and free: nothing that might incite our avarice hath she placed in open sight, but hath put both gold and silver under our feet to be kicked and trodden upon, or whatsoever it be for which we are kicked and trodden upon. She hath addressed our faces towards heaven, and would that we should behold whatsoever she hath made, either magnificent or wonderful in the world, the rising and settings of the stars, the sudden course and motion of the heavens, which by day make us see the goods of the earth, and by night those of the heavens. The slow motion of the stars, if they be compared with the whole, the swift, if thou imagine how great way they make without ever staying; then the eclipses of the Sun & Moon, opposed the one against the other: moreover, divers other things worthy admiration, whether they succeed by order, or break forth being moved by their causes; as the pillars of fire in the night, the flashes streaming from the opening heaven without thunder and lightning, the pillars, beams, & other divers inflamed impressions in the air: nature disposeth all these things above us. As touching gold, silver & iron, which by reason of both these hath deprived us of peace, she hath hid them, as if they had been badly committed unto us. But we have brought them to light, to the end we might fight for them: we casting the weighty earth from off them, have digged them up, the only causes & instruments of our dangers. We have trusted our miseries unto fortune, neither are we ashamed that they are in the greatest estimation with us, which were most deeply buried in the bosom of the earth. Wilt thou see how fallatious the brightness is that blemisheth & bewitcheth thine eyes? There is nothing more abject, nor more obscure than these as long as they are buried in their mould. Why not? when as they are drawn out of the darkness of the largest and longest mines, there is nothing more deformed than they are, whilst they are separated from their excrements, and drawn from their veins. Briefly, regard a while those that travel in the mine, by whose hands this sterile and informed kind of earth is purged, and you shall see how they are besmeared with smoke. But these do more defile the minds then the bodies, and there is more soil in those that possess them, then in those that refine them. It is necessary therefore to be admonished, and to have some Counsellor of good understanding, that in so great confusion and tumult of falsities, may truly speak unto us: what shall he speak? Those words and wholesome counsels, which may open our ears, being deafened by so many ambitious cries, and say, Thou hast no cause to envy these whom the people termeth great and happy men. There is no cause that a vain applause should ravish from thee the settled habitude and health of thy soul. There is no reason that this great Lord, so gaily attended and clad in purple, should drive thee from the height of thy peace. Thou hast no more cause to judge him more happy, to whom every man gives place, then him whom the Sergeant enforceth to give way. If thou wilt exercise a power that may be profitable unto thee, and hurt no man, drive vice from thee. Many there are that set fire on Cities, that level huge Fortresses with the ground, which so many hundredth years were held impregnable, that raise Platforms as high as Castles, who by Engines of battery overturn marvelous high walls, who cause armies to march before them, that nearly pursue their flying enemies, who covered with the blood of conquered Nations, have gotten countries as far as the bounds of the Ocean; but these having defeated their enemies, have themselves been overcome by their own desires. No man might make head against their armies, no more than they knew how to resist their ambition and cruelties. Even then when they seemed to pursue others, they were pursued themselves. The cursed desire of spoiling other men's countries afflicted unhappy Alexander, and sent him to country's unknown. Dost thou think him a man of understanding, or in his right w●ts, who began to ruinated Greece, where first he was brought up and instructed, did afterwards pillage all that which every one possessed and esteemed best? He imposed a yoke on Sparta, and silence to Athens. And not content with the spoil of many Cities, either subdued or bought by Philip his father, he scattered them from one place to another, made war upon all the world without remitting aught of his wont cruelty, imitating herein the savage beasts, who bite more than hunger enforceth them to. Furthermore, he joined divers kingdoms in one, he made himself dreadful to the Greeks and Persians', he subdued the free Nations that were under Darius his Dominion; yet would he beyond the Ocean, and the Sun being displeased that Hercules and Bacchus pillars should confine his victories. He addresseth himself to enforce Nature; he will not march, neither will he stay in a place resembling those fardel● which are cast from the top to the ground, which cease not to tumble down until they fall to the bottom. Neither did virtue nor reason counsel Pompey to enterprise his foreign and civil wars, but a disordinate love of flattering greatness drove him now into Spain against Sertorius, then to make war against the Pirates, and to assure the Seas. Th●se were his pretexts to maintain his authority, who drew him into Africa, into the North, into Armenia, and through all the corners of Asia against Mithridates. It was an immeasurrable desire of greatness, being in his own opinion not great enough. What thing thrust Caesar upon his own and his countries ruin? Glory and ambition, and no measure of eminency above others: for he could not endure that one should be before him, when as his Commonwealth endured two Masters. Thinkest thou that Marius who was once Consul (for one Consulate he received, the other six he bribed or enforced) was egged on by virtue to hue the Cimbrians and Theutons in pieces, to follow jugurth through the deserts of Africa, and to expose himself to so many perils? Marius' conducted the Army, but ambition conducted Marius. These men, whilst they shook all others, were shaken themselves after the manner of whirlwinds, which before they wind in those things they force up, are themselves tossed; & therefore turn they with greater fury, because they have no hold of themselves: by which means these men, after they have cruelly tormented others, do feel in themselves this pernicious fury, wherewith they have offended other men. Think not that any man may become happy by another man's misfortune. All these examples proposed both to our eyes and ears, aught to be remembered, and our hearts full filled with evil opinions, aught to be cleansed. Where the place is void there must we lodge virtue, which rooteth out pleasing lies which separateth us from the people (to whom we give overmuch credit) and confirmeth us in sincere and good opinions. For this is wisdom, to be converted into nature, and to be restored thither whence public error hath expelled us. It is a great part of health, to have forsaken the counsellors of folly, and to have far-fled from this company of people which corrupt one another. To know that this is true, consider how every man liveth after one sort in public, after another in private. Solitude of itself, neither teacheth us simplicity or innocence; the country maketh us not more frugal or temperate, but when there is no body that may behold and give testimony, vices retire themselves. For their good lieth in this to be beheld and seen. Who would put on a purple rob if no man should see him? Who being couched under the shadow of some rustic tree, hath mustered all the people of his dissoluteness to himself alone? No man is brave in secret, not not in the presence of two or three of his familiars, but according to the number and quality of those that behold him, maketh he show of his vanities. So than if any one, either know or admire us, that is the spur that pricketh on to discover all these things, on which we are mad and besotted. Take away the show, thou shalt abolish covetousness. Ambition, dissoluteness and pride will have themselves seen. Wilt thou recover them? Hid them. If therefore we are lodged in the midst of Cities, let us keep some good counsellor about us: who opposing himself against those that praise great possessions, prizeth a rich man very little, and that measureth his goods by their use: against those who make reckoning of nothing but credit and human greatness, let him approve and commend that ●onest repose which the study of good letters giveth; and let him esteem nothing so much as a conscience that hath forsaken all transitory things, to ground himself upon the real good? Let him show that all they who are commonly called happy tremble, and are dismayed in that high degree so much envied, and have a far other opinion of themselves then the people hath. For those things that are raised, & highly prised in other men's eyes, in their judgements are slippery, steepy, & uncertain. For this cause they are heartless and fearful as often as they look into this steep mountain of mightiness, whereupon they are mounted. Than suspect they those things they desired, and their felicity which hath been so odious unto others, is more hateful to themselves: Than praise they a peaceable and retired life: authority is distasteful unto them, they seek to be discharged of their prosperity; then shalt thou see them play the Philosophers for fear, and take good counsel from their adversity. For as if prosperity and a good mind were appointed contraries, we are most wise in our miseries, contrariwise prosperity bereaveth us of our judgement. EPIST. XCV. It adherethor dependeth of the former, and the question is, whether the exhortatory part of Philosophy may alone suffice? When as especially he hath showed so many and so clear uses thereof. He denieth, setteth down, and refelleth the arguments which are urged. Therefore he praiseth the doctrinal part, and showeth that precepts flow from that fountain, and that life is contained therein. He intermixeth worthy things, and by the way maketh an excursion against riot, lust, and unlawful affection of honours. The whole Epistle is excellent and fruitful. THou requirest me to represent that which I had remitted, till another time, and that I should writ unto thee, if that part of Philosophy which consisteth in precepts, which the Greeks' call 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, we preceptive be sufficient to make a man perfectly wise. I know thou wilt take it in good part, if I deny the same, and for that cause the rather do I renew my promise, and will not suffer that my word so expressly and solemnly engaged should be broken. Hereafter ask me nothing which thou wilt not obtain, for sometimes we instantly require that, which we would refuse if it were offered unto us. This, whether it be lightness or familiarity, is to be punished with a facility of promising: we seem to will many things which we would not. A certain Reciter brought a great history written in a small hand, and straightly folded, and having read over a great part thereof: I will give over (saith he) if you william. To this it is answered with a loud voice. Read on, Read on, by those who would willingly that he should presently hold his peace. Oftentimes we will own things, and wish another, and to the gods themselves we speak not truth; but the gods either hear us not, or have mercy upon us. But I setting apart all favour will redeem myself, and will cloy thee with a long Epistle, which if thou read unwillingly, say that thou thyself art the cause, and number thyself amongst those whom a wife continually tormenteth to get herself some new gown daily: amongst those that have no joy of the goods they have gotten with great labour: amongst those whom honour torments, being gotten by all industry and labour, and the rest who are partakers of their own evils. But leaving this Preface, I come to the point. A blessed life (say they) consisteth of just actions, whereunto we are led by precepts, consequently precepts are suf●ficient to make the life happy. Yet precepts do not always lead a man to just actions, but when as the mind is capable and conformable to instructions. Sometimes they are proposed in vain, to wit, when the understanding is besieged with false opinions. Again, although they do right, yet know they not that they do right. For no man can perform that which he aught every way, nor understand when he aught to do a thing, nor how much, nor with whom, nor how, if from the beginning he hath not been addressed and fashioned exactly in all reason. By means whereof he cannot with his whole mind constantly and willingly endeavour unto virtue, but shall be doubtful and look back. If an honest action (say they) proceedeth from precepts precepts shall sufficiently suffice to make the life happy, but the one is true, consequently, therefore so is the other. To these we answer, that honest actions proceed not only from precepts and particular instructions, but also from maxims and general rules. If other arts (saith he) are content with precepts, wisdom also will be contented, which is the art of life, but he maketh a master of a ship that instructeth him thus. steer after this manner, strike sail after this fashion, take the benefit of a good wind thus, resist a contrary that way, and make use of such a means to warrantise thee from a cross wind. Precepts likewise confirm other sorts of Artists. Cannot therefore Philosophers teach others to live; cannot they do the like? All these arts are employed about the instruments of life, not about the whole life, and therefore many things hinder and let them externally, such as are hope, covetousness, and fear. But Wisdom the mistress of life cannot be hindered by any thing from continuing her exercise, for she preventeth impediments, and temperateth obstacles. Wilt thou know wherein they differ in condition? In mechanic arts it is more excusable to sin for want of advice, then casually, and in wisdom it is a great fault to sin willingly. That which I say is so. The Grammarian is not ashamed of a Solecism, if he make it willingly, but he blusheth if he do it without taking he●d. If the Physician forseeth not that his patient gins to wear away, he committeth more error in his art, then if he perceived the defect, and pretended not to know it. But in the art of good life, more shameful is their fault, who offend willingly. Add hereunto that the most kind of arts, yea of them all the most liberal have not only their precepts, but decrees, as Physic hath. There is therefore one sect of Hypocrates, another of As●lepiades, another of Themison. Besides no contemplative art is without her decrees, which the Greeks' call 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, we precepts: propositions and foundations, which you shall find in Geometry and Astronomy. But Philosophy is both contemplative and active, she speculateth and setteth hand to the work. For thou errest, if thou thinkest that she only promiseth terrestrial actions, she aspireth more high. I s●arch (saith she) the whole world, neither contain I myself enclosed in the company of mortal men, to the only end to persuade or dissuade. Great matters, such as are above your reach call and invite me. For first I will disclose and let thee know The secrets of the heavens and higher powers, Whence Nature forms, and whence she makes things grow, Whence they increase, and spread their seeds and flowers, I'll count thee all their offsprings and their ends, And what in each thing Nature most intends. As Lucretius saith. 〈◊〉. 1. de Natu●a ●●rum. It followeth therefore that being contemplatine, she hath her decrees. In effect no man shall ever perform that which he aught, but he that hath comprehended the reason whereby in every thing he may perform his decrees in all offices; which he shall not observe who hath received but mere precepts. Those things that are distributed by parcels are feeble in themselves, and if I may so say, without root. Those are decrees which defend us, which maintain our security and tranquility, which comprehend at once all life and all nature. The same difference is there between the decrees and precepts of Philosophy, as there is between letters and whole clauses. The one depend upon the other, decrees also are the cause of precepts and of all things. The ancient wisdom, saith he, only taught naught else, but what was to be done, and to be esteemed. And then were men far better, after learned men began to flourish, good men were scant. For that simple and open truth is changed into an obscure and subtle science, and we are taught how to dispute, not how to live. Without doubt, that ancient wisdom, as you say, was rude and simple in the beginning, no less than other arts which have been polished by succession of time. But at that time also the present remedies were not necessary, wickedness was not grown to that height, neither had she spread herself so largely every where; simple remedies were sufficient for simple vices. But now the more strange the mischiefs are which assault us, the more solid should our resist and defences be. Physic in times past was but the knowledge of a few Simples, whereby a flux of blood might be stayed, and wounds by little and little might be healed. Afterwards she attained to this rarity of medicines: neither is it to be wondered at, that in those days she had so little to do; sure than men had more strong bodies, and were contented with easy and simple diet, and not corrupted by art and pleasure. Which diet, after it began to be sought, not to take away, but provoke hunger; and a thousand sorts of sauces were invented, whereby the appetite might be awakened. Those meats which sustained such men as were hungry, are become as many burdens to full bellies. From thence proceeded paleness, and the trembling of the nerves, being drowned in wine, and a more miserable leanness caused rather by crudities, then by hunger. From this excess hath proceeded the weakness and slumbling of the feet, and such a kind of gate as drunken men use. Thence grew the water betwixt the film and flesh, thence was the belly descended, whilst it was accustomed to receive more than it could contain. Thence came the black janders, the discoloured face, and the consumption of such as rotten inwardly. Thence crooked fingers, by reason of the stiffness of the joints, hence the Apoplexy, hence the Palsy: why should I reckon up the swimming and turning of the head, the torments both of eyes and ears, and the vermination of the inflamed brain; and all the passages of our bodies, whereby we are purged, affected with inward ulcers. Besides an innumerable sort of Fevours, the one violent and sudden, the other lent and lingering, the other beginning with much horror and shaking of the members? why should I rip up other innumerable diseases, the just plagues of intemperance? Free were they from those evils, who as yet were not weakened by these delicates, who governed and ministered unto themselves. They hardened their bodies with industry and true labour, either wearied with running, or hunting, or ploughing of their lands; and their meat was such as could not please any but such as were hungry. There was therefore no need of so great a multitude of Physicians, neither of so many instruments and subnotaries. There health being entertained by a simple cause, was simple also: many dishes have bred many sicknesses. Behold how many things gormundize the ruin both of land and sea, intermixeth together to the end they might afterwards be swallowed by one greedy gullet. It cannot be, but that things so divers should strive one with another, and after they are swallowed down, should hardly be digested, by reason that the one is a hindrance to the other. It is no marvel, if of meats so different, such confused and violent sicknesses are engendered, nor that the humours being driven by contrary passages, should redound as they do. See here the cause why we have so many different sorts of sicknesses, as of meats. The greatest of the Physicians, and the Founder of the Science, saith, that women are neither bald nor sick of the gout, yet they at this day are both destitute of hair and lame in their feet. The nature of women is not changed, but the life. For whereas they have equalled men in their licentiousness, they have likewise had an equal part in their maladies. They watch no less, they drink no less, and challenge their husbands in bathing and drunkenness. Both the one and the other having, as it were, by force filled their paunches, yield it up again by their mouths, and in vomiting return back again all the wine they have swallowed. The women as well as the men gnaw upon the Ice to cool their overhot stnomacks. But in lust they surpass the males, being borne to suffer. The gods and goddesses confounded them, who have perverted the order of habitation both with male and female. Wonder not therefore, though the greatest amongst Physicians, and Naturalists was deceived in this, that at this time there are so many bald and gouty women. By excess have they lost the benefit of their sex, and because they have shaken off the habit of women, they are condemned to endure the sicknesses of men. The ancient Physicians knew not what it was to prescribe their patients to feed often, and to replenish their veins that were emptied with wine: they knew neither how to cup nor to scarify, nor to bathe and sweated those that had been long time sick, they knew not how by binding the legs and arms, to revoke the hidden heat to the outward parts, which was stayed in the centre. There was no need to look about for many kinds of remedies, when as there were but few sorts of sicknesses. But now to what number and height are infirmities grown? This is the usury which we pay for so much pleasure as we have wrongfully and inordinately desired. marvelest thou to see so many sicknesses? Number me the Cooks. All study is given over. The professors of liberal sciences are without auditors, their sieges voided, and their scholars gone. Solitude dwelleth in the Schools of Rhetoricians and Philosophers. Contrariwise, how many famous Kitchens are there: how many young men fill up the fires of such as are prodigal and dissolute. I speak not of the troops of poor young children, who at the shutting up of a feast attend to suffer other villainy in the chambers. I overslip the troops of those that have been abused contrary to Nature, distinguished by nations and colours, so as on the one side, all they of the same height are ranged, and they whose beards begin to bud, and such as are haired alike, to the end that he who hath the strait and long hair, should not be mixed amongst those that are curled. I overpass the troops of Pastlers, and attendants who serve in supper when the sign is given them. Good God, how many men are busied about one belly. Thinkest thou that these muhrooms, a sort of pleasant poison, although they hurt not upon the present, do they not secretly work and wrong at last? Thinkest thou that this snow, which they use to refresh and cool themselves with in Summer, hardeneth not their livers, and that unsavoury meat of Oysters, that are fattened with mud, engender they not viscous and clammy humours? Believest thou not that the sauce which is composed of Mackerel and other sort of ●ish that costs so dear, doth it not with his drying saltness burn the entrails? judgest thou that these rotten ioyces which are swallowed down hot, can they without harm be extinguished in the stomach? How ●ilthie and pestilent belches? What loathing of themselves? Whilst they disgorge their old surfeits? Know thou, that whatsoever they take rotteth, but disgesteth not. I remember that in times past Aesop's dish was much spoken of, wherein this sweet-lipped fellow running unto his own ruin, gathered all that was either rare or dainty from the tables of great men: there were divers sorts of shellfish handsomely chewed and ready to swallow, ath wart whereof were interlaced Crevisses, and above them dressed Barbels, cut in pieces and severed from their ●innes and bones. It loatheth them to fe●de on every dish apart, all sauces are mixed in one, and at suppertime that is done, that should be done after collation time. Now must I expect to have the minsed meats served in so small, as if they had been chewed. What difference is there between taking away the s●ales and bones, or to have a Cook to execute the office of our teeth? It is too tedious a thing to disguise all sorts of meats; for once we must make a hochpot, why should I put any hand into a dish that had but one kind of dainty? Let me have many come together. Let the ornaments of many dishes be united and joined together. Let them forth with know, who say that this prodigality at men's Tables is done to make them to be talked of and esteemed, that these are not public, but excesses done in secret. Let those things that were wont to be severally dressed, be served in in one broth. It is all one as if Oysters and Sea-crabs, mussels and Mullets be mixed together. The meat of those that vomit should not be more confused. But as these meats and sauces are confounded the one with the other; so likewise of such confused excess, divers compounded inexplicable, different, and manifold sicknesses do arise, against which Physic hath begun to arm herself with many remedies and observations. The same say I of Philosophy; it was in times past more simple, amongst those whose sins were not so enormous, but more easy and slight to be cured. Against so great corruption of manners all things are to be attempted. And would to God this plague at last might be so overcome: we play the madmen, not only in private but in public; Do we repress private murders? What shall I say of wars and the glorious sin of destroyed countries? Neither avarice nor cruelty knew any measure; and these things as long as they are done by stealth, and by private men are least hurtful and monstrous. By the ordinances of the Senate, and Edicts of the people, those heinous offences which are condemned in private men, are permitted unto all, and committed in sight of every man. We praise a public crime, which we would punish with death had it been committed secretly. Are not men ashamed, that by nature are the mildest, to take pleasure in shedding their neighbour's blood, to make war, and leave this exercise to their children? whereas even the dumb and savage beasts have peace amongst themselves. Against so potent and general a fury Philosophy was made more effectual, and assumed so much power unto herself, as they had gathered against whom she is addressed. It was an easy matter to chide and reprove those th●t were given over to wine, and besotted with delicacy and dainties; for there needed no great force to reduce the mind to frugality, from whence by little and little she had revolted. Now need we work by force and violence, And then by Art and great experience. Pleasure is sought for on every side. No vice containeth itself in itself. Dissolution runs headlong into avarice, honesty is forgotten: there is nothing filthy if it be prised or pleasing. A man, a sacred thing; a man is now murdered in jest. And whereas it was impiety to teach a man to give and receive wounds, now expose we him in public both naked and disarmed, supposing that his death would be a pleasing spectacle to content an assembly. So then in this perversity and corruption of manners there needeth some medicine more eager than was accustomed to dissipate these inveterate evils. We must propose Maxims and rules, that the persuasion of falsities too greatly entertained, may be wholly extinguished. To these if we annex precepts, consolations, exhortations, they may prevail, being scarce powerful enough of themselves. If we will set them free that are bound, and draw them from those evils wherewith they are now entangled, let them learn what evil is, and what good is. Let them know that all things change their name but only virtue, and now become evil, and now good. As the first bond of warfare is Religion, and the love of our Ensign, and the loathing and heinousness to forsake it, and after this all the rest are easily commanded and obtained at his hands who hath solemnly obliged his faith: so also must thou lay the first foundations in those whom thou pretendest to conduct unto happy life, and to plant virtue in their hearts. Let them be seized with a zealous superstition thereof, let them love her, let them desire to live with her, not to live without her. What then? Are there not some that without any subtle institution, have become honest, and have attained to great perfection, whilst they only submitted themselves to bore precepts? I confess no less. But they had a happy and apprehending spirit, which in a moment apprehended that which is proper for his instruction. For even as the immortal gods have learned no virtue, whereas by being and nature they are all good, so some of noble nature comprehend those things which are taught them, and as soon as virtue is showed unto them, they embrace it. Whence grew these minds so greedily catching after virtue, and so fruitful of themselves? But to those that are dull and hard of understanding, or long time besieged with evil customs, the rust of their minds must be rubbed off. Even as we easily draw those unto perfection who are inclined to good; so on the other side the means to redress the feeble, and to dispossess them of their evil opinions, is to propose unto them the rules and Maxims of Philosophy, which are marvelous necessary, as thou shalt perceive by that which ensueth. We have certain inclinations which make us heavy in some affairs, and light and rash in others: neither may this rashness be repressed, nor that slowness awakened, except their causes be cut off, such as are false admiration and feigned fear. As long as these have us in their possession, thou mayest say, This must thou do for thy father, this for thy children, this for thy friends, this for thy guests; but avarice will restrain him that would attempt so good a course. He shall know that he aught to fight for his country, but fear shall dissuade him. He shall know that he must labour for his friends to the uttermost, but pleasures shall withdraw him. He shall know that it is a most heinous kind of injury towards a wife to entertain a harlot, yet shall lust compel him to the contrary. It will therefore profit nothing to give precepts, except thou ●irst of all take away all things that are contrary to them: no more than it will profit to have laid weapons in sight, and to have set them nearer, except his hands be unbound that useth them. To give a means unto the mind to apprehended the precepts which we give, we must give it liberty. Let us suppose that a man doth that which he aught not; he will not do it continually, he will not do it equally, for he knoweth not wherefore he doth it. By adventure or by custom some things will go well, but a man shall not have a rule in hand, to know the same whereunto he may trust that they are rightly done, which he hath done. He will not promise' to continued good that is casually good. Again, pecepts may happily instruct thee to do that which thou oughtest, but not in that sort as thou oughtest; and if they perform not this, they bring thee not to virtue. He shall do that which he is advised to do: I grant ●t. But that is little, because the praise consisteth not in the deed, but in the manner how it is done. What is more odious than a sumptuous supper, whereupon a man spendeth a Knights living? What is more worthy of censure then if a man (as these gluttons say) bestow this upon himself and his Genius? and yet have there been some persons, both very sober and temperate, that in such extraordinary banquets have spent the sum of seventy five thousand crowns. If for gormandize sake a man lavisheth in this expense, it is hateful; if it be to honour any great and noble assembly, it may be borne withal, for it is no excess but a solemn expense. The Emperor Tiberius having received a barbel of a wonderful greatness: (shall I set down the weight to awake gourmands? for it is said that it weighed more than four pounds & a half) commanded it to be carried to the market and sold, saying to those that kept him company at that time; My friends, I am much deceived, but either APICIUS or P. OCTAVIUS will buy this barbel. But there fell out far more than he expected; for they set the barbel to be cried, and it was sold to him that offered most. octavius bore it away, and was highly prised amongst his adherents, because he had bought a barbel which the Emperor had sold, and Apicius could not buy it for two hundredth crowns, or thereabouts. It was a shame for Octavius to disburse so much money, not for him that bought it to sand it to Tiberius, although I would not excuse him. He admired the thing which he thought Caesar worthy of. A man sits by his friend that is sick: I allow it; but if he do it in hope to be his heir, he is a Vulture, he expecteth carrion. The same things are both honest and dishonest: but it importeth to know wherefore, or how. But all things will be done honestly, if we addic● ou● selves thereunto, and judge it with the dependences thereof, to be the only good of human life, the rest are good but for a short time. We must therefore imprint in our hearts a lesson that extendeth itself to the whole life: this is that which I call a decree. Such as this persuasion is, such shall those things be which shall be either done or thought. And such as these shall be, such shall be the life. It is but a small matter for him that would rule the whole, to give counsel that it should be distributed into parts. M. Brutus in his book he entitled 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, giveth many precepts both to father and mother, children and brothers, which no man shall perform as he aught, except he have some rule whereunto he may have relation. Let us propose unto ourselves a scope or sovereign good, at which we aim, and to which we address all our thoughts and life, as the Mariners aught to shape their course under the aspect of some certain star. Life without a limit is extravagant: if this limit must be proposed, the rules that show us the same, begin to be necessary. Thou wilt confess this, as I suppose, that there is nothing more shameful, then to see a man that is doubtful, irresolute, fearful, that now sets forward, and then slides backward. This will befall us in all things, if we do not rend away that imprisoneth and restraineth our understandings, and that hindereth them from stirring at their pleasure. It is a usual thing to teach the manner how to serve the gods. We forbidden men to light lamps on the Sabbath days, because the gods have no want of light, and men take no pleasure in smoke. We forbidden men from doing their reverences and salutations in the morning, and permit no man to sit at the Temple gates; for human ambition is baited and caught by these offices. He that knoweth God, serveth and hononreth him. We forbidden men to bring sheets & bathing-combs to jupiter, or to hold a glass before juno. God seeketh no Ministers. Why not? He ministereth to mankind. Each where is he ready and addressed to help all men. Although he hear, how he aught to behave himself in sacrifices, and estrange himself from curious and troublesome superstitions; yet would all this be nothing to his perfection, except he have conceived in his understanding a god, such as he aught to apprehended him, namely, such a one as hath all things, that giveth all things, and bestoweth his benefits gratice. But who inciteth the gods to do all these goods for men? Their nature. He erreth, whosoever thinketh that they will do hurt. They cannot, neither can they receive or do injury. For to hurt, and to be hurt, are things conjoint and have relation the one unto the other. That sovereign and fair nature above all hath exempted those men from dangers, which are not dangerous. Moreover, the first service due unto the gods, is to believe that they are next to acknowledge their majesty and bounty, without which their majesty were nothing. To know that they are those that govern the world, who temper all things as their own, who have all men under their protection, and are sometimes curious of private men. These neither give, nor have evil, although they chastise, repress, and afflict, and punish likewise some men at sometime, under appearance of evil. Wilt thou have the gods favourable unto thee? Be a good man. He giveth them sufficiently that imitateth them. Hear followeth another question, how we aught to use and serve men. What do we? What precepts give we? To shed no human blood? How small a matter is it not to hurt him, whom thou oughtest to profit? Truly it is worthy much praise for one man to be kind unto another. Shall we command him to secure the shipwrecked, to bring the wanderer into his way, to divide his bread with the hungry? What need I to specify all that which it behoveth him to do or fly, when as in three words I will propose a form of human offices? All this world, in which all divine and human things are enclosed, is but one: we are the members and parcels of this great body. Nature hath created us akin, in forming us of the same elements, and in the same enclosure. She hath planted mutual love in our hearts, and made us sociable. She it is that hath composed justice and equity, and by her ordinance it is a more miserable thing to do, then to suffer injury. By her command are his hands addressed, that helpeth and comforteth another. Let us have this verse in our hearts, and in our mouths. I am a man, and think this true to be, That nothing human is estranged from me. Let us possess this common good, that we are borne. Man's society resembleth a vault of stone, which would fall except the stones resisted one another; so that by this means it is sustained. After gods and men, let us behold how we aught to use these things: unprofitable should our precepts be, if first of all we knew not what opinion we aught to have of every thing, as of poverty, riches, glory, ignominy, our country and banishment. Let us esteem every one of them without respect of common apprehension, and let us examine what they be, not what they are called. Let us pass over to virtues. Some one would require that we should prize prudence, that we should respect valour, that we should love temperance, and that (if it might be) we should join ourselves unto justice more strictly, then unto the rest. But this would be to no purpose, if we be ignorant what virtue is, if there be one or many, if they be separated or united, if he that possesseth one of them hath all, and how the one differeth from the other. It is not needful now for a Smith to inquire what the beginning and use of his art is, nor for a jester to examine what the art of dancing is. All these occupations know themselves, they want nothing, because they appertain not to the whole life. But Virtue is the science both of others and of herself, we must learn of her, to the end we may understand what we aught to william. If the will be not good, the action which proceedeth from the same shall never be. Furthermore, the will shall be perverse, if the habitude of the spirit be not upright, because that from that the will hath his being; and this habit of mind shall not be in the best state, if it comprehendeth not all the rules of life (considering the judgement which a man aught to have of every thing) and shut them all within the circle of truth. The contentment of the spirit is a good that befalleth no man, except those that are endowed with a certain and unmovable judgement. The rest of men slip, fall, and sometimes or other rise again, and do but float betwixt that which they have omitted, and that which they desired. The cause of this tossing and shaking is, because having builded upon common report, which is a wondrous and uncertain manner of living, they are assured and confident in nothing. If thou wilt always have the same will, thou must will those things that are true. There is no way to attain truth without Maxims, for they contain life, good and evil, honest and dishonest things, just and unjust, pious and impious, virtue and the uses of virtue, the possession of things commodious, existimation and dignity, health, force, form, and sagacity of the senses; all these require such a one as can judge of them, and knoweth at what price they aught to be taxed. For thou abusest thyself, and thinkest that some things are of greater value than they be, and the more art thou deceived, in prising riches, credit, and power (as many other of thy rank do) which are not to be accounted worth any thing. Thou shalt not know this, if thou respectest not rule, whereby these things are estimated amongst themselves. Even as leaves cannot flourish by themselves, but require a bough whereunto they may cleave, and from whence they may draw juice and nourishment: so these precepts decay and vanish, if they be alone, they will be affixed and grounded upon Maxims. Besides, they understand not who take away decrees, that they are confirmed by that very means, whereby they are extinguished? For what say they? that life is sufficiently addressed by precepts: and that the decrees and principal rules of wisdom are superfluous. But this which they say is a decree as true, as if I should now say that we aught to give over precepts, and only rely upon Maxims, in denying the use of precepts, I should recommend the same by this precept of mine. Some things there are that content themselves with a simple admonition of Philosophy, othersome that would be proved: and some there are, that are so confused, that hardly and without great search a man cannot understand their true sense: if proofs be necessary, so are decrees likewise, which gather the truth by arguments. Some matters are easy, other some are obscure. Those are easy and open, which are comprehended by sense and memory, and those obscure which are not subject thereunto. But Reason contenteth not herself with things that are manifest. The greatest and most beautiful part thereof, is grounded on that which is hidden. Those things that are hidden require proof, proof is not without decrees; decrees therefore are necessary. The persuasion and apprehension of certain things, without which all our thoughts are uncertain and without stay, is that which perfecteth the common sense, and maketh it accomplished. Whence it followeth that decrees are necessary, which give unto the mind an inflexible judgement. In brief, when we exhort any man to esteem his friend as much as himself, let him think that his enemy may be made his friend, that he increase more and more the friendship he beareth unto the one, and moderate his hatred towards the other; we add thereunto that it is just and honest. But this honesty and equity is comprised, in the reason of our decrees or rules. It is therefore necessary, without the which the other cannot be. But let us join the general rules and precepts together, for both without the root the boughs are unprofitable, and the roots themselves are aided by those branches they have produced. No man can be ignorant what profit the hands have in them, for they manifestly help. That heart whereby the hands live, from whence they take their forces, by which they are moved, lieth hidden. The same can I say of precepts; they are open, but the decrees of wisdom are hidden. As there are none but such as profess, that know the mysteries of sacred things: so likewise in Philosophy, the secrets of the same are not discovered, but to such persons as are admitted and received into her sanctuary: but precepts and such other things, even those that are profane know them Posidonius judgeth, that not only preception (for nothing prohibiteth us to use this word) but also persuasion, consolation, & exhortation are necessary. To these he addeth the inquisition of causes, which why should we not be bold to call the character, as well as the Grammarians, who in their own right term themselves the maintainers and keepers of the Latin tongue I see no cause. He saith that the description of every virtue will be necessary. This doth Posidonius call AEnologia, the Grecians 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, which expresseth the signs and notes of every virtue and vice, whereby those things that are alike may be discerned the one from the other. This hath the same force as the proposition of precepts. For he that giveth precepts, saith, Thou shalt do thus, if thou wilt be temperate. He who describeth, saith, The temperate man is he that doth these things, and abstaineth from those. Askest thou me what the difference is? The one giveth precepts of virtue, the other example. I confess that these descriptions, and to use the words of the Publicans, 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, that is to say, marks proceed from use. Let us propose laudable things, and we shall find such as will follow them. Thinkest thou that it is profitable to have instructions given thee how to know a generous Horse, left thou be deceived, and thou buy a sluggard and a jade. How much more profitable is this, to know the marks of an excellent mind, whereby thou mayest be able to apply them to thyself. Vir●●l 3● Georg●●●●●m. The goodly colt bred from a noble race Gins to grow amidst the spacious fields, And proudly over hill and dale doth pace, His force unto no threatening torrent yields, The seas unknown he swims and never fears, The threatening brooks; his force and courage proud, To further kinds increase is daily bend, Not sooner tempts his ear the trumpet loud, Or clattering arms some future war present: But strait he startles beating of the ground With horny hoof, his ears are pricked upright, He shakes his joints, he doth curvet and bond, He snortes and puffs, with foam his bit is white. Our Virgil, under the similitude of a horse, describeth a man of great mind. For mine own part, I would not give any other portraiture of a great parsonage. If I should represent Cato dreadless, and assured amongst the noices of civil wars, being the first that charged and skirmished with the companies already approaching the Alps, and running before the ruin of the Commonweal, I would assign him no other countenance, no other habit. Truly no man could engage himself further than he, who at one time made head against Caesar and Pompey, and defied them both, and showed that the Commonweal had some partakers. For it is a small matter to say of Cato, Nor fears rumours false. Why? because he cared not for evident and true conspiracies. Did he not in despite of ten Legions entertained and mustered from France, and from other foreign troops, intermixed with the Romans, speak freely, and exhort his Citizens to maintain their liberty, and to try all means, yea to hazard death itself, rather than to loose their liberty; it being more honest for them to fall into servitude by constraint, then by their own wills to go unto it. How great vigour and spirit was there in him, what confidence when the rest of the Commonweal was confused? He knoweth that the question is not of his estate; that it concerneth not him, that the question is not whether Cato be free, but whether he be amongst freemen. Thence groweth it that he disdaineth dangers and drawn swords. In admiration of the invincible constancy of this person, confirmed in his constancy amidst the ruins of his Country, I will say in imitation of Virgil, that Cato had A mighty mind, high, stout, and generous. It shall do well, not only to express who they are, that have been accustomed to be good men, and to represent some counterfeit of them, but also to recount and particularly set down that last and valorous wound of Cato's, through the which liberty itself lost her life. Likewise the wisdom of Laelius, and the good accord betwixt him and his friend Scipio, The brave actions both public and particular of Marcus Cato, surnamed Censor, the Couches of Tubero made of plain wood, set in open view, covered with Goat's skins, and the vessels of earth wherein they were served at the table, who banqueted before the Chapel of jupiter: what other thing was this, but to consecrated poverty before the Capitol? Had I no other action of Tuberos, but this, to rank him in the number of the Cato's. Think you this to be a small matter? This was no banquet, but a Censure, O how little knew these ambitious men what this censure is, and how it aught to be desired! In that day the Roman people beheld many rich and sumptuous movables, but admired none but the utensils of this one man. All their gold and silver hath been broken and melted a thousand times, but Tuberoes' vessels of earth shall endure for ever. EPIST. XCVI. Against complainers, and that all things should come from Fate and God. Why therefore are we displeased? Let us obey them, or rather assent unto them. WHence proceed these despites and plaints? Knowest thou not that in all the evils of this life, there is but one evil, which is when thou art displeased, and complainest? If thou ask mine advice, I think there is not any misery in a man, except he think that there is something miserable in the nature of things. I endure not myself that day wherein I can suffer nothing. Am I sick? it is a part of my destiny. Is my family afflicted with infirmities? Doth usury offend me, my house crack over me? Am I assaulted by dangers, wounds, travails, and fears? This happeneth ordinarily, this is a small matter, this should be done, these are not casual, they are decreed. If thou think me to be a true man, when I discover freely unto thee what I think, know that in all accidents which seem adverse and hard, I am so form. I obey not God forcibly but freely, I follow him with a free heart, and not enforced. Nothing shall ever befall me, that I will entertain sorrowful or with sad countenance, I will pay no tribute unwillingly. All those things which we grieve at, for which we fear, are the tributes of life: neither hope thou (my lucilius) neither demand thou an exemption from the fury. A pain of the bladder hath tormented thee. This banquet hath little pleasure in it; these are continual passions. I will ●ome more nearer, thou hast been put in fear of thy life. But knowest thou not that in desiring to be old, thou desirest such incommodities as are ordinary in a long life; as in a long way we find dust, dirt, and rain? But I would live and feel no discommodity, whatsoever. So effeminate a speech becometh not a man. Consider how thou wilt entertain this vow of mine, which I protest with a great and generous mind, never let the gods and goddesses permit, that prosperity make thee a wanton. Ask thyself, if (by permission of any god) thou mightest have thy choice which of these two thou wouldst accept, either to live in a Shambleses, or in an Army. But our life (my lucilius) is but a warfare. They therefore who are tossed, that mount and descend from rocks and high places, that execute dangerous commissions, aught to be reputed valiant men, and chiefest in the Army. But they, who whilst their companions travail, repose themselves at their pleasures in all delights, are effeminate and nothing worth, who live at pleasure to do wrong unto other men, and to meet with it themselves one day. EPIST. XCVII. That both now and in times past were evil men● he deduceth example from the judgement of CLODIUS, which he corrupted by bribes and adulteries. After this of the force of conscience, and that by her offences are condemned, and also punished by an internal whip and gnaw. THou abusest thyself, my Lucilius, if thou thinkest that dissoluteness, and neglect of good manners, and other vices which every man reproveth in the age wherein he liveth, are the imperfections of our age. It is not the time but the men that are to be blamed for this. No age hath been free from vice; and if thou beginnest to estimate the liberty and looseness of every time I am ashamed to say it. Never did the world offend more openly then before Cato. Can any man believe, that money was stirring in that judgement, wherein Clodius was accused for that adultery which he had secretly committed with Caesar's wife, violating the ceremonies of that sacrifice, which was said to be made for the people, from the sight whereof all men are so much exempted (for only women are admitted to attend the same) that the very pictures of male beasts were covered likewise. But money was given to the judges, and (that which is more villainous than all the rest) there were some that exacted in way of salary, the licence to violate Matrons and young Noblemen. Moore sin was there committed in absolving than acting the crime. He that was guilty of adultery, divided adulteries; neither was he secured of his life, before such time, as he had made his judges like unto himself. These things were done in that judgement, wherein Cato (if naught else) gave in testimony in the cause: I will set down Cicero's very words, because the thing exceedeth all belief; He sent for those persons that were required at his hands, he promised, he entreated, he gave. But now O good Gods, what wickedness? Some of the judges in overplus of their pains, lay with and passed the night with certain women, and young Noblemen that were brought unto them. I have no mind to inquire how much money they received. There was more in that which succeeded. Wilt thou have the wife of that severe fellow Cato? or of such a one who is rich, that is to say Crassus? thou shalt lie with her. When thou hast committed the adultery condemn the crime. That fair lass which thou desirest shall come unto thee● I promise' thee that she shall accompany thee this night, neither will I delay thee; I will perform my word within four and twenty hours. It is more to distribute adulteries, then to commit them. That is to give summons to all the Matrons, that to delude them. These judges of Clodius required a guard at the Senate's hands, whereof they had no need except in condemning the faulty, yet was it granted unto them. By means whereof, after they had absolved Clodius they were wittily scoffed at by CATULUS; To what intent, said he, required you a guard at our hands? Was it for fear jest your money should be taken from you? Yet amidst all these jests, and before the sentence was given, the adulterer remained unpunished: during the process this ba●de maintained himself, committing (to the end he might warrantise himself from punishment) a more greater wickedness than the former, for which he should have been condemned. Believest thou that any age was more corrupted than that wherein lust could neither be repressed by piety nor by justice? under which in the extraordinary inquiry made by decree of the Senate, there was more great villainy committed, then that which was then in question. The inquiry was, whether after an adultery any man might live securely in Rome? And it appeared that he could not be secure without adultery. This was done between Pompey and Caesar, Cicero and Cato; that Cato, I mean, who sitting by to behold the games, the common people durst not demand that the common sports called Florals should be given them, wherein common and naked strumpets were publicly presented. Thinkest thou that men have been more severe to behold, then to give sentence? Such excesses have and will be committed, and the liberty and licentiousness of Cities (never by it sel●e) but by good laws and sharp punishments shall be extinguished. Thou art not therefore to believe that in these days only, the laws have little credit, and licentiousness much. The younger sort in this time are not so disordered as in times past, when he that was guilty denied the adultery before the judges, and the judges confess the same before him that was faulty, when as in regard of the cause that was to be adjudged, whoredoms and villainies were committed, when Clodius being well befriended for those Palliardises that made him guilty for all allegations furnished with harlots to justify for him. Can any man believe this? He that was condemned in one adultery was absolved by many. Every judge will afford us such as Clodius, but not such as Cato. All of us are pliable to the worst, because therein we shall neither want a guide or companion; and were it we should fail them, the matter of itself goeth overforward without companion: the way unto vices is not only ready but headlong. But the greatest evil that I see, and that maketh men uncurable is, that Artsmen and such as are learned are ashamed if they happen to err in the exercise of their Arts and professions, where contrariwise a wicked man taketh pleasure in his sins. The Pilot rejoiceth not if his Ship be overturned, the Physician is sad if his Patient die, the Orator is pensive if for want of good pleading his client lose the cause; but contrariwise, all men take pleasure in their sins. This man rejoiceth in his adultery, especially when he hath compassed the same with great labour: another taketh pleasure in his deceit and theft, it is not the sin that displeaseth him, but the punishment he hath had for committing it. See here the fruit of evil custom: Otherwise to let thee know, that in consciences (yea, even those that are most corrupted) there remaineth some sense of goodness, and that shame consisteth not in the concealing, but the neglect of those that do evil, there is not one that dissembleth and covereth it not: and if he chance to obtain that which he pretendeth, yet would he not be called a whoremonger or thief, although he had both committed adultery and theft. But a good conscience will appear and be seen. Wickedness is afraid of darkness itself. In my mind therefore Epic●rus hath spoken very fitly: A man that is guilty may hide himself, but he cannot believe that he is hidden. Or if thou thinkest that this sense may be better explicated by these means; It therefore profiteth not those that sin to lie hidden: for although they have the means to hide themselves, yet have they no assurance. So it is, iniquities may be concealed, but not assured. I suppose that this is not repugnant to our sect if it be thus explicated. Why? Because the first and greatest punishment of wicked men, is that they have committed wickedness; neither is there any heinous crime, though never so much bolstered out by human prosperity, or countenanced and defenced by fortune that remains unpunished, because the punishment of wickedness is in the wickedness itself. Mean while, she and her punishment are seconded and attended by another chastisement, that is to say, with affright and continual fear, accompanied with a distrust of his own security. Why should I deliver impiety from this punishment? Why should I not leave her always in suspense. Let us descent from Epicurus in this where he saith nothing is just by nature, and that crimes are to be avoided, because the fear may not be eschewed. Herein let us agreed with him, that an evil conscience scourgeth these heinous faults, and that she is a terrible torture, being pressed and beaten continually with perpetual care, because she cannot put trust in those that would make her believe that she is in repose. For this is the argument of Epicurus, that by nature we abhor from wickedness, because there is no man how much soever he be secured that feareth not. Fortune delivereth many men from punishment, no man from fear. Why? because there is a certain hatred infixed in our hearts against that thing which nature condemneth. And therefore it is why those who hide themselves are never assured in their lurking places, because their conscience reproveth them, and discloseth themselves to themselves. But the property of such as are guilty, is to tremble. It would be ill for us, because that divers enormities escape the law and magistrate and the written punishments, if these natural and grievous punishments did not instantly pay the wicked, and if fear had not taken place and succeeded repentance. EPIST. XCVIII. That we aught only to trust internal goods, and that the rest come and go. That this is to be meditated upon, and that all things aught to be considered and esteemed as transitory, The mind therefore is to be prepared to the loss of such things, and to be confirmed in patience. Why not? Other men have suffered the like. Fellow thou their example, nay more, be thou the example thyself. Assuredly this is one amongst his good and profitable Epistles. Never believe thou that any man is happy, whose felicity is in suspense. He buildeth upon uncertainties, that rejoiceth in casualties; for the joy that hath entered will quickly fleet away. But that which proceedeth from itself is both faithful and firm, and increaseth, and prosecuteth even unto the end. The rest, which the common sort admire, are good for a time. What then? May not they serve and give pleasure? Who denieth it? But so as they depend on us, not we on them. All whatsoever fortune beholdeth became fruitful and pleasant in this sort, if he that possesseth them be Master of himself likewise, and is not subject to that which he hath. For they are deceived, my Lucilius, that think that fortune giveth us either any thing that is good or evil. He giveth us the matter of goods and evils, and the beginnings of things, which shall either have a happy or unhappy issue with us. For the mind is stronger than any fortune, he conducteth his affairs, either right or wrong, he is himself the cause of his contented or miserable life. An evil man converteth all things to the worst, yea, even those things which happened with appearance of great good. An upright and good conscience correcteth the infirmities of fortune, and mollifieth those things which are hard and untoward by his knowledge how to suffer, and the same man most gratefully and modestly entertaineth prosperity, and constantly and courageously adversity, who although he be prudent, although he doth all things with an exact judgement, although he attempt nothing above his strength, yet that entire good which is settled and exempted from the threats of fortune doth not befall him, except he be assured against whatsoever is uncertain. Whether it be thou wilt observe others (for the judgement is most free in other men's affairs) or whether leaving partiality a part, thou wilt behold thyself, thou shalt both think and confess this, that no one of these goods which are desired and prised is profitable, except thou arm thy sel●e against lightness, and those things that depend on casualty, except that often and without complaint thou speak thus in every one of thy losses. It is the pleasure of the gods that it should go otherwise. Or rather that I may report a speech more strong and just, whereby thy mind may be more enabled, say thus when as any thing hath fallen out otherwise then thou thoughtest: The gods sand better. Being thus composed, nothing shall be casual: and so shall he be composed, if they shall but imagine what the variety of human affairs may, before he feel it, if he so possess his children, his wife and patrimony, as if he should not always have them, and as if he should not be more miserable for this cause, if he should be forced to loose them. Wretched is that mind that is tormented with that which is to succeed, and before miseries is he miserable who is careful, that those things wherein he taketh delight should continued with him to his end: for he shall never be in quiet, and in expectation of the future, he shall loose the present which he might enjoy. But the grief of the thing that is lost, and the fear of that which is to be lost, are both squall. Neither therefore do I command thee to be negligent. But decline thou from those things that are to be feared, and foresee all that which prudence may foresee: consider and prevent that thing which may offend thee long time before it happen. To this effect thy confidence will serve thee greatly, and thy certain resolution to support all accidents. He can beware of fortune that can suffer fortune: undoubtedly he never stormeth in his tranquillity. It is a misery and extreme folly to be always in fear; what folly is this to go before a man's evil? In brief, to let thee know that in a word, which I think I will describe unto thee, these busy-bodies, and torments of themselves: they are as intemperate in their miseries as they were before them. He grieveth more than he needeth, that grieveth before he needeth; for by the same infirmity he estimateth not his grief, whereby he expecteth it not; with the same intemperance he feigneth to himself perpetual felicity, he imagineth that all these things that have befallen him, should not only endure but increase and forgetting that all human things are both tossed and changed, which is while he promiseth himself only an assured estate in his casualties. I find then that Metrodorus spoke very fitly, when in a letter he sent unto his sister to comfort her in the death of her son, which was a child of great hope, he said that all the goods of mortal men are mortal. Of these goods speaketh he which men so much affect and ●locke after; for the true good perisheth not, wisdom and virtue are certain and eternal, these only are the immortal goods that have befallen mortal men. But men are so unhappy, and so far forgetful whether they go, whether every day draweth them unto, that they wonder if they loose any thing, being assu●ed one day to loose all. Whatsoever it be that thou art called Master of, know that it is not thine, although thou possess it. Thou art infirm and mortal, there is nothing then in this world that is firm and immortal for thee. It is as necessary our goods should perish as be lost, and if we take heed it is a great comfort to loose those goods with a settled and resolute mind, which must perish. What remedy then shall we find out against these losses? This, that we may keep in memory such things as are lost, neither suffer the fruit of them, which we have gotten by them, to perish with them. To have may be taken from us; to have had, never. Most ingrateful is he, who wh●n he hath lost, oweth nothing for that he hath received. Casualty taketh our substance from us, but leaveth the use and fruit thereof with us, which we loose by the iniquity of our desire. Say unto thyself; Of these things that seem so terrible, nothing is invincible. Many there are that have overcome each one o● them, M●tius the ●ire, Regulus the cross, Socrates' poison, Rutillius banishment. Cato death enforced by his own sword. Let us likewise get some victory: moreover, those things which allow & entice the common sort, under appearance of beauty & happiness, have by many & oftentimes been contemned. Fabricius being chief of the army● rejected riches, and being Censor condemned them. Tubero judged poverty to be worthy both of himself & the Capitol, when as using earthen pots in his public supper, he showed that man aught to content himself with that, wherewith the gods disdained not to be sometimes served. Sextius the Father, a man fit to govern the affairs of a Commonweal, refused all honourable Offices, and would not accept the dignity of a Senator, which julius Caesar had presented him, knowing well that whatsoever may be given, may be taken away. Let us likewise do some of these things valiantly. Let us rank ourselves as exemplar men among the rest. Why are we fainthearted? Why despair we? Whatsoever might be done, can be done. Let us now purge our minds, and follow Nature, for he that erreth and strayeth from her must of force, desire, and fear, and be a slave to casualties. We may return into the way, we have liberty to recover our constancy. Let us be restored, that we may endure grief●s, in what manner soever they assail our bodies; and say unto Fortune, Thou hast to deal with a man, search out some other, a man whom thou mayest overcome. By these sayings and such like, the force of that ulcer is appeased, whereof I desire either ease or recure, or strength to support and wax old with the same. But I am secure of him; the question is of our loss, whereby a worthy old man is taken from us. For he is full of life, who desireth that nothing should be added unto him for his own cause, but for theirs to whom he is profitable. He doth liberally, because he liveth. Another ere this had finished all these troubles: this man thinketh it as foul a thing to shun death, as to seek after death. What then, shall he not forsake it, if he be persuaded thereunto? Why should he not forsake it? If no man now hath any further use of him, if he have no business but to wait upon pain. This (my lucilius) is to learn Philosophy in art and to be exercised in the truth, to see what mind a prudent man hath against death, against dolour, when the one approacheth, the other presseth him. That which is to be done, is to be learned of him that doth it. Hitherto we have debated by arguments, whether any man may resist pain, or death likewise may humble great minds, when it assaileth them. What need many words? The thing discovereth itself, let us travel thereunto: neither doth death make him more stronger against pain, neither pain confirm him against death, he armeth himself against both; neither patiently grieveth he in hope of death, neither dieth he willingly thorough the tediousness of pain; he endureth the one, he respecteth the other. EPIST. XCIX. A consolatory Epistle upon the death of his son, undoubtedly both wise and eloquent. I Have sent thee that Epistle which I wrote unto Marulus, when as he had lost his little son, and was said to be overpassionate and grieved for his loss: wherein I have not observed my usual custom, neither thought I it fit to handle him gently, when as he was more worthy of reproof than consolation. For to him that is afflicted and unable to support a great wound, some little way must be given. Let him satisfy himself, or at leastwise upon the first brunt power out tears abundantly. They that give liberty to themselves to sorrow and lament, let them forthwith be chastised, and taught, that there are some follies even in tears. Dost thou expect consolations, receive reproofs. Dost thou endure thy sons death so effeminately? What wouldst thou do hadst thou lost thy friend. Thy young infant of uncertain hope, and very little, is departed: a handful of time is lost. We seek out occasions to lament, we exclaim, although unjustly against Fortune, as though she would not afford us just causes of complaint. Truly in esteem that thou wert already as animated sufficiently against solid and great evils, and consequently against shadows and appearances of miseries, for which men mourn for custom sake. Hadst thou lost thy friend, which is the greatest loss of all others, thou shouldest endeavour to rejoice more because thou hadst him, then to mourn for that thou hast lost him. But many there are that reckon not what courtesies they have received & comfort they have conceived by their friends. Amongst other miseries sorrow hath this, that it is not only superfluous, but ungrateful also. Having therefore enjoyed so good a friend, hast thou lost thy time? So many years, so great a unity, such familiar society in study: are all these vanished without effect: Dost thou bury thy friendship with thy friend? Wherhfore mournest thou if his presence hath been so profitable unto thee? Believe, the greater part of those whom we have loved remaineth with us, although casualty hath taken them from us. The time already passed is ours, neither is there any thing more securely lodged, then that which hath been. We are ungrateful in regard of those things we have received under hope of that to come; as if that which is to come (if so be it prove successful unto us) should not quickly pass into that which is past. To straightly limitteth he the fruits of human life, who only rejoiceth in those things that are present. Both those things that are to come, and those things that are past, do delight the one with expectation, the other in memory, but that which is to come is in suspense, and may not be done, as touching that which is past, it is unpossible but that it hath been. What madness is it then, to leave that which is most certain? Let us content ourselves with that we have, provided that we have not drawn with a hollow understanding, which letteth that pass which he hath already apprehended. There are infinite examples of those, who without tears have interred their young children, who upon their return from the funerals, have entered the Senate house, or entertained some public office, and suddenly occupied themselves about some other business, and that upon good occasion. For first of all it is lost time to grieve, if sorrow profit nothing. Secondly, it is an unjust thing to complain of that which hath befallen one, and must befall all those that are to follow after. Moreover, it is a folly to wish, or to lament, when there is so little difference between death and him that lamenteth the same● For the which cause we aught to have the more repose in our hearts, because we shall follow them whom we have lost. Behold with what swiftness time posteth away: think upon this short race whither we run so swiftly. Consider this great company of mankind, which tendeth to the same end, conversing and living together, distinguished by small spaces, even then when they seem most greatest. He whom thou thinkest dead, is but gone before. But what madness is it to bewail him that went before thee, when as thou thyself must travel the same journey after him? Doth a man bewail that thing which he knew should happen? Or if he thought that man should not die, he deceived himself. Some man bewaileth a thing which he said could not choose but be done? Whosoever bewaileth the death of any man, bewaileth that he was a man. All men are tied to one condition, he that happened to be borne, must die. By spaces we are distinguished, by death equalled. That which happeneth between our first and last day, is divers and uncertain. If thou estimate the troubles, it is overlong for a child: if the swiftness, it is too short for an old man. There is nothing that is not incertain and deceivable, and more light than the wind. All things are tossed, and are transferred into their contrary by the power of Fortune, and in so great inconstancy of human affairs, there is nothing certain to any man but his death. Yet all men complain of that, wherein no man is deceived. But he died a child. I say not yet, that he is better dealt withal that is dead. Let us pas●e over to him that is old, how short is the time wherein he hath outstripped an infant? Propose unto thyself this great extent of years, and comprehend all the ages that are past, then make comparison with that which we call man's life, with that infinity of years, and then shalt thou see how little a thing all that is which we desire, and extend. Consider how much tears, cares, death so oftentimes wished for, before it comes, sicknesses, fears, foolish infancy, wanton youth, and unprofitable years do possess, and de●our the portions of our life, we loose the half in sleeping. Let us add hereunto travels, sorrows, and perils, and thou shalt see that in the most longest life which a man can observe, that which is called living, is the smallest portion of the same. But who will not grant thee this, that he is in better state that may quickly turn to dust; whose journey is at an end before he be weary? Life is neither good nor evil, it is the place of good and evil. So hath he lost nothing but the eye which is more certain to our harms then good. He might have become both modest and prudent, he might have been form by thy care and instruction to be more virtuous, but (that which may most justly be feared) he might have been made like to th● most part of men. Mark me those young Gentlemen of great houses, who by their intemperance are brought to that misery that they are become fencers. Consider those others, who lewdly defile both their own and others bodies, which overslip not a day wherein they are not drunk, or defamed for some other notable infamy. Than shalt thou see that there was more to be feared then hoped for. For which cause thou oughtest not summon to thyself these causes of sorrow, nor in vexing thyself heap up incommodities, and of light and slight ones, as they be, to make them unsufferable. I counsel thee to resist thy sorrow, and to urge it, neither have I so bad an opinion of thee, that thou wouldst call to aid all thy virtue against those difficulties which present themselves. This is no true grief, but a slight touching, thou makest it true grief, undoubtedly Philosophy hath done thee great service, if thou bewailest with a resolute heart a child better known unto his nurse then to his father. Well then, will I have thee seized of a heart of iron? and is it my mind that thou shouldest look up cheerly in the funerals of thy son? and will I not suffer thee to let thy mind relent a little? By no means. For this were inhumanity, not virtue, to behold the dead with the same eye that we do the living, and not to be moved when as the one is thus separated from the other. Behold what it is which I forbidden. There are things which in a manner are out of our power. Tears fall from the eyes of certain men that would feign contain them, and these tears thus shed do lighten the heart: what is there to be done in such a case? Let us suffer them to fall, but let us not command them. Let them drop as long as affection commandeth them to flow, but not as much as custom and other men's example doth require. But let us add nothing unto sorrow, neither let us augment it by other men's examples. This ostentation of sorrow exacteth more than the sorrow itself. How few are sorrowful to themselves? If they suppose that men hear them, they cry out more earnestly; but being by themselves, they are quiet, and as soon as any other saluteth them, then recommence they their sorrow, than beat they their head with their hands, which they might have done more freely when no man forbade them; then wish they themselves dead, then toss they upon their pallets: when the beholder is gone, the sorrow ceaseth. In this affair as in others, we are won by an evil custom, we follow the example of our neighbours, and compose ourselves by their example, and not by that which best becometh us. We neglect nature, and addict ourselves to the fashions of the common people, which are both ignorant and corrupt, and who in this as in all other things, is inconstant of inconstantest. If they see any man confident in his calamity, they call him impious and brutish: if they see another dismayed, that respecteth nothing but his body, they term him a weak and an effeminate man. All things therefore are to be reduced within the list of reason. But there is no one more greater folly then to get fame by affected sadness, and to approve it by tears, which I consider in two kinds in regard of a wiseman, the one issuing of themselves, the others permitted to flow. I will show thee what difference there is: Assoon as we hear the news of our deceased friend, when as we behold his body, ready to be transported to the fire from our embraces, natural necessity extorteth tears, and the spirit being impelled by the stroke of sorrow, even as it shaketh the whole ●ody, so sucketh it, and expelleth from the eyes the tear●s that are at hand. These tears are extorted as they fall, and flow against our wills. Some other there are which we give way to, when as any man maketh mention of those whom they have lost. In this heaviness there is found some sweetness, when we remember ourselves of their pleasant discourse, of their agreeable conversation, of their charitable piety, then do our eyes open and pour forth tears, as it were in joy. To these we give allowance, by these we are overcome. Restrain not therefore, neither give liberty to thy tears, by reason of those that assist thee, or attend upon thee, be it that either they are dried up, or drop down, there is no shame in them, provided that they be not feigned. Let them flow of themselves, and they may flow in men temperate and well composed. Oft-times they have flowed without any prejudice to a wiseman's authority, with so much temperance, that there neither wanted humanity, or were disallowed in dignity. It is lawful, say I, to obey nature without the blemish of gravity. I have seen men that were venerable in the funerals of their children, in whose looks their love was testified towards their dead children, without any vain ostentation of grieving. There was not any thing which testified not a simple and natural affection. There is a certain decorum, even in sorrow which aught to be observed by a wiseman. And as in other things, so likewise in tears there is somewhat that is sufficient: unwise men, as in their joys, so keep they no measure in their sorrows. Accommodate thyself peaceably unto necessity. What incredible matter or novelty hath fallen out? How many men are there, whose funerals have been celebrated, whose bodies have been embalmed and emboweled, and who weary for them? As oftentimes as thou shalt remember that thy dead child was an infant, think also that he was a mortal creature, to whom nothing certain was promised, whom fortune was not obliged to bring up to old age, but to forsake then when it best liked her. But speak of him oftentimes, and celebrated his memory as much as thou canst, which oftentimes will be refreshed in thee, if it may salute thee without bitterness. For no man willingly converseth with a sorrowful man, much less with sorrow. If thou remember any speeches of his, if thou hast during his infancy, heard any jests of his to thy contentment, repeat them often, and constantly affirm that he might have fulfilled those hopes which thy fatherly mind had conceived of him. It is the act of an unnatural mind to forget a man's friends, and to bury their memories with their bodies, and to weep for them abundantly, and to remember them slenderly. So birds and beasts love their young ones with a violent and enraged affection, but with the loss of them it is wholly extinguished. This becometh not a wiseman: let him continued his remembrance, forbear his mourning. This do I no ways allow of, which Metr●dorus saith that there is a certain joy that is allied to sorrow, and that this should be affected at this time. I have set down Metrodorus own words, of which I doubt not what censure thou wilt yield; for what is more absurd then in sorrow to affect pleasure, nay more, by sorrow and tears to seek that which may comfort? These are they that object against us our too much rigour, and defame our precepts for their hardness, because we say that sorrow is either not to be admitted into the mind, or quickly to be expelled out of it. But whether of these two is more incredible and inhuman, either not to feel any sorrow for the loss of our friend, or to search pleasure in sorrow? But that which we teach is honest, when as our affection hath powered forth any tears, and (if I may so speak it) hath skummed them● that we aught not abandon ourselves wholly unto sorrow. What sayest thou? That we mix pleasure and sorrow together. So still we our children by giving them bread, so pacify we our infants by pouring in milk. Touching thyself at such time as thy son burneth, or thy friend expireth thou canst not permit thy leisure to cease, but wilt tickle and flatter sorrow itself: whether of both is more fitting, either to heal the soul of all grief, or to mix grief and joy together, I say not only to mix, but to take occasion of pleasure out of his sorrow. So far is it that sorrow is accompanied with any pleasure, as Metrodorus thinketh. This is lawful for us to say, but unlawful for you: you acknowledge but one good, which is pleasure, and one evil, which is pain. What alliance may there be between good and evil? But suppose there be; now especially must we find the same, and now it is that we must see whether pain be environed with any joy or pleasure. Certain remedies there are which applied to some parts of the body are wholesome, but by reason of their loathsomeness and indecency cannot be applied to others, and that in one place may profit without touch of modesty, is dishonest in another part, where the wound most appeareth. Art thou not ashamed to heal sorrow with pleasure? This wound must be handled with more severity, rather prove that the dead can feel no evil; for if so it were, he should not be dead. Nothing, say I, hurteth him that is nothing. He liveth if he be hurt. Whether thinkest thou him to be in bad case who is no man, or him that as yet is some body? But in as much as he is not any more, there is not any torment that may o●fend him; for who can feel it that is not? neither in as much as he is, can he be endamaged; for he is delivered from the greatest danger, which is death, by being no more. This likewise let us say to him that bewaileth and wanteth his child, ravished from him in his young years. If thou make a comparison of the shortness of all men's lives, with the length of time which is pa●● since the beginning of the world, both young and old shall find themselves equal. For both the one and the other of us possess as little as nothing of that length and extent of time. A little is yet something, but our life and nothing are almost all one, notwithstanding we stretch it out as much as we may, such is our follies. I have written these things to thee, not because thou shouldest attend from me a remedy, which cometh too late; for I suppose that thou hast told thyself all that which is contained in my letters. But that I might chastise that little delay, wherein thou hast departed from thyself, and in conclusion might exhort thee to arm thyself hereafter against adversities, and to foresee all fortunes assaults, not as they might, but as they aught suddenly to afflict thee. EPIST. C. His judgement of PAPIRIUS FABIANUS the Philosopher, and of his writings. THou writest to me that thou hast very diligently read over those books of Fabianus Papirius, entitled of things Civil, but that they answered not thine expectation. And afterwards, forgetting thyself that the question was of a Philosopher, thou accusest his composition. But put case it be so as thou saist, that in stead of well couching his words, he saith all that cometh to memory: first of all, this discourse hath his grace, and it the proper ornament of a style, little faulty: for I think there is a great difference whether it escapeth or floweth. Now in this also which I am to speak, there is a great difference: Fabianus seemeth not to me to speak much, but to speak to the purpose. To speak truth his style is fluent, but not enforced, although it be currant enough. He confesseth openly, and letteth us see that it is not an affected and laboured style, but such a one as a man may know it was Fabianus writing. He pretended not to confront his discourse, but to reform manners: he laboured not to tickle the ear, but to teach & instruct the mind. Furthermore, at such time as he discoursed thou shouldest not have leisure to consider the parts of his discourse, so much would the summary of the whole ravish and detain thee. And ordinarily that which is pleasing to us, being pronounced Viva voce readily and presently, is not so pleasing unto us, being couched in writing. But this also is a great matter, to settle and occupy the sight upon a book, although a diligent contemplation might found out matter worthy reprehension. If thou ask my opinion, more great is he that ravisheth our judgement than he that deserveth it. Such a one is more assured, and if I err not, may more boldly promise' his writings perpetuity. A laboured discourse becomes not a Philosopher. What shall become of a generous and resolute heart? when shall he make proof of himself, if he be afraid of words? Fabianu● was not negligent in his discourse, but secure. Thou shalt find nothing in him that is base and impertinent. The words are chosen but not affected, neither couched according to the custom of this time, or disordered. They are words that have their weight, that have an honest and magnificent sense, although they be ordinary & vulgar, they are neither constrained nor doubtful in a sentence, but grave & profound. We shall neither s●e any thing that is curtailed & shortened, nor any structure unfit, nothing that is not polished, as the eloquence of this time requireth. Examine this discourse every way, and when thou hast beheld it on every side, thou shalt ●inde no straits empty. Although it have no Marbles of divers colours, nor dividing or currents of waters running thorough chambers, nor little closets of sparing and abstinence, nor whatsoever else dissoluteness, not contenting himself with a simple & convenient decency, hath invented and mixed together, yet is the house well builded. Let us now speak of structure and composition, for all men are not of accord herein. Some of harsh will have it smooth, some are so much affected to rashness & austerity, that if a clause do happily end in a pleasing cadence, they purposely dissipate the same, and interrupt the clauses expressly, jest they should be answerable to expectation. Read Cicero, his composition is one, he observeth his foot, his speech is polished, smooth & not effeminate. Contrariwise, Asinius Pollio's discourse is uneven and skipping, and such as will leau● thee when thou lest expectest it. To conclude, in Cicero all things end, in Pollio th●y fall, except a few which are tied to one certain kind of custom and example. Besides, in thine opinion thou sayest, that all things in his discourse are humble & scarce upright, of which vice in my judgement he is freed: for they are not humble but pleasing, and are form in an equal and composed manner, not tied together but united, they want this rhetorical vigour nor those points, and sudden darted sentences. But examine the whole body, although it be not farded it is honest and well fashioned. His speech hath no grace: bring me one whom thou mayest prefer before Fabianus. If thou producest Cicero, who hath almost written as many books in Philosophy as Fabianus, I will give place; y●t is not that presently little that is less than the greatest. Say that it is Asinius Pollio, I will yield; but to returns thee an answer: To be after these two● is too very high when the question is of eloquence. Name me Livy beside these, for he also hath written Dialogus, which a man may as well call Philosophical as Historical: other books likewise, wherein he treateth expressly o● Philosophy; to him likewise will I give place, yet consider how m●ny he exceedeth, who is overcome by three, & they the three most eloquent. But he performeth not all, his speech is not strong, although o'late; it is not violent nor headlong, although abundant in words; it is not perspicuous but pure. Thou desirest a sharp declamation against vices, a confident discourse against dangers, a bold speech against adversity, an invective against ambition. I will have wickedness chidden, lust traduced, impatience bridled. Let the terms of an Orator be stinging, of a tragic Poet stately, of a Comic familiar and plain. Wilt thou have him countenance a small matter with words? He hath addicted himself to the gentleness o● things he draws our eloquence, and makes it follow after him, as the shadow doth the body. Undoubtedly all his words shall not be well placed and exactly couched together; neither in every clause shall there be a part that may quicken and awaken men. I dare promise' that divers periods shall escape him to no purpose, and that sometimes his discourse shall slip away without moving, but in all places his words shall be agreeable, neither shall there be any pause that will be displeasant. In a word, he will make thee know that he believed whatsoever he wrote. Thou shalt see that his intention was to make thee know what he approved, and not to flatter thee: he demandeth nothing but thy good, and searcheth for naught else but to see thee endowed with a good conscience. It is not applause which he desireth. I doubt not but his writings are such, and though I remember not their intents in general, yet hau● I b●fore mine eyes some passages of the same, not in that I have read them over lately, but for that I have s●ene them in times past, and long since. At such time as I heard him, his words in my judgement were such, not solid but full and natural, which might allure a young and well disposed man to virtue, and give him hope to attain the true end; which manner of teaching in my opinion, is more effectual than any other, for that of another kind maketh the auditors to loose their hearts, and taketh away their hope, which impresseth no other desire in them, but to imitate and follow the same. In brief, Fabianus abounded in words without the commendation of every several part; but all his discourse in general was exquisite and magnificent. EPIST. CI. Of the sudden death of one of his acquaintance, and by occasion that we are to trust or promise' nothing to ourselves. That all things are uncertain, and therefore good life is not to be deferred, neither long life to be desired: in conclusion, he controlleth MAECENAS his absurd vow. EVery day, every hour showeth us how vain and naught worth we be, and by some new argument admonisheth us that are forgetful of our frailty, when as it compelleth us (who meditate upon eternity) to look back unto death. Askest thou me what this induction meaneth? Thou knewest Cornelius Senecio a Roman Knight, a man both rich, liberal, and courteous, who from a slender estate beginning, had raised his fortunes, and had attained the speedy means already to compass the rest. For dignity doth more easily increase then begin. Money also maketh the longest stay about poverty, whilst she creepeth out of it. This Senecio aspired unto riches, whereunto there were two very effectual means that conducted him, that is to say, the knowledge of getting, and the means of keeping, whereof the one is sufficient to make a man rich. This man being wonderfully frugal, no less careful of his patrimony then of his body, when as according to his custom he had s●ene me in the morning, when as from morning to night he had sitten by his friend that was grievously sick, and lay desperate without hope, af●er he had supped merrily, was seized with a sudden sickness, that is to say, with the Squinancy, which strangled him, and set his soul at liberty. He departed therefore within a few hours after he had performed all the offices of an able and healthful man. He that traded with his money both by Sea and Land, that had public profit● also, and left no kind of profit unsought after, in the very height of his successful fortunes, when as money reigned on every side into his coffers, was taken out of this life. Now MAELIBEUS grafted thy pears again, And plant thy vines upon the pleasant plain. How fond a thing it is to promise' ourselves long life, whereas we are scarcely Lords and Masters of to morrow. O how mad are they that feed on feigned hopes, and long enterprises? I will buy, I will build, I will lend, I will recover my debts, I will have such and such estates, and then when I am fully satisfied, I will pass my full and weary age in repose and quiet. But trust me, all things are uncertain, yea even unto those that think themselves most assured. No man aught to promise' himself any thing of that which is to come. That also which we have surest holdfast of, slippeth thorough our fingers, and casualty cuts that very cord in sunder whereon we have greatest holdfast. There is a prefixed ordinance in the revolutions of the world, although they are marvelously obscured. But what concerneth it me, whether that be certain to nature, which is uncertain to me? We purpose & intent great voyages by Sea, wherein we shall see many foreign parts, & resolve not to return again into our country of a long time: we must to the wars, and be richly recompensed after we have passed thorough all the degrees of arms, & have had commissions & honourable charges, more and more, the one after the other, when as in the mean while death standeth by our sides, and because we never cast our eyes on that which is ours, but only upon that which is another's, from time to time the examples of our frailty appear unto us, whereon we never think, but at such time as they stay before our eyes. But what is more foolish then to wonder to see that done in any day, which may be done in every day. It is a thing most assured, that the scope of our life is limited by the inexorable necessity of destiny, but no man knoweth how near it is. Let us therefore so dispose our minds, as if this present time were our last hour. Let us defer nothing. Let us daily make even with life. It is the greatest error in life, that it is always imperfect, and that some part thereof likewise is deferred. He that hath every day laid the last hand on his life, needeth not time. But from this indigence proceedeth fear, and a desire of the future devouring and eating our minds. There is nothing more miserable than the doubt to things to come, why they happen. The soul that debateth what it is that remaineth, or of what kind is agitated with an inexplicable fear. How shall we avoid this perplexity? By this one, if we prolong not our life in vain discourse, but gather it into itself. For he to whom the present time is unprofitable, cannot have any repose, in regard of the future's But whereas whatsoever is due by me unto myself, is restored to myself, whereas the confirmed mind knoweth that there is no difference between a day and an age: she beholdeth, as it were, from an high tower, all the days and affairs that hereafter are to come, and with much laughter thinketh on the sequel of times. For what should the variety and mutability of fortunes trouble thee, if thou be assured against incertainties? Make haste therefore (my lucilius) to live, and think every several day, a several life. Whosoever ordereth himself thus, he that maketh every day his whole life, is secure. They that live in hope, have never any time of rest, they are always desiring and coveting: and the apprehension of death a thing most miserable, and which maketh all things most miserable never forsaketh them. From thence proceeded that dishonest wish of Moecenae, who contented himself to be weak, deformed, and tormented with grievous and sharp sickness, provided he might prolong his life amidst the mass of these miseries. Make me weak in thigh and hand, Make my feet infirm to stand, Shake my teeth, and make them crack, Stoop my shoulders, bend my back; So my life remain, I care not, Threaten torture, come and spare not. This is to wish an extreme misery, if it should have happened, and the length of the punishment is desired, as if it were some life. I should repute him a contemptible fellow, if he would live until such time as he were tied to the gallows. Yet this man saith, weaken me, provided that my soul may remain in my crazed and unprofitable body: disfigure me, if this sergeant and monstrous body of mine may lengthen my life some days. Torture and crucify me, if so be by that means I may live. It is a strange matter in him to hide his wounds thus, and to be content to remain hanged and stretched upon a gibbet, upon condition that death, which is the end of all punishment, and the sovereign remedy against all evils, should be deferred in his behalf. See here a wondrous thing, I would hau● a soul to die without dying. What wouldst thou wish for, O Maecenas, but that the gods should have pity on thee? Whereto tendeth the villainy of this verse, proceeding from an effeminate mind? What meaneth this covenant invented by senseless and mad fear? And to what purpose is this shameful begging of loathsome life. Think you that Virgil ever recited this verse unto him, To leave this life, is it a thing so wretched? He wisheth the worst of evils, and those things that are most grievous to be suffered, he desireth to be grievously tortured and hanged up: and why, or for what recompense, for sooth, for a longer life. But what is this man's life? to die long. Is th●re any man found, who had rather parch himself up amidst tortures, and to loose one member after another, and to die so oftentimes amidst defluxions, as to die at one time? Was there ever any man that had rather wish to lie cou●hed all at his length upon a miserable bed languishing, deformed, crooked both before and behind, that besides his violent sicknesses, had other more mortal, that desireth to retain a soul being tortured and rend in pieces by so many torments? Say now that the necessity of death is not a great gift of Nature. Many as yet are ready to vow far worse, yea even to betray their friends that they may live longer, and to deliver their children to be deflowered with their own hands, that they might prolong their life, being guilty of so much wickedness. We must shake off this desire of life, and learn this, that it skills not when thou sufferest any thing, which thou must suffer sometimes: that all in all is to live well, without taking care how long, and that oftentimes also this well living consisteth in a life which is not long. EPIST. CII. He speaketh somewhat of the immortality of the soul, and then annexeth a question, Whether renown doth us any good after death. First he disputeth slenderly and Scholastically, then about the end more effectually, and leadeth our minds to God and celestial things. He approveth that this our body is our burden and cover, that it aught to be despised and shaken off, when God and time summon us thereunto. EVen as he is troublesome that awakeneth another man, that is seized with some pleasant dreams, although it be feigned, for he taketh away the pleasure, yea such notwithstanding as hath the effect of truth. So thy Epistle hath done me injury, for it hath recalled me from a thought and meditation, into which I was suffiently entered to the purpose, and had engaged myself further, had I not by this means been disturbed. I took pleasure to debate upon the eternity of souls, nay more, I was fully resolved therein. For I easily believed the opinions of great men, rather promising then approving so grateful a matter. I gave myself over to this so great hope, and now grow hateful unto myself, and now contemned the relics of my broken years, being ready to be transferred into that immeasurable time, and possession of that infinite eternity, when as suddenly I was awakened by thy letter, which made me dismiss so sweet a dream, which hereafter I will revive and redeem again, as soon as I have satisfied thy expectation. Thou sayest that in my former letter I did not sufficiently answer that question, wherein I laboured to prove that which they of our sect do approve, that the praise which a man obtaineth after death is a great good. That I have not answered that question which is opposed against us. Of goods that are distant (say they) there is none good; but this is a thing distant and far off. That which thou proposest (my lucilius) is a part of the question, yet such a part a aught to be debated upon in another place: and therefore I neither would touch that, neither other things that were dependant thereupon. For some Moral questions as thou knowest are intermixed with the Natural. And therefore I entreated only of that part which wholly concerneth manners. That is to say, whether it be a foolish and superfluous thing to transport our thoughts beyond the latter end of this life; whether our goods perish with us, and nothing remaineth of his, who is nothing; whether we shall feel any fruit of that which shall be (what soever it may be) before we may enjoy it. But all these questions pertain unto manners, and therefore are they ranked in their proper place. But those things which are spoken by the Logicians against this opinion, are to be severed, and therefore are they set apart. But now, since thou requirest at this time a reason of all, I will examine that which they say, and afterwards answer their objections. If I propose not something first, a man cannot understand the refutations. What is it that I would foretell? That there are some continued bodies, as a man: some compound, as a ship, a house, and all other things whose divers parts are united together in one. Some likewise that consist of distant parts, whose members are as y●t separate, as an Army, a People, a Senate. For they of whom this body is composed, are united together either by law or duty, but by nature they are distinct, and each one several. What is it likewise that now I will foretell? That we suppose that nothing is good, which is composed of things distant. For one good mu●t be maintained and governed by one spirit, and that there is but one principal of one good. This is approved by itself, if thou requirest it to be proved, and in the mean while it was to be set down, to the end it might be the ground of our discourse. Thou wilt say, you other Stoics maintain that no good is composed of things distant. But this glory whereof we entreat, is a favourable opinion of good men. For as a good fame is not one man's words, neither infamy one man's misreport: so is it not praise to please one good man, many famous and worthy men must consent herein to make it glory. But this consisteth in divers men's judgements, and namely those that are distant, therefore it is not good, glory (saith he) is a commendation given by good men to a good man: commendation is a speech, a speech is a voice that signifieth something. But the voice, although it be a good man's voice, is not goodness. For whatsoever a good man doth, is not always good. For he clappeth his hands and hisseth. But neither will any man say that his clapping or hissing is good, although he applaud and admire all whatsoever is his, no more than he will do his snee●ing or coughing. Therefore glory is not good. In a word, tell us whether this good concerneth the praiser, or him that is praised? If the praiser, it is as much as if thou shouldest say, that another man's good health is mine, but to praise those that are worthy is an honest action, therefore this good concerneth the praiser, from whom this action commeth● not from us that are praised. But this is that which is in question. I answer briefly to these objections. First the question is at this day, whether any good may be composed of those things that are distant; and both parties have their reasons. Secondly, praise desireth not many suffrages: for it may be contented with one good man's judgement, who only is a competent judge, to say that all they who resemble him are good. What then (saith he) shall fame depend upon the estimate of one man, and infamy tied to the misreport of another man? Glory also (saith he) as I understand, is spread more largely. For it requireth the consent of many men. The condition of these, and of this are different. Why? Because if a good man have a good opinion of me, I am in the same estate that I should be, when as all good men should have like thought of me. For if all of them knew me, they would iump● in the opinion of this one man. They have but one and the same judgement, and they that cannot differ, do necessarily agreed in their opinions. Therefore, that which one thinketh importeth as much, as if all of them had spoken because they cannot be of any other opinion. The opinion of one man (saith he) sufficeth not to give glory and renown unto another. To this I answer, that herein the opinion of one availeth as much as of all, for if every one of them be demanded, they will answer alike. In this place the judgements of those tha● disagree are divers, the affections different. Thou shalt find all things in this world doubtful, light, and suspected. Thinkest thou that all men's minds are alike? Undoubtedly the same man is not of the same opinion always. Truth is pleasing to the good, and this truth neither changeth his vigour or colour. Amongst the wicked there are falsities wherein they accord, but there is nothing but inconstancy, repugnancy and discord in a lie. But praise (saith he) is but a voice spread in the air, and that a word meriteth not the name of good● when as they say that praise is the commendation of good men, delivered by good men; now refer it not to the words but to the sentence● For although a good man hold his peace, and yet judgeth any man worthy of commendation, by this is he commended. Besides, there is a difference betwixt these two words, Praise, and Praising, which requireth explication. Delivering a funeral Oration, we use not this word praise but praising, which consisteth in words. But saying that some one is worthy of praise, we understand by this word the just judgements of men, rather than their speeches. So then praise shall be the right opinion of him who without speaking, prizeth in himself any good man. Furthermore as I have said, praise hath relation to the thought, not unto the words, which express the praise which is conceived inwardly, and uttered to the knowledge of many men. He praiseth who judgeth that he aught to praise, when as the Tragic Poet saith, That it is a magnificent thing to be praised by a praiseworthy man: he meaneth that this praiseworthy man is worthy of praise. And when another Poet of the same time saith that praise nourisheth arts, he speaketh not of a flattery which corrupteth arts. For there is nothing that hath so much soiled eloquence, and all other studies addicted to the ear, as the applause of the people. Fame would be published and bruited, praise would not, for she respecteth not words, but contenteth herself with judgement; she is accomplished, not only amongst those that are silent, but likewise amongst those that oppose themselves against her. Now will I declare what difference there is between praise and glory; Glory consisteth on many men's judgements, Praise on good men's. To whom returneth the good of praise (saith he) either to him that is praised, or to the praiser? Both to the one & to the other. It is a great good for me to be praised, for nature hath created me a lover of all men: I rejoice that I have done well, & one of my contentments is to have met with men which take pleasure in those virtuous acts which I might have done. That many are thus disposed is a good which they enjoy, but I have my part in it also, being of that mind that I think other men's good be mine, especially those men to whom I am the cause of this good which proceeds from virtue. But every occasion of virtue is good, which they could not enjoy if I were not virtuous. So then a true praise is a common good, both to him that praiseth, and him that is praised, as certainly as a just sentence is the good and honour both of the judge and the party who obtaineth profit by the cause. Doubtest thou that justice is not a good both to the debtor and creditor? It is justice and equity to praise a man that meriteth praise, and consequently is a common good, both to him that praiseth, and him that is praised: we have sufficiently answered these cavillers. But this should not be our purpose to sow subtleties, and to draw Philosophy from her majesty into these straits: how far better is it to go the open and direct way, then to find out by paths and lose ourselves therein, and be constrained to return back, to our great trouble and prejudice? For these disputations are naught else but the pastimes of men that would cunningly beguile one another. Rather tell me how natural a thing it is to extend the mind to infinity. A great and generous thing is man's mind, it endureth not to be circumscribed by any limits, but those which are common to him with God. First of all, he acknowledgeth nor himself to be natuturally bred in any region or land whatsoever, as in Ephesus or Alexandria, or in any other country of the greatest extent, or most peopled. All whatsoever is environed by the continent of heaven is his country, that is to say, his round, composed of Seas and Lands mixed together, within which the extent of the air separateth and uniteth things celestial and terrestrial, in which so many gods disposed in due order are intentive to execute their commissions: secondly, she endureth not to be circumscribed by years: all years (saith he) are mine, no age is locked up to great wits, there is no time thorough which human thought hath not pierced. When that day which must make a separation betwixt the body and soul thus united, as you see I will leave this body, where I found it, and will restore myself unto the gods; neither am I now without them, but in such sort, as I feel myself detained in this heavy and earthly prison. By these delays of mortal life we make an entrance to that better and longer life. Even as our mother's womb containeth us nine months, and prepareth us not to remain therein always, but for another place for which it soemeth we strive both hand and foot, as soon as we are ready to breath and live in the aire● so by the means of this space of time, which is betwixt our infancy and age, we aspire unto another birth of nature. Another original, another estate of things attendeth us. We cannot as yet suffer the heaven, but by means of this great extent which is between them and us: for which cause behold thou with a settled eye that determined hour which is not the last unto the soul, but only to the body. Whatsoever goods of this world thou beholdest about thee, look on them as if they were the baggage and movables of an Inn. We must pass further; nature leaveth us as naked at the issue of this world, as we were upon the entry: thou hast brought nothing with thee, neither shalt thou carry away any thing with thee; nay more, thou must leave in the world a great part of that which thou hast brought with thee. Thou shalt be spoiled of that skin that enclosed thee, and the last cloth that covered thee; thou shalt leave thy flesh and blood, which is dispersed thorough thy whole body; thy bones and nerves shall be taken from thee, which were the supporters of so many frail and fleeting things. This day which thou fearest so much, and which thou callest thy last, is the birth day of an eternity. Lay aside thy burden. Why delayest thou? Is it so long since that thou forsookest a body, that is to say thy mother's womb where thou wert hidden, to enter into this world? Why strivest thou, and dalliest thou? Thy mother when thou wert borne laboured hardly to be delivered of thee. Thou sighest, thou weepest, and this is that which the infant doth as soon as he is borne. But than wert thou to be pardoned, because as then thou wert but new born, and without the knowledge of any thing. Being issued from this hot and soft couch of thy mother's entrails, thou hast breathed a more freer air; then feeling thyself touched with a hand somewhat more hard, thou that wert soft and tender, couldst not endure it without crying: and it is not to be wondered at that thou remainedst astonished and daunted amongst so many things, which were unseen before, considering that thou neither hadst knowledge nor apprehension of any thing. Let it not be a new thing now unto thee to be separated from that, whereof before time thou hast been some portion: acquit thyself willingly of these members which are now superfectlesse, and lay aside this body, wherein thou hast inhabited so long time. It shall be cut in pieces, devoured and brought to nothing. Why art thou aggrieved? So goes the world. The cau●es which enfold the infants in their mother's womb shall be broken and rotten. Why lovest thou earthly goods, as if they were thine? These are but the folds that wrap thee in. A day will come that will unfold them, and will draw thee out of the company of this villainous and stinking womb. Fly now out of this world with a forward courage, estrange thyself from all things, yea, of those things that be necessary. That done, meditate on somewhat more high and sublime. One day the secrets of nature shall be discovered unto thee, this obscurity shall be cleared, and a shining light shall reflect upon thee on every side. Think with thyself how great this brightness is of so many celestial bodies, which mix their lights together. So fair a clear shall never be obscured by any darkness: the heaven shall be as glorious in one part as in another. Day and night are the revolutions of the regions of the air. Thou wilt confess that thou hast lived in darkness, when as thou shalt freely see the whole light, which now thou beholdest obscurely thorough th●se narrow circles of thine eyes, and from a far, yet not without astonishment. What wilt thou say of the divine light, when thou shalt see it in his place? Such a thought as this will not suffer our souls to gather rust or dirt, it hindereth us either from humbling our hearts too low, or raising them too high. She maintaineth that the gods are witnesses of all things, and will that we be approved by them, that we depend on their will, that we have the day of eternity always before our eyes. Whosoever hath any apprehension hereof in his soul, he hath no fear of Armies, the Trumpet amazeth him nothing, there is no threat that may make him fear. He that expecteth death, can he be without fear? whereas the other (who esteemeth that the soul remaineth and subsisteth during his abode in the prison of the body, in departing from which she is dissipated) ceaseth not to demean himself in such sort, that after his death he pretendeth to serve those that survive in some other sort: for although he be taken from our sight, yet The man's great virtue, and his country's glory, And wondrous value come to memory. Think how much good examples profit us, and thou shalt find that the memory of worthy personages is no less profitable for us then their presence. EPIST. CIII. The malice and treasons of men amongst themselves, yet do not thou so, but lay them apart; and be thou courteous and willing to do good unto all men. WHy regardest thou on every side those things that may befall thee, and happily may not chance unto thee? I mean fire or ruin, and other inconveniences which happen unto us, but lay not in wait for us. Rather consider and avoid thou the dangers which attend and surprise us. These casualties are rare, although they be grievous, to suffer shipwreck, to be overturned out of a Coach. But from a man daily a man expecteth the most danger, prepare thyself against this evil, and contemplate it with open eyes. For there is no evil more frequent, more obstinate, neither any one more flattering. The tempest threateneth before it riseth: the houses crack before they fall: the smoke foretelleth that the fire is a kindling. But the mischief that a man doth is sudden, and the nearer the evil is, the more secretly is it hidden. Thou art deceived if thou trust their looks that meet thee: they have the faces of men, but the hearts of savage beasts, but that the first assault of beasts is most violent, which they cannot avoid: for nothing but necessity moveth them to hurt; either by hunger or fear they are enforced to fight, but a man taketh pleasure to destroy a man. But think thou so that the danger is by a man, to the end thou mayest think what the office of a man is. Consider the one, to the end thou be not offended, and the other, to the end thou offend not. Rejoice at every man's profit, and be sorry for their harms, and bethink thyself what thou oughtest to perform, and what to avoid. By living thus, what gettest thou? Thou mayest always avoid that men do thee no outrage, but thou canst not choose but be deceived by them. Especially endeavour thyself to take thy retreat to Philosophy, she will defend thee in her bosom. In her Sanctuary either shalt thou be safe, or safer. Men jostle not one another, except they walk in the same way. But of all things beware to boast of thy Philosophy. Many men by too proudly boasting, and vainly vaunting thereof, have perished. Let it suffice thee that she spoileth thee of thy vices, that she reproacheth not other men of theirs, that she abhor not from public manners, that she behave herself modestly, without causing men think of her, that she condemneth all that which she doth not herself. A man may be wise without making show thereof, and without envying any man. EPIST. CIIII Of his sickness and the cure, and the charity his wife had of him. That he had changed his abode for recreation sake, and hereupon an excellent discourse upon travail. That it is not profitable of itself, except it be made so by the mind. Let that be amended, and the affections cut off, and that then every station and estate will be pleasing. That there is likewise another kind of travail, to have recourse unto ancient and great men, to behold them in our thoughts, and to imitate them. This rooteth out vices, that planteth virtues, and to this inviteth he LUCILLIUS. I Fled into my Grange at Momentanum: but why thinkest thou? to shun the City? Not, the fevor which began to seize upon me. And now already she had laid hold on me. Forthwith therefore I commanded my Coach to be made ready, although my wife Paulina were against it: My Physician having touched my pulse, and finding the artery beating incertainly and contrary to nature, said that it was the beginning of a fevor. Yet notwithstanding I resolved myself to set forward; remembering me of a speech of Gallio, my Lord and Master, who being in Achaia, and feeling himself surprised with a fevor, forthwith embarked himself, crying out that this sickness of his proceeded from the air of the Country, and not from his body. This told I to my Paulina, who recommended my health unto me. For whereas I know that her soul is translated and liveth in mine, for her content sake I begin to have a care of my health. But although that old age hath fortified me against divers difficulties, yet at this present begin I to loose this benefit of age. I thought that in this old man there was a young man, that was over much tendered. So then, because I cannot require that my wife should love me more entirely than she doth, she hath begged so much at my hands, that now I cherish myself more tenderly than I otherwise did. For we must give way unto honest affections, and sometimes also, if urgent causes require it, our soul in honour of our friends is to be recalled, though it be to our torment, and retained betwixt our teeth, because a virtuous man is bound to live, not as long as he liketh, but as long as he must. He that without respect of his wife and friends, laboureth for naught else but to end his life, but demandeth death is over delicate. Let the soul have this commandment over herself, (when the profit of those, to whom she is obliged, requireth the same) to shun death, not only for her own cause, but likewise when she is upon the point to dislodge and leave the body, to re-enter again, to the end she may be enabled to do her friend's service. It is the argument of a great mind to return unto life for another man's good, as divers great personages have many times done. And this also esteem I to be a great humanity, to maintain old age more intentively, (the fairest fruit whereof consisteth in maintenance of her health, and in living more orderly than he was accustomed) if thou knew that to be a thing either pleasant, profitable, or wished for of any of thy friends. Moreover, there is a great joy and profit therein. For what greater contentment may there be, then to be so dearly beloved by a man's wife, that for that cause thou shouldest become more loving to thyself? My Paulina therefore cannot only impute her fear unto me, but mine also. Demandest thou therefore what success my determination had in going into the country? As soon as I had gotten out of the foggy air of Rome, and from the stink of the smookie chimneys thereof, which being stirred, power forth whatsoever pestilent vapours they held enclosed in them, I felt an alteration of my disposition. How much, thinkest thou, was my strength increased when I came unto my Grange? Not sooner entered I the meads, but I began to rush upon my meat with a strong appetite. Thus therefore for the present have I recovered myself, this leanness of body which hath no security of health, and which beginneth to decline, is vanished from me, and I begin to study diligently. The place yields little furtherance thereunto, if the mind be not assistant to itself, for if he list amidst all affairs and troubles he may have a place of retirement. But he that maketh choice of the place, and idleth it vainly, shall every where find a nook wherein to restrain himself. For it is reported that Socrates (hearing a certain man complain that he had lost his time in traveling here and there) returned this answer: not without cause hath this befallen thee, for thou travelledst with thyself. O how happy would divers men be, if they could wander from themselves. But they are the first that solicit, corrupt, and terrify themselves. What availeth it to pass the seas, and to change Cities? If thou wilt fly these things wherewith thou art urged, thou needest not be in another place, but become another man. Put case thou wert come to Athens, or to Rhodes; choose what City thou pleasest. What skilleth it what manners they have? Thou shalt carry thither thine own. Thinkest thou that riches make men happy? Poverty (yea the appearance and presumption thereof, which is a lamentable opinion) shall incessantly torture thee. For although thou possessest much, yet because another man hath more, thou shalt seem unto thyself by so much the poorer, by how much the other is more rich. Supposest thou that honours are good? It shall grieve thee that such a man is made Consul, and that such a one hath twice enjoyed the Office, it shall vex thee when thou shalt find in the public registers any man's name oftener than thine own. So great shall the fury of thy ambition be, that if any one shall outstrip thee, thou wilt not think that any marcheth behind thee. Wilt thou suppose death to be an extreme evil? When as there is nothing evil in it, but the fear which is before it, not only the dangers, but the suspicions will terrify thee. Thou shalt incessantly be tormented with dreams and shadows. For what shall it profit thee that thou hast escaped so many Cities of Greece, and made thy way by flight thorough the midst of thine enemies? Peace itself shall affright thee. Thou shalt no ways trust those things that are most assured, as soon as thy mind shall be shaken. For as soon as she hath gotten a custom to entertain improvident fear, thou art no more disposed to entertain any repose or contentment in thyself. For she shuneth not, but flieth from the stroke, but if we turn our backs to afflictions, they have greater holdfast on us. Thou wilt judge it a grievous evil to loose any of those friends thou hast loved, whereas mean while it is as great folly to bewail them, as to weep, because the leaves of thy fair shadowing trees, which adorn thy house, are fallen and shaken to the ground. As much flourisheth the one, as the other which delighteth thee. Death will shake down the one to day, the other to morrow. But as we suffer patiently the fall and loss of the leaves of our trees, because they will spring again: so oughtest thou to endure the loss of thy friends, whom thou conceitest to be the joys of thy life, because they shall be restored, although they be not now borne. But they shall not be such as they were whilst they remained in this world. Neither shalt thou thyself be the same. Every day, every hour changeth thee, but in others the nourishment appeareth more easily, here it lieth hidden, because it is not done openly. Some are carried away; but we ourselves are secretly stolen away. Wilt thou think of none of these things. Wilt thou apply no remedies to these wounds, but sand unto thyself the causes of thy cares, by hoping something and despairing other? If thou be'st wise, mix the one with the other, neither hope thou without desperation, neither despair without hope. What can travel profit any man of itself? It tempereth not pleasures, it bridleth not desires, it pacifieth not displeasures, it breaketh not the untamed assaults of love. To conclude, it disburtheneth the mind of no evil, neither gives judgement, nor shaketh off error, but detaineth the mind for a short time, and entertaineth it with novelty of things, as we see children stand at gaze, when they behold any thing which they have not seen. To conclude, this going and coming doth no more but make the inconstant thought more light and stirring, which in the height of his evil, provoketh and altereth itself in such sort, that they who most earnestly traveled into any countrey● departed from thence more hastily, and after the manner of skipping birds, fly thence more swiftly, than they came thither. Travel will give thee knowledge of Nations, will show thee the new forms of Mountains, the spacious and unaccustomed plains, the Valleys watered with running Rivers, some flood that hath a certain notable property, as Nilus, which increaseth in Summer, or Tigris, which loos●●● itself, then having made a long circuit under the earth reentereth h●s channel, and reneweth his swift and spacious course as before, or how Meander (the exercise and play of all Poets) maketh an infinite windlas of turns and returns, that oftentimes discharging herself from her own channel streameth along the bed of her neighbour floods, and so returneth. But such voyages will neither make thee more healthy, or more wise. We must converse amongst studies, and amongst the authors of wisdom, that we may learn that which we desire to know, and seek out that which is as yet unfound. By this means must the mind be redeemed from miserable servitude, and set at liberty. As long as thou shalt be ignorant of that which thou shouldest fly or follow, of that which is necessary and superfluous, of that which is just and honest, this may not be said a travail, but an error. Thi● turmoil will comfort thee nothing, for thou wanderest accompanied by thy affections, and thy evils follow thee. Would to God they might follow thee, and were further off from thee: now thou bearest them on thy back, thou leadest them not. For which cause they every way weigh thee down, and fear thee with equal incommodities. The sick man must seek out for a good medicine, not for a new country. Hath any one broken his leg, or put a member out of joint? He gets not to his coach, he embarkes not in his ship, but calleth for a Physician, to the end he may unite that which was broken, and set the joint in his place that was dislocated. To what end then thinkest thou, that by changing thy country, thou mayest heal thy bruised and broken mind in so many places? This evil is more great then to be cured by being carried hither and thither. Travel neither maketh a Physician no● an Orator. There is neither art nor science that is learned by changing place in this sort. What then, is not wisdom which is the greatest treasure of all others learned in travels? Trust me, there is no iourn●y that may retire thee apart from thy desires, thy displeasures, and thy fears, or if there were any, all m●nkind by troops would travel and flock thither. So long will these evils press thee and macerate thee whilst thou wanderest by land and sea; as long as thou bearest the causes of thine evils in thee. Wonderest thou at this, that thy flight profit●th thee nothing. Why man, the things thou fliest are with the●. Mend thyself therefore, shake off thy burdens, and at leastwise contain thy desires within compass. Root all wickedness out of thy mind, if thou wilt have thy travels delightful, heal thy companion. Avarice will cling unto thee as long as thou livest with a covetous and base companion. Pride will clea●● unto thee, as long as thou conversest with a proud man. Thou wilt never lay aside thy cruelty in a Hangman's company. The fellowship of adulterers will enkindle thy lusts. If thou wilt be discharged of vices, thou must retire thyself a far off from all evil examples. Avarice, dissolution, cruelty, fraud (such enemies that approaching thee, will wound thee grievously) are within thee. Acquaint thyself with the better sort, live with such as Cato, Laelius, and T●bero were: and if thou take a liking to live among the Grecians, converse with Socrates and with Zeno: The one will teach thee how to die, if it be needful, the other how to die before it be needful. Live with Chrysippus and P●sidonius: These will teach thee the knowledge of divine and human things. These will command thee to put in practice that which thou hast learned, and not to content thyself with a polished tongue, which tickleth the ears of the hearers, but to fortify thy heart, and to confirm it to confront casualty. For the only port of this troubled and turbulent life is to contemn those things that may happen, to remain resolute to oppose a naked bosom against all the darts of adversity, without playing the coward, or seeking starting holes. Nature hath created us valiant, and as to some creatures she hath given a fierce, to some a subtle, to othersome a fearful: so hath she given us a glorious and high spirit, that seeketh where he may live most honestly, not most securely; resembling the world, which in as much as human ability will give him leave, he followeth and counterfeiteth. He seeketh nothing but praise, and desireth to be seen. He is the love of all things, and above all things. He therefore submitteth himself to nothing, nothing seemeth heavy unto him, nothing that may make a man stoop. Travail and death are ugly to behold. Nothing so, if a man might behold them clearly, and break thorough the darkness. Many things that have been esteemed dreadful by night, have proved trifles and jesting sports by day. Travail and death are ugly to behold. Worthily wrote our Virgil, he saith that they were not terrible indeed, but in semblance, that is, they seem so to be, but are not. What is there, say I, in these so dreadful as fame hath reported them? What is there I pray thee (my lucilius) that a man should fear either labour or death? Yet meet I with those men, that think all that impossible which they cannot do, and say that we speak greater matters then human nature may sustain or effect. But how far better opinion have I of them? They also can do these things, but they will not. To conclude, whom have ever these precepts failed that have dained to make use of them, who found them not more easy in action then in instruction? It is not because they are difficult, that we dare not; but because we dare not, they are difficult. Yet if you require an example, behold Socrates, that most patiented man, tossed in so many dangers; invincible in poverty, which his domestic burdens made more grievous and cumbersome, invincible in those labours he suffered in war, and wherewith at home he was daily exercised: whether you respect his wife fierce in manners, and froward in tongues or his rebellious and disobedient children, more like their mother then their father. So for the most part he either was in war, or in tyranny, or in liberty, more cruel than wars or tyrannies. Seven and twenty years he bore arms, and having laid them aside, he saw his City enthralled under thirty Tyrants, of which the most part of them were his enemies. The last of these is his condemnation urged against him for most heinous crimes. The violating of Religion is objected against him, and the corruption of youth, which ●e was said to enforce against the gods, against parents, and his Commonweal. After all this, his prison and poison. So far were these things from moving Socrates mind, that they never moved his countenance. He maintained that his wonderful and singular praise until his dying day. No man saw Socrates either more merry or more sad, he continued equal in so great inequality of fortune. Wilt thou have another example? Take me that Cato of Utica, with whom Fortune dealt more cruelly, and more obstinately. Against which, whilst in all places he had made head; and last of all in his death: yet approved he that a confident and valiant man may live and die in spite of Fortune. All his lifetime was spent in civil war. And although thou say that this man, no less th●n Socrates, spent his life in servitude: except a man may happily think that Cneus Pompey, and Caesar, and Crassus, were confederates to maintain liberty. There was no man that ever saw Cato changed in a Commonweal so oftentimes changed, in all occurrences he showed himself one. In his Praetorship, in his repulse, in his accusation, in his province, in his speeches in the Army, in his death; finally, in that garboil of the Commonweal, when as on the one side Caesar had trusted his fortunes to ten valiant legions, on that side to the forces of so many foreign Nations, and Pompey to his own forces; when some inclined unto Caesar, other some unto Pompey● Cato only maintained levied arms for common liberty. If thou wouldst imagine in thy mind the Image of that time, thou shalt see on the one side the people with listening ear, hearkening after nothing but novelty; on the otherside the Senators and Knights and whatsoever was either holy and chosen in the City: two only left in the midst, the Commonweal and Cato. Thou wilt wonder, say I, if thou shalt observe. ATRIDES grave, and PRIAMUS the old, And Troyans' greatest fear, ACHILLES bold. For he condemneth both, and disarmeth both; and this is his opinion of both: he saith, that if Caesar prevail, he will die: if Pompey, he will be banished; what had he to fear which had decreed that against himself, either if he happened to be either conqueror or conquered, which might have been decreed by his most bitter enemies; he died therefore by his own decree. Seest thou that men can suffer labours? He led his army on foot thorough the midst of the deserts of Africa. Seest thou that they may endure thirst? Leading the remainder of his conquered Army along the desert hills, without any baggage, he suffered the want of drink, being soultered in his armour, and as often as occasion offered him water he was the last that drunk. Seest thou that honour and authority may be contemned? The same day he was repulsed from the office he stood for, the same day played he at the ball in the marketplace. Seest thou that great men's power may not be feared? He opposed himsel●● against Pompey and Caesar at one time; the one of which no man durst offe●d, except it were to win the favour of the other. Seest thou that death may be as well contemned as banishment? He both pronounced exile and death against himself, & in the Interim war. We may then have the same resolution against all accidents, provided, that we take a pleasure to discharge our necks of the yoke. First of all therefore pleasures are to be despised, for they weaken, disable, and demand much, and much is to be required at fortunes hands. After these riches are to be despised, which are the recompenses of servitude. Let gold and silver, and what else soever loadeth happy houses be left: liberty is not bought for nothing, if thou highly prize her, thou must misprize and neglect all the rest. EPIST. CV. Short and profitable precepts, tending to security. Read them, and make use of them. THou shalt know of me what those things are which thou art to observe, to the end thou mayest live more secure: yet so hear these precepts I advise thee, as if I should counsel thee how to maintain thy good health in the bad air of Adiatinum. Consider what things they be that provoke one man to seek another man's ruin, and thou shalt find that they are hope, envy, hatred, fear, and contempt; of all these contempt is the lightest, insomuch as many have lain hidden therein for the safeguard of their lives. Whomsoever a man contemneth, he kicketh at him, but passeth by him. No man purposely hurteth a contemned person, no man diligently. Even he that is prostrate on the earth in a conflict, is overslipped where he that standeth is assaulted. Thou shalt frustrate the hope of the wicked if thou hast nothing that may provoke another man's wicked desire, if thou possess nothing that is worthy the having. For those things that are of the greatest price, are most desired although they be least known. So therefore shalt thou fly envy if thou makest no show, if thou boast not of thy fortunes, if thou knowest how to enjoy them to thyself. But as touching the hatred which proceedeth from offence, thou shalt avoid it thus by provoking no man without cause, from whence common sense will defend thee, for this hath been dangerous to many. Some men have had hatred, but not an enemy. The means not to be feared shall be to live in a mean and humble condition, when as men shall know that thou art such a one, whom they may offend without peril. Let thy reconcilement be both easy and certain. But to be feared is as dangerous at home as abroad, by thy servants as by thy children. There is no man that hath not power enough to hurt. Add hereunto, that he who is feared, feareth. No man could be terrible securely. Contempt remaineth, the means whereof is in his power that is contemned, who is contemned because he would, not because he aught. The incommodity hereof both good Arts do discuss, and the friendships of those who are powerful with any mighty man, to whom it shall be expedient for thee to apply thyself, not to entangle thyself with them, for fear jest the remedy cost thee more than the danger would. Yet nothing shall more profit thee, then to be quiet, and to confer the lest with many, the most with thyself. There is a certain charming discourse, which creepeth into a man's bosom and flattereth, and no otherwise then drunkenness or love betrayeth secrets. Let no man conceal that which he hath heard, neither let any man speak as much as he hath heard: he that will not conceal the matter, will reveal the author. Every one hath a friend to whom he trusteth as much as is trusted to himself. To content himself with one man's ears, and to set a watch before his lips, he shall address himself to the people; so that which now was a secret becometh to be a rumour. It is a great part of security to do nothing wickedly. Choleric and revengeful men lead a confused and troublesome life: they fear as much as they hurt; neither at ●hy time are they in quiet, for they fear and are doubtful when they have done it. Their conscience suffereth them to do naught else, and compelleth them oft-times to look back unto themselves. Whosoever expecteth the stroke is chastised enough, and whosoever hath deserved punishment expecteth it. There is something in an evil conscience that may settle it awhile, but nothing that may secure it. For he thinketh that although he be not discovered, he may be discovered, and midst his dreams he is moved; and when as any other man's wickedness speaketh, he thinketh of his own, he thinketh it never sufficiently defaced or fully covered. A wicked man hath sometimes had the fortune to hide himself, but never had he assurance in his hiding. EPIST. CVI An idle question, taken out of CHRYSIPPUS, Whether good be a body. In the conclusion somewhat against subtleties. A Little too late I answer thy Letters, not because I am troubled with much business, for beware thou except not this excuse; I am at leisure, and all they that will are at leisure. Affairs follow no man, but men embrace them, and think business to be an argument of felicity. What therefore was the cause that I did not presently writ back unto thee, and answer thy question? It was a matter incident to my discourse; for thou knowest that I am determined to entreat of moral Philosophy, and to decide all those questions that depend thereupon. I therefore doubted whether I should defer thee, or give thee an extraordinary satisfaction before I come unto the place where this question should be handled. But I thought it a point of more humani●●● to delay him no longer, who sent from so far: by means whereof, I will extract this out of the sequel of those things that depend one upon anoth●●● and if any shall occur of this nature, I will willingly sand them thee, although thou requirest them not. Askest thou me what these be? Such things as the science thereof is more pleasing then profitable, as that is which thou bringest in question, Whether we call that good which is a body? I answer, that it is a body, for it acteth. That which acteth is a body; good agitateth the mind●, and in a manner formeth and containeth it: so than the goods of the body are a body, and the goods of the soul are a body, and therefore the soul is a body. It must needs be that the good of a man is a body, considering that a man is corporal. I am abused if those things which nourish the body and keep it, and restore it to health be not bodies. It followeth then that the good of a man is a body. I think thou wilt make no question of this, that affections are bodies, such as is choler, love, and sadness, (jest in this place I should be enforced to intermix those things, whereof thou makest no question) if thou doubtest, consider if they change not the countenance, if they bend not the brow, if they smooth not the face, or provoke not blushing, or enforce not paleness: what then? Thinkest thou that so manifest notes are imprinted in the body without a body? If affections be bodies, and the sicknesses of the mind, such as are avarice and cruelty, such as are obstinate and incurable evils, malice and all the kinds thereof, as malignity, envy, pride, shall be bodies likewise, and consequently good, first, because they are contrary unto these; again, because they produce in thee the same offects. Seest thou not what vigour fortitude giveth to the eyes, how great intention prudence? how much modesty & quiet reverence? what contentment joy? what rigour severity? what remission mirth? They are therefore bodies which change the habit and colour of bodies, which exercise their dominion in them. Was it ever doubted but that means, whereby a body is touched is a body? F●r nothing can touch and be touched, except it be a body, as the Poet Lucretius saith. But all these things whereof I have spoken would not change a body, except they touched the same, therefore they are bodies. I likewise say that that part of us which is so powerful that it pusheth, constraineth, stayeth and commandeth is a body: what therefore? doth not fear restrain us? doth not boldness enforce us? doth not fortitude harden and give force? doth not moderation bridle and restrain? doth not joy extol? doth not sadness dismay? To conclude, whatsoever we do, we do it either by the command of malice or virtue. That which commandeth the body is a body, that which addeth force unto the body is a body; the good of the body is a bodily good; the good of a man is the good of the body, and therefore is it corporal. Because as thou willedst me I have satisfied thy desire, now will I say that unto myself which I see thou wilt say unto me: we play at Tables, our subtlety is spent on trifles. These make not men good but learned. There is more plainness and simplicity in true science. We need little learning to have a good conscience. But as we in all other things are lavish in superfluities, so are we in Philosophy, and abuse it with babill. Even as we are travailed with intemperance in all things, so are we in good letters, we learn not to live but to dispute. EPIST. CVII. He comforteth LUCILIUS, and animateth him upon the flight of his servants. That these and such like are incident unto life, and therefore not to be reputed as sudden. Suffer that therefore which thou dost not ●●nd. A good and wise Epistle. WHat is become of thy wisdom? Where is thy subtlety in conceiving things? Where is thy magnanimity? Art thou traveled with such trifles? Thy servants thought that thy occupations were the occasions of thy flight. If thy friends should deceive thee (for let them have that name which Epicurus gave unto them & be so called, what damage shouldst thou receive? Thou wantest them who both interrupted thy good actions, and made thee troublesome unto others. There is no novelty or unexpected event herein. It is as ridiculous a thing to be offended hereat, as to complain that thou art either wet with water, or sprinkled with dirt as thou walkest in the streets. The same is our condition in this life, as if we were in a bath, amongst a multitude of people, or in a great highway, some things will be intermitted, some things will befall. It is no delicate thing to live. Thou art entered into a long way, wherein perforce thou must slip, thou must justle, thou must fall, thou must be wearied, and thou must exclaim, O death! that is, thou liest. In one place thou shalt leave thy companion, in another thou shalt bury him, in another thou shall fear him; with such like inconveniences we must perform and tread this troublesome journey. Will he have me die? Let our minds be prepared against all accidents, let them know that they are come hither, Where sorrows and revengeful cares do sleep, Where sickness pale and weary age do keep. In the company of these must life be led; thou canst not escape these, thou mayest contemn them. And thou shalt contemn them, if thou oftentimes bethink thee on that which is to come, and suppose it present. Whosoever hath of a long time prepared himself unto any thing, he performeth the same with greater courage; and if he hath premeditated any adversities, he maketh head against them afterwards. Contrariwise, the man which is unprepared starteth back for fear upon the lest danger that presenteth itself. Let us take order that nothing may befall us, which may move us to say, I had not thought it. And because that novelties are most distasteful, such continual thought will bring to pass, that thou shalt not be apprentice to any adversity. Have thy servants forsaken thee? They have rob one, accused another, killed this man, betrayed that, trampled under their feet and poisoned that man, and borne false witness against another. All those mischiefs which thou canst call to memory have befallen divers, and will hereafter happen. The arrows that are shot against us are divers and great in number. Some are sticking in us, othersome are darted at us, and approach us nearly, and othersome there are which are shot at our neighbours, which do no less grieve us then if they were leveled against ourselves. Let us not wonder at any accident whatsoever, we are borne thereunto, there is no man that hath occasion to complain himself, because that all men have their parts, yea their equal portion, for if any man hath escaped from an inconvenience, he might have felt it. But an ordinance is equal unto all those to whom it is proposed, although all men make not use thereof. Let us command our soul to continued in her entire, and let us pay those tributes which we own unto Nature without murmur. The Winter bringeth on frosts, we be cold, the Summer bringeth heats with her, we shall sweated for heat, the intemperature of the air trieth our bodies; we shall be sick. We shall meet in one place with a savage beast, or a roarer worse than all beasts whatsoever. The one shall be drowned, the other brought to ashes. We cannot altar this condition of things. That which we may is to have a resolute heart, and worthy of a good man, by means whereof we endure all accidents constantly, and content ourselves with the order of Nature, which in this present government causeth those revolutions which thou now observest. After rain comes fair weather, after storms and tempests succeed calms and fair seasons. The winds blow the one after the other. We see one part of the heavens, and the other is hidden from us. The world is composed of contrary elements. Let us apply our souls unto this law, let her follow and obey the same: let him think that all that which happeneth must happen, let her beware in any sort to task Nature: it is good for thee to endure that which thou canst not amend, and to follow that great God without murmur or complaint, by whose providence all things come to pass. The Soldier is not good that unwillingly followeth his Captain. And therefore let us obey her readily and willingly, without intercepting the course of so fair a life, as man's life is, in which is interlaced, all the evil which we suffer: and in conclusion, let us speak unto God, by whose ordinance and direction all this round orb is governed in the same terms, as our Cleanthes doth in elegant verse, which I will presume to translate into our tongue in imitation of Cicero, that thrice eloquent Orator. If they please thee, it shall content me; if they distaste thee, know that herein I am conformable unto Cicero. Hear then that which Cleanthes saith; O sovereign Father, and eternal Lord Of highest heavens, conduct me at thy pleasure, Unto thy powerful will I strait accord, Make me not will, yet mourning without measure, I'll wait upon thee, and in being bad Suffer all that, which if my mind were just, I might endure with all the strength I had, Wither thou wilt, O God, I will and must: I fly delays, both heart and feet are willing, The Fates conduct, the forward draw the willing. Let us live thus, let us speak thus, let the destinies find us always addressed and willing. This courage that is thus bounded within the hands of God, is the greatest in all kinds. Contrariwise, that man is both faint and recreant that starteth back, that complaineth him of the government of the world, and that had rather censure the gods than himself. EPIST. CVIII. How are the Philosophers either to be read or heard with judgement, and those things in especial are to be chosen out of them, and put to memory, which animate us to good life. They that seek delights study in vain; study thou thy amendment. Neither is this hard to be done, for Nature herself inciteth us unto honesty, for the seeds and incitements thereof are in our minds, they grow and increase, when a learned teacher and animater doth aid. This proveth he by his own example, when he was ATTALUS his scholar. Afterwards he showeth that we come with divers ends and minds to read Authors, and that we Philosophers should do the like. Let us obey him: both read and hear you that are lovers of learning. THat whereof thou inquirest, is of the number of those things which it behoveth thee only to know, to the end that a man may say that thou knowest it; yet notwithstanding, since it is pertinent for thee to know it, and thou pressest me so instantly, and wilt not attend those books which I will shortly finish, that contain in good order all the part of Moral Philosophy, I will presently resolve thee, yet first of all will I writ unto thee how this desire of learning, wherewith I see thee thus transported, should be governed, for fear jest it hinder itself. Thou must neither overrun, nor greedily invade all Sciences; by parts we attain the whole. The burden must be fitted to the strength, neither aught we to embrace more than we are able to contain. Draw not as much as thou wilt, but as much thou mayest hold. Only have thou a good courage, and thou shalt comprehend as much as thou pleasest. The more the mind receiveth, the more it is enlarged and greatened. These things, as I remember, our Master Attalus taught us, when as we besieged his School, and came first, and departed last, and provoked him, whilst he walked, to some disputes; not only addressed to inform those that learned of him, but to meet with them unprovoked. He that teacheth (saith he) and he that learneth should have one and the same intention, the one to instruct, the other to profit. He that cometh unto the Philosopher's Schools, must daily carry away some good thing with him; either return more wise unto his home, or better disposed to wisdom. But he shall return: for such is the power of Philosophy, that she not only helpeth those that study the same, but those also which frequent her. He that cometh into the Sun, shall be Sunne-burnt, although he came not to that end. They that sit down in a perfumer's shop, and have stayed a while therein, bear away with them the odour of such a place: and they that have conversed with a Philosopher, must needs draw somewhat, that might profit even those that are negligent: mark what I say, negligent, but not repugnant. What then? Know we not some men that for many years have conversed and frequented with a Philosopher, without receiving any tincture thereof? Why should I not know them? yea and such as were most industrious and diligent, whom I rather call the hosts, than the disciples of Philosophers. Some come to hear, not to learn, as we are drawn into the Theatre for our pleasure's sake, to delight our ears with Orations, Music, or Comedies. Thou shalt see a great part of the auditors that make the Philosopher's School the Inn of their idleness. Their intention is not in that place to dispossess themselves of some vices, or to receive some instruction, or rule of life, whereby they might reform their manners, but to enjoy some delight that tickleth their ears. Some other there are that come to their ●ables, not to coat down matter, but words, which they learn as well without other men's profit, as they heard them without their own. Some rouse themselves when they hear any magnificent speeches, and are affectioned no less than the speakers themselves, cheerful both in looks and mind: neither are they otherwise moved, than those effeminate French are wont to be, that hand and foot it according to the Phrygian strain; these men are ravished and provoked by the beauty of things, not by the sound of vain words. If any thing be spoken bitterly against death, if aught be urged proudly against Fortune, thou art forthwith addressed to do that which thou hearest. They are affected, and let them be such as they are commanded, if that form remain in the mind, and if the people, which dissuadeth all honest things, do not forthwith extinguish this worthy forwardness. Few are they that could bring home with them that mind they had conceived. It is an easy matter to stir up a hearer to the desire of that which is right. For Nature hath given unto all men the foundations and seeds of virtue, all of us are borne unto all these things, when as a provoker inciteth our minds, then are those goods of the mind, which were in a manner laid asleep, awakened and revived. Seest thou not how the theatres ring as often as some things are repeated, which we publicly acknowledge, and testify to be true by consent. Povertie wanteth many things, avarite all things, The covetous man is good to no man, and worst to himself. The basest Broker will applaud these vices, and is glad to hear his own vices blamed. How much greater weight should these things have, being spoken by a Philosopher, when as verses are interlaced with wholesome counsels: thinkest thou not that they will more effectually work in the minds of the unlettered. For (as Cleanthes said) even as our breath yieldeth a more clear sound, when as the trumpet, after it hath driven the same thorough the straits of a long pipe, doth at last give him a larger vent at the end thereof, so the strict necessity of a vice maketh our senses more clear. Those things are heard more negligently, and persuade less powerfully, as long as they are delivered in prose and ordinary discourse, but when as they are shut up in numbers and good sense, be enclosed in certain feet and cadences, that very sentence is darted and delivered as it were an arrow from a strong arm. Many things are spoken in contempt of money, and in long orations we are taught this, that men should think that their riches are in their minds, and not in their patrimonies, and that he is rich who fitteth himself to his poverty, and maketh himself rich of a little. Yet are our minds more moued● when such like things are spoken in verse. He that coveteth little, hath not need of much, He hath th●t which he would, who can wish as much as he would. When we hear these or such like things, we are constrained to acknowledge the truth. For they to whom nothing is enough admire, applaud, and publish their hatred to many. When as thou seest this affection of theirs urge the same, press and prosecute this laying aside all ambiguity, syllogisms, cauil●, and other vain subtleties of a fruitless brain, speak ●gainst avarice, inveigh against dissoluteness, and when thou perceivest that thou hast profited, and moved the hearts of thine auditory, prosecute it with vehemency. It is impossible that such a discourse, tending unto remedy, and entirely intended for the good of the assembly, should be other then profitable. For those minds that are not as yet obdurate may be easily induced to love right and virtue. If truth find a fit and convenient advocate, she easily seizeth on those that are willing to learn, and less perverted. For mine own part, when as I heard Attalus declaim against vices, errors, and the mischiefs of this life, I oftentimes deplored the miseries of mankind, and have believed that he was exalted and raised above all other men. He said likewise that he was a King, but I thought him somewhat more, by reason that it was lawful for him to censure Kings. But when he began to praise poverty, and to show that all that which exceedeth necessary use is a superfluous burden, and grievous to him that beareth the same, I oftentimes wished to departed poor out of his school. When he began to traduce our pleasures, to praise a chaste body, a sober table, a pure mind, not only exempted from unlawful pleasures, but also superfluous, I required no more but to temper my appetite, and govern my belly. From thence I gathered some good instructions my lucilius: for with earnest affection I attempted all things, and being afterwards drawn unto a citizens life, I have conserved some few of those fair and good beginnings. From thence it came that for all my life time I renounced eie-sores & muhrooms: for these are no meats, but entertain the appetite, and constrain those that are full to eat more, which is very pleasing to those that are gluttons, who desire no more but to fill their paunches with such things which easily enter, & are as easily uttered. I have abstained also ever since from ointments and perfumes, because the best odour in our body is none at all. Thereupon have I refrained wine, and during all my life time fled from bathing, supposing it to be an unprofitable and nice custom to seeth the body and consume it with sweeting. These other customs in life, which I had given over, are brought in request, yet so, that I keep a measure in these from which I had abstained, and use them very little and with difficulty, because there are certain things more easy to cut off wholly, then to govern well. Because I have begun to declare unto thee with how much more greater courage I came to Philosophy being a young man, than now when I am old, I will not be ashamed to confess unto thee what love S●tion engrafted in me in regard of Pythagoras; he taught me why he and Sextius after him abstained from eating flesh. Each one of these had a different cause, but both of them were magnificent. The one supposed that man had sufficiency to feed upon without blood, and that a custom of cruelty began, when tearing of flesh was drawn to be a pleasure. Hereunto he added, that the matter of dissolution should be contracted and gathered● that multiplicity of meats were contrary to man's health, and nothing healthful to our bodies. But Pythagoras held that there was a communion and consanguinity of all things, with the one and the other, and that the one is changed into the other, in such sort that (if a man will believe him) no soul perisheth neither ceaseth but for a small time whilst it is infused into another body. We shall see by what revolutions of seasons, and after how many aboades in divers bodies, the soul shall re-enter into a man, mean while this opinion hath made men fearful, for they have been afraid to become murderers and parricides because that in eating of a beast they might as well seize on their father's soul, and with knife or tooth offend a thing wherein the soul of any one of their kindred might be lodged. Sotion having proposed and confirmed this by his arguments, added hereunto, Dost thou not believe, saith he, that souls are distributed from one body to another, and that which we call death is no other thing but a passage from one body into another? Dost thou not believe that in these tame or savage beasts either killed or drowned, there surviveth sometimes the soul of a man? wilt thou deny that nothing perisheth in the world, but doth but only chang● air and country, and that not only the heavens turn, but that living creatures and souls likewise have their revolutions? divers great personages have believed these things, and therefore hold thou thine opinion in suspense, yet keep thou all things entire unto thyself. If these things be true it is innocence to abstain from living creatures: if they be false it is frugality; what damage receives thy cruelty h●reby? I take from thee the meat of Lions and Vultures. Persuaded thus by these arguments, I began to abstain from flesh, and ere a year was finished, the custom was not only easy unto me but pleasing. I thought my spirit more free than it was before; neither can I at this time justify unto thee whether it were so or no. Dost thou ask me how I have discontinued this manner of lif●? It was in my younger days, at such time as Tiberius was Emperor, when as the Religions of strangers were banished out of Rome, and to prove the superstitions of the same, they alleged that they abstained from touching the flesh of some creatures. So then upon my father's request who feared not reproach, but hated Philosophy I returned to my former custom: neither was it a hard matter for him to persuade me to begin to sup better. Attalus was wont to praise a hard bed, and such as resisteth the body: such a one use I now in mine old days, wherein you cannot discover any print where I have lain. Th●se things have I related unto thee, to let thee know how vehement the first apprehensions of young children be, & how inclined unto all good things, if any man exhort them or egg them forward. But in some kind the teachers are deficient, who teach us to dispute, and not to live: in some sort the learners who bring unto their Masters a purpose not to rectify their judgements, but polish their tongues; so that which was Philosophy is mad● Philologie. But it is very pertinent to the matter to examine with what purpose thou addressest thyself to any thing. He that examineth Virgil to that intent he may become a Grammarian: he readeth not with this intent that worthy verse of his, Time flies and never is to be recalled again. You must watch: except we make hast we are forsaken. The day that swiftly fleeteth from us, driveth us forward and is driven away. We are ravished before we know it. We dispose of all things as if we were to live long time, and midst so many dangers we are sluggards. But to observe that as often as Virgil writeth of the swiftness of time, he useth this word flieth, The better days of wretched mortal life, First fly then sickness reigns, and irksome age, And tedious labour rules and waxeth rise, And lastly death sweeps all with mortal rage. He that truly addicteth himself unto Philosophy, applieth such sentences as befitteth him: never, saith he, that the days go, but that they fly, which is the most swiftest kind of running, and that the better times are ravished from us first. Why therefore cease we to spur on our idleness, to the end we might outstrip the time which fleeteth away so swiftly. The better days fly away, the worse succeed. Even as out of a vessel the purest floweth out first, and that which is most heavy and troubled settleth in the bottom, so that which is first in our life is the best. We rather suffer others to draw out the purest, to the intent to reserve the dregs unto ourselves. Let this sentence be imprinted in our minds, and please us as much as if it were an Oracle sent from heaven, The best days of wretched mortal life, Fly first— Why the best? Because that which remaineth is uncertain. Why the best? Because being young we may learn, and convert, and addict our tender minds, and pliable to the better, unto the best: because this time is fit for labour, fit to exercise our wits in study, and our bodies with labour. That which remaineth is more slow and faulty, and nearer to the end. Let us therefore wholly apply ourselves thereunto, and laying aside all these speculations, whereby we have been seduced, l●t us apply ourselves to one only thing, for fear left at last we learn over late to our confusion, that it is impossible to stay and recover the time that fleeteth away so fast, without hope of return. Let every first day please us as if it were the best, and let us reckon it properly ours, and let us prevent that which ensueth. This doth not he think that reade● this verse with a Grammarians eye; that therefore every fi●st day is the best, because sicknesses succeed, old age presseth and percheth over the head of those, who as yet think themselves young; but saith, that Virgil always united sicknesses and old age together, and in truth not without cause, for old age is an incurable dis●ase. Besides, saith he, the Poet surnamed old age, irksome: Than sickness reigns, and irksome age. Wonder not that from the same matter every man gathered that which is agreeable to his conceit. In the same field the Ox seeketh his grass, the Dog his Hare, and the Stork his Lizard: when those books which Cicero wrote of a Commonweal, fall into the hands of him that would know all things, and of a Grammarian, & of a Philosopher, every one of these three hath his proper and peculiar election & thought. The Philosopher wondereth that so many things may b● spoken against justice. When this love-prattle comes to the same reading, he noteth this, that there are Roman Kings, whereof the one had no father, and the other no mother: for each man doubteth which was servius mother, and Ancus father, who was reputed Numa's Nephew, is not to be found. Besides, he observeth that he whom we call Dictator, and is so entitled in Histories, was by those in former times call●d the Master of the people, as it manifestly appeareth at this day in the books of the Augurs, and that he whom we call the master of the knights, hath taken his name from thence. He noteth likewise that Romulus died during the Eclipse of the Sun, that there was an appeal from the Kings unto the people, as also Fenestella holdeth that it is contained in the Registers of the Bishops. When a Grammarian explicateth the same books, he first of all noteth in his Commentary that Cicero used this word Reapse for Reipsa, that is to say, indeed, and Sepse likewise for Seipse, that is to say, himself. Than passeth he over to those things which the custom of the age hath changed, such are those which Cicero used, Because we are recalled by his importunity from the calce hereof, that is, from the end of the course: for that which now we call limits, those in times past called Calcem, that is to say, the heel or end of the foot. Aft●r this he gathereth Ennius' verses, and especially those which were written by Scipio the African, To whom no friend or enemy in field, Can lend that help which he to them did yield. Hereby he saith that he meaneth that this word opera, that is to say labour in times past signified Auxilium, that is to say, aid and secure: for he saith that there was not one either Citizen or enemy could tender Scipio the reward of his labour. Furthermore, he esteemeth himself happy to have found out this why it pleased Virgil to say, o'er whom the mighty gate of heaven did thunder. He saith that Ennius stole this from Homer, and Virgil from Ennius. We read in the same books of Cicero this Epigram of Ennius, If it be free for any one t' ascend the heavenly throne, The greatest gate of highest heaven is open to me alone. But for fear lest I myself in thinking on other matters should my s●lfe become a humanist or Pedant, I say unto thee that we aught to refer that which we hear spoken by the Philosophers, and that which we read in their books to this end, that we become virtuous, and not to affect old and feigned words, nor to affect extravagant and unaccustomed manners of speaking, but let us search out those precepts, which may profit us, and such magnificent and manly sentences, which may be suddenly effected. So let us apply th●se things, that those things which were words may be works. But I think that no men do worse deserve of mortal men, than they who have learned Philosophy as it were some mercenary occupation, who live otherwise then they instruct other men to live: for they themselves carry about themselves, as examples of unprofitable doctrine, being otherwise slaves to every sort of vice which possesseth them. Such a Master can as little profit me as a Pilot that is seasick in the midst of a tempest: when the billows are increased the helm must be steered; we must strive with the Sea, and strike and hale in sail: what can a Master of a Ship help me that is astonished and vomiteth? With how more greater tempest thinkest thou is human life tossed more than any ship? We are not to speak, but to govern. All that which they say, all that which they boast of before the common sort is to no purpose. Plato, Zeno, Chrysippus, Posidonius, and an army of such Philosophers have said and resaid it often. I will show thee how they may approve these things to be their own; let them act that which they said. Because I have spoken those things which I would have carried unto thee, I will now satisfy thy desire, and I will refer the whole of that which thou requirest at my hands to another Epistle, jest having thy head wearied, thou bend thy attentive and curious ear to hear a difficult matter. EPIST. CIX. A short question: Whether a wiseman may profit a wiseman, and how? The cause of doubt is, because that all things are high in a wiseman; neither may any thing be added to him: yet answereth he that he doth profit, and distinctly approveth it. In the end he detesteth unprofitable subtleties. THou desirest to know whether a wiseman may be profitable to a wiseman: we say that a wiseman is replenished with all goodness, and hath attained to the fullness of perfection. The question is how a man may profit him that hath attained the chiefest good. Good men profit one another; for they exercise virtue and contain wisdom in her estate, both of these require some man with whom he may confer, with whom he may debate; use execiseth those who are cunning in wrestling, and warneth the physician who hath learned unisons. A wiseman like wise hath need to have his virtues stirred, so that even as he moveth himself, so is he moved by another wiseman. What can a wiseman profit a wiseman? He will animate him, and show him occasions of honest actions. Besides these, he will discover some of his own thoughts, and will teach those things which he hath invented. For there will be always somewhat remaining for a wiseman to ●inde out, and whereon his mind may be employed and occupied. An evil man hurteth an evil man, he maketh him worse by inciting wrath or fear, by assenting to sadness, by praising pleasures; and even then are evil men most travailed and troubled, when they have made a mixture of many vices, and wickedness becometh complete. Therefore on the contrary side, a good man may profit a good man. But how sayest thou? He will bring him joy, he will confirm his confidence, and both of their joys shall increase by beholding their mutual tranquility. Besides, he shall deliver him the notice of some things: for a wiseman knoweth not all things; and although he knew them, yet may some man invent more compendious ways in things, and teach the same by which more easily the whole work is compassed. A wiseman shall be profitable to a wiseman, not only in regard of his own forces, but in respect of his also whom h● helpeth. And he himself likewise b●ing left unto himself can express his own parts. Let him make use of his own swiftnesse● yet notwithstanding he helpeth him also that encourageth him that runneth. A wiseman is not only profitable to a wiseman but to himself. To this thou wilt object, Take from him his proper forces, and he doth nothing. In this sort thou mayst say that there is no sweetness in honey: for he that eateth the same must be apt both in tongue and palate to ●ntertain this taste, that he may be delighted and not offended with the savour thereof: for some there are to whom honey seemeth bitter in regard of their sickness. Both of them must be such, that both the one may teach, and the other be disposed to receive instructions. It were in vain, saith he, to warm him more that hath been hot to the extremity, and as vain is it to better him that hath attained the fullness o● goodness. Doth a husbandman that is his crafts-master in tillage, seek● instructions from another? Doth a soldier that is sufficiently armed to enter the ●ield desire any further defence? Therefore not a wiseman's for he is sufficiently instructed and armed for life. He that is in the height of heat, had no need of heat to warm him: ●urther, heat itself, saith he, containeth itself; To this I answer, first of all, there is a great difference betwixt these things which thou comparest. For heat is one, but to profit is divers. Again, heat is not increased in heat by the adjection of heat. A wiseman cannot stand in the habit of his mind, except he admit some friends like himself, with whom he may communicate his virtues. Furthermore, add hereunto that there is a certain friendship between all virtues. He therefore profiteth that loveth any man's virtues that are equal with his, and giveth order also that his may be beloved: Those things that are alike do delight, especially if they be honest, and know how to approve and to be approved. It is true, no other man but a wise man can cunningly move a wiseman's mind, even as no man may reasonably move a man, except he be a man. Even as therefore there needeth reason to help reason, so to move perfect reason, there needeth perfect reason. They are said to profit us that give us means, as money, grace, health, and other things which are necessary and dear to the use of human life, in these even a fool shall be said to profit a wiseman. But to profit and aid another is to move his thought by his virtue, and according to Nature, or by the virtue of him that shall be moved. And this also cannot be done without his good that profiteth; for in exercising another man's virtue, he must needs exercise his own. But that thou mayst remove these things, which either are the chiefest goods, or the efficients of the chiefest: yet notwithstanding wisemen may profit amongst themselves. For it is a thing that of itself meriteth to be desired by a wiseman, to meet with another wise man, because that naturally a good thing is desired of his like, and a virtuous man acquainteth himself with another virtuous man, as willingly as with himself. I must needs for argument sake pass over from this question to another. For it is demanded whether a wiseman will deliberate, or demand counsel of another man, which is necessary for him to do, when he will entreat of ciull or domestical matters, or to speak more rightly, of mortal things. In this case he hath need of another's counsel, as of a Physician, a master of a ship, an advocate & proctor. A wiseman sometimes may be profitable to a wiseman, for he will persuade him. But in those great and divine things also, as we have said, he shall be profitable by ordinarily entreating of honest things, and by intermixing both their minds and thoughts. Besides, it is according to Nature, both to embrace friends, and to conceive as much joy of a friends good action, as of his own. For if we do not thus, virtue shall not remain in us, which in exercising herself taketh lustre by use. But virtue persuadeth us to dispose well of the present, to bethink on that which is to come, to deliberate and intent the mind, and more easily shall he intent and explicate the same, who taketh and entertaineth another unto him. He seeketh therefore either a perfect man, or one that profiteth, or is near unto perfection. But that perfect man will profit, if by common prudence the one helpeth the others counsel. They say that men see more in other men's business then in their own, and this befalleth those men whom self-love blindeth, and to those also, whom fear of danger driveth from all consideration of profit. The man that is assured and delivered from fear, will recover his courage and become wise. Yet notwithstanding there are some things, which even they who are the wisest do more diligently discover in others then in themselves. Moreover, that which is most sweetest and honestest, a wiseman will procure a wiseman to will and nill the same which he doth. They shall bear together a worthy charge; I have performed that which thou requiredst at my hands● although it were couched in the order of those things, which we have comprised in our books of moral Philosophy. Bethink thee of that which I have told thee often, that we do but exercise and whet our wits upon these questions: for oft-times return I thither. What doth this thing profit me? will it make me stronger, juster, or more temperate? I have yet no leisure to exercise myself, I stand in need of a Physician. Why teachest thou me an unprofitable Science? Thou hast promised me great matter, but I see little. Thou saidst I should be dreadless, yea although swords glisteren about me, although the point were ready to pierce my throat: thou saidst I should be secure, although I saw fires flaming about me, although a sudden whirlwind should ravish and bear away my Bark thorough the whole Ocean. Do thou thus much for me, that I may contemn pleasure and glory, then shalt thou afterwards teach me how to resolve difficulties, distinguish ambiguities, and pry into those things that are obscure, now teach me those things that are necessary. EPIST. CX. That each one of us have our GENII, which he hath favourable unto him, whosoever hath a good mind. That the vows and judgements of those men are wicked, who estimate not things according to their value. That vain things are wished for, and vain things feared, and that the remedy of both is from Philosophy, whereunto he summoneth us, having shaken off superfluities. In conclusion, he discovereth excess, and reproveth it by ATTALUS worthy speech. I Salute thee from my house at Nomentanum, and will thee to have a good mind, that is, all the gods propitious unto thee, who are favourable and well affected towards him, whosoever is reconciled unto himself. Lay apart for this present, the opinions of some men, that every one of us hath given him a Pedagogue or God, not of the ordinary, but those of the inferior note, and of the number of those whom Ovid nameth popular gods. Yet so would I have thee lay these things apart, that thou remember thyself that our predecessors, who have believed these things, were Stoics, for they attributed unto every one his Genius, and goddess juno. Hereafter we will examine whether the gods have so much leisure to procure and provide for particular men's affairs. In the mean while know thou this, that whether we are resigned to a several Genius, or else neglected and given over unto Fortune, that thou canst wish no man a greater mischief, then if thou shouldest desire that he may be his own enemy. Neither needest thou wish any man, whom thou thinkest worthy punishment, to have the gods displeased with him; for I tell thee they are averse, although his life seemeth to prospero and flourish under their care and favour. Consider and examine thou diligently what human affairs be, not what they are called, and thou shalt know that more evils befall us by ourselves, then through the hand of casualty. For how oft-times hath that which is called calamity been the cause and beginning of our felicity. How oftentimes hath a thing entertained with great applause, builded itself a degree from whence it may fall headlong, and hath raised some one high, that was already eminent, as if he should as yet continued in this place, from whence he might safely fall? yet that falling, if thou consider the end, beyond which Nature directeth no man, hath not any evil in itself. The end of all things is at hand, it is at hand I say, as well that from whence a happy man is driven by violence, as that from whence a miserable man is happily delivered. Both these enlarge we, and make them long by fear and hope. But if thou be'st wise, measure all things by human condition, and restrain the occasions that may make thee joy, or make thee fear. It were better have no joy that endureth long, and not to have a fear likewise that endureth long. But why do I thus restrain this evil? Think not that there is any thing that thou shouldest fear. These are but vain things which move and astonish us, none of us hath as yet examined the truth thereof, but each one hath taught the other to fear. No man hath dared to approach that which procured his fear, or know the nature and good of his own affright. And therefore it is, that a thing so fallacious and vain is yet redoubled, because no man disproveth or discovereth the same. Let us only bethink ourselves to open our eyes, and it shall presently appear how short, incertain, and secure things are feared. Such is the confusion of our minds, as Lucretius describeth it. For even as in the blind and darkest night, Young children quake for fear, and shake with fright, So fear we likewise in the clearest light. What then? are not we more foolish than children that fear at no one days? But this is false, Lucretius, we fear not in the light, we have made all things darkness to ourselves: we see nothing, neither that which hurteth us, nor that which helpeth us; all our lifetime we run, and wander here and there, yet for all this we never make stop, nor consider at any time where we fix our feet. And yet thou seest how furious a thing it is to run headlong in the dark, yet undoubtedly we do thus, to the end we may be recalled from a further off, and whereas we are ignorant whither we are carried, yet persevere we to run swiftly thither, whither we intended. But if we will that the day may break, yet but after one manner, that is, if a man receive the knowledge of these human and divine things, if instead of merely sprinkling himself therewith, he taketh the tincture thereof, if although he know the same, he often debateth thereupon; and relateth it oftentimes to himself. If he have sought what things are good and evil, and what things do unworthily challenge this title, if he inquire what things are honest or dishonest, and what is providence: neither within these bounds is the quickness of human understanding circumscribed. She taketh pleasure to cast her eye beyond the world, to examine whither it is carried, whence it came, to what period so great a swiftness of things hasteneth. From this so high contemplation have we drawn our minds into the consideration of sordid and base things, for to be slaves to avarice, so as overslipping the earth and the bounds thereof, and the gods which govern and dispose all things, we have employed the same in consideration of emboweling the earth, and not content with the goods which were offered, to search out what evil might be diggen out of it. Whatsoever is for our good, our good God and Father hath laid by us. He expected not our inquisition, he gave it freely, and buried those things that were hurtful for us in the bosom of the earth. We have cause to complain of none other but ourselves. We in spite of Nature, and when she had closely hidden them, have brought those things to light, which are the instruments of our ruin. We have dedicated our minds unto pleasures, the entertainment and allowance whereof is the beginning of all our mischiefs. We have given it over to ambition and fame, and other things as vain and fruitless as these. What therefore now do I exhort thee to do? Not new thing, for we seek no remedies for new evils, but this, especially to consider in thyself, what thing is necessary, and what superfluous. That which is necessary, thou shalt find every where before thee, but as touching those that are superfluous, thou must always run after them, and thou shalt hardly find them. Neither hast thou cause to praise thyself too much, if thou contemnest golden beds, and household-stuff garnished with precious stones. For what virtue is it to contemn superfluities? Than admire thou thyself, when thou contemnest necessary things. Thou dost no great thing, when as thou canst live without Kingly entertainment, when thou desirest not wild boars of a thousand pounds' weight, nor the tongues of Phenicopteres, nor such other monsters of gluttony, which this day taketh no delight in whole beasts, but desireth and longeth after the leg of one, and the wing of another, and such and such members of another. Than shall I admire thee when thou contemnest not the brownest bread: if thou persuade thyself that herbs when necessity requireth, do not only grow for the use of beasts, but for the nourishment of man. If thou knowest that the buds of trees are sufficient to fill the belly, into which we gather so many precious things, as if it were a storehouse to conserve them in, we must fill the same without loathing. For what skilleth it what it receiveth, since it must loose whatsoever it hath received. Thou takest pleasure to see a rank of platters charged with fowl and fish. There are meats which please thine appetite, because they are young and tender: contrariwise there are others less savoury unto thee, if they be not so thick and fa● as they melt in their grease. The very artificial smell of these delighteth thee. But undoubtedly these meats so carefully sought out, and so cunningly sauced, being swallowed down into the belly, convert themselves into ordure of the same colour, and stink. Wilt thou contemn the voluptuousness of meats, look upon them in thy close-stool. I remember that ATTALUS, not without the admiration of all men, was wont to say this: Richeses, said he, have oftentimes deceived me, when I saw any piece of them shine here or there, I stood in admiration to behold them. I thought that those which were hidden, were like those which were shown. But in a certain Circensian show I saw all the riches of the City embolished with gold and silver, and those things which exceeded either gold or silver in price, exquisite colours, and garments that were brought not only from over uttermost territories, but beyond the furthest confines of our enemies. On this side the troops of children, seemly both in their habit and form: on that side of women, and other things, which the fortune of the greatest Empire having sought out her greatest riches, had brought forth. What other thing is this (said he) then to irritate the lusts and desires of men that are too forward of themselves? What meaneth this pomp of money? We are assembled together to learn avarice. But undoubtedly I carry hence less covetousness than I brought with me. I contemned riches, not by reason they were superfluous, but because they were things of a small value. Seest thou not in how small a time this so mighty show passed over, although they marched but slowly, and were ranked orderly? Shall this which could not fill the space of an hour, occupy our whole life? He likewise added this. They seemed unto me as superfluous to those that had them, as those that beheld them. I therefore say thus to myself, as oftentimes as any such thing encountereth mine eyes, as often as I see a rich and sumptuous house, a rich guard of servants, a Litter carried by goodly Lackeys. Why wonderest thou? why art thou amazed? it is but pomp. These things are shown, not possessed; and whilst they please they pass by. Rather convert thyself unto true riches, learn to ●e content with a little, and with a great and manly mind exclaim thus; Let us have water, let us have barley steeped in water, and let us contend with JUPITER himself for felicity. Let us, I pray thee, do thus although these things be wanting. It i● a base thing to build a blessed life, either on gold or silver, and as base to found it on water and steeped barley● what shall I therefore do if these things be missing? Dost thou ask me what remedy there is against need? hunger endeth hunger, otherwise what importeth it if the things that make thee a slave be great or little? What matters it how much it be that fortune may deny thee? This very water and steeped barley is at another man's command, but he is the free man, not over whom fortune hath the lest power, but he over whom she hath no power at all. It is so. Thou must desire nothing if thou wil● provoke jupiter that desireth nothing. These things spoke Attalus unto us, but nature crieth it in all men's ears, which if thou wilt oftentimes think upon, thou shalt make thyself really, not seemingly happy, and in effect seem such unto thyself, and not unto others. EPIST. CXI. He proveth that cavils are but a vain and base kind of Philosophy, and that that part which concerneth manners is true, firm, and sublimed. counseling us to retire to that study. THou hast inquired of me what those things are called in Latin, which the Grecians call Sophismat● ● many men have endeavoured to express the same, but no man hath performed it; and the reason is, because the thing itself was not received by vs● neither had in use, and therefore likewise was the name of no accounts yet that in my ●udgement was the most fittest which Cicero used, who called them Cavillationes, that is to say Cavils; to which whosoever addicteth himself, he forgeth subtle questions, yet do they profit him nothing unto life, neither is he made the stronger, more temperate, or more lifted up. But he that hath exercised Philosophy for his own remedy sake is made mighty in mind, full of confidence invincible, and more great the nearer he approacheth the same. That which falleth out in the greatest mountains, whose height appears lest to those that behold them from a far, and the nearer you approach them, the more manifestly appeareth it what their immeasurable height is: such, my Lucilius, is a true and no sergeant Philosopher; he standeth in a high place, admirable, upright, and truly great. He raiseth not himself on his feet, neither walketh on his tiptoes, after the manner of those that help their height by shift, and would seem ●onger than they be, he contenteth himself with his greatness. Why should he not content himself, since he is grown so far, as fortune reacheth not her hand unto him● and therefore is he above all human things. He is always like himself in all things that may happen, whether the Navigation of his life floateth under a prosperous winde● or be tossed by storms and adverse dangers. This constancy these cavils (of which I have spoken a little before) cannot affect. The mind dallieth with these, but profiteth not he cas●eth Philosophy from her throne, and bringeth her unto the plain; neither would I forbidden thee to practise these things sometimes, yet let it be then when thou wouldst do nothing, yet have they this one cursed quality in them, they leave a certain touch of delight behind them, and possess and arrest the mind that is induced by the appearance of subtlety; mean while, infinite and important affairs remain behind, and scarcely may our whole life suffice to learn this one thing, which is how to contemn life. What to govern it sayest thou? This is the second work: for no man ever well ruled it except he contemned it. EPIST. CXII. He despaireth the reformation of his friend, old in years and vices. Undoubtedly I desire that thy friend according to thy wish should be both form and instructed; but he is held over-hard, or rather (which is more troublesome) he is held over tender, and broken by evil and daily customs. I will yield thee an example out of the husbandry I profess: It is not every Vine that is fit for grafting; if it be old and worm-eaten, if it be weak and slender, either it receiveth not the young plant, or nourisheth it not, or it will not join with it, neither will communicate his quality and nature to the same. We therefore are accustomed to cut it above the ground, to the end that if it fail, a man may assay another experiment, and set him once more into the earth. This man of whom thou writest, and whom thou recommendest, hath no forces. He hath been in such sort addicted unto vices, that he is both dried and indurate. He cannot receive or nourish reason, yet is he desirous. Believe him not: I say not that he lieth unto thee, he thinketh he desireth. He is angry with the excess he hath made, yet will he shortly fall in league with it again. But he saith that he is offended with his life: I will not deny it; for who is not offended? men both love and hate their lives. Than therefore will we give our judgement of him, when he hath approved unto us that his excess is hateful unto him; but now they are greatly at odds. EPIST. CXIII. He questioneth whether virtues be living creatures. He stoically affirmeth that the vices and affections are no less. Than preferred he a dispute, that were ridiculous in th●se days. He dissuadeth us from such like, and summoneth us to th●se things that are profitable to life. THou desirest me to writ unto thee what I think of this question so much canvased amongst Stoics, whether justice, fortitude, prudence, and the rest of the virtues are living creatures. By this subtlety, my dearest Lucilius, we give occasion to some to think that we whet our wits about unprofitable things, and that we loose our time in such disputes as serve to no purpose. Yet will I do that which thou desirest, and express unto thee what the opinion of our Stoics is; yet protest I that I am of another opinion. I think there are some things that become those that wear the ●at and cloak amongst the Grecians. I will therefore tell thee what the reasons were which moved antiquity. It appeareth that the soul is a living creature, considering she is the efficient cause whereby we are animated: and for that living creatures have der●ued this name from her. But virtue is naught else then a soul possessing herself in some so●t, it is therefore an animal. Against virtue doth something, but nothing can be done without motion; if she hau● motion, which none hath except it be a living creature, she is a living creature: and if she be a living creature, than virtue containeth virtue in herself, why not? she hath herself. Even as a wiseman doth all things by the assistance of virtue, so doth virtue by herself: & therefore s●ith he, all Arts, and all those things which we think, and whatsoever we comprehend in our minds are animals. It followeth therefore that in those narrow breasts of ours there inhabiteth divers thousands of animals, and that every one of us are many animals, or contain many animals in ourselves. Askest thou me what is answered hereunto? Each one of these things shall be an animal, and no● divers. The reason? I will tell it thee, if thou wilt hear me patiently & attentiuely● all animals aught to have each of them a proper substance: all animals have one soule● they cannot therefore subsist every one, neither can they be divers. I am an animal, and a man, thou wilt not therefore say that I am two. Why? To make them two, they aught to be severed the one from the other. Every one of divers sorts hath but one nature, and therefore is but one. My soul is an animal, and I myself am one also; yet for all this are we not two. Why? By reason that my soul is a part of me. Than shall any thing be numbered by itself, when it consisteth by itself, but when it is a part and member of another, it cannot seem to be another thing. And why? I will tell thee. Because that which is another must be his own, and properly his own, and wholly his own, and absolute within itself. I have declared that I was of another opinion: for not only shall virtues be animals if this be admitted, but those vices and affections which are opposite unto them likewise, such as are wrath, fear, sorrow and suspicion. And yet this thing shall proceed further, all sentences, all thoughts shall be animals, which must in no sort be admitted. For every thing that a man doth is not a man; what is justice, saith he? A soul that possesseth herself in some sort: if therefore the soul be an animal, justice is an animal. Nothing so: for this is a habit and certain power of the soul. The same soul is converted into divers figures, and yet is not the soul an animal, so oftentimes as it changeth thus; neither is that which the soul doth an animal. If justice, magnanimity and those other virtues be animals, I demand of thee if sometimes they cease to be, or if they begin again, or if they be always? virtues cannot cease to be virtues, therefore many living creatures are animals, nay, more innumerable animals are in this soul. There are not many (saith he) but this is but one soul assembled of divers, which are the members and parts of one. By this reckoning we represent unto ourselves such a form as the Hydra● which hath divers heads, each one of which fighteth and hurteth by itself. But none of those heads is an animal but the head of an animal, yet is she but one animal. No man said that in Chimaera the Lion was an animal, or the Dragon; these are the parts of him, but the parts are not animals. Where dost thou gather that justice is an animal? It acteth, saith he, somewhat and profiteth. But that which doth somewhat and pro●iteth, and hath force and motion● Ergo, that which hath force and motion is an animal. True it is, if it have his own force and motion, but it hath not his own force and motion, but that of the soul. Every Animal until it die is that which it began to be. A man until he die is a man, so likewise a horse and a dog, for they cannot pass into another form and substance. justice that is the soul which possesseth itself in any sort, is an Animal. Let us believe it. Moreover, Magnanimity, that is to say, the soul in any sort mistress of herself, is an Animal. What soul is that? That which even now was justice, is enclosed in the first Animal, and cannot pass into another Animal, but must remain in him where she began to be. Furthermore, one soul cannot be in two living creatures together, much less in many. If justice, Magnanimity, Temperance, and those other virtues be Animals. How can they have but one soul, it must needs fall out that every one hath his own● else cannot they be Animals. One body cannot be the body of divers Animals. What is, saith he, the body of justice, the soul, and of magnanimity also; but one body cannot be the body of two Animals. But some one will say, that one and the same soul hath taken the habitude of justice, magnanimity and temperance, This might be, if at such time as justice was in vigour, magnanimity was not, and when value was, temperance was not. But all virtues are together. How should these be different Animals, since there is but one soul, which can make but one Animal. Furthermore, no Animal is a part of another Animal. But justice is a part of the soul, it is not therefore an Animal. Truly in my judgement, it is but lost time to contest upon a matter that is granted, we should rather be angry thereat, then dispute thereupon. No Animal is a part of another. Consider all men's bodies, and there is not one of them but hath his particular colour, form, and proportion. Amidst other miracles, which make the wisdom of God the Creator admirable, I esteem this to be one, that amidst so many things that are created, the one resembleth not the other, and as touching those that are like one another, yet will there be some difference found, if thou curiously observe the same. He hath made infinite sorts of leaves distinguished the one from the other by some special mark. Infinite and different Animals, yea even those which are of the same kind, do not in every part resemble one another. The Creator hath required and obtained this of himself, that these Animals of different kinds should not resemble one another, either in form or proportion. Thou sayest that all the Virtues are like one another, and therefore they are not Animals. There is not any Animal but doth something of itself. But Virtue doth nothing by herself, but with a man. All living creatures are either endowed with reason, as men and gods, or deprived of reason as beasts are. virtues are endowed with reason, and yet for all that, they are neither gods nor men, and consequently they are not Animals. Every reasonable living creature doth nothing, except it be first incited and pushed forward in regard and consideration of something: this stirreth the ●am●● and then consent stirreth this motion. As touching Consent, see here 〈◊〉 it is. I must walk out, I set forward, after I am commanded so to do, and ●●uing found it good. I must sit down, and then I sit. This Consent is not in Virtue. Presuppose that Prudence is a living creature, how should she consent? I must of necessity set forward, Nature opposeth herself against this point, for Prudence provideth not for herself, but for him that is endowed with her, which cannot go nor sit down, and therefore hath no consent. That which is deprived of judgement and consent, is not a living creature endowed with reason. If Virtue be a living creature, she is a reasonable living creature. But she is a reasonable living creature: Ergo, no living creature. If Virtue be a living creature, and virtue be a good thing, every good thing is a living creature. The Stoics avow this. It is a good thing for a man to save his father's life, to speak materially and to the purpose, his opinion in public assembly, to give a sentence according to the laws, by this reckoning to save a man's father, shall be a living creature, and to think and debate well, another. In brief, this Paradox will seem● so great in the end, that a man cannot contain himself from laughter. To know how to hold a man's peace in time and place, to sup well is a good thing, and therefore to hold a man's peace, and to sup well, are living creatures. I will not cease to tickle myself, and make me pleasure by these follies. Truly if justice and Magnanimity be living creatures, they are terrestrial, every terrestrial living creature suffereth cold, hunger and thirst. So justice hath a cold, Magnanimity is hungry, and Clemency dry. Moreover, I would willingly ask of these Doctors, if these living creatures have the figure of a man, of a horse, or of a savage beast. If they attribute unto them a round form, as they do unto God, I would ask of them, whether covetousness, riot, and folly are round? For these likewise are Animals, if they be round. I would desire them further to let me know, if to walk discreetly be a living creature or no? They must of necessity confess that it is a living creature of a round form. But to the end thou mayest know that I speak by my book, and that it is not my private opinion which I here do publish. Cleanthes and his scholar Chrysippus are not one in opinion, as touching this walking. Cleanthes saith that it is an agitation dis●persed from the head unto the feet. Chrysippus is of another opinion: why then according to Chrysippus' example cannot any man maintain that which he shall judge to be the best, and laugh at the number of these Animals, so great, as the world would be too little to contain them. The Stoics say that Virtues are not divers Animals, and yet notwithstanding that they are Animals, even as one man is an Orator and Poet, so are Virtues Animals, and not divers living creatures, but one only. The soul that is just, prudent, and courageous, is one and the same, being in some sort in possession of herself, in every one of the virtues. The dispute ceaseth, we are agreed, for I confess that the soul is a living creature, referring it to another place to speak my opinion as touching the same. I deny that the actions of the soul are living creatures, otherwise all the words, and every Poet's verses should be living creatures. For if a word well spoken be a good thing, and every good thing be a living creature, the word shall be a living creature. A verse that is well made is good, that which is good is called an Animal, and consequently a verse shall be an Animal: and so Arma virumque cano, Is an Animal, which cannot for all that be round, because it is a verse of six feet. All this is but mere Sophistry, which being well examined makes me ready to swoon with laughing, when I remember that a Solecism, a Barbarism, and a Syllogism is an Animal, and I depaint every one of them such a form as best liketh me. These things dispute we with lofty looks and bended brows. I cannot in this place refrain to exclaim in this sort with Lucilius, O hateful follies. They are ridiculous. But why manage we not rather some matters that may make us better! Why search we not out the means to attain unto virtue, and the way that may lead us thereunto? Break not my brains in teaching me whether Magnanimity be a living creature, but learn me that in this world there is not any living creature found that is happy, except he be magnanimous, except he be resolute against all accidents, if in his thought he hath not overcome all adversities before he felt them. Magnanimity is the impregnable fortress of human infirmity, whosoever is enclosed therein, he remaineth assured in this beleagring of life. For he useth his own strength and his own weapons. In this place I will set down unto thee the notable saying of the Stoic POSIDONIUS, Never think thy sel●e assured with the arms of Fortune, combat against her with thine own. Casualties do not arm us. They therefore that are armed against their enemies, are disarmed against adversity. Alexander spoiled and put to flight the Persians', the Hyrcanians, the Indians, and all those Nations that inhabit the extent of the East Countries unto the sea. Notwithstanding he himself having slain one friend and lost another, lay groveling in a dark chamber detesting his wickedness, deploring his loss, and this conqueror of so many Kings and Nations, was overcome by choler and sorrow. For all his endeavours were aimed to this end, to master all other things except himself. O how blind are men, who desire to make their Sceptres pass beyond the seas, who think themselves happy if they conquer divers countries and Provinces by their soldiers, and join new to the old, not knowing that the greatest Empire, and that which is wholly conquered, is to command a man's self. Let them teach me how sacred a thing justice is, that it is a virtue that is careful of another man's good; that seeketh not commodities or advantages to herself. That she hath no alliance with ambition and vainglory, but pleaseth herself. Before all things let every one persuade himself this. It behoveth me to be a good man, without hope or desire of recompense. This is a small matter, let him add more: I am commanded to employ myself wholly and freely in the study of virtue, in such sort as all my thought is as much as in me lieth, to be driven from the consideration of my private profit. Study thou not whether the reward of virtue, is more great than virtue itself. Fix thou that likewise in thy mind, which I have touched heretofore, it skilleth not whether thy virtue be known to few men, or to many. He that will have his virtue published, laboureth not for virtue, but for glory. Wilt thou not be just without glory? But undoubtedly thou must be just with infamy, and then, if thou art wise, an evil opinion well gotten doth delight. EPIST. CXIIII. He teacheth that eloquence is otherwise different, and pleasing, even as public manners are severe, dissolute and broken. He proveth that they take that colour from the mind, and that by MAECENAS example, and therefore that that is to be cured and form, from whence proceedeth sense, and consequently direct words. By the way he argueth against dissolutenesse●. THou askest me why and whence it cometh to pass, that the speech is corrupted in some times, and why men's minds are inclined to certain vices, so as sometimes a swelling discourse was applauded, some other times sounding & delivered after the manner of a song. Why other whiles men took pleasure in long & continued periods, other while in abrupt sentences & suspicious, in which more is to be understood then heard. Why then was some age that immodestly used a figurative discourse. The reason is this which thou hast commonly heard, and the Greeks' have made their proverb, of such is men's speech as is their life. But as every man's action is answerable to his speech, so sometimes the kind of discourse imitateth public manners. If the discipline of the Commonwealth hath been depraved, the effeminate manner of language is an argument of the dissolution of all estates: I speak of that language which is usual amongst all men, and not of that, which some one or two use. The soul and understanding cannot be of two colours. If the soul be whole, composed, grave, and well tempered, the understanding also is sober and moderate. If the one be corrupted, the other is affected. Seest thou not, that if the mind languish, the members are weakened, and the feet hardly moved? And if it be effeminate, how the infirmity thereof appeareth even in the walking? How if it be watchful and forward, the body doubleth his pace, and if it be furious, or (that which is next to fury) be angry, how all the body trembleth, and how they go not, but are transported? How much more befalleth the understanding thinkest thou, which is wholly intermixed with the soul, which formeth the same, bringeth it in action, and giveth it a law? In what sort Maecenas lived, it is better known, then that it needed to be expressed at this time, how he walked, how dainty he was, how desirous to be seen, how unwilling that his vices should be undiscovered. What then, was not his discourse as dissolute as his life? Had he not as much affectation and vanity in his speech, as in his equipage, then in his train, then in his house, then in his wife? He was a man of great understanding, ●ad ●e not tracted a worse way, had he not affected obscurity, had he not overflowed in his discourse. Thou shalt therefore see the eloquence of a drunken man enfolded, extravagant and full of liberty. Behold Maecenas in his manner of speech. Quid turpius amne siluisque ripa comantibus? Vide ut alueum lintribus arent, versoque vad● remittant hortos. Quid si quis faeminae cirro crispatae & labris columbatur? Incipitque suspirans ut ceruice laxa feriatur. Nemo tiranni irremediabilis factio rimantur, epulis lagaenaeque tentant domos & saepe mortem exigunt. Genium festo vix suo testem tenuis ●erei fila & crepacem molam● jocum matter & uxor investiunt. Wilt thou not suddenly remember, as soon as thou readest this, that this is the speech of such a man, who always traversed Rome streets in his loose-gowne. For even then when in Caesar's absence he executed his office, he delivered the watchword in this habit. Think that it is the same man, that in the Palace, in the Tribunal during the time of Orations, in all assemblies of these people always presented himself, having his face muffled in his cloak, without discovering any thing but his ears, as they are accustomed to do, who fly and will not be known, according as they are represented in Comedies. He it is that in the greatest height of civil wars, at such time as Rome was in arms and in fear, marched thorough the streets, attended by two eunuchs, yet more men than himself. He it is that hath had but one wife, and notwithstanding hath been married a thousand times. These words above written so badly builded, so negligently disposed, so repugnant to the manner of all men's writings, show that his manners were no less new, then particular and depraved. He hath been highly prised for the sweetness of his nature, in that he never bore arms, or ever took pleasure in shedding blood, or did any thing, except that which the liberty of the time or his credit might permit him. But all this good reputation of his hath been soiled by the affectations of this his monstrous manner of language: for in this it manifestly appeareth that he was rather a milksop then merciful. These obscurities in ●is composition, these overth wart words, these conceits oftentimes: lofty, but without pith, discover unto him that will observe the same, that too much felicity had troubled his head, a vice which is sometimes found in the man, sometimes in the time. When as repose and felicity produceth and soweth dissolution on every side. First of all, a man beginneth more carefully to dress and adorn his body. Afterwards his study is to have rich movables, consequently he bethinketh himself of stately buildings, to make them more large, to enrich the walls with Marbles fetched from beyond seas, to embolish the roofs with gold, that the beauty of the pavement be answerable to the richness of many beams. Than transferreth he his daintiness to the magnificence of his table, and there searcheth he glory in novelty, and changing the accustomed fashions amongst our predecessors, so that those things which were wont to be served in last at supper, are brought in first, and those things that were presented to those that entered to the feast, are given to those that departed from it. After that man's mind was accustomed to loathe that which was in use, and things that are ordinary were accounted contemptible: he goes and seeks out a new language, reviving and renewing unusual and forgotten words, then forgeth he new, and regrateth the unknown: that which is but newly found out is reputed elegant, and figurative translations are audacious and frequent. Some think to credit themselves by speaking to the halves, and abbreviating their speech in such sort, as he that heareth knoweth not what to think. Other there are that delate and draw them out, some there are that draw not unto the vice (for he must needs, that undertaketh any great thing to do the same) yet such as love the same. Wheresoever therefore thou seest that men take delight in an obscure and corrupt speech, hold thyself assured that their manners are depraved. Even as excessive banquets and superfluous raiments are witnesses that the Commonweal is sick, so this liberty in coining new terms and words (if so be the custom be continued) showeth that the spirits of those that speak thus, are entangled and lost. Wonder thou not in any sort, that this corruption is as pleasing to the mightiest, as to the meaner sort, for the greatest and the poorest differ not in judgements, but in their pomp and estate. Rather wonder thou that men praise the effects of vices, and the vices themselves. For this hath been always done: there was no pleasing wit that had not his pardon. Give me whatsoever man thou wilt of greatest name, and I will tell thee wherein the age wherein he lived pardoned him, and what they willingly dissembled in him. I will reckon thee up many, whose vices harmed them not, and some, whose errors profited them. I will, I say, let thee see some of great renown, and reputed most excellent men, whom if a man will censure, he confoundeth them. For so are their virtues intermixed with their vices, that the one do necessarily draw the other after them. Add hereunto that language hath no certain rule. The public custom which changeth it incessantly, altereth it from year to year. Some men borrow words from another age. They use the style of the Laws written in the twelve tables. Gracchus, Crassus, and Curio are over new for them, they return as far as Appius and Coruncanus. Some other contrariwise, that will have nothing which is not vulgar and trivial, speak very barely. Both of them are corrupted in a divers manner so much certainly, as if they would use pompous wel-sounding and poetical words, and fly those that are necessary and in use: I will say that as well the one as the other doth amiss. The one esteemeth themselves more than is necessary, the other mispriseth themselves over much; the one pull the hair from their legs, the other not from their arm pits. Let us pass over to composition, how many defaults may I discover to thee? The one allow of a crabbed and harsh discourse, they disturb a smooth and pleasing style: no period is pleasing to them, if it be not harsh and rough: they repute that manly and strong which affecteth the ●are with inequality. The other in stead of speaking, seem to sing, so fl●ttering and so fluent is the structure of their words. What will you say of that where the words are deferred, and after we have attended them long time● hardly return they unto their clauses? What shall I say of that which in the issue is moderate (as is that of Cicero's and falling and ending afterwards sweetly, and answerable to the fashion; and hath his ending answerable to the manner and foot. There is not only an error in the kind of sentences, if either they are too weak and childish, and more proud and bold than modesty will permit, but they are too flourishing and sweet, if they be delivered in vain and without any effect, they do no more but sound. These vices some one man bringeth in, whose eloquence in that time is applauded, the rest do imitate him, and the one delivereth it to the other. So when Sallust was in request, the sentences were curt●lled, and words had their unexpected cadence, and obscure brevity with the rest was reputed elegancy, Aruncius a man of rare frugality, who wrote the History of the Carthaginian wars, was a Salus●ian, and an excellent man in that kind. There is an SALUST, Exercitum argento fe●it: that is to say, he made an army with silver; that is, he assembled an army with money. This did Aruncius, he planted it in every page: he saith in a certain place, Fugam nostri fecere, that is to say, our men made a flight: and in another place Hiero King of Syracuse, Bellum facit, maketh war: and likewise in another place, Quae a●dita Panormitanos dedere Romanis fecere, that is to say, which things being heard, they made that the Inhabitants of Panormus rendered themselves to the Romanes● I thought good to give thee a little taste. All this whole book is composed of words. Those words that were rare in Sallust are usual in him, and almost continued: and not without cause; for the one lighted on them by chance, the other sought for them. But thou seest what followeth him that taketh an error for an example: Sallust said, Aquis hiemantibus, whilst the waters wintered. Ar●ncius in his first book of the Carthaginian war, saith, Repent hiemavit tempestas, that is to say, the tempest suddenly wintered. And in another place, when he would say that the year was cold, he saith, Totus hiemavit annus, that is● the whole year wintered. And in another place, Ind sexaginta onerarias leues pr●ter militem, & necessarios nautarum hiemante aquilone misit, that is, whilst the Aquilon wintered, he sent from that place sixty ships of small burden, besides the Soldiers and necessary Mariners. He never giveth over in all places to foist in this word. In a certain place Sallust saith, Inter arma civilia aequiboni famas petit, that is, amidst civil arms he sought the renown of a man good and just. Aruntius tempered not himself, but presently in his first book he inserted this, Ingentes esse famas de RE●VLO, that is, that the renowns of Regulus were great. This therefore and such like vices, which imitation hath impressed into any tokens of dissolution, or a corrupt mind. For they must be proper and conceived by the understanding, by which thou oughtest to estimate any man's effects. The speech of a choleric man is hasty, and violent of a man that is moved to much stirring, of a delicate and civil man smooth and pleasant, which thou seest those men follow that either pull and trim their beards, that cause their mustachioes to be cut short, that shave their upper lips very near, and suffer the rest to be as long as is possible, that wear their cloaks of an evil colour, and gowns of pure stuff, who will do nothing but that which is seen publicly, although they offend and displease the whole world. But they care not to be reproved, provided, that they be beheld. Such is Maecenas discourse and all others else, which err not casually but willingly. This error proc●edeth from an evil conscience. Even as in drunkenness the tongue faltereth not, except reason be obscured or betrayed: so this manner of speech (which is a mere drunkenness of the spirit) is tedious to no man, except the understanding of him that speaketh be shaken. Therefore we aught to heal the same, for from it the discourse, the words, the countenance, the regard, the marching is derived; if it be whole and strong. The language is robust, strong and manly: contrariwise, if it be dejected all the rest grow to wrack, The King in health then all men's minds are one, The King once lost then all men's faith is gon●. Our mind is our King if it be safe, the rest continued in their duty, they obey and are governed, if he be never so little shaken, they droop with him. But when he giveth place to pleasure, his Arts and his actions also do decay, and all his forces are feeble and frail. Because I have used this similitude I will persever. Our mind is now a King, now a Tyrant: a King when he beholdeth and aimeth at honesty, maintaineth the health of the body committed to his charge, and commandeth no filthy or sordid thing: but when he is choleric, covetous and delicate, he assumeth a detestable and direful name, and is called Tyrant. Than do impotent affections lay hold of him, and solicit him incessantly, and in the beginning of those that most press him seem to yield him pleasure; such as the people is accustomed to rejoice at when a tyrant maketh them any largesse to entrap them: but this abundance is vain unto the understanding, which manageth that which he cannot dis-jest, when the sickness hath consumed his vigour more and more, and delights have stolen into his nerves and marrow, the understanding being joyful to behold these things (the use whereof is unprofitable to him, because he hath over-earnestly desired them) for the satisfaction of his delights, he enjoyeth the sight of this or that, he is witness and under servant of other men's lusts, being deprived of all delights of the same, because he is overplunged therein: in brief, the abundance of worldly pleasures in stead of conceiting him consumeth him, when he sees himself deprived of the means to let down by his throat into his belly all the pleasant morsels he beholdeth, and to tumble himself basely amidst the troop of bards and harlots, he wonderfully grieveth because he is fallen from the greatest part of his felicity, having so strait receipt in a body so little. Is not this a true fury, my Lucilius, that none of us thinketh that he is mortal? That we are insensible every way of our infirmity? yea, that each one supposeth himself to be more than one. Behold our Kitchens, and our Cooks traversing from one fire to another; wouldst thou think that for the refection of one only belly so much stir should be made? Behold our Caves and Cellars replenished with the vintages of many ages; thinkest thou that it is for one belly that the wines of so many Consuls and Countries are stored up? Behold in how many places the earth is turned up, how many thousands of husbandmen plough and dig the same; thinkest thou that it may seem to be for one belly that Sicily and Africa are sowed? We shall be healthful and desire little, if every one of us numbereth himself, and measure his body likewise, and know that it neither can receive much, nor contain it long; yet is there nothing that will teach thee better to keep a measure in all things, than an ordinary meditation of the shortness and uncertainty of this life, whensoever thou dost look back unto death. EPIST. CXV. He argueth against those that are too curious in their discourse and style, and saith it is a token of a weak mind; alleging that we aught to speak and writ confidently without affectation of ornament, and rather express in our mind. O what a one is he when virtues have adorned him? He will draw all men into admiration of him, if he might be seen. But this external beauty is either false or nothing worth: as likewise gold and money are, which we so much admire. These make not men happy or secure, nay, rather miserable and to be pitied. I Will not have thee too curious, either in thy words or composition, my Lucilius, I have greater matters for thee to care for, and think upon. Seek what thou shouldest writ, and not how; and in stead of busying thyself about words, cause thyself to have a feeling of the substance thereof in thy heart, to the end thou mayest apply the same more and more, and as it were seal it in thyself. Whomsoever thou seest that useth an affected and laboured kind of speech, think that he hath his spirit occupied about vain things. A virtuous man speaketh more remissly, but more securely: whatsoever he saith, hath more confidence in it then curiosity. Thou knowest divers young men well barbed and frizeled, who seem as if they newly came out of a box; expect thou nothing either firm or generous from such kind of men. The speech is the Image of the mind: if a man mince it, disguise and polish it over curiously, it is a sign that he which speaketh it, is an hypocrite, and little worth. It is no manly ornament to speak affectedly. If it were lawful for us to pry into the soul of a good man, O the fair, O the holy, O the magnificent, gracious, and shining face which we should behold! their justice, their fortitude, their temperance, their prudence give lustre on every side. Furthermore, frugality, continence, patience, liberty and courtesy, and that rare, and as it were incredible ornament in a man, that is to say humanity, would reflect their light upon them. Furthermore, how much grace, gravity, authority, discretion and magnanimity (which is the highest of all other virtues) would annex themselves unto the rest. No man would count him amiable that would not term him venerable, if any one had seen this face more heavenly and resplendent then mortal eyes are accustomed to behold, would he not step back, being strooken with astonishment, as if he had met with some God? Would he not pray in his heart that he might contemplate the same? Than approaching more near, alured by the sweetness of his eyes, would he not humbly kneel down before her. And having advisedly considered it, how far more excellent it were and incomparable above ours, with a gracious regard, yet sparkling and filled with living light, wholly ravished with zeal and amaze, would he not cry out with Virgil, O by what style fair Virgin shall I strive To set thee forth? for thine unequaled eyes Are mere then mortal, and thy words revive far more than human eloquence implies, Live happy, and vouchsafe us of thy grace, And end those toils which have our life in chase. She will assist and comfort us, if we will honour her, but she is not honoured or served by the offerings of fat slaughtered and sacrificed Bulls, nor by gold, or silver hung up in the Temple, or by presents cast into her treasure; but by a right and holy affection. There is not any man, as I have said, that would not be inflamed with her love, if we could attain to see her. For now there are many things that hinder and dim our eyes, and dull them by their brightness, or detain them in obscurity. But even as certain medicines do cleanse and sharpen the sight; so likewise if we will take away those impediments that darken the eyes of our souls, we may behold virtue, although covered with a body, although poverty, base condition, and infamy be as many coverts to conceal her from us; although this beauty be clouded by an obscure thing, yet shall we espy it. Contrariwise, we shall discover from a far the malice and stupidity of a miserable soul, although that riches do abundantly shine and muster about her, and that in regarding her we have our eyes dazzled with the false light of power and honours, Than may we learn that which we admire is contemptible in all sorts, and that we resemble little children, that think every trifle of great value; for they prefer their little bracelets, scarce worth a penny, before their fathers, mothers, or brothers. What difference then is there betwixt us and them, saith Ariston, but that we are madding after pictures and statues more costly foolish? They are delighted with little party coloured stones, that have some variety in them, which are found upon the Sea shore, and we with pillars of jaspe and Porphirie, brought from the sands of Egypt, or the deserts of Africa, to sustain some porch or some dining chamber to feast the Commons in. We wonder at the walls that are covered with thin marble, and yet we know what that is which is hidden, and we cousin our own eyes. And when we gild all the roofs of our houses, what other thing rejoice we in but in counterfeit? For we know that worm-eaten wood lieth hidden under that gold: neither is it only on our walls and house-beames that we bestow this light ornament, but remember thyself also that the felicity of all these great men whom thou seest march so proudly, is but a felicity guilded on the outside, and a simple leaf. Observe and thou shalt see, that under this thin skin of human greatness, there is abundance of misery and filthiness. Those riches which at this day raise men to greatest magistracy & place of justice, have bewitched the hearts and senses of the same men; and since money hath grown in request, the true honour of things is made no reckoning of: and being become buyers and sellers both at once, we ask no more what this is, but of what worth this is? In this traffic we are sometimes good, and sometimes evil. As long as there is any hope of profit about virtue we follow her: if vice promise' us better advantage we run after it, and are for those will give us most. Our fathers and mothers have made us admire gold and silver; this covetousness being sowed in our tender souls, hath taken deep root, and is grown with us. Again, all men that in all other things are of different opinions, accord in this point of avarice, every one embraceth the same, desireth that his may have a part, & pretending to show himself grateful to the gods, he presenteth them with silver and gold, as the most excellent thing in the world. Finally, man's life is brought to that pass, that poverty is held for a hateful thing, and full of contempt, neglected by the rich, hateful to the poor. Than have the Poets annexed their inventions, which are as it were matches to kindle our affections in praising riches as the only honour and ornament of this life, and that the immortal gods seem to have nothing better, neither can give any thing more exquisite. One of them speaking of the Palace of the Sun, saith The Palace of the Sun, most seemly to behold, Was raised on pillars of the purest gold. Behold how he describes his Chariot. The axle-tree, the beam, the outward bends, That arm the wheel, were all of burnished gold, The spokes of silver.— To conclude, they call that the golden age, which they would have reputed for the best. Amongst the Tragic Poets, there are some that prefer profit before innocence, health, and good opinion. Let me have wealth and riches to be giving, Accounted thou me the wretchedst miser living; All men inquire, if he be rich or not, But no man learns what goodness he doth owe. They ask not why, or whence, but what thou hast, And only that, so each man is reputed As he is landed, moneyed, and suited. Askest thou me what is loathsome to possess, Nothing; for getting doth disgrace redress. I either wish to live in rich estate, Or die in poverty, contempt, and hate: Full well dies he, that dying getteth gain, Money the greatest good of human strain: The mother's comfort, and the infant's pleasure, The sacred parents are but toys to pleasures, In VENUS' face nothing so sweetly shines As money doth, nothing her power confines; The gods themselves are by her presents moved, And mortal men her sight have ever loved. When these last verses of Euripides Tragedy were pronounced, all the people arose with great tumult, to fling out both the Actor and the Author, till Euripides himself stepped forth into the midst of them, beseeching them to have patience, and they should see what end he had that so much admired gold. In this Tragedy Beler●phon received the chastisement, which every one receiveth in himself. For no avarice is without punishment, although she herself be punishment enough of herself. O how many tears and toils exacteth she at their hands that serve her, how miserable she is both to those that gape after her, and to those that have got her. Add hereunto the continual cares which torment every man, according to the measure of that he hath: money is possessed with greater torment then sought. What bitter sighs are vented from the hearts of covetous men, if they have any losses, which sometimes are great, and seem also to be greater. Finally, although Fortune take nothing from them● yet all that which escapeth their fingers, is as much as lost unto them. But men say such a one is happy and rich, and desire to have as much goods as he. I confess it. What then? Thinkest thou that any are in worse case than those which have both misery and envy. I could wish that they who desire riches, should consult and take counsel of rich men. I could wish that they who affect honours, should confer with ambitious men, and such as have gotten the height of dignity, they should undoubtedly change their vows, which they do also making new wishes, and consequently condemning their former wishes. For there is no one man that contenteth himself with his felicity, although she posted forward to find him. They complain themselves of their designs and success, and had rather have that which they left behind. But Philosophy will give thee content, which is the most great good thou canst imagine, thou shalt never repent thyself. To this so solid felicity which no tempest may shake, apt and chosen words, neither a sweet and flowing style will bring thee. Let words pass as they may, provided that thy soul be in his entire, that it be great, and delivered from errors, pleasing unto itself, by reason of those things that are displeasing unto others. Who estimateth his advancement by his action, and judgeth that he knoweth so much, as he neither desireth nor feareth. EPIST. CXVI. Against the Peripatetics, that affections are to be cut off, not tempered, neither that they are induced by Nature. That the adverse opinion proceedeth from effeminateness. IT hath oftentimes been demanded● whether it be better to have moderate affections, or none at all. The Stoics expel them which are tempered and moderated by Peripatetics. For mine own part I see now how a sickness may be moderate, healthful or profitable. Fear thou not, for I will have none of those things taken from thee, which thou wilt not have denied thyself. I will make myself facile and indulgent to those things which thou pretendest, and that either thou esteemest necessary, profitable, or pleasing to thyself. I will only take from thee the vice. For when I forbidden thee to desire, I permit thee to will, to the end that resolutely and advisedly thou mayest do what thou pleasest, and that thou mayest taste the sweetness thereof the more. Why not? For they will come the more unto thee, if thou command them, then if thou serve them. But thou wilt say that it is natural for a man to lament the death of his friend, that we aught to give time to a sorrow so just. That it is natural to be touched with the opinions of men, and to be sorry in adversities, that it is not reasonable to extinguish the honest apprehension of a danger. I answer, that there is no vice which findeth not an advocate, and whose beginning is not fitting and excusable● but that it is which giveth him the means to extend itself every ways. If thou suffer it to begin, thou shalt never be able to make it end. In the beginning each affection is feeble, but afterwards he inciteth himself, and getteth forces in his progress, he is more easily excluded then expelled. Who denieth, but that affections flow, as it were, from a certain natural beginning. Nature hath committed the care of ourselves to ourselves, but when thou art too indulgent thereof, it is a vice, Nature hath intermixed pleasure with necessary things, not that we should affect the same● but that the access thereof, should make those things more pleasing to us, without which we cannot live, if of itself it come not, it is dissoluteness. Let us therefore make head against affections which enter: because, as I said, they are not entertained so easily as they departed. Permit me in such a measure to be sorrowful, in such a measure to fear: but that measure becometh without mean, and endeth not there where thou wilt. It is safety for a wiseman not to keep himself over careful, and let him when he listeth arrest his tears and his pleasures. And because it is not easy for us to retire, it is the better that we set not forward at all. Me thinks that Panaetius answered very fitly to a young man that asked him, Whether a wiseman might love. As touching the wiseman (saith he) we will think upon it, but in regard of thyself and me, we are yet far distant from the perfection of a wiseman. Let us keep ourselves carefully, jest we become slaves of a thing turbulent, impotent, under the power of another, contemptible to itself. For if she eye us, his humanity incited us, and if she despise, we burn in despite. The love that is gracious is as hurtful as that which is rigorous: by his facility we are entangled, and with the rigour we strive. Since than we know our own weakness, let us be quiet; neither let us trust our infirm minds to wine, to beauty, or flattery, nor to any other attraction and flattering things. That which Panaetius answered of love to this young man, that say I of all other affections. Let us reclaim ourselves, as much as in us lieth, from slippery places, and let us securely stand assured in the dry. Thou wilt propose unto me in this place, that reproach which all the world urgeth against the Stoics: you promise' over great matters, you command that which is as it were impossible. We are poor and infirm men, who cannot in this sort cut off all things, we will weep but a little. We will covet but temperately, if we enter into choler, it shall be pacified. Wilt thou know why we cannot command our affections? It is in this respect, because we believe that it is impossible for us. Yea, but undoubtedly there is another matter in it, we defend our vices because we love them, and we had rather excuse them, then discuss them. Nature hath given us force enough, if we will make use thereof, if we will gather our forces, and employ them wholly for ourselves, and not against ourselves. We pretend that we cannot, but the cause is that we will not. EPIST. CXVII. A question, whether since wisdom is good, it be good to be wise. The Stoics commonly deny the same: some affirm; and he is more inclined to their opinion. In conclusion, he impugneth these unnecessary matters● and seriously exhorteth us to reform our manners. THou wilt trouble me much, and thyself likewise, and ere thou art ware thrust me into great strife and trouble, who proposest me such short questions, in which, without offence, I dare not differ from the Stoics, neither can I consent with a safe conscience. Thou inquirest of me whether it be true which the Stoics maintain, that wisdom is good, but to be wise is not. First of all will I expound what the Stoics think, then dare I boldly discover my opinion. It is the opinion of our sect, that that which is good is a body, because that which is good acteth. But each thing that hath action is a body. That which is good profiteth, but he must do somewhat, to the end he may profit, and if it doth, it is a body. They say that wisdom is good, it followeth then of necessity that it is corporal. But they think that to be wise is not of the same condition. It is a thing incorporal and accidental unto wisdom, and therefore it cannot produce any action, neither profit any ways. But say we not it is good to be wise? We say so in relation to that whereon it dependeth, that is to say, to wisdom itself. Before I begin to retire myself, and to unite myself with the contrary parties, hear that which some Stoics answer unto the rest. After this manner say they it is no good thing to live happily: will they, nill they, they must answer that a blessed life is good, and that to live blessedly is a good thing. Moreover, it is opposed against those of our sect, Will you be wise? Therefore it is a thing to be desired to be wise: if it be a thing to be desired it is good. The Stoics are constrained to wrist words, and to require the interposition of one syllable, which our speech permitteth not to be inserted, I will if thou wilt suffer me annex the same: That, say they, is to be desired which is good to be desired, which is contingent unto good, which good when we have attained it, is not required as good, but is an accession to the good that is required. I am not of this opinion, and I judge that the Stoics agreed with me herein, because the first point bridleth them, and they cannot lawfully change the manner of speech: we are wont to attribute much to the common and universal opinion of men. Amongst us it is a testimony of truth, if it be alleged that all men believe that which is in question. As for proof that there are gods, we allege that the belief that there are gods is engraffed and planted in all men's minds; neither is there any Nation how brutish soever, that believeth not that there are gods? When we dispute of the eternity of souls, the consent of men either fearing hell, or reverencing the same, hath no small moment and authority. I use this public persuasion, thou shalt ●inde no man who thinketh not that both wisdom and to be wise is good. I will not do as they are accustomed that are overcome, who seeing themselves in danger to loose their lives, appeal unto the people, we will begin to fight with our own weapons, whether is that which happeneth unto any man without or within him to whom it happeneth? If it be in him to whom it happeneth, it is as well a body as that to which it happeneth: for nothing can happen without touch, and that which toucheth is a body. If it be without after it hath happened it departeth: that which retireth his self hath motion, and whatsoever hath motion is a body. Thou hopest that I will say, that the course is not one thing, and running another; neither heat one thing, and to be hot another; neither light one thing, and to shine another. I grant that there is a diversity in these things, but I say that the one are not of a different condition from the other. If health be a thing indifferent, to be in health is a thing indifferent: likewise, if beauty be indifferent, to be beautiful is indifferent: if justice be good, to be just is good: if villainy be evil, to be a villain is evil. As much assuredly as if lippitude be evil, to have purblind eyes is evil. That thou mayest know this, can the one be without the other? To be wise is wisdom, and it is wisdom to be wise. So far is it from breeding doubt, that the one resembleth the other, that some men suppose that they are one and the same thing. But I would willingly ask this question; Since all things are either good, or evil, or indifferent, in what rank To be wise, shall be placed? They deny that it is good, and evil it is not; it followeth then that it is indifferent: but that repute we to be mean and indifferent that may as well befall an evil as a good man, as money, beauty, and ability. But to be wise cannot befall any but a wiseman, and therefore it is not indifferent. An evil it is not that cannot betide an evil man, & therefore it is good● it is, saith he, the accident of wisdom. This therefore which thou termest To be wise, whether maketh it wisdom or suffereth it? Whether it doth make it or suffer it, in both kinds it is a body; for both that which is made and that which maketh is a body: if it be a body it is good. For this one thing was deficient in it, and detained it from being good, which was, because it had no body. The Peripatetiques hold that there is no difference betwixt wisdom and to be wise, when as the one is comprehended in the other. For thinkest thou that any man is wise except he that hath wisdom? And thinkest thou that wisdom accompanieth him that is wise? The ancient Logicians distinguished these things, and from them this division came unto the Stoics. What this is I will tell thee: The field is one thing, and to have possession of the same another. Why not, when as to have the possession of the field appertaineth to him that hath the field, and not unto the field? So wisdom is one thing, and to be wise another. I think thou wilt grant me this, that these are two; that which is had, and he that hath the same: wisdom is had, he that is wise hath it. Wisdom is a perfect mind, or that which attaineth the fullness of perfection; for she is the act of life. What is to be wise? I cannot say a perfect mind, but that which befalleth him that hath a perfect mind. So the one is a good mind, the other as it were to have a good mind. There are, saith he, divers natures of the body: as for example; this is a man, that a horse: these natures likewise are followed by the motions of the mind, which make show of the body. These motions have something proper and considered apart from the bodies, as I see Cato walking; this doth the sense show, the mind believe. It is a body that I see, on which I have fixed both mine eye and my mind. I say afterwards Cato walketh, I speak not now of his body, but of something denounced of the body, that is to say, of his motion, which some call pronounced, some signified, other some denounced. So when we say wisdom we understand some thing that is bodiless: when we say he is wise, we speak of the body. But there is a great difference whether thou speakest this or of that: for the present, let us put the case that wisdom and to be wise are two things; for as yet I publish not my opinion, what hindereth both the one and the other to be good? Thou saidst a little before that the field was one thing, & to possess the field was another. Why not? for he that possesseth the same is in one nature, and that which is possessed is another, the one is a man, the other is a field. But in this whereof we now make question, wisdom and to be wise are things of the same nature. Furthermore, the field that is possessed is one thing, and the man that possesseth the same another; but wisdom and to be wise are found in one and the same man. The possession of the field comes by right, that of wisdom comes by nature. A man may alien the field, and give it unto another man, wisdom never departeth from him that possesseth the same: we must not therefore compare things that are unlike. I began to say that both these may be two, and yet both of them good. Wisdom and a wiseman are two, and by thy confession both of them are good. But even as nothing hindereth but that wisdom is a good thing, and he he that hath wisdom is good, so nothing hindereth but that wisdom is good, and to have wisdom, this is to be wise and good. I will be a wiseman to this end that I may be wise. What therefore? Is not that good without the which the other is not good? Undoubtedly, you say that wisdom if it be without use is to be esteemed as nothing. And what is the use of wisdom? To be wise. This is that which is most precious in her, which being taken from her she is but mere illusion: if torments be evil, it is evil to be tortured, yea in such sort that if a man were never tormented, he should never consequently have any torments. Wisdom is a habitude of a perfect understanding; to be wise the use of a perfect mind: how can the use thereof be good, which without use is not good? I ask thee whether wisdom is to be desired? Thou confessest it. I ask thee whether the use of wisdom is to be desired? Thou confessest it, protesting likewise not to receive the same if a man will bar thee of the use thereof: that which is to be desired is good, to be wise is the use of wisdom, as the use of eloquence is to speak, the use of the eye to see; but the use of wisdom is to be desired, Ergo, to be wise is a thing to be desired, and if it be to be desired it is good. I condemn myself for times past, for following those whom I accuse, and for implying arguments in a thing that is manifest. For who can doubt but that extreme heat is evil, and to be extremely hot is evil; and that if cold be evil it is an evil thing to be cold? If life be good, that to live is good? All these things that are about wisdom are not in the same, but we are to stay ourselves upon her, and if we will discourse she hath ample and spacious retreats to converse in. Let us inquire of the nature of the gods, of the nourishments and divers motion of the Planets, whether our bodies be disposed according to their revolutions, or whether their influences have a hand in all men's bodies and minds: whether those things which are called casual are tied together in a certain order, and if nothing be done in this world without some special providence. But these things have no relation to the present reformation of manners, yet mount they the mind, and raise the same to the greatness of those things they entreat of. But those disputes whereof I spoke a little before, do diminish and depress the same, neither as thou thinkest do they whet but dull the same. But why, I beseech you, employ we so necessary a care reserved for greater and better things, in a thing if not merely false, yet truly unprofitable? What shall it profit me whether wisdom be one thing, and to be wise be another? What shall it avail me to know whether this be good, or that be bad? At all adventures see what I desire; I wish thee wisdom, and myself that I may be wise, so shall we be both equal. Rather do this that thou mayest show me the way how I may attain unto these. Tell me what I must eschew, and what I should desire, by what studies I may confirm my infirm mind; how I may drive far from me those vices that carry and transport me from th● right; how I may surmount so many evils; how I may remove th●se calamities that have broken in upon me, and how I may thwart those, in which I have engaged myself. Teach me how I may endure afflictions without grieving, felicity without other men's envy or distaste, how I may not expect the last and necessary term of life, but of myself when I shall so think good, speedily seek it out and fly unto it. Nothing in my judgement is more absurd and dishonest then to wish for death. For if thou wilt live, why wishest thou to die? If thou wilt not, to what intent importunest thou the gods for that which they gave thee when thou wert borne? For even as it is decreed that thou must die one day whether thou wilt or not, so when thou wilt is in thine own power: the one is of necessity, the other of william. Some few days passed I have read a shameful Preface of a certain man, otherwise learned and eloquent, where these words are: So I may die (sayeth he) incontinently. O fond man, thou desirest that which is thine own; So may I die incontinently. It may be that in speaking these words thou art become old. Otherwise what stayeth thee? No man holds thee, escape when thou wilt, choose such a part of the instruments of nature, as seemeth good unto thee, and command the same to give thee issue: for these are the elements whereby this inferior world is maintained, water, earth and air; all these are both the causes of life, and the highways to death. So may I die incontinently: but when wilt thou die? What day wilt thou assign to thine incontinent? It may come sooner than thou wishest. These are the words of a weak mind, and of such a one who by this protestation would obtain mercy and lengthening of his life: he will not die that wisheth for death. Beseech the gods to give thee life and health: if thou hast a mind to die, this is the fruit of death, to give over wishing. Let us speak of these things my Lucilius, and by them form our understandings wisdom, and to be wi●e consisteth in this, not to debate in impertinent questions of unprofitable disputes. So many questions hath fortune proposed unto thee, yet hast thou not satisfied her in them: now thou cavillest. How fond a thing is it to stand flourishing thy sword in the air, when the signal is given thee to begin the skirmish? Give over these arms of disport, thou art to fight at sharp. ●ell me by what means no sadness or fear may trouble the mind? by what means I may disburden myself of this troublesome weight of secret desires? Let somewhat be done. Wisdom is good, to be wise is not good: be it so. Let us deny that to be wise is a good thing, to the end we may draw all that study into contempt, which is employed in superfluous matters. What if thou knewest likewise that this is in question, whether future wisdom be good? For what doubt is there, I pray you, whether the barns do already feel the harvest that is at hand, neither childhood understand his future youth, being destitute of force and vigour? The health that is to come is nothing profitable to him that is sick, no more than rest doth which aught to follow the course and wrestling, comforteth not a man as long as he is running or wrestling. Who knoweth not that that which is to come is not good for this only cause, because it is yet to come? For that which is good profiteth and serveth without delay. Not things can be profitable but such as are present: if a thing profit not, truly it is not good; if it profit it is presently good. I shall be wise, this shall be good when I shall be so; but in the mean while it is not. First must a thing be, and afterwards it must be such or such. But tell me, I pray thee, how may that which as yet is nothing, be perfectly good? For how wilt thou have me better prove it unto thee that a thing is not, then if I shall say it is to come: for it is manifest that it is not yet come that is coming. The Spring must follow. I know now that it is Winter, the Summer shall succeed: I know that it is not Sommer-time. The greatest argument I have that a thing is not as yet present, is that it is to come. I hope I shall be wise, yet in the mean space I am not wise. If I had that good, I should presently want this evil. It may be hereafter that I shall be wise, although by this thou understandest that I am not yet wise, I cannot at one time be in that good and this evil. These two things do not agreed but are disjointed; neither are at once in the same, good and evil. Let us pass over speedily these ingenious trifles, and hasten ourselves to attain those things which may give us any help. There is no man that carefully seeketh for a midwife to come unto his daughter that is in labour, that readeth unto her the ordinance and disposition of the public Plays. There is no man that hastily runneth to quench the fire that hath seized his house, hath not the leisure to study how to save his man, that in a game at Chests is hemmed in on every side. But thou knowest that from all parts, there cometh news unto thee both of the burning of thy house and the death of thy children, of the siege of thy City, of the pillage of thy goods. Add hereunto, shipwrecks, earthquakes, and all other dreadful accidents. Being in the midst of so many troubles, hast thou no other business but to give thyself to pleasure? Thou inquirest what difference there is betwixt wisdom and to be wise. Thou knittest and losest knots, having so great a mountain of miseries hanging over thy head. Nature hath not given us so favourable and liberal benefit of time, that we should have leisure to loose any par● thereof; consider also how much they loose who are most diligent. The sickness of ourselves and of our friends carrieth away one part of us, and necessary and public affairs another. Sleep robbeth from us the half of our life. Of this time so short, so swift, and that carrieth us away, to what purpose is it to consume the greater part thereof in vain? Add hereunto now that the mind is accustomed rather to delight then heal itself, and that Philosophy which should be the remedy of evils, serveth nothing but for pastime. I know not what difference there is betwixt wisdom and being wise, yet know I well that it profiteth me nothing, whether I know these things or know them not. Tell me when I have learned the difference betwixt wisdom and being wise, if I shall be wise? Why rather detainest thou me amongst the words then the works of wisdom? Make me stronger, make me securer, make me equal with fortune, make me superior: but I may be superior if I do all that which I learn. EPIST. CXVIII. That he will writ no vain Epistles, but rather such as are full of profitable lessons. He persuadeth to handle our private not foreign businesses, to require nothing of fortune, neither to depend upon her. That the true good is to be sought, and the definition what it is: and likewise what it differeth from honesty. That every good is according to nature, neither yet is every thing good which is according to nature. THou requirest me to writ unto thee oftentimes, if we enter into account thou canst not sufficiently satisfy me. It was agreed between us that thou shouldest writ first, and that I should answer thee, I will not be behind hand with thee, I know that there is nothing lost that is lent thee. I will pay thee therefore before thy day: neither will I do that which eloquent Cicero was wont to counsel Atticus to do, that is, to writ whatsoever came into his mind, although he had no matter whereupon to writ. I can never want matter to writ unto thee, although I omit all that discourse wherewith Cicero stuffeth his Epistles, to wit, who it is that laboureth for offices, who fighteth with his own or foreign forces, who laboureth for the Consulat, either under Caesars or Pompey's favour, or of himself. How hard a usurer Cicilius is, from whom his neighbours cannot wrist a penny, but a hundredth upon a hundredth. It were better for a man to speak of his own miseries then of another man's, to examine himself, and to consider how many things a man laboureth for, and obtaineth not one. This my Lucilius, is a worthy thing, this a secure and free thing, to demand and purchase nothing, and to let fortune possess her estates, without bribing after any of them. How pleasant a thing is it, thinkest thou, when the people are assembled, when such as pretend offices give court to their wellwishers, & the one publicly protesteth the money he will give, the other soliciteth by his sureties & private friends, when one man weareth and wasteth another man's hands with kisses. Where had he attained what he desireth, he would loathe they should touch his, when all men are astonished, & expect the voice of the Crier, to stand idle & expect those fairs, neither buying nor selling any thing? How great joy enjoyeth this man, who beholdeth these assemblies, where choice is made of Praetors and Consuls, but those great estates, where the one demandeth yearly honours, others perpetual power: the one happy success in battles and triumphs, the other riches: the one marriages and children, the other long and happy life for themselves and their parents. O how great a mind is it to demand nothing, to make supplication to no man, and that saith unto Fortune, I have nothing to do with thee, I am not at thy commandment. I know that with thee Cato's are repelled, and Vatinians advanced. I demand nothing at thy hands. This is to reduce Fortune into order. For this cause therefore aught we to entertain one another, and to entreat continually on this subject in our letters, beholding on every side of us so many thousands of men in trouble, who to cast themselves headlong into some mortal ruin, traverse one mischief to find out another, and seek those things, which they incontinently fly as soon as they have found them, or wherewith they should be likewise disgusted. For who is he that hath contented himself with that which was given him, or that supposed any thing over great, when he wished the same? Felicity is not unsatiable, as men believe, but it is weak and small, and therefore satisfieth no man. Thou believest that these things are great, because thou art estranged from them, but to him that hath gotten them they are but base: I lie if such a one seek not to mount higher. That which thou accountest highest, is but a degree. But the ignorance of truth is the cause that men err thus, and they run unto that which hath but the appearance of good, being deceived by common opinion. Afterwards having by much travel obtained that which they pretended, they see that those things are evil, vain, and less than they expected, and the most part of them admireth at one time or another, these false lustre of such vanities. In brief, the common sort esteem those things for good, which are greatest. But jest we fall into this error, let us inquire that which is good. The interpretation thereof hath been divers: some have defined the same in one sort, othersome in another. Some define it thus. Good is that which inviteth our minds, and that calleth us unto him. Hereunto some pleasantly object: But what if such a good invite a man unto his ruin●? Thou knowest how many evils there are that are attractive. Truth, and that which seemeth true differ thus. That which is good is annexed unto truth, for it is not good except it be true. But that which inciteth to it s●lf●, and attracteth by his appearance, hath a resemblance of truth: it insinuat●th, it soliciteth, it draweth. Some have defined it thus. Good is that which moveth a desire of itself, or that inciteth the motion of the mind, that tendeth thereunto. And to this it is opposed in the same sort. For many things incite the motions of the mind●, which are desired to their confusion that desire them. Better have they done who have defined it thus. That is good which draweth unto itself according to nature, that motion of the soul, so that we aught to desire it then, when it is worthy to be desired. Let us add hereunto that this good is honest and virtuous, for we aught not to purchase an unperfect good. This place admonisheth me to teach thee the difference that there is betwixt that which is good, and that which is honest. Somethings they have mixed, and inseparable between them: neither can that be good which hath not some honesty in it; neither that honest which is not good. What difference therefore is betwixt them both. Honesty is a perfect good, wherein a bl●ssed life is accomplished, by whose attouchment other things are made good also. That which I say is thus. There are some things which are neither good nor evil; as warfare, Embassage, and jurisdiction. These things when they are honestly administered, begin to be good, and become so, whereas before time they were indifferent. Good by the society of honesty is made good, and honesty by itself is good. Good floweth from honesty, honesty is of itself. That which is good might have been evil; that which is honest, could not be but good. Some have proposed this definition. That is good, which is according to nature. Mark what I say. That which is good is according to nature, yet is not that forthwith good, that is according to nature. Many things consent unto nature, yet so small are they, that they deserve not to be called good. For they are small and contemptible: no good, not not the lest is to be contemned, for as long as it is little, it is not good; when it beginneth to be good, it is not little. Whence is any thin●●now● to be good, if it be perfectly according to nature. Thou dost conferee, sayest thou, that this is good which is according to nature, this is his property. Thou confessest likewise that there are some things which are according to Nature, and yet not good. How therefore is that good, when these are not? How attaineth it another property, when as both of them have this property, to be according to nature? That is to say, in as much as they are great. Neither is this a new thing, that some things are changed by increasing. He was an infant; now become a young man: he hath had at that time some other propriety. For the young man is endowed with reason, the infant is deprived of it. Somethings become not only more great in their increase, but other things likewise. That, saith he, is not made another thing, which is made greater. It skilleth not whether thou fill a bottle with wine, or a tonn●, the property of wine remains in both the vessels. A little weight of honey and a great differ not in savour. Thou settest down different examples: for in these the same quality remaineth, and though they be increased, they are always honey and wine. Some things amplified in their kind, continued in their property: som● things after many increasings are changed by the last, which imprinteth in them a new quality, other than that which they had before. One stone will make an arch, that is to say, that bindeth in, and fasteneth in the declining sides, and that toeth th●m together. Why hath this last stone, although it be little, so great a use, because it maketh the work complete, although it give it not any great increase. There are some things, which in advancing themselves, despoil themselves of their former form, and invest a new. After that our understanding hath long time traveled upon any subject, and that it is wearied in following the greatness thereof, he beginneth to esteem it infinite, because it is become far different from that it was befor●, when it seemed great, but not infinite. In like case we have imagined that a thing may not be cut, which is hardly cut: afterwards the difficulty growing to be greater, we find that the thing can no more be cut. In like sort of a thing which is hardly moved, we come unto a thing which is unmovable. According to the same reason, some thing hath been according to nature, and afterwards the greatness of the same hath transported it into another property, and hath made it good. EPIST. CXIX. That we may desire riches, and enjoy them without requiring them as unnecessary. That the end of all things which exceed not nature, is to be considered. She seeketh not superfluity, but sufficient. At last he showeth that all they who commonly are reputed rich, are poor. Good God, they are both excellent and true. AS oftentimes as I have found any thing, I expect not till thou say I cry halves. I say this unto myself. Thou askest me what it is that I have found out. Open thy lap, it is mere gain that I give thee. I will teach thee how thou mayest become rich suddenly, which thou art very desirous to hear of. And not without cause I will lead thee the shortest way to great riches. Yet hast thou need of a creditor, and to negotiate, thou must needs borrow, yet will I not suffer thee to have any Solicitor to borrow for thee, nor Broker to publish thy name. I will bestow a creditor on thee, that shall be at thy commandment. That is to say, that sentence of CATO, Whatsoever it be, it will suffice, provided that we require that of ourselves, whatsoever we want. For these things (my Lucilius) are alike not to desire and to have. The effect of the matter in both is alike, thou shalt not be vexed. Neither do I command thee this, to deny Nature any thing, she is obstinate, she cannot be overcome, she requireth her own. But so that thou mayest know, that whatsoeu●r exceedeth Nature, is but borrowed, and not necessary. I am an hungry, I must eat: whether this bread be brown or white, it appertaineth nothing to Nature. She will have the belly not delighted but filled. I am a dry, whether this water be fetched from the next lake, or that which I have closed up in much snow, that it might be cooled by foreign cold, it concerneth Nature no ways. She commandeth this one thing, that the thirst should be quenched: whether the pot be gold or Crystal, or Cassidony, or a pot of Tivoli, or the hollow of the hand, it skilleth not. Fix thine eye upon the end of all things, and thou shalt forsake superfluities. Hunger presseth me. Let thy hand lay hold on whatsoever is next thee, the appetite shall make that loathsome, whatsoever I lay hold of. An hungry stomach is glad of any thing. Thou demandest therefore what thing it is that delighteth me? M● thinks it is worthily spoken. A wiseman is a diligent searcher of natural riches. Thou payest me, sayest thou, with an empty platter. What is that empty? I had already prepared my coasts, and looked about me upon what sea I should embark myself to follow traffic, what public estate I might rend, what merchandise I should sand for. It is a deceit in thee to teach me poverty, when thou hast promised me riches. Dost thou then esteem him poor that wanteth nothing? Thou answerest that it is by his own means, and by the benefit of his patience, not of Fortune. Dost thou therefore judge him not to b● rich, because his riches cannot cease? Whether hadst thou rather have much, or sufficient? he that hath much, desireth more, which is an argument that as yet he hath not sufficient: he that hath enough, hath attained the end which never befalleth a rich man. Dost thou therefore think ●hat these are not riches, because for them no man i● banished, because for them no son hath given his father poison, nor wife her husband? Because in wars they are secure, in peace at rest? Because it is neither dangerous to enjoy them, nor troublesome to dispose them? Hath h● but a little, that hath neither cold, nor hunger, nor thirst? jupiter himself hath no more. Never is that little which is sufficient; never is that much, which is not sufficient. Alexander of Macedon after he had conquered Asia, and the Indians, is poor, he seeketh what he may make his own, he searcheth out unknown seas, he sendeth out new navies upon the Ocean; and if I may say so, passeth and presseth beyond the bounds and limits of the world. That which sufficeth Nature contenteth not a man. And some there have been found, that having all things, have notwithstanding coveted somewhat. So great is the blindness of our minds, and so great the forgetfulness of men, that they remember not themselves of their beginnings, when they see themselves advanced. This Prince that was Lord of a little angle of Greece, and that not without some opposition, is sorry that after he hath discovered and conquered so many Nations, to hear say that he must return unto his own. Money never made any man rich: contrariwise there is not any man that hath gathered store of it together, that is not become more covetous. Wouldst thou know the reason hereof? He that hath much beginneth to have a will to have more. In sum, although thou set before me whom thou wilt, of those who are reputed as rich as either Crassus or Licinius. Let him set down his revenues, and accounted whatsoever he hath, and whatsoever he hopeth togethers yet this man, if thou believest me● is poor, or if thou trust thyself, may be poor. But he that hath composed himself to that which Nature requireth at his hands; is not only without the sense, but also without the fear of poverty. But to the end thou mayest know how hard a thing it is to restrain a man's affairs according to the measure of Nature: this man whom we suppose to be moulded and fashioned according to his will, and whom thou callest poor, hath something which is superfluous. But riches attract and blind the common sort, when great sums of money are carried out of any man's house, when his roofs are enriched and garnished with gold, when his family are either comely in body, or courtly in apparel. All these men's felicity is in public ostentation: but he whom we have exempted both from the eye of the people, and the hand of Fortune, is blessed inwardly. For as touching those, with whom poverty hath taken place● and is seized of them under the supposed name of riches, they have their goods in such sort, as we are said to have the Ague, when the Ague hath us. Contrariwise we must say, the Ague hath hold of him: and in like manner we aught to say, Richeses hold and possess him. There is nothing therefore that I would have thee remember more than this, that no man is sufficiently admonished, to the end thou mayest measure all things by natural desires which content themselves with nothing or with little. Only beware thou to mix vices with desires. Askest thou me upon what table, in what silver vessel, by what services and servants Nature presenteth thee thy meat. Know that she requireth nothing but meat. When parching thirst doth burn thy jaws throughout, Seekest thou for gold therein to quench thy drought? When hunger tempts thee, dost thou loathe each meat, Except thou Peacock's flesh or Turbot eat? Hunger is not ambitious, she is contented to cease, she careth not much by what meanus. These are the torments of unhappy excess, he seeketh how after he is glutted, he may get an appetite: how he may not fill, but force and stuff his body: how he may revoke his thirst again, which is pacified by the former potion. Horace therefore wittily denieth that it appertaineth to thirst, in what pot or in how clean a hand water be ministered. For if thou thinkest that concerneth thee, how well frizeled the page is, and how clean and neat the pot is which he presenteth thee with, thou art not a dry. Amongst other things nature hath especially favoured us herein, that he hath taken all disdain from necessity: superfluities take pleasure in variety. This is scarce seemly, that not well dressed, this offendeth mine eyes. The Creator of all things, who hath set down unto us the laws of our life, hath given order to maintain us in health, and not to entertain us in delight. All things are ready and at hand for the conservation of our healths: if the question be of delights, all that which concerneth them is not recovered, but with much misery and difficulty. Let us therefore make use of this benefit of nature, which is, to be numbered amongst the greatest, and let us think that the greatest matter wherein we are most obliged unto her, is, that she hath effected this in us, that whatsoever is desired in necessity is entertained and embraced without loathing. EPIST. CXX. How the knowledge of goodness came unto us by observation and conference, as also by the assistance of nature. And it cometh likewise by the contrary, that is, by the detestation of vice. He describeth a wiseman, who not only spurneth against those things which are commonly to be required or feared, but death: also in conclusion such a one as is always one, and constant to himself. THy Epistle hath wandered about many petty questions, yet hath stayed itself upon one, and desireth to have my resolution herein: how the first notice of good and honest things come unto us. These two things in some men's opinion are divers, but with us that are Stoics, they are only divided. I will tell thee what this is; Some men think that that is good which is profitable, and therefore they impose this name unto riches, to a horse, to wine, to a shoe; so abject is the name of good amongst them, and so unduly applied unto servile uses. They suppose that honest which consisteth in the discharge of a well-governed duty, as to have a charitable care of a man's father in his age, to comfort and relieve the poverty of a man's friend, to behave himself valiantly in a warlike expedition, to deliver a man's opinion wisely and moderately. These make we two, but out of one. Nothing is good except it be that which is honest, that which is honest is good also. I suppose it a superfluous matter to annex what difference there is betwixt them, when as I have oftentimes expressed the same. I will only say this, That nothing seemeth good unto us, which a man may use badly. But thou seest how many there be that use their riches, nobility and strength badly. I now therefore return unto that which thou desirest me to resolve thee in, how the knowledge of that which is good and honest came ●irst unto us. This nature could not teach us, for she gave us but the seeds of sciences, and not science itself. Some say that we casually come to the knowledge thereof, which is incredible, that the image of virtue should casually appear unto any man. But we suppose that by diligence, observation, and frequent conference of things, estimated by that which is good and honest, we have attained to this knowledge. And since the Latin Grammarians have made this word a Citizen of Rome, I will not condemn it, nor return it to the City from whence it came. I will therefore use the same, not only as a received but as a usual word: I will set down what the Analogy is; We have known that there is a health of the body, and thereby have we gathered that there is some health and vigour of the mind. We have known the strength of the body, and by these infer we that there is a strength of the mind likewise. Some benign actions some human, some strong have amazed us; these began we to admire as if perfect. These were traversed by divers defaults, which the appearance and brightness of some notable deed did cover, by means whereof we have made a show that we saw them not. Nature commandeth us to amplify those things which are praiseworthy, whereupon every one hath raised glory above the truth. From these things therefore we have drawn the appearance of an excellent good. Fabricius refused King Pyrrhus' gold, and judged it a greater matter than a Kingdom, to be able to contemn Kingly riches. The same man when a Physician promised to poison Pyrrhus, gave him notice thereof, and wished him to beware of treason. It was the same virtue in Fabricius, neither to be overcome with gold, nor to overcome with poison. We have admired this great parsonage, who neither suffered himself to be won by the King's presents, nor by the physicians promises against the King; constant in his virtuous resolution, innocent in war, which is a rare thing in a soldier, who though that a man might be wicked even against an enemy; who in his greatest poverty whereby he had gotten himself the most honour, no otherwise fled from riches then from poison. Live, said he, by my means O Pyrrhus, and rejoice, although thou wert displeased therewith that Fabricius could not be corrupted. Horatius Cocles himself alone closed up, and defended the straight passage of a bridge, and commanded a Trench to be made behind him, to the end that his enemies might be hindered from entrance. And so long resisted he those that assailed him, until such time as he heard the noise of the prop and timber that fell under him. And after he had looked behind him, and perceived that by his danger his country was freed from danger: Let him come, saith he, whosoever will follow me thither whither I go. And having said thus, he cast himself desperately into the water; and having no less care in this violent channel of the river to save his conquering arms as his life, and having maintained the honour of his victory, he returned into the City as secure as if he had entered by the bridge. These and such like acts have expressed unto us the Image of his virtue. I will add that which happily may seem admirable: Evil things sometimes have presented themselves in the shape of honesty, and that which was the best hath been manifested by his contrary. Some vices, as thou knowest, have some resemblance of virtues, and those men that are most vicious and dishonest, have some appearance of goodness. So doth the prodigal man sergeant the liberal, although there be a great difference betwixt knowing how to give, and how to keep. Many there are, my Lucilius, who give not but cast away their money; for I call him not liberal that is angry with his money. Negligence imitateth facility, and rashness fortitude. This similitude hath constrained us to consider things, & to distinguish those things which are near in appearance, but far different and contrary in effect, whilst we observe these, whom some noble exploit hath made famous, we have begun to note what he might be that at one time only had resolutely, and nobly executed some enterprise. We have seen this man valiant in war, fearful in the judgement seat, enduring his poverty constantly, his infamy abjectly: we have praised the act, but contemned the man. We have seen another courteous towards his friends, temperate towards his enemies, managing both public and private affairs, both piously and religiously, not wanting patience in those things which he was to suffer, nor prudence in those things he was to perform: we have seen such a one that gave bountifully where necessity required, that was diligent and industrious where he was to labour, and that relieved the weariness of his body with the constancy of his mind. Besides, he was always one, and like himself in every action, not only good in words and counsel, but by custom brought to this pass, that besides that that he could not do● ill, he could not also do but that which was good. Than understanding that virtue was perfected in such a one, we have distinguished it into some parts. Desires aught to be restrained, f●●re repressed, actions foreseen, duties distributed: we comprehended temperance, fortitude, prudence, justice, and gave every one of them their particular office. Whereby therefore came we to the knowledge of virtue? It was the order thereof, the seemliness, and constancy, and the uniformity of all actions, within themselves, and the greatness thereof, that exalted itself above all things that showed the same. Hereby was that blessed life understood that hath a prosperous course, and dependeth wholly of itself. How therefore appeared this thing unto us? I will tell thee: never did that perfect man who was possessed of virtue curse fortune, never entertained he any accidents with discontent. Believing himself to be a Citizen and Soldier of the world, he underwent labours, as if they had been enjoined him. Whatsoever happened he refused it not as evil, or that casually fell upon him, but as some charge committed unto him. This, saith he, whatsoever it be is mine, be it either difficult or dangerous let us travail therein● of necessity therefore he appeared great, who never groaned under the burden of afflictions, never complained of his destiny, gave unto many a taste of himself, and no otherwise then a light shined in darkness, and drew all men's minds unto him, by reason he was courteous and gentle, entertaining in good part all affairs both divine and human. He had a perfect mind, drawn to the height of his perfection; above which there is nothing but the mind of God, a parcel whereof is derived into this mortal body, which is never more divine than when it thinketh on his mortality, and knoweth that man is borne to this end, to forsake this life; neither that this body is a house but an hostrie, yea and a short hostrie which must be forsaken, when thou perceivest that thou art displeasing to thine host. I tell thee, my Lucilius, it is a great argument of a mind that is derived from a higher place, if it repute those things humble and abject wherein he converseth, and if he feareth to forsake them: for he knoweth whether he shall departed that remembreth himself from whence he came. See we not how many incommodities do torment us, how badly this mortal body doth agreed with us. Sometimes we complain of our bellies, afterwards of our heads, then of our breast and throat: sometimes we are tormented in our nerves, sometimes vexed in our feet: to day the flux, to morrow the rheum: sometimes too much blood, sometimes too little, every way are we troubled and driven from one place to another. This befalleth them who are lodged in another man's house; but we that possess so rotten a body, yet notwithstanding propose unto ourselves an eternity, and as far as human age may extend itself, so far are we seized with hope● contenting ourselves with no money or power. What can be more impudently or more foolishly done then this? There is nothing that contenteth us that are to die, nay that die every day: for we daily approach our last hour, and there is not a day or hour that driveth and driveth us into the grave where we must rest. See into what blindness our minds are driven: a greater part of that which I have said must come, is already come, and threateneth us every minute, for the time we have lived is in the same state where it was before we were living. But it is a great folly for us to fear the last days of the same, because the first contribute as much unto death as the last. The degree in which we breathe our last, is not that which leaveth us, but only it showeth us our lassitude. The last day maketh us touch death, all the rest to approach. She ravisheth us not at once, but snatcheth us away by little and little. A greater mind therefore that knoweth that he must be partaker of a better life, endeavoureth itself in this statim wherein he is placed, to demean himself honestly and industriously. Moreover, he judgeth nothing of these things that are about him to be his own, but like a stranger, and such a one as must suddenly forsake them, useth them as lent him. When we should see a man of this constancy, why should we not conceive in him the image of an unusual understandings if, as I say, he should make show of so true a greatness? True qualities continued in their entire, false are flitting. Some men at sometimes are Vatinians, at other times catoes, and some whiles Curius, in their opinions is a little too severe. Fabricius not sufficiently poor, Tubero scarce frugal enough, and content with a little, they provoke Licinius in riches, Apicius in suppers, Mace●as in delights. Inconstancy and a continual agitation betwixt the dissembling of virtues, and the love of vices, is a great token of an evil mind. Oft-times two hundred men did him attend, Oft-times bu●●en● sometimes his speech did tend To Kings, to tetrarchs, and to great estates, Sometimes his Fortunes he more basely rates: I will, saith he, have a threefooted table, A homely salt, a gown that shall be able, Though homely, to withst and the winter cold: Hadst thou committed to this niggards hold, That is contented with so little pelf, Ten thousand crowns to seed and clothe himself Within few days, nor he, nor all his many Can pay thee one, or bless thee with a penny. All these are such as Horace describeth this man, who was never himself, or ever like himself; so diversly changed he. Said I divers, scarcely is there one but is such. There is no man that doth not daily change both his counsel and his vow: now will he have a wife, than a Leman: now will he govern, presently he laboureth for this, that no man may be a more officious servant. Sometimes he exalteth himself so much, as he contracteth envy: sometimes he abuseth himself under every one, and becometh more miserable than those that are truly wretched: now scattereth he his money abroad, presently after he engrosseth all other men's. Hereby especially is an imprudent mind discovered, every one betrayeth him, and that which in my opinion is most base, he is unlike himself. Repute thou it to be a great virtue for a man to be one. But no man but a wise man doth one thing, all the rest of us have many shapes. To day we will seem to be modest and grave, to morrow prodigal and vain: we of-times change our mask, and oftentimes take a contrary to that we have put off. Exact thou therefore this of thyself, that to thy last breath thou maintain thyself such, as thou hast resolved to show thyself. Do this, that thou mayest be praised, or approved at the lest. A man may justly say of him whom thou sawest yesterday, what is this man? So much is a man changed in a little time. EPIST. CXXI. He pretendeth somewhat for the wittier sort, and then propoundeth the same. Whether every living creature hath a sense of his constitution, that is, whether they willingly and by nature intent thither, whither they aught, and were made. He saith that it is so, and by divers reasons and examples teacheth the same. THou wilt chide with me, I see, when I shall resolve thee of that question, wherein this day I spent no little time. For once more wilt thou exclaim what concerneth these manners? But exclaim at thy pleasure, whilst I first of all oppose those against thee, with whom thou mayest contend, I mean Posidonius and Archidamus, for these shall debate the matter with thee, and afterwards I will say, that whatsoever is moral reformeth not good manners. There is one thing that appertaineth to a man to nourish him, another thing to exercise him, another thing to clothe him, another thing to teach him, another thing to delight him: yet all these things do appertain unto a man, although not all of them make him better. Certain instructions concern manners in some sort, certain in another. Some correct and govern them, some search out their nature and beginning: when it is demanded why Nature brought forth man, why she preferred him before all other living creatures. Thinkest thou that I have left manners a far off? Thou art deceived. For how shalt thou know what manners are to be sought after, except thou findest out what is the best for man, except thou examine his nature? Than at length thou shalt understand what thou art to do, and what to avoid, when as thou hast learned what thou owest to thy nature. I, sav●st thou, will learn how I may desire less, how I may fear less. Shake o●f from me this superstition: teach me that this which is called felicity, is but a slight and vain thing, and that the accession of one syllabble will make it infelicity. I will satisfy thy desire, and exhort thee unto virtues, and will whip vices: and although some men repute me too immoderate in this kind, yet will I not desist to persecute wickedness, to restrain unbridled affections to temperate desires and pleasures that should terminate in sorrow; and to oppose myself against wishes. Why not? When as we have desired the extremest of evils, and that from the joy which we have, our sorrow hath proceeded. In the mean while suffer me to unfold those things which seem somewhat too much removed from us. The question was, whether in all creatures there were a sense of their constitution. But that they have a sense, it hereby most manifestly appeareth, because they fitly and readily move their members, as if they had been fashioned thereunto. Every one of them hath an agility in his parts. A workman handleth his tools readily. The master of a ship knoweth how to s●eere his helm of his ship fitly. A Painter doth quickly discern those diversities of colours which are laid before him, to the end he may apply them in his work, and with a ready hand and eye he passeth betwixt the wax, and the similitude or resemblance which he would draw: so living creatures move themselves in every sort, according as it becometh them. We are wont to wonder at these cunning actors, who have their hands so nimble, that they are able to represent all things, and effect readily by their gesture, whose fingers are as nimble as their tongues. That which Art vouchsafed them, Nature alloweth these. There is no man but stirreth his members without pain, there is no one restrained, when he hath need to move himself, being borne unto this motion: they perform it readily; they come into this world with this science, and are borne so instructed. Therefore, saith he, shall living creatures most fitly move their parts, because if they moved them otherwise, they should feel pain. So as you say, they are compelled, and fear and not will maketh them move aright, which is false. For they are slow which are enforced by necessity, agility is a voluntary motion. But so far o●f is it that fear of pain driveth them hereunto, that they endue themselves in their natural motion, although pain do prohibit them. So the infant that meditateth how to stand, and is accustomed to keep himself on his feet, as soon as he beginneth to try his forces, he falleth, and crying riseth again, so often until by means of grief he hath exercised himself in that which Nature requireth at his hands. There are some living creatures of a harder back, which turned upon the same, so long time tumble themselves, and stretch out their feet and bow them in, till such time as they have recovered their ordinary custom and place. The Tortuise being cast upon her back feeleth no torment, notwithstanding she ceaseth not to struggle and stir herself, until such time as she feeleth herself in her natural estate, and that she hath recovered her feet. Each of them therefore hath a sense of his constitution, and thereby a ready use of their members: neither have we any more greater token that they came to live with this knowledge, then for that there is no living creature that is ignorant how to use his body. Constitution, saith he, as you define it, is the principal and fairest part of the soul, that in some sort hath some power over the body. This definition so perplexed and subtle, and such as you yourselves can scarcely discover. How doth an infant understand it? All living creatures should have been borne Logicians, to the end that they might understand this definition, which might seem obscure to the chiefest and wisest part of the Citizens. True it were which thou opposest, if I said that the definition of constitution were understood by brute beasts. For constitution itself is more easily understood, then taught by Nature. Therefore that infant knoweth not what constitution is, yet knoweth he his own constitutions and what an Animal is, he knoweth not, yet feeleth he himself to be an Animal. Besides that, he understandeth his Nature grossly, summarily, and obscurely. We also know well that we have a soul, but what the soul is, where it is, of what quality it is, and whence it is we know not. Such sense of our mind as we have attained unto, although we are ignorant of the nature and seat thereof, such sense have all living creatures of their constitution. For they must needs feel, that by means whereof, they have sense of other things, and they must of necessity have a sense of that thing which governeth them, and which th●y obey. There is not any one of us but knoweth that there is a certain thing which stirreth his affections, but no man knoweth what it is, and each man knoweth that he hath an endeavour, but what it is, or whence it is he knoweth not. Even as infants, so other living creatures have a sense of their principal part, but this resentiment is obscure and not manifest. You say (saith he) that a living creature is above all things accommodated to his nature and constitution, but that man's constitution is to be a reasonable soul, and therefore that man is accommodated to himself, not as to a living creature only, but as to a reasonable living creature, for he is dear and precious unto himself, as he is a man. But how therefore may an infant be accommodated to his reasonable constitution, when as yet he is not reasonable? Every age hath his constitution, an infant hath one, a stripling another, an old man another, for all of them are accommodated to the constitution wherein they remain. The infant is without teeth, this is a constitution that agreeth with him● his teeth grow out, and this is agreeable to his age. For even that herb that must grow to a stalk and ear●, hath one constitution when it is tender, and scarce appeareth above the furrow; another when it waxeth stronger, and hath a tender stalk, yet sufficiently able to bear his burden: another when it waxeth yellow and is ready for harvest, and the ear thereof is hardened into whatsoever constitution it cometh, it maintaineth the same, and accomodateth itself thereunto. The age of an infant is one, of a little lad another, of a young man another, of an old man another; yet am I the same, who both was an infant, a young lad, and a young man. So although each one's constitution be different, yet the accord thereof is always one. For Nature commendeth unto me not a boy, not a young man, or an old man, but myself. And therefore an infant is accommodated to that constitution which he hath in being an infant, not which he shall have when he is a young man: because not only the estate wherein he is, but that estate which remaineth as yet more great, whereunto he aught to attain, dependeth upon his nature. First of all, the living creature hath care of himself, for there must be somewhat whereunto the rest are referred. I seek pleasure: for whom? for myself: therefore have I a care of myself, I fly from pain; for whom? for myself: therefore have I a care of myself. If I do all things for the care I have of myself, I have a care of myself above all things. This is in all living creatures, it is not inferred, but innate: Nature bringeth out her fruit, but casteth them not out, and because the most assured guard is that which is nearest; each one is committed to the charge and consideration of himself. Therefore, as I have said before, the most tenderest creatures, which either from their dam, or otherwise have been brought to light, do presently know what that is, which is hurtful unto them, and fly from those things that threaten them with death; and chickens and small fowl, which are exposed for a prey to the grater fowl that live by rapine, fear the shadow of all those which pass and hover over them. There is no creature that entereth life, but hath a fear of death. How (saith he) can a living creature that is new borne know that which is healthful or harmful to him? First, the question is, whether he understand, not how he understandeth. And that they have understanding, hereby it appeareth, that they will do nothing more than they understand: why is it that the Heron flieth not from the Peacock, or a Goose when she is much lesser, & yet unknown to both, & yet hideth herself when she espieth a hawk? Why do chickens fear the cat, and not the dog? It appeareth that they have a cetain knowledge of that which is hurtful unto them, not gathered by experience for they take heed before they can make trial of the danger. Furthermore, jest thou shouldest suppose that this happeneth by chance, they fear none but those whom they aught, neither forget they that such and such are their enemies, and are to be avoided. Besides, they are not made more fearful by living, whereby it appeareth that they attain the same, not by use, but by a natural love of their safety. That which use teacheth is divers, and increaseth by little and little. But all that which Nature proposeth is equally and readily communicated to all: Notwithstanding, if thou wilt, I will show thee how each living creature enforceth herself to know that which is harmful unto her. She feeleth that she consisteth of flesh, and consequently knoweth, that by means whereof her flesh may be cut, burnt, or bruised. She reputeth those beasts her contraries and enemies that are armed to hurt. Th●se things are united together. For every living creature hath a present care to conserve herself, she searcheth that which may solace her, and feareth that which may offend her. If she repulse those things which are contrary unto her, Nature teacheth her the same, and that which she teacheth, she knoweth without discourse, and without resolution of william. Seest thou not what subtlety Bees have in building their hives, how marvelous accord they have in distributing and doing their business? Seest thou not how no mortal creature can imitate the Spider's web? what cunning she hath in disposing her threads, the one are woven outright, in stead of the foundation, the other are twisted round and small, to the end she may surprise and catch, as it were in a net, those flies, for whom she layeth her snares, and on whom she maketh her prey? This art is borne with the Spider, and not learned. Therefore no creature is more learned than another. Thou shalt see that the Spider's webs are all alike; that the hives wherein the Bees rest have entrances alike. That which Art teacheth is uncertain and unequal, but that which nature teacheth is always uniform: She hath not trained living creatures in other sort, but to keep themselves, to know and follow their nature, by means whereof, also their science and their life begin both together. Neither is it to be wondered at, that these living creatures are borne with their natural science, considering, that without the same, they should take their life in vain. Nature hath furnished them with this first instrument, to arrest them in the communion and love of themselves. They could not maintain themselves except they would, neither could this of itself profit, but without this nothing had profited. But in no creature shalt thou find the contempt of herself, or the neglect. In those likewise which are silent and brutish, although in respect of the rest they be dull, yet in regard of life they are cunning. Thou shalt see that those things which are unprofitable for others, forget not the care that they aught to have of themselves. EPIST. CXXII. That the nature of excess is contrary to manner. He pleasantly describeth the nature of supping, drinking, sleeping, rising, and such like indirect delights. THe days already hath felt some detriments, they are somewhat diminished; yet so, as there is time enough as yet, if so be a man (if I may so speak it) will rise more officious and better with the day itself, then if he should expect the same to go and court others upon the day light. Base is that man that lieth slumbering long time after Sun rise, that awakeneth at noon, and this time to some is early day. There are many that pervert the offices both of day and night, and that never open their eyes (being overburdened by overnights drunkenness) before the evening discovereth itself. Such as their condition is said to be, when Nature (as Virgil saith) hath placed subject, and opposite to our feet. And when to us the dayspring doth appear, And bl●shing mor●e shows PHOE●VS steeds are near, To them the ruddy even with weaker light, Kindles the lightsome Tapers of the night. Such is not the Region, but their life, so that contrary and opposite to that of ours. There are certain Antipodes in the same City, who, as Cato saith, Never saw either the rising or setting Sun. Thinkest thou that these men know how to live, that know not when they live? And these are they that fear death, in which they have buried themselves alive; as fatal are these as night-runners. Although they pass their nights in wine and perfumes, although they employ the time of their intemperate upsitting in feasts and variety of many dishes, yet those which they solemnize are not feasts but funerals. Undoubtedly by day time men are wont to celebrated the obsequies of the dead; but assuredly there is no day too long to him that travaileth. Let us extend our life; the office and argument hereof is action, and let somewhat thereof be reserved to the day. Those birds which are bought to celebrated a feast are kept dark, to the end that by sitting still they may more easily become fat; so such as he without any exercise, a sluggish swelling in●adeth their bodies, and a soft fat groweth about their members; so deformed do their bodies seem that have dedicated themselves to darkness. For their colour is no less pleasing than theirs that are wearied and made pale with sickness, they languish, look bleach● and are discoloured, and in their li●e their flesh is corrupted. Yet will I say that this is the lest of evils in them, how far greater darkness is there in their mind? The one is stupid, the other is almost blind, and seemeth to envy those that see not a whit. Who ever had eyes to use them in darkness? Askest thou me how this deprivednesse of the mind groweth, by loathing the day and transferring the whole life into night? All vices fight against nature, all of them leave their own order. This is the purpose of excess, to rejoice in perverse things, and not only to departed from the right, but to fly a far off from it, and to be at length opposite unto it. Do not these men in thy judgement live contrary to nature that drink fasting, that pour in wine into their empty veins, and sit down drunk to their dinners? But this is an ordinary error in young men, who exercise their strength, who almost in the very entrance of the Bath, do not only drink but gull down wine amongst those that are naked, to the end they might restrain the sweat which they have moved by their hot and often quaffings. It is an ordinary matter to drink after Dinner or Supper; our country house keepers do the like, who are ignorant of true pleasure. That wine delighteth which swimmeth not upon our meats, which freely pierceth unto the nerves. That drunkenness delighteth that comes upon an empty stomach. Seem they not in thy judgement to live contrary to nature who are as effeminate in their garments as women? Live they not against nature, who study to have childish beauty upon a wrinkled forehead? What thing can be more miserable or more horrible? He will neu●r be a man because he may long time suffer a man● and when as his sex should reprieve him from contumely, his age itself cannot discharge him. Live they not against nature that in winter long for a Rose, and by the nourishment of warm waters, and the fit change of heat i● winter time 'cause a Lily & such flowers as are destinated to the spring to flourish? Live they not against nature that plant Orchards on their highest Towers, that have whole Forests shaking upon the tops and Turrets of their houses, spreading their roots in such places, where it should suffice them that the tops of their branches should touch? Live they not against nature that lay the foundations of their baths in the sea? Neither suppose that they swim delicately enough, except their warm baths be environed with tempestuous billows? When as they have resolved to intent all things against the custom of nature, at last they wholly revolt from her. Is it day? It is time to go to bed: it is night, now let us exercise ourselves, now let us be coached, now let us dine: doth the morning approach? It is time to go to supper. We must not live according to common custom, it is a base, ordinary and vulgar course of life. Let the common day be relinquished, let the morning be proper and peculiar unto us; for mine own part I rank these men amongst the dead: for how little are they distant from their funerals, and they most fatal that live by Torch and wax light? I remember that at one time divers men led this life. Amongst others Attilius Buta a Praetorian, who after he had spent all his goods in gluttony, which were very great when he complained him of his poverty to TIBERIUS; Too late (said the Emperiour) art thou awakened. MONTANUS JULIUS an indifferent Poet, well known thorough the favour and repulse he had at Caesar's hands, took pleasure to interlace in his verses these words Ortus and Occasus, which signify the rising and setting of the Sun, One day a certain friend of his being displeased because Montanus had not given over for the space of a whole day to recite some of his compositions, said that a man should not give ●are to a man, so importunate Natta Prinarius taking fit opportunity, said, Can I use him more courteously? I am ready to hear him from the Sun rise to the Sun set; when he had recited these Verses, PHOE●VS gins to show his burnished light, And blushing day to spread his shining face, And now gins the Swallow with delight To feed her young, within her nest a space, And to her wings, breed by one and one Yield from her neb their food to feed upon. Varus a Roman Knight, a companion of Lucius Vinicius an ordinary smelfeast, who was the better welcome by reason he wittily and bitterly jested at those whom he thought fit, cried out aloud, BUTA begin to sleep: again, when after that he had recited, Now have the shepherds closed their fruitful Kie Within their stalls, now dull and darksome night Gins to spread her sad and silent eye, Upon the dulsome earth deprived of light. The same Varus said, What saith he? It is now night, I will go and salute BUTA. There was nothing more notorious than this preposterous life of Buta, whereunto divers applied themselves in that time, as I have said. The cause of this disorder is not in that they think that the night hath any thing more pleasing in it, because nothing hindereth them, and for that the day is displeasant to an evil conscience; and because the light costeth nothing, it contenteth not him that coveteth or disdaineth all things, according as they cost more or less. Besides, these unbridled persons will have their immoderate life spoken of whilst they live; for if it be obscured, they think they lose their labour. They are displeased therefore as often as they do not that which may make them be spoken of: many of these devour their goods, many of them have their harlots; and if thou wilt have credit amongst these men, thou must needs commit some lascivious or notable folly. In a City so possessed with sin a common and ordinary error is not looked after nor talked upon. I have heard Pedo Albinovanus report (which was a man of a very pleasant discourse) that he dwelled a little above Sparius Papinius house, who was one of the company of the night-Owles and light-shunners: About the third hour of the night, saith he, I hear the lashing of the whips, and I ask what he doth? They answer me that he calleth his servants to accounted. About the sixth hour of the night, I hear a shrill voice, and I ask what it is? and they answer me that he exerciseth his voice. I ask about the eight hour of the night what that rattling of wheels meaneth? they answer, that he will take the air. About day light I hear running up and down the Pages are called for, the Butlers and Cooks make a stir; I ask what that meaneth? they answer me that he was come out of his Bath and required broth and drink. What did his supper, said he, exceed the day? Not; for he lived very frugally, and spent nothing but the night. And therefore he oftentimes answered those that called him covetous and a sloven; You would likewise call him, Lichnobius, that is to say, such a one as liveth by the Lamp. Thou must not wonder, although thou findest so many proprieties of vices; they are divers, and have innumerable faces, their kinds cannot be comprehended. The managing of that which is good is simple, and that which is evil manifold, and is disposed in all sorts as a man list. The same befalleth manners, such as follow Nature are facile and free, and have small differences; the rest are extravagant and never accord amongst themselves: but the especial cause of this sickness in my opinion, is the hatred of common life. As they distinguish themselves from other men in their garments, as in their great & costly suppers, and in the richness of their coaches, so will they be separated from other in the disposition of times they will not sin ordinarily, whose reward in sinning is infamy. This do all they seek after, who (if I may say so) live sinisterly. Therefore my Lucilius, we are to follow that way, which nature hath prescribed us; neither must we wander out of the same. They that do this, find all things facile and expedit, but they that strive against the same, their life is no otherwise then theirs who strive against the stream. EPIST. CXXIII. That a thin and simple diet by the decree of the mind and hunger are made desirable. That rich men are to use the same likewise; for who knoweth whether he shall have need thereof? Let neither custom or foreign manners seduce us. Despise all contrary judgements or opinions. BEing spent by my journey more incommodious then long, I came to my Albanum very late in the night, I find nothing ready but myself. For this cause I laid me down in my bed to ease my weariness, and take in good part this negligence of my Cook and Baker: for thus debate I upon this matter with myself; There is nothing so grievous that can distaste thee if thou endure it patiently, neither any thing that may displease thee except thou thyself 'cause it by thy fretting. My Baker hath no bread, but my Farmer hath, my Porter hath, my Ploughman hath. But thou wilt say it is course bread: stay a while it will be made good; hunger I tell thee, will make it more pleasing unto thee than thy white bread. Therefore aught we not to eat any thing before hunger command us. I will therefore stay and refrain eating till such time as either I begin to have good, or forbear to loathe bad. It is a necessary thing to accustom ourselves to frugalie: many difficulties of time and place do sometimes hinder the most richest and greatest Lords from their long desired dinners. No man can have whatsoever he will, yet may he not will that which he hath not, and use those things that are presented him thankfully. A great part of liberty is a well-governed belly, and patiented in all wants. Thou canst not imagine what pleasure I take in this, that my weariness is appeased of itself. I seek neither unction nor Bath, nor any other remedy, but only time: for that which labour hath bred rest taketh away. This will be more pleasing than a supper prepared for the gods: for sometimes I have made a sudden experiment of the forces of my mind, and I find it to be the most simple and assured; for whereas the mind hath prepared itself, and enjoined himself patience, a man cannot see how much firmity it hath: for they are the most certain arguments which she instantly gave, if not only with an equal but a temperate eye he hath beheld them, if she hath not been displeased nor hath contested, if that which should be given, himself ministereth to himself by not desiring, & thinketh that there is somewhat wanting to his custom and not unto himself. We never understood that many things were superfluous, but when they began to be missing: for we used them not because we aught, but because we had them. But how many things do we prepare, because other men have prepared them? because they are usual amongst many? Amongst the causes of our evils, this is one, that we live by example; neither are we governed by reason, but led away by custom, which if few men did, we would not imitate: when as many have begun to do the same we follow it as if it were more honest, because it is more frequent, and error with us supplieth the place of that which is right, when it is made public. All men nowadays travail in such sort, that a troup of Numidian horsemen leads them the way, and a company of footmen attends upon their stirrup. It should be an indignity unto them if they had not some attendants to thrust those out of the way that met them, and that should show in raising much dust, that an honest man came after them. In these days all men have Moiles that bear their vessels of crystal, and such as are made of Cassonie, and enamelled by the hands of great Artists: it is a shame for thee if thou seem to have those carriages as might not be broken. All the Litters wherein they carry their Minions are covered, and they themselves have their faces anointed, jest either the Sun or cold should harm their tender skins; it is shame that there is no one in the company of their Minions, that hath a face so fair that it needeth not to be farded. All these men's conference is to be avoided, these are they that teach vices, and convey them from one place to another. They were reputed the worst sort of men that were talecarriers, but some there are that bear vices. These men's speech doth much mischief; for although it instantly hurteth not, yet leaveth it some seeds in the mind, and it followeth us even then when we have left them, likely hereafter to enkindle a new evil in us. Even as they who have heard some excellent Music bear away with them in their ears that harmony and sweetness of song, which hindereth the thoughts, and suffers them not to be intended to serious matters: so the speech of flatterers, and such as praise vice, sticketh longer time in our mem●ries, than it is ●eard: neither i● it an easy matter to extinguish so sweet a sound in the mind, it followeth● and continueth, and returneth again somewhiles after into our remembrance. It becometh us therefore in the beginning to stop ●p our ears against evil voices, for when they have gotten entrance, and are admitted, they are more audacious. From thence men grow to this language, Virtue, Philosophy, and justice, is but the bruit of vain words. The only felicity is to make good cheer, to live at pleasure, and to have an ample patrimony. This it is that is called life, this is to remember that a man is mortal. The daye● fleet from us, and our life so posteth away as we may never recover it. Why are we doubtful to frame ourselves according to our fantasy, and to satisfy our flesh her desires, whilst she demandeth them, whilst she will and can take them? Why take we care to spare for the time after our death, and to forbidden ourselves that for the present, which she will carry away? Thou hast no she friend, no boy, that may move jealousy in thy mistress. Each day walkest thou out of thy house sober, so suppest thou, as if thou wert accountable to thy father for the expense thou makest every day. This is not to live, it is to assist and keep company with the living. What folly is it to heap up riches for thine heir, and to deny thyself all things, that the great goods thou possessest might make thy friend thine enemy; for the more he enjoyeth by thee, the more he rejoiceth at thy death. Set not a farthing by these severe and bold causers of another man's life, enemies to their own, such men as would regent the whole world: neither doubt thou to make choice of a merry life before a good fame. These speeches are no otherwise to be fled, than the songs of the Sirens, which Ulysses would not sail by, ●●fore he had tied himself to the mast of his ship. They have the same power, they take from those that give ear unto them, their country, their parents, their friends, their virtues, and drag th●se miserable creatures thorough the ordures of a shameful and infamous life. How far better is it to follow the direct way, and to aim at this end that those things at length may only seem pleasing unto thee which are honest? Which we may attain, if we shall conceive two kinds of things, the one whereof draw us, the other drive us away. Those that invite us, are riches, pleasures, beauty, ambition: in brief, all that which flattereth us, and is agreeable unto us. They that drive us away are travail, death, dolour, ignominy, and want. We must therefore exercise ourselves, jest we fear the one or desire the other. Let us make head against that which is contrary, and let us departed from those things which invite us, and make war against those that importune us. Seest thou not how divers the habit is of those, that ascend and descend? Those that descend from a steep place, bend their bodies backward, they that ascend an high place● lie upon their bellies. For if in descending thou swayest thyself forward, or in ascending thou leanest backward: this (my Lucilius) is to consent with vice. We descend into pleasures, we must mount in the incommodities and adversities of this life. Let us press forward in these, and restrain ourselves in the other. Thinkest thou now, that I say this, that they only are preiudicious to our ears, who praise voluptuousness, who increase the apprehension of pain, a thing that of itself is dreadful enough. Those men likewise, in my opinion, are hurtful unto us, who under pretext of being Stoics, exhort us unto vices: that a wiseman only is both learned, and a lover, that only he is practised in this Arte. The wiseman is as skilful in drinking, as in banqueting. Let us inquire until what years young men are to be beloved. Let these things be allowed to Graecian custom. Let us rather address our ears to those things that follow. No man is casually good; virtue is to be learned, voluptuousness is a vile and base thing, and of mean price● common to man, with brute beasts, and whereunto the lest, and most contemptible do fly. Glory is vain, and swiftly flieth, and is more inconstant than the wind. Povertie is displeasing to no man, except to him that heareth it impatiently. Death is no evil. Why complainest thou? She it is alone that dealeth justly, and carrieth herself equally towards all human kind. Superstition is a mad error, it feareth those whom she should love, and violateth her masters. For what difference is there, whether thou deniest the gods, or defraudest them? These things are to be learned, yea they are to be kept continually in remembrance. Philosophy must not suggest excuses unto vice. That sick man hath no hope of his health, who is counseled by his Physicians to intemperance. EPIST. CXXIIII. Against the Epicures, that good consisteth in reason, not in sense. And therefore that infants are not as yet capable thereof: neither is it complete, except it be where reason is complete. How shall I understand that it is in me, if I seek nothing without myself? I Can recount, if so thou list to hear, Full many precepts of the ancient wise, Except thou loathe to lend thy listening ear, To know from whence the lesser cares arise. But thou loathest not, neither doth any subtlety disgust thee. Thy gentle spirit disdaineth not the smallest things, although it comprehend the greatest. I likewise approve this in thee also, because thou reducest all things to some use, & ar● only offended then, when with much subtlety nothing is effected, which I will not now endeavour to do. The question is, whether good be comprehended by sense or understanding. Hereunto it is annexed, that it is neither in brute beasts, nor in infants: they that hold voluptuousness for the chiefest good, do judge good to be sensible. We contrariwise considering it in the soul, maintain that it is intelligible. If they did judge of the good of sense, we should reject no voluptuousness, because all of them are both attractive and pleasing, And contrariwise, we should willingly undergo no pain, because there is none but offendeth the sense. Besides, they should not be worthy of reprehension, who are too much affected to voluptuousness, and are too exceedingly afraid of pain. But we mislike those that are addicted to their belly and lust, and contemn those, who for fear of pain dare attempt nothing courageously. But wherein do they offend, if they obey their senses, that are the judges of good and evil. For to these Masters have you given the power to desire and fly. But reason hath charge of this, and must order as well good and evil, as virtue and honesty. For by these the pre-eminence is given to the base part, to judge of the better, and their meaning is, that the sense which is a dim and dull thing, and more slow in men then in other living creatures, should censure what the true good is. What if a man would discern the smallest things by sight, and not by touch, to discern evil from good, a man cannot find a more sharp and better intended sight then that of the eye. Thou seest in what ignorance of truth he remaineth, and with what ignorance he hath trod●n those things under foot which are divine, who will make the touch to be the judge of good and evilly Even as, saith he, every Science and Art aught to have something in it, which is manifest, and comprehended under sense, from whence it may be derived and increase: even so a blessed life hath for his foundation and beginning, something which is both apparent and sensible. But you say that a blessed life taketh her beginning from manifest things. We say that those things are blessed, which are according to nature, but what is according to nature appeareth clearly and at the first sight, as that also which is entire. What is that which is according to nature? It is that which befalleth him who is newly borne, I say not good, but the beginning of good. Thou attributest pleasure unto infancy, as if it were their chiefest good, that at his birthday he should begin there, whither he attaineth when he is become a man. Thus puttest thou the top of the tree into the place of the root. If a man should say, that an infant lying in his mother's womb, and scarce begun, tender, imperfect, and without form, is already in possession of any good, should he not seem to err manifestly? But what difference is there betwixt an infant, that doth begin to be, and one which is as yet but a hidden burden in his mother's womb? Both these, in respect of the understanding of good & evil, have equal maturity: & no more is an infant capable of good as yet, than a tree, or any dumb beast? But why is not good in a tree or dumb beast? Because reason is not in them, and therefore is it not in an infant, by reason that he wanteth reason, whereunto when he hath attained, he shall approach more goodness. There is some creature which is not reasonable● and some other which is not as yet endued with reason, if it be it is imperfectly. Goodness is neither in the one, nor in the other. Reason bringeth that good with himself. What difference then is there betwixt the things above mentioned? Never shall good be in a living creature which is deprived of reason, neither can it be in him that is not as yet endued with reason, as long as he remaineth in that estate, she may be, but she is not ●s yet. So then I say (my Lucilius) that good is not found in every body, or in all ages, and is as far estranged from the infant, as that which is last, is distant from that which is first, and the beginning of a thing, from the accomplishing and perfection of the same, and consequently, good is not in a body which doth but newly receive form in his mother's womb: no more is there in the seed whence the body hath form: as if thou makest mention of the good of any tree or plant, it is not in the first leaf that buddeth forth. The corn hath some good which is not in the tender blade, nor in the straw, but in the grain which is ready to be reaped. Even as all nature, except it be consummate, bringeth not forth his good, so the good of a man, is not in a man, except he be possessed of perfect reason. But what this good is, I will tell thee: It is a free and upright mind, that subiecteth all other things under him, and is himself subject to nothing. Too far is infancy from partaking this good, that the childish age hopeth it not, and youth doth weakly hope the same. Happy is old-age if it attain thereunto by long and diligent study, when this is both good and able to be understood. Thou didst say, sayest thou, that there is a certain good of a tree, another of an herb; therefore may an infant have some good. The true good neither is in trees nor in dumb creatures; that good which is in these is called but a borrowed good: and what is that, sayest thou? That which is according to the nature of every thing. There is not one brute beast that may in any sort participate good, which belongeth to a better and more happy nature: there is no good but there where reason hath place. These four natures are distinct; that of a Tree, that of a Beast, that of a Man, and that of a God. These two which are without reason are of the same nature, the other two are divers, the one immortal, the other mortal. Of these the one maketh his own god accomplished, and that is God, & a man's diligence addresseth the other. The rest are perfect in their nature, but not truly perfect if reason be absent from them. For that is finally perfect which is perfect according to common nature, but common nature is reasonable, the rest may be perfect in their kind. That wherein happy life cannot be, cannot have that thing which causeth happy life, but a blessed life is made by good things, and in a dumb beast that is not that whereby blessed life is effected, and therefore good cannot be in a dumb beast. A dumb beast comprehendeth things that are present, by sense he remembreth those things that are passed at such time as that which awakeneth the sense, awakeneth itself, as a horse remembreth himself of his way when he is set into the beginning of it: whilst he standeth in the Stable he hath no remembrance thereof, although he hath trodden it over many times. But the third time, that is to say, that which is to come appertaineth not to dumb beasts: how then can their nature seem to be perfect who have no use of perfect time? For time consisteth of three parts, of that which is past, of that which is present, of that which is to come. That which is only present and shortest, and passeth soon is given to beasts: as touching that which is past, they have either none or little remembrance thereof neither, but casually think they on things that are present; thus the good of a perfect nature cannot be in an imperfect nature. Or if by nature she hath it, she hath it as herbs have; neither do I deny but that brute beasts have their motions very rude and violent towards those things which seem to be according to nature, but such motions are confused and disordered, but there cannot be any confusion or disorder in good. Why then sayest thou do brute beasts move themselves confusedly and disorderly? I would say that they moved. themselves confusedly an disorderly, if their nature were capable of order: but they have a motion according to nature. For we call that thing confused, which sometimes may not be confused, and that careful which may be assured; vice is in nothing wherein virtue may not be; dumb beasts have by nature that motion which they have. But ●est I detain thee overlong, there shall be some good in a dumb beast, some virtue, some perfection; but what shall it be, but what good? Neither absolutely good, neither virtue, neither perfect; for these privileges do only appertain unto those that are endowed with reason, who have the knowledge given them why, how far, and how. Thus good is not in any thing, except it be ended with reason. Dost thou ask me whereunto this disputation tendeth, and what profit it shall yield unto thy mind? I will tell thee, it exerciseth it, it whetteth it, and detaineth the same in some honest meditation, since he must employ and occupy himself. But that which restraineth the mind that runneth after vice, is profitable. But this I say, that the greatest good I can do thee, is to teach thee thy good, to separate thee from brute beasts, and to lodge thee with God. Why dost thou entertain and nourish the forces of thy body? Nature hath granted brute and savage beasts greater th●n these? Why dost thou so carefully maintain thy beauty, when as thou hast done thy uttermost thou shalt be overcome by many brute beasts in comeliness? Why dost thou trim thy hair with so great diligence, when thou hast either scattered it after● the Parthian manner, or tied it up in knots after the German fashion, or let it grow long as the Scythians are wont; in every horse thou shalt find a thicker crest, in every Lion a goodlier. When thou shalt address thyself to run, the Hare will outstrip thee, wilt thou leave these foreign advantages in pursuit, whereof thou hast always the worst, and return unto thy good? And what is this? undoubtedly it is a reformed mind, pure and imitating good, extolling himself above human things, placing nothing of himself without himself. Thou art a reasonable creature: what good is there therefore in thyself? Perfect reason. Summon thou that to his chiefest perfection, and let it increase as much as it may. Than suppose thyself to be blessed when all thy joy shall proceed from thyself, when in th●se things which men long after, wish and desire thou findest nothing I say, not that thou wouldst rather have, but that thou wouldst have. I will give thee a short lesson, whereby thou mayest measure thyself, whereby thou mayest perceive that thou art perfect. Thou shalt possess thy true good, when thou shalt know that those are most unhappy who are happy. The end of SENECAES' Epistles. THE MEMORABLE AND FAMOUS TRACTS, BOTH MORAL AND NATURAL, WRITTEN BY LUCIUS ANNAEUS SENECA. LONDON, Printed by William Stansby. 1613. LUCIUS ANNAEUS SENECA His Discourse of PROVIDENCE: OR Why good men are afflicted, since there is a divine PROVIDENCE. The Argument of JUSTUS LIPSIUS. THis little book is a golden book, and was written, as I conceive, after CALI●VLAS time, and I judge it by his fourth Chapter: I heard a Fencer, in CAIUS CAESAR'S time, complaining of the scantness of rewards. He speaketh of the time past, and of the man and the time which was. I think therefore that he wrote it under CLAVDIVS, and presently upon his return. Yea but what if he wrote some of these Philosophical Discourses in his exile? For he continued there a long time, about some eight years, and upon just cause made choice hereof to comfort himself. For the argument is, that there is a Providence, and yet notwithstanding, that some evils, but they external, do befall good men. He first of all in generality avoweth the same, by the motion, order, and constancy of the world, all which do testify that there is a Governor. Afterwards he more particularly examineth the question. Why therefore do misfortunes happen to good men? First of all he saith, that God loveth good men, and that therefore he sendeth them not afflictions. That like a father he correcteth and checketh them. Again, that these seem no afflictions unto good men, neither that they are overcome, but exercised by them, and made constant by their tribulations. That God is, as it were, a judge of the game, and taketh delight in these his strong and confident wrestlers. This handleth he generally, and as it were in way of induction to the third Chapter. From that forward he more distinctly goeth forward, to set down five reasons why they happen. First, that it is for their good, for whom they happen. Secondly, for all men's. Thirdly, for such as would have them happen. Fourthly, that they happen by fate and an eternal Law. He handleth the first reason in the third and fourth Chapter, and teacheth that it is for their good, to whom they chance, as a medicine is to those that are sick. They are likewise confirmed by God by this means, who bringeth those forth to the battle, who are worthy of him: that he suffereth the rest of base metal to live in idleness and obscurity. He handleth the second in the fift Chapter, that it is for all men's good, that good men, and such as are so reputed, might cry out unto others, and show them they are not good or evil, which the common sort esteemeth such. He counseleth them therefore to have an eye to those that are true, and to affect them, and fly the other. In that place he entreateth of the other, of such as are willing to entertain the same, for they give themselves to God and Fate. The fourth concludeth that there is Fate, and that it is constituted from eternity, what thou shouldest rejoice and grieve at. Again, he repeateth this, that these things are not evil, and bringeth in God most excellently exhorting and exciting them to constancy. He concludeth Stoically, if thou dislike it, and canst not abide it, who holdeth thee? the door is open, get thee out. CHAP. I Having approved that there is a Providence, he showeth in general, by consideration of all creatures both high and low, that it is impossible that they should be without a most wise moving cause, since the effects they have are so admirable. THOU hast demanded of me, my friend Lucilius, how it should come to pass (if so be the world were governed by any Providence) that so many evils befall good men? I might more readily and fitly give thee an answer hereunto in a place of this Discourse, where I intent to prove that Providence hath a power over all things, and that God is always present with us. But since it is thy pleasure that I divide this part from the whole, and that I satisfy thee in this one contradiction, permitting the rest of the question to remain untouched. I will perform it, since I know it is no hard matter to plead the cause of the gods. It should be labour lost at this present, to make proof, that this great frame of the world could not be sustained without some governor and superintendant. That those so certain motions, and courses of the Planets and Stars, have not this violent vehemency, by casualty or accident, that that which is pushed on by Fortune, and peradventure is oftentimes troubled, and hindereth itself. That this swiftness which is never interrupted by any obstacle, is governed by the commandment of an eternal law. That this goodly order and government, that beareth and sustaineth all things in the earth, and in the sea, so many clear lights which shine in the heavens, wherein they were disposed, is not by the order of a wandering and inconstant matter. That that which sho●●d be assembled rashly and casually, could not remain suspended, with so wonderful workmanship. To show also how the weight of the earth remaineth unmovable, beholding the swift motion of the heavens, which whirleth about her incessantly. How the seas being spread thorough the deep valleys, mollify the earth, and receive no increase by the entry of all other rivers. How from a very little seed, there groweth out a body of wonderful greatness, & how even those things which seem most incertain and confused, I speak of clouds and rains, of the claps of thunder and lightning, of fires and flames that enforce their passage thorough the tops of the highest mountains, of the earthquakes which sink and open the ground, and other accidents, which that part of nature which is most stormy and tempest●ous, may move about the earth, how sudden and unexpected soever they be, are never raised without reason. They have their causes as well as they, which, as we see do suddenly and miraculously break forth in some strange and unaccustomed places, such as are the sources of hot waters in the midst of some rivers, and new Isles that raise themselves out of the depth of a large sea. Furthermore, if a man will observe it, how the seashores upon the ebb of the waters, become naked and discovered; and how anon after, upon the flood, the waters return and cover them again, he will believe that by a certain blind volutation, that the waves are contracted and buried one within another, sometimes enlarged, and with swift streams return into their bed. Although, in truth, they increase by little and little, and at a certain day and hour become more great and small, according to the estate and disposition of the Moon, which causeth the flux and reflux of the sea. But leave we this discourse until another time, and the rather because thou doubtest not, but complainest of Providence. I will reconcile thee to the gods, who are favourable to those that are good men: for Nature suffereth not, that those things which are good, should be hurtful to the good. * A Stoical Paradox, which cannot be understood, nor well expressed in the Schools of humanity, but in that of the holy Ghost. Examine it judicially. Virtue hath contracted an amiable friendship betwixt good men and God. Say I friendship? Nay rather a kindred, and likewise, because a good man only differeth from God but in time, he is his scholar, his follower and his true child, whom that magnificent parent, a severe exactor of virtues, bringeth up to hardness, as austere fathers do their children. When as therefore thou shalt see good men, and such as are acceptable to the gods, travail, sweat, and ascend high places: and contrariwise, the evil play the wantoness, and flow in pleasures: think with thyself, that we are delighted with the modesty of our children, and the liberty of our gibing slaves: that the one are restrained under a severe discipline, whilst the other are supported and maintained in their impudence. Know thou that God doth the like. He maketh not a good man a wanton: he proves him, he hardens him against afflictions, he polisheth and fashioneth him to the end he may serve him. CHAP. II. But why do many adversities befall good men? Upon the entrance of the matter, ●e proveth by most strong arguments, enriched with excellent similitudes, and notable examples, that afflictions are honourable, pleasant, profitable and necessary to virtuous men; and that they are no ways to be esteemed pernicious. Not evil may happen unto a good man: contraries cannot be mixed together. Even as so many rivers, so many showers pouring from the heavens, so many springs of medicinable fountains, change not the savour of the sea, much less altar it: so the shock of adversity perverteth not the courage of a virtuous man. He continueth on, and whatsoever happeneth, he turneth it to his good. For he is more powerful than all external things; nay more than this, he apprehendeth them not, but surmounteth them, and continuing peaceable in himself, he resisteth all contrary encumbrances. He accounteth his adversities, his exercises. What man is he that hath his mind intended and settled upon honesty, that is not desirous of convenient labour, and is ready voluntarily to expose himself to dangers? What industrious man reputeth not idleness to be a punishment? We see that wrestlers, who have a care of their strength, do contend with the strongest whatsoever, and importue them, who fashion themselves to those exercises, to use their uttermost forces against them: they suffer themselves to be beaten and bruised, and if they find no single man that may equal them, they offer themselves to encounter with many at once. Virtue hath no virtue, if it be not impugned, then appeareth it how great it is, of what value and power it is, when by patience it approveth what it may. Thou ar● to conceive that good men aught to do the like, that the greatest and sharpest adversities must not astonish them, and that they aught not to complain of Fa●e. Whatsoever befalleth them, let them take it in good part, and turn it to their good. It importeth not what burden thou bearest, but with what courage thou endurest it. Seest thou not what difference there is between the father's love, and the mother's cockering. They command them to rise early to follow their studies diligently, and on holidays likewise they suffer them not to be idle, sometimes they enforce sweat from their brows, and tears from their eyes. But their mothers nestle them in their bosoms, and keep them out of the Sun; they never suffer them to cry, to be sad, or to labour. God hath a fatherly mind towards good men, and he loveth them strongly. And let them, saith he, have labours, losses, and pains, to the end they may recover a true strength. The bodies that are over-fattened do languish in idleness, and not only too much ●ase, but also their own grease and weight maketh them sink under it. Untainted felicity can suffer no affliction, but if a man striveth continually against his own calamities: he accustometh and inureth himself to adversities, neither giveth he place to any dolour, but although he be cast down, yet fighteth he on his knee. Dost thou wonder that God, who loveth good men so entirely, who would that they should be the best and most excellent above all others, doth assign them fortune to fight withal? I for mine own part wonder not, that the gods sometimes take pleasure to behold worthy men wrestling against some adversity. Sometimes it delighteth us, if we behold a young man of a constant resolution, that encountereth a wild beast with his huntingstaffe, that dreadless withstandeth the incursion of a Lion, and the more pleasing is the spectacle unto us, the more valiantly he behaveth himself. These are not those things that may convert the face of the gods towards us, but childish pastimes of human levity. But wilt thou see a spectacle that meriteth, that God should intentively behold the work, fix thine eye upon it, behold a couple of combatants worthy the presence of God? That is to say, a generous man planted before adverse Fortune, challenging her hand to hand. I see not, say I, what thing jupiter hath more admirable upon the earth, if he would fix his mind upon the same, then to behold Cato remaining firm and resolute, after his confederates had been more than once defeated and invincible amidst his country's ruins. Although, saith he, that on● only man be Lord of the whole world, although he have legions and garrisons in every Province, though the seas be covered with his ships, and Caesar's troops stop up all the passages. Cato hath a means to work his liberty, with one hand he shall make a broad way to his liberty. This * But this which Seneca pr●●seth so highly in a man that sl●w himself, is but a Pa●ado● of the Stoics, resumed expressly b● Na●●●●, by the l●w of Nation●, and condemned by the express word of God: for it is unlawful ●or a living man to ●or●ake this prison of his body, at his own indirect pleasure. sword, which during the civil wars, hath remained just and innocent, shall finally perform some good and noble actions, and give Cato liberty, who could not give his country freedom: my soul execute thou that act which thou hast long time meditated upon; deliver thyself from these worldly businesses. Petreius and juba have already encountered, and each are slain by one another's hands. A stout and worthy convention of destiny, but such as becometh not our greatness. It is as shameful a thing for Cato to require death, as to beg life at any man's hands. I assure myself, that the gods with great joy beheld, when this great and worthy parsonage, a powerful protector of himself, traveled to save others, and gave them means to escape: who likewise in that last night of his life he followed his study, whilst he thrust his * The sovereign Captain and Lord of our lines, is to assign us th● day, the hou●e, and the means. Neither i● it the all of a generous man to lese courage, and to think that his acquires s●ands so des●●●ate, that he ●●ll so discharge himself of business, as thereby he prejudice ●is own soul, and his neighbours' estate. sword into his belly, whilst he scattered abroad his bowels, and with his hands drew out of his body that so blessed soul of his unworthy to be contaminated by the sword. Whereupon I am driven to believe, that the wound was not large and deep enough. It sufficed not the immortal gods to behold Cato once, virtue was retained, and revoked, to the end that in a greater difficulty he might approve himself. For there is more greater resolution in dying the second or third time, then in dying at the first. And why should they not willingly behold their darling escaping by so noble and memorable a death, death consecrateth those whos●●nd they praise, who fear to undergo the like. CHAP. III. But now in the process of my discourse I will show how far they are from miseries that are reputed so to be: Secondly, ●e proveth that evil, that is to say, affliction turneth to their good who are virtuous. The first reason is, That as to heal the body we sometimes torment and maim the same, so doth good in regard of the righteous Secondly, that those that are always in prosperity, are in worst account with God, in that they have not the courage to encounter fortune. for the present I tell thee that those which thou callest difficulties, adversities, and abominable are first of all for the good of those to whom they happen, and afterwards for other men's good of whom the gods have more care than of every one in particular. Secondly, that nothing befalleth good men but that which they would, and they should discern that evil should light upon them if they would not. Hereunto will I annex, that these things are done by Fate, and in as much as virtuous men are good, all that which befortuneth them is good: consequently I will teach thee, and make thee confess that thou oughtest never to say, I have pity of such a good man, for a man may term him miserable, but indeed he is not nor cannot be. That which I spoke first seemeth to be the most harshest of all that which I have propounded, that those evils which we quake and tremble at, turn to their good, to whom they happen. Is it for their good, sayest thou, to be banished, to be brought to poverty, to be deprived of their wives and children, and to be enforced to bury them, to be defamed, and weakened? If thou be astonished hereat, thou wilt wonder more if I approve it to be for their good, that some are cured by Iron and Fire, and by hunger and thirst likewise; but if thou bethink thyself that for remedy sake, some have their bones scaled and scarified, their veins tataken out, and some of their members cut off, which without the hazard of the whole body could not be left on, thou wilt suffer this likewise to be proved, that some incommodities are for their good to whom they happen, as much in truth as there are some things which being praised and desired are hurtful to those that long after them, as over-eating and drinking, and such like pleasures, which engender crudities, trouble the brain, and kill the body. Amongst divers notable sayings of Demetrius the Stoic, I remember me of one, which as yet soundeth and tingleth in mine ears; There is nothing, saith he, more unhappy than that man that hath never been touched with adversity: for he hath not had the means to know himself. Although all things he could desire had befallen him, yea, before he could desire; yet have the gods thought evil of him. He seemed to be unworthy that fortune should at any time be overcome by him which disdaineth to attempt any recreant or coward: as if she said, Why should I admit of such an adversary? he will presently lay down his weapons, what need I employ all my power against him? A slight threat will make him fly; he cannot abide to look upon me. Let another man be sought for, with whom I may enter combat. I am ashamed to encounter with a man that is ready to be conquered. The Fencer thinketh it a disgrace for him to be matched with his inferior, and knoweth that he is overcome without glory that is conquered without danger. The like doth fortune, she seeketh for the strongest to match her, some passeth she over with a scorn, she attempteth the most confident and courageous sort of men, against these employeth she her forces: she trieth her fire upon * See Livy and Plutarch in the life of Publicola. Mucius, poverty in a See Plutarch in Pyr●hus life, and Titus Livius. Fabricius, banishment in b See the Epitome of Titus Livius. lib. 70. and Valerius Maximus. lib. 2 cap. 10. Rutilius, torments in Regulus, poison in Socrates, death in Cato. Evil fortune seeks out no man except he be a great one. Is Mu●ius unhappy because with his right hand he grasped his enemy's ●ire, and chastised● the error he committed by burning of his hand, for putting that enemy to flight by his scorched fist, whom with his armed hand he could not vanquish? What then should he have been more happy, had he warmed his hand in his Misteresse bosom? Is Fabricius unhappy for digging up his Garden, at such time as he had no public charge? for waging war as well against riches as against Pyrrhus? for supping by the fire upon those roots and herbs which he himself being an old man, who had triumphantly entered Rome, had gathered in cleansing and weeding his garden? What then, should he have been more happy if he had filled his belly with fishes, fetched from a far and foreign shore, and of fowls fetched from a strange country? If he had whetted the dullness of his loathing stomach with shellfish, fetched from the higher and lower Seas? If he had environed with a great heap of apples the most hugest savage beast, which cost many men their lives before she was killed. Is Rutilius unhappy, because they that have condemned him shall be condemned in all ages, who more willingly suffered himself to be ravished from his country, then to be remitted of his exile? because he alone opposed himself against the Dictator Scylla, and when he was recalled, not only kept back but fled farther of? Let they, saith he to Scylla, whom thy great fortune entangleth in Rome, think this, that they behold a river of blood in the Marketplace, and above the Lake of Servilius (for that was the place where they despoiled those whom Scylla by public Proclamations had condemned to die) the heads of Senators, and the troops of Murderers, running thorough the streets of the City, and divers thousands of Roman Citizens, murdered in that place after thou hast shopt them up, with promise to save their lives, and notwithstanding traitorously causing them to be slain; let those that cannot endure to be banished feed their eyes with such spectacles. What then, is Lucius Scylla happy, because that in coming down to the Marketplace his guard made him way with their weapons? because he suffered the heads of Consuls to be hanged up, Titus Livius, Publius, Valeriu●, Max●mus, and Cicero do all of them make honourable mention of this man, to whose magnanimity Seneca opposed M●●aenas delicacy. and maketh the Quaestor pay him the price of every head which is taxed in his Proclamations; and all these things doth he that made the Law Cornelia. Let us come to Regulus; what harm did fortune to him in making him the pattern of fidelity and patience? The nails fasten and pierce his skin, and on what side soever he turneth his wearied body, he lies upon his wounds; neither can he close his eyes, but watcheth incessantly. The more torment he hath, the more glory shall be his. Wilt thou know how far off he is from repenting himself for estimating virtue at so high a rate? Cheer him up, and sand him back again to the Senate, he will be still of the same opinion. Thinkest thou therefore that Maecenas is more happy, who could not sleep but by the harmony of pleasing music that sounded a far off by reason of his jealousy, and because he was strangely tormented with the crosses of his fantastic wife, which upon every slight occasion threatened him with divorce. Although he drown himself in wine to make him drowsy, and by the noise of water, poured out of one basin into another entice his eyes to sleep: be it that he charm his sorrows with a thousand pastimes, he shall sleep as little on his featherbed as Regulus on the gibbet. But the one comforted himself, because he suffered for honesty that affliction he endured, and his patience regarded the cause of those torments. The other spent in delights, and broken with too much ease, is more tormented with the occasion then the evil itself, which he endureth; vices have not gotten so strong a possession of mortal men, that it is to be doubted, if so be the destiny would give them their choice whether divers had not rather resemble Regulus, then be borne Maecenas. Or if there were any that durst say that he would be borne Maecenas and not Regulus; the same man, although he hold his peace, had rather be borne This was Maecenas fantastical and troublesome wise. Terentia. Thinkest thou that Socrates was badly handled because he drunk that potion which was publicly mixed, no otherwise then if it had been a medicine of immortality, and disputed of death till death seized him? Thinkest thou that he was ill dealt withal, because his blood was congealed, and that by little and little the force of his veins failed him? whilst cold in the extremity stole up to his heart by little and little: how much more rather aught we to envy his felicity, than those who are served in precious stones, wherein an old and decayed Minion of his trimmed up to endure all things, poureth up from above the melted Snow into his golden cup. These men whatsoever they drink they vomit and cast it up again, with a certain loathing, and are constrained to retast their bitter spittle. But Socrates swalloweth the poison voluntarily and joyfully. As touching Cato, there is sufficiently spoken, and the whole consent of men will confess that he attained the greatest felicity whom God made choice of, to rush and conquer those things that were to be feared. Are the displeasures of great men grievous? Oppose him alone to Pompey, Caesar and Crassus. It is a grievous thing to be outstripped by men of no worth in dignity and honour, but Cato disdaineth not to come after Vatinius. It is a grievous thing to be an actor in civil wars; but Cato in a just quarrel will fight in every corner of the world, although the issue be both strange and miserable. It is a grievous matter for a man to murder himself, yet will he do it. What shall I, saith nature, get hereby? This; that all men may know that these are not evils, which I thought Cato worthy of. CHAP. FOUR Prosperity falleth into the hands of the common sort, In 〈◊〉 ●hird plac●●e showeth that afflictions are honourable, and that the greatness of men 〈◊〉 as it were circumscribed. and betideth those of weakest spirit: but to yoke and master calamities and mortal terrors is the property of a great man. But to be always happy, and to pass away life without any pressure of the mind, is to be ignorant that affliction is one part of man's life. Thou art a great man; but how shall I know it, if fortune give thee not leave and means to make proof of thy virtue. Thou goest to the Olympian games, but no man but thyself thou hast the crown, but not the victory. I applaud not thy fortune as if thou wert a great and valiant man, but as if thou hadst gotten some Consulate or Praetorship. Thou art increased in honour. The like can I say to a good man; if some misfortune hath not given him any occasion, whereby to make show of the lively forces of his mind. I repute thee wretched because thou wert never wretched, thou hast passed thy life without an adversary. No man, not not thyself shall be able to know thy value: for to the end a man may well know himself, he aught to make proof of himself. No man knoweth his own ability except he make trial thereof. And therefore some men have wilfully and unprovoked exposed themselves to miseries, and sought an occasion to make their virtue already declining and growing to obscurity, more glorious and esteemed. Great men, say I, do rejoice as much in adversities as valiant soldiers do in war. I heard a Fencer in C●ius Caesar's time, complain of the rareness of rewards: How fair an age, saith he, is passed; virtue gapeth after danger, and thinketh on that which she intendeth, not that which she is to suffer, because that which she is to suffer is a part of her glory. Valiant soldiers glory in their wounds, and joyfully show the blood that runneth from them, i● it be spent in a good cause. Although they do the like who return in safety from the battle, yet is he more respected that returneth wounded. God, say I, hath a care of those men whom he desireth to make the most honest, as often as he giveth them an occasion to do any thing stoutly and manfully, to the performance whereof there needeth some difficulty and danger. Thou shalt know a Master of a Ship in a tempest, and a Soldier in the battle: how can I know how thou art addressed against poverty, if thou aboundest in riches? How can I know what constancy thou hast against ignominy, infamy, and popular hate, if thou grow old amidst the applauses of every man; if an inexpugnable favour seconded by a certain inclination of men's minds towards thee, attendeth thee perpetually? Whence know I that thou wilt patiently endure the loss of thy children, if I see thee laugh when they come into the world? I have heard thee comfort others, but then would I willingly have seen thee, if thou hast comforted thyself, if thou hast commanded thyself to grieve no more. Fear not these things, I beseech you, which the immortal gods use as spurs to quicken and awaken our minds. Calamity is an occasion of virtue. justly may a man term them miserable, that are surfeited with too much felicity, who are detained in an idle tranquility, as a ship in a calm sea, whatsoever shall befall them will be new unto them. Calamities press them most shrewdly, that have never had experience of them. A tender neck hardly brooketh the yoke. A young soldier waxeth pale upon the fear of a wound. An old beaten soldier doth boldly see himself bleed, who knoweth that oft-times in losing his blood he hath conquered his enemy. God therefore animateth, reknowledgeth, and exerciseth those whom he approveth and loveth: but those whom he seemeth to favour and spare, he reserveth them by reason of their weakness, for the evils to come, for it is a folly to think that any one is exempt. He whom thou thinkest so assured in his happiness, shall have his turn, and taste the same cup; whosoever seemeth dismissed, is but deferred. Why doth God afflict the best men with sickness, The reason why God afflicts good m●n. and other incommodities? Why in the Camp are the soldiers of greatest value, commanded to execute the exploits of greatest danger? The General sendeth out the most chosen troops to charge the enemy with an onslaught by night, either to scout the way, or to drive some forces from their trenches. None of those who sally out saith, The General hath done me wrong, but he hath honoured me. Let them say the like, whosoever are commanded to suffer, for which fearful men and cowards weep. We have been thought worthy by God to be esteemed such, in whom he might make trial, how much human nature may suffer. Fly delights, fly from effeminate felicity, whereby our minds are mollified, except something happen that may admonish them of their human condition, who are, as it were benumbed with perpetual drunkenness. A perpetual felicity, 〈◊〉 a●●●nded by a sudden misfortune. He that hath been always defended from the wind by his glass-windows, whose feet are kept warm by much wrapping, who suppeth not, except it be in his stove, is not without danger of catching cold upon the smallest breath of wind. Since all excess is hurtful, an unmeasurable prosperity is most dangerous: It moveth the brain, distracteth the mind with vain resemblances, and spreadeth many mists betwixt truth and falsehood. Why should it not be better to endure perpetual infelicity, which animateth unto virtue, then to be broken with infinite and immoderate prosperity? Death is not so tedious as too long fasting, and with too much crudity they crack their bodies. The gods therefore behave themselves towards good men, as the masters do towards their scholars, who require more labour at their hands, of whom they have the greatest hope. Believest thou that the Lacedæmonians hated their children, who make trial of their disposition and nature, by whipping them publicly? Contrariwise, those fathers exhort their children to suffer the iercks of their whips confidently, and entreat them, being torn and half dead with their scourge, to persevere, and to endure wounds upon wounds. Wonder we that God maketh trial of the most generous spirits by adversity? Virtuous instructions are never delicate. Doth Fortune beat and rend us? Let us suffer it. This is no cruelty, it is but a conflict. The more we adventure it, the stronger shall we be. The hardest part of our body is that which travaileth most: we must offer ourselves to the hands of Fortune, to the end she may make us more confident to encounter her. By little and little she will make us as strong as herself. To be continually in danger, maketh a man set light by danger. So are Sailors bodies enured to brook the sea; so are husbandmen's hands hardened; so are sould●ers arms strengthened to dart their weapons, so are their members made nimble that run races. Exercise maketh dangers slight, That in every thing is most strongest, which is most exercised. By contemning the power of evils, the mind attaineth patience, which thou shalt know what it can effect in us, if thou consider how much labour effecteth in naked bodies, & such as are strengthened by necessitie● Consider all Nations which are beyond the confines of the Roman Empire. I mean the Germans, and all those that devil about Ister, and those wandering Nations of the Scythians, and other perpetual winter, and a thick air continually presseth them; a barren soil sustaineth them: they defend themselves from showers, with leaves and sheds of thatch, they travel over rivers hardened with ice, and take the repast upon the flesh of wild beasts. Seem they wretched unto thee? Nothing is miserable that Nature hath brought into a custom, for by little and little those things become pleasant unto them, which began upon necessity. They have no houses, they have no biding place, but that which weariness hath allotted them for a season. Their meat is homely and gotten by their own hands: the air is extremely cold, and their bodies are naked; this which seemeth calamity unto thee, is the life of so many Nations. Why wonder'st thou that good men are shaken, to the end they may be confirmed? The last proof enriched with an excellent similitude. There is no solid or s●rong tree, that hath not been often shaken by the wind, for by the often shaking thereof it is strengthened, and fateneth his root more assuredly. They that grow in the low valleys are the weakest. It is therefore profitable for good men, to make them more assured to be always conversant amongst dangers, and to endure those accidents with a constant mind, which are not evils, except to him that beareth them evilly. CHAP. V For the forth principal consideration, h●e showeth that the virtuous are afflicted, f●r the good and instruction of all men. LEt us add now, how for the good of all men, every one of the better sort (if I may so speak it) bear arms and perform actions. This is the purpose of God to make it known unto a wise man, that those things which the common people long after, and which they are afraid of, are neither good nor evil. And they shall appear to be good: if he bestow them on none but good men, and to be ●uill, if he hath reserved them only for evil men. Blindness were detestable, if no man should loose his eyes except they were pulled out. Let therefore * The one of these by surname was called blind, and ●h● other lost his eyes by ●ire. Appius and Metellus want their sight, and be miserable herein. Richeses are not the true good, and therefore let Ellius the bawd enjoy them in such sort, as they who have given him money in the Temples, may see it in the Brothel-house. God can by no better means traduce those things, which we so much covet, then in bestowing them on men most infamous, and detaining them from men most virtuous. But it is an injust thing, that a good man should be weakened, hanged up, or imprisoned, and that evil men should walk, with whole, healthful, and effeminate bodies. What then? Is it not an unreasonable matter, that valiant men should take arms, should watch in the trenches, and having their wounds but newly bound up, should maintain the breach, whilst lascivious men, and such as profess wanton lust, sleep securely in the City? What then? Is it not a most shameful matter, that the most noblest Virgins should be awakened at midnight to celebrated the sacred ceremonies, and that harlots should enjoy their quiet sleeps? Labour summoneth the best. The Senate oft-times is all day long in counsel, when at that time the basest companions whatsoever, either take their pastimes in the fields, or lie hidden in an Alehouse, or loose their time in chatting amongst their companions. The like is done in this great Commonweal of the world, good men must labour, they employ their time, and are employed by others, and are not enforcedly drawn by Fortune, but they follow her, and walk by her, step by step, and had they known it, they had outstripped her. And I remember likewise, that I have heard this manly speech of Demetrius that worthy fellow: In this one thing, O immortal gods, I can complain of you, that you have not made known unto me what your will was. For of myself I had first of all come unto these things, to which being now called, I present myself. Will you take my children from me? I have brought them up to that end. Will you have a part of my body? Take it to you. I promise' no great matter, I will suddenly leave all. Will you have my spirit? Why not? I will not defer to restore that unto you, which you have bestowed upon me. I will willingly satisfy whatsoever you request. * A 〈◊〉 of 〈◊〉 St●●k●s ●ou●●●ng 〈…〉 Reader 〈…〉 to S Augustine in 〈…〉 De C●●●tate 〈◊〉, and fifth Chapter, and other● that 〈◊〉 written after 〈◊〉. What is it then? I had rather present it you then deliver it unto you. What need had you to take away the same, you might have commanded it, neither now shall you take it away, because nothing is taken away, but that which is taken from him that detaineth the same. I am not compelled, I suffer nothing unwillingly; neither do I serve God but assent unto him, and so much the rather, because I know that all things h●ppen by an eternal and unchangeable ordinance of God. Destiny leadeth us, and the first honour of every man's birth hath governed all the rest of his life. One cause dependeth upon another, and the long order of things draweth with it all that which is done in public or in private. Therefore is each thing to be endured constantly, because all things fall not out as we * That is, things happen not by chance, but are made and ●ome by an immutable decree. imagine, but come. Long since it was decreed, whereat thou shouldest joy or sorrow, and although every man's life seemeth to be distinguished in different and great variety, yet notwithstanding all cometh to one point, we have received those things which will decay, and we ourselves must die. Why are we so displeased? Whence groweth our complaint? We are ordained hereunto. Let Nature use our bodies how she list. Let us merrily and constantly think thus, that we loose nothing of our own. * To answer this object on, be relieth on the Paradox of the Stoics, who tie the first cause which is God, to secondary causes, whereas Christian Philosophy teacheth us the contrary, and himself hereafter● hath sufficiently answered hereunto. What is that which is proper and beseeming in a good man? to commit himself to the hands of Destiny. It is a great solace to be carried away with the whole world. Whatsoever it be that hath commanded us to live thus, and to die thus, by the same necessity toeth the gods. An irrevocable course carrieth away together both human and divine things. The same Creator and Governor of all things hath written the Fates, and he himself followeth that which he hath written, he hath once commanded, and always obeyeth. Why therefore was God so unjust in distributing Fate, that to good men he ascribed poverty, wounds, and cruel death? The workmaster cannot change his matter, it is subject to suffer this Some things there are that cannot be separated from other things, they cleave one unto another, and are indivisible. The spirits that are weak, or like to grow dull, or to fall into a watch fullness like unto sleep, are framed of slow elements. To frame a man that should make himself spoken of there needeth a stronger Fate. His journey must be no ordinar●e way. He must travel high and low, he must have storms, and must govern his ship in a swollen sea; he must shape his course against Fortune. He shall have many hard and dangerous accidents to confront him, but such as he himself may smooth and make plain. Fire trieth gold, and adversity valiant men. Behold how high virtue should ascend, and thou shalt know that she must not go in security. The first which with unwearied steeds I climb, Is such a journey, that their ceaseless toil Can scarcely reach before the morrows prime, The next is highest heaven, from whence the soil And spacious seas, I see with dreadful eye And fearful heart, the next whereto I hie, Is steep, and pro●e, and craves a cunning guide, An● then doth THETIS shake herself for dread, Jest headlong I should fall and downward glide, And bury in her waves my golden head. When the generous young man had heard these things, I like, saith he, the way, and will attempt it. Is it such a matter to shape so fair a course, and to fall afterwards? The father notwithstanding desisted not to terrify his too forward mind thus: And that thou mayst continued in the way, Be carefullest thy posting Steeds do stray, Yet shalt thou pass by Taurus who will bend His horns to cross thee, whither thou dost tend, Th' AEnomian Archer, and the Lion cell Shall stay thy course, and fright thee where they devil. After this he saith, Couple thy granted teams. I am animated by these things, wherewith thou thinkest to affright me. I am resolved to stand there, where the Sun itself shall tremble. It is the part of a base and recreant mind to travel in security's Virtue always climbeth hard and difficult paths. CHAP. VI The fist and principal point, wherein he showeth that there is no evil but in vice● Whence it felloweth that the virtuous endure no evil, and that this name aught not be given to afflictions. But why doth God permit that good men should suffer wrong? Undoubtedly he permitteth it not. He removeth all evils from them, heinous sins and offences, cursed cogitations, greedy cousels, blind lusts, and avarice that coveteth another man's fortunes, he defendeth and restraineth them. Doth any man require this at God's hands, that he should take pain also to keep good men's budgets. They acquit God of this care, they contemn external things. Democrates cast away riches, supposing them to be the burden of a good mind. Why wonderest thou therefore, if God suffer that to happen to a wiseman, that a good man sometimes would wish, that he might sometimes light upon. Good men loose their children. Why not? When as the time will come that they themselves must die. They are banished: Why not? When as sometime they forsake their Country, with this resolution never to see it again. They are slain: Why not? when as sometimes they themselves will lay hands on themselves. Why suffer they some adversities? to the end they may teach others to suffer the like. They are borne to be a pattern. Think therefore that God saith: What cause have you, who have taken pleasure in virtue, to complain of me. I have environed some with deceivable goods, and have mocked their vain minds with a long and deceitful dream. I have decked them with gold, silver and ivory, but inwardly there is nothing good in them. These whom you admire for their happiness, if you look into them, not according to their exterior greatness, but their interior weakness, they are miserable, base, filthy, and like their walls, only painted on the outside. This is no solid and sincere felicity, it is but a crust, and that a thin one. Therefore as long as they may stand upright, and not show themselves but where they list: they shine and abuse the common eye. But if any thing happeneth, that troubleth and discovereth them, then shalt thou see a sea of villainy and filth hidden under their borrowed brightness. I have given you true and permanent goods. The more you examine and look into them every ways, the better and the more greater will they appear to be. I have permitted you to contemn those things which are to be feared, to loathe those things that are to be desired, you shall not shine outwardly, * Again, he returneth to his Paradox, tying God unto secondary causes. your goods are turned inward. So the world contemneth his exterior parts, and contenteth himself with the contemplation of himself. I have placed all good inwardly. It is your felicity, not to want felicity. But divers pitiful, dreadful, and intolerable things fall out. Because I could not deliver you from these evils, I have armed your minds against all things. Suffer manfully, this is the way whereby you may walk before God, he is without the patience of evil you above the patience. Contemn poverty, no man liveth so poor as he was borne. Contemn pain, it will either b● ended, or end us. Contemn Fortune, I have given her no weapon to wound the mind. Contemn death, which either endeth you or transferreth you● * Another Paradox, placing death in the po●er and will of a man, whereas man aught to attend the same from the ordinance of God: Esteem this as an Eth●ique error, gather the flowers, let the weeds pass. Above all things I have given you, warning that no man should keep you living against your william. If you will not fight you may fly; therefore of all things which I would have necessary for yo●● I made nothing more cas●e than death's I have planted the soul in a bale place, whence a man may deliver it: consider now and you shall see how short the way is unto liberty, and how ready it is. I have not prefixed you so long a way in your departure as I have given you at your entrance, otherwise fortune had held a great dominion over you, if a man should die as slowly as he is born. Let every time and place teach you how easy a thing it is to renounce nature, and to return her that favour she hath bestowed upon you: learn you death amidst the Altars, and the solemn rites of those that sacrifice whilst life is wished for. The bodies of the fattest Bulls are slain with a small wound, and the stroke of a man's hand murdereth the beasts of the greatest strength. The joint that joineth the ne●ke to the head is divided with a thin Knife, and when the nerves that tie them both together are cu●, that great mass of the body ●●lleth down. * Death is easy indeed, but advisedly add hereunto, if it happen in such sort, and at such time as pleaseth God. The spirit is not hidden ouer●deepe, neither need we to draw it out with hooks: we need not inflict deep wounds in our entrails, death is at hand. I have destinated no certain place for these strokes: life may found 〈◊〉 by any place whatsoever. Even that which is called death, whereby the soul departeth from the body, is shorter than that so great swiftness thereof may be sensible. Whether a man strangleth himself, or stop his breath by drowning himself, whether by falling on the ground● a man's head being forward, we beaten out our brains, whether by swallowing down quick coals of fire, you intercept the course of the departing soul, whatsoever it be it hasteneth. What do you blush, why fear you that so long which is done so soon? The end of the Book of Providence. A TREATISE OF ANGER, WRITTEN BY LUCIUS ANNAEUS SENECA TO HIS FRIEND NOVA●VS. THE FIRST BOOK. The Argument of IVS●VS LIPSIUS. THe Books of Anger seem to be written amongst the first Books of Philosophy undoubtedly amongst those which we have: we gather the same out of SENECAES' own words in his third Book and eighteenth chapter. At this time CAIUS CAESAR caused SEXTUS PAPINIUS whose father was Consul, and BELENIUS BASSUS who was Thresurer, to be whipped. He saith at this time, even now but newly done, nay more, whilst CALIGULA himself was living, out of the Chapter following. That which thou s● much admirest was usual and ordinary with this beast, he liveth for this, he watcheth for this, he studieth for this; undoubtedly all these thing were spoken by a man that is, not that was. He wrote at that time therefore, but he published it not, the more his wisdom, although as I suppose he did it shortly after his death. The Argument is as the title testifieth; How to know Anger, and afterwards to eschew it. The first Book therefore hath the description thereof, and the loathsome habit and face of such as are angry: then certain definitions: then questions whether man only be subject thereunto? He maintaineth it: Whether it be according to nature? He ●enieth it with the Stoics. Whether it be profitable, especially if it be tempered? This likewise denieth he, and diversly disput●th against the Peripatetiques: that neither the mind nor the strength is whetted thereby. That we aught not to be angry, not not with those that are evil; neither at the death of our father, nor at the ravishing of our mother, yet that they are to be defended and revenged. To conclude, that this is a sign, not of a great but of a weak mind. The Books art in part very excellent and eminent in the whole, scarce distinct but confused in repetitions and digestions. CHAP. I THOU hast exacted of me, * No●atus was 〈◊〉 ●●allus 〈…〉 ●on. Novatus, to writ unto thee how wrath might be pacified, neither without cause seemest thou unto me to have feared this affection especially, which is the most cruel and enraged of all others: for in the rest there is somewhat that is pliant and pleasing, but this is always violent and full of immoderate sorrow, of arms, of blood, of punishments, incensed with more than human desire, neglecting herself so she may hurt another, rushing in upon the sharpest weapons, and greedy of revenge, and complotting murders. Some therefore of the wiser sort have said that * He 〈…〉 in th●● 〈◊〉 ●●●ly 〈◊〉 to Th●●ist●us. Anger is a short madness, for she is as little Mistress of herself as the other: she forgetteth all respect, neglecteth friendships, intent and obstinate in that she hath undertaken, and neglectful of reason, and incapable of counsel: she is transported by vain pretexts, stupid in the presence of equity and verity, properly resembling the ruins of houses, which break themselves upon that ruin which they themselves have beaten down. And to the end thou mayest know that they who are surprised with Anger are truly mad, consider a little their countenance, and the manner of their behaviour. For even as these are certain signs of confirmed madness, to have a bold and threatening countenance, a heavy brow, and dreadful face, a swift and disordered gate, unquiet hands, changed colour, and frequent and deep sighs: so those that are angry have the same signs. Their eyes sparkle and shine, their face is on fire thorough a reflux of blood that boileth up from the bottom of their breasts, their lips quiver, their teeth grate, their hair startleth and standeth upright, their breath is enforced and wheeseth, they wrist and crack their fingers, their speech is interrupted with plaints and groans and muttering, which a man may hardly understand. They often clap their hands, and stamp the ground with their feet; their whole body startleth, and is shaken, their actions are full of furious menaces. In brief, they have a dreadful and horrible countenance, resembling s●ch men that disfigure and puff themselves up after a strange fashion. Thou canst not say whether it be a more detestable or deformed vice: the rest we may hide and nourish in secret; Anger discovereth itself and appeareth in the countenance, & the greater it is, the more manifestly discovereth she her impatience. Seest thou not in brute beasts whatsoever, that as soon as they are addressed to hurt, there are certain signs as forerunners of their intention; how all their bodies give over their peaceable and accustomed habit, and how they exasperated th●ir natural fierceness? The Boars some and gnash their teeth: the horns of Bulls are tossed in the air, and by the trampling of their feet the sand is scattered: the Lions roar, the incensed Serpents have swelling necks, mad Dogs have a dreaful look. There is no living creature so cruel and pernicious whatsoever, that discovereth not some new fury, as soon as displeasure hath seized him; neither am I ignorant that other affections also are scarcely hidden, and that lust● fear, and boldness make show of themselves, and may be foreknown. For there is none so vehement and inward thought, that bewrayeth not itself in the countenance. What difference then is there, that other affections do appear, and this is eminent? CHAP. II. But now if thou wilt consider the effects and damages thereof there is no plague that hath ruined and cost the world more than this. That Choler and Anger is ●urthful lo●s, be approveth by example, and by the effects and discommodities thereof, se●●ing Syllac● cruel●es, and the Triliui●ates tyranny for an example of hatred thereof ●o all men. Thou shalt see murders, imprisonments, shameful and mutual reproaches of guilty men, sacking of Cities, ruins of whole nations, heads of Princes and great Lords taxed and sold to him that offereth most, houses burned, and fire not restrained within the walls of a City, but whole spaces of Regions shining with hostile flame. Behold the foundations of the noblest Cities, now scarcely known, these hath wrath overturned. Behold the desert and unhabited, extended to many thousand paces, these hath wrath despoiled. Behold so many great Chieftains, whose memory remaineth as yet serving for examples of human misery. One of these hath wrath murdered in his bed, another hath wrath slain at the table, without any respect of the sacred rites of the same, another hath she stabbed in the midst of the lanes, and in the marketplace in the sight of all men: she hath commanded another to offer his throat to the murderous hands of his son; another to have his Kingly throat cut by the sword of his slave, another to have his members distended upon the gibbet. And as yet have I but reckoned up some particular men's punishments. But if thou please (pretermitting those whom Anger hath thus massacred man by man) to behold whole Armies put to the sword, the people of a City murdered by soldiers, expressly sent to that purpose, and whole Nations exterminated without sparing great or small, as if the gods cared not for us, or they contemned their authority. But as touching the Fencers, why is it that the people are so injustly incensed against them, that they repute it to be an injury done unto them, if the sword-players kill not one another speedily, showing by their countenances, gestures, and heat, that they suppose themselves to be neglected, making themselves by this means of spectators merciless enemies. Whatsoever it be this is not wrath, but a passion resembling wrath, such as is that of children, who if they have fallen will have the earth beaten, and oft-times they know not with whom they are angry, yet are they only angry without cause and without injury, and yet not without some appearance of injury, nor without some desire of revenge. They are deluded therefore with sergeant beat of the earth, and are pacified by the feigned tears of those that would still them, and by a sergeant form of revenge their feigned sorrow is extinguished. CHAP. III. We are oftentimes displeased (saith he) not with those that have hurt us, but with those who hereafter are like to hurt vs● to the end thou mayest know that Anger proceedeth not only from an injury already done. True it is, that we are angry with those that should hurt us, but those that harm us in their very thought, and he that is to do us an injury, hath already done it. To the end thou mayst know (saith he) that wrath is not a desire of revenge, oft-times the weakest are displeased with the strongest. Neither wish they for revenge, which they hope not to see. We have formerly said that wrath was a desire, and not a power to revenge; but men desire such things as they cannot effect. Furthermore, no man is so humble and base, who cannot hope to see justice done upon his greatest adversary: 1● de Anima. cap. 1. we have power enough to hurt: Aristotle's definition differeth not very much from ours; for he saith, That wrath is a desire to displease those that have displeased us. It were a long matter to discourse what difference there is betwixt this definition and ours: against both it is said that beasts are incensed, yet are they not provoked by any injury, neither desire they the punishment or pain of any other beast: for although they revenge themselves, yet is it not with a desire of vengeance. But we must answer, that wild beasts, and all other creatures, except man only, do want Anger. For whereas it is opposite to reason, yet doth it never grow in any one, but such in whom reason hath place. Brute beasts have their assaults, their rage, their fierceness and incursion, yet have they Anger no more than lechery, and in some pleasures they are more intemperate than man is. Thou must not give credit to him that saith: The Boar remembers not his wrathful ire, The Hind doth scarcely trust her swift retire. Nor Bears to pray upon the mighty herds. By this word anger, he intendeth emotion, or incitation. They know no more to be angry, then how to pardon. Dumb beasts want human affections, but they have certain impulsions which resemble the same. Otherwise if love were in them, hatred should be in them also: if friendship, enmity: if dissension, concord: whereof some marks do appear in them. But good and evil are only proper to the hearts of men. Wisdom, diligence, and cogitation, are only granted to a man, and bruit beast's are not only not partakers of human virtues but are also exempted from their vices. All them, form both exterium and interium is unlike unto man's. Their understanding is gross and imperfect, their voice strange, confused, and without any signification, their tongue is tied, and hath no diversities of sounds, neither can it distinctly speak and pronounce. The beast than receiveth the object of that which she seethe, and the kinds of all things that incite her unto fury, but she receiveth them troubled and confused. Thence cometh their springings and vehement assaults, which may not be called either fears, or cares, or sadness, or displeasures, but some things like unto these. Therefore is it that they are quickly appeased and are changed into a contrary estate, and after they have most inragedly executed there cruelty, they return unto their pasture and fodder, and after a neighing and furious course, they seek out to their rest and sleep. CHAP. FOUR WE have sufficiently declared what anger is, and wherein it differeth from an inclination to be carried in such sort, as a drunkard differeth from drunkenness, and a man that is afraid from a coward. A man may be angry; although he be not ordinarily inclined and subject to be angry, he that is subject to displeasure, cannot choose but sometimes he must be subject to choler. As touching the other kinds of choler, which the Grecians express by divers other names, I let them pass because we have no proper words to express them, although that we say that that which is sour is bitter, that he that is excessively bend to indignation is mad, that he that is clamorous is hard to be reconciled and fierce, all which are differences of wrath, Differences of Anger. amongst th●se may we put froward, which is a delicate kind of choler. For there are some displeasures which are appeased with crying, some that are ordinary and no less obstinate, some sparing in words and violent in execution, some that discover their bitterness in the multitude of words and curses, some pass not further, than plaints and reproaches, some others are profound and weighty, and are fixed deeply in the thought. There are a thousand sorts of evils in this evil, which are so diverse, and spread into so many branches. CHAP. V Whether Anger be a thing natural, profitable, a●d to be received. WE have examined what wrath is, and whether it might seize any other Creature than a man, wherein it differed from displeasure and of the kinds of the same. Let us now inquire whether wrath be according to nature, whether it be profitable, and whether in any sort we aught to restrain the same. It will manifestly appear whether it be according to nature if we consider a man, for there is nothing so peaceable, and governed as he is, as long as his mind is governed and pacified: but what is more cruel than anger? what Creature, is more loving toward his like then man is? what is more hateful than wrath? A * It is not natural. man is borne to h●lpe other, wrath for the general ruin of all. A man desires nothing more than company, wrath s●archeth solitude, the one will assist, the other will hurt, this desireth to show himself kind, though it be but to strangers, the other to endanger her familiars. A man is ready to hazard his own life to secure another's. Wrath is ready to hazard danger, provided, she may hazard some other with herself. Who therefore is more ignorant, of the nature of things, than he that to her best and commendablest works assigneth this so savage and pernicious a vice? Wrath as we said is greedy of vengeance, and that desire of revenge should be in the most peaceable heart of a man, is a thing which is not consonant to his nature. For human life consisteth upon benefits and concord, it is not then by threat●s but by mutual amity that men are allied and ti●d to assist one an other. What then? Is not Chastisement sometimes necessary? Why not? but this must be sincere and with reason. For it hurteth not but healeth under a resemblance of hurting. Even as to straighten the steals of our javelins, which are waxed crooked, we burn them and ply them in a vice of Iron or Wood, not to the intent to break them, but make them more even and strait: so correct we our wits being depraved with vice, with the pain both of body and mind. An excellent Similitude. And in like sort, as the Physician, having some light infirmities in cure assayeth: First, to change some little of the ordinary custom of the sick to prescribe his diet, his drink, his exercises, and to confirm his health by the only changes of the order of his life. Secondly, he endeavoureth to bring this to pass that this means may profit, and if it happen other ways he diminisheth and cutteth of some things; and if this be not enough he forbiddeth the sick-man all meats, and rectifieth his body by enjoining him abstinence: and if these gentle remedies have effected nothing, he openeth a vain and if any members be harmful one unto an other that cleave unto the same, and spread their evil thorough the body he divideth them, and there is no cure that the sick-man supposeth grievous, if the effect of the same bring him health: In like sort it behoveth the Magistrate, The cure of the Ma●estrate, properly applied to ●h●t of the Phisi●ion. who is the conserver and maintainer of the Law to heal men's minds, by gentle words and persuasions as much as in him lieth, persuading his subjects to do that which is commanded them, and imprinting in their thoughts the love of justice and honesty; in brief proposing for the reward of virtue he hatred of vice: afterwards he aught to use sharper words contenting himself as yet to advertise and threaten. Finally, he must have reourse to punishments, and yet such as are light and revocable. The uttermost punishments shall be inflicted for the greatest faults: to the ●nd that no man may perish except it be he that is put to death, and for whom it is expedient to die. CHAP. VI THere is this difference betwixt the Magistrate and the Physician, The difference betwixt a Magistrate and a Physician. that the one suffer those to die whose life they could not save; the other contrariwise condemneth the malefactor disgracefully, and forcibly driveth him out of the world, not because he takes pleasure to put any man to death. (for far off is a wisem●n from such barbarous cruelty) but to the end that those who ar● condemned ●o death, should serve for an example to all men, and that the Commonwealth might make use of their death, who during their life, would be profitable to no man. The nature of man therefore is not punishment, and therefore is not wrath according to the nature of a man, because it is desirous of reu●nge. I will propose in this place an Argument of Plato's, For who forbiddeth us to make use of other men's reasons? In as much as they mak● for us. A good man (saith he) doth not hurt, it is the punishment that hurteth, punishment therefore doth not become a good man. And consequently, neither choler, because punishment is agreeable to the same: If a good man take no pleasure in punishing, neither shall he take pleasure in that affect, to which punishment is a pleasure. Therefore wrath is not natural. CHAP. VII. IS not wrath therefore to be admitted, He proveth no● that anger is not profitable. although it be unnatural, because that oft-times it hath been profitable. It raiseth and inciteth m●ns minds, neither doth fortitude perform any worthy action in war, except by this means men's hearts be inflamed, and this instigation hath whetted and animated bondmen to attempt dangers. Some therefore think it requisite to temper wrath, and not to extinguish it, and that being taken away which is exuberant, to reduce it into a laudable form; and to retain that without which the action would languish, and the force and vigour of the spirit be resolved. First, it is more easy to exclude such things as are pernicious, then to govern the same, and not to admit them rather than to moderate them when they are admitted. For when they have put themselves into possession, they are more powerful than their guide, and suffer not themselves either to be diminished or cut off. Again, reason itself to whom the ruins are delivered, is so long powerful, as long as she is separated from passions; But if she intermixeth herself, and be defiled with them, she cannot restrain those whom she might have removed. For the mind being once moved and shaken, is addicted to that whereby it is driven. The beginning of some things are in our power, but if they be increased, they carry us away perforce, and suffer us not to return back: even as the bodies that fall headlong downward, have no power to stay themselves. A fit similitude to confirm hi● second proole. And can those that are cast down, retain or stay themselves in their fall, but an irrevocable precipitation hath cut off all counsel, and all means of remedy, neither is it possible to keep themselves from attaining thither, whether had they their choice they would not arrive. So the mind if it hath plunged itself in wrath, love, and such like affections, is not suffered to restrain the full, it must needs be, that the weight and nature of vices, inclined unto their full; carry it away and precipitate it to the bottom. CHAP. VIII. The remedy of the precedent difficulty. A reason that aught to be carefully observed and marked. IT is best therefore forthwith to despise the first assault, and resist the beginnings. And to endeavour that we fall not into wrath, for if she beginneth to transport us, it is a hard matter to recover the right way. Because reason hath no place, as soon as passion hath gotten the upper hand, and Will hath given him any interest, then will she afterwards do, not what thou permittest, but what she pleaseth. First of all say I, the enemy is to be driven from our borders, for when he is entered and hath gotten the gates, he taketh no condition with his Captives. For at that time the mind is not retired, neither exteriorly examineth she affections, to the intent she suffereth them not to have further progress than they should, but is changed herself into passion, and therefore can she not revoke that profitable and wholesome force, which is already betrayed and weakened. For as I said, these have not their distinct and several seats, I mean passion (which is a change in the Soul from good to evil) and reason (which is a change from evil to goodness.) How therefore shall reason which hath given place unto anger, and is seized and oppressed with vices, rise again? Or how shall she deliver herself from confusion, wherein the mixture of the worst hath prevailed? But some (saith he) contain themselves in anger, Is it in such sort that they accomplish nothing which choler commandeth, or do they obey the same someways? If they do nothing, it appeareth that wrath is not necessary in humane actions whom you preferred, as if she had somewhat more greater efficacy than reason. In conclusion, I ask this question, whether she be stronger or weaker than reason? If stronger, how may reason give her a Law and restrain her, considering that they are but feeble things which obey her. If weak, reason of herself is sufficient without her to effect things, neither desireth she the help of so powerless a passion. But some that are angry are their own men, and contain themselves. How? Than when anger is already pacified, and remitteth of her own accord. Not when she is in height of her fervour, for than is she stronger. What then? Do not some men in the height of their displeasure, suffer those to departed safe and secure, whom they hate and abstain from hurting them? But how? After that a second passion hath repulsed the former, or fear or pleasure hath commanded this or that, wrath stayeth itself, not for the reverence she oweth unto reason, but by reason of a feeble and evil accord which the passions have amongst themselves. CHAP. IX. A continuation of the objection and answer. TO conclude it hath nothing profitable in itself, neither doth it whe● the courage in warlike exploits. For Virtue which is contented with herself, must never be assisted by vice. As oftentimes as she is to attempt any thing, she is not angry but raiseth herself so far forth as she thinketh it necessary, ●he is both intended and remitted no otherwise then those arrows which are shot out of Engines, are in the power of him that shooteth, how far they shall be shot: Anger saith Aristotle is necessary, neither c●n any thing be achieved without her, except she encourage the mind, and enkindle the spirit. But we are to use her not as a Captain but as a Soldier: Learn here the use of anger. which is false. For if she give ear to reason, and follow the way she is directed, then is it not anger whose property is contumacy: but if she resist and is not quieted when she is commanded, but passeth further with pride and fury, she is as improfitable a Minister of the minde● as a Soldier that retireth not to his colours when the retreat is sounded. If therefore she suffer herself to be kept in measure, she must be called by another name, she ceaseth to be wrath, which I understand to be unbridled and untamed. If she suffer it not she is pernicious, neither is she to be reckoned amongst the number of helps: So that either she is not Anger or else she is unprofitable: For if any man exacteth punishment, not being greedy of the punishment itself but because he must, he is not to be numbered amongst those that are Angry. That man shall be reputed a profitable Soldier, who knoweth how to obey Counsel, as for affections, they are as evil Ministers as they are Captains. Reason therefore will never take to her assistants, improvident and violent passions over whom she hath no authority, and whom she never may restrain except she oppress their equals, and likes unto them as fear to Anger, Anger to cowardice, desire to fear. CHAP. X. far be it from virtue to be reduced to this extremity, An answer to Aristotle's opinion, who in his ethics saith that choler is necessary. that reason should be constrained to have his recourse to vices. Here cannot the mind remain in any certain quiet; he must needs be in perpetual agitation and trouble, who is secure in his evils, who cannot be strong except he be wrathful, nor modestuous except he desire, nor quiet except he fear, he must live in a Tyranny that becometh a slave to any passion. Are you not ashamed to thrust Virtues under the protection of vices? Moreover, reason looseth her power if she can do nothing without passion, but beginneth to be equal, and like unto her. For what importeth it, whether passion be an inconsiderate a thing without reason, or that reason be feeble: and of no force without passion? All comes to one, the one cannot be without the other. But who will endure that passion, should be equalled with reason? Choler (saith he) is a profitable passion, if it be small and little. I if she be profitable by nature: but if she be incapable both of government and reason, she shall attain this only thing, by her moderation: that the lesser she is, the less hurtful she shall be. Therefore a light passion is nothing else but a small evil. CHAP. XI. BUT against our enemies (saith he) Wrath is necessary. The continuati●● of the confutation of Aristotle's opinion. Never less. Wherein our passions should not be intemperate but obedient and moderate. For what other thing was it, that crushed and confounded the Barbarians so strong in their bodies, so patiented in their labours, but Wrath which is most pernicious to her self? Art likewise defenceth the sword-players, Wrath lays them open to danger. Furthermore what need we wrath, wh●re reason may do the same. Thinkest thou that Hunter is angry with wild beasts, either when he chaseth them as they ●lie, See Marius life in Plutarch. or assaileth them when they draw near him? Reason doth all these things without Wrath. What hath so confounded so many thousand Cimbrians and Teutons, that were spread upon the Alps, that the notice of so great an overthrow was not related, to their friends by a messenger but by Fortune, but that Wrath in them had the place of Virtue? Which as some times she hath defeated and overthrown, those that met her, so oftentimes is she the cause of her own confusion. May a man find out a Nation more courageous, more forward and ready to incursions and charges, more desirous of war, than the Almains, who are borne and brought up to Arms: who are only diligent herein, and negligent in the rest? Is there a people more hardened unto labour, and that endureth travail better? For the most part they care not, to make provision of garments for their bodies to keep them warm: neither strive they to retire themselves from the perpetual fury of the frost, which is in that Country; yet are they defeated and put to flight upon the ●irst charge, and before the Legions were seen by Spaniards, French, Asians, and Syrians, who are but cold Soldiers in the War: being subject by no other means to this disaster, but by reason of their wrath. So then, to these bodies, to these minds that are ignorant of delights, S●● Livy of the 〈◊〉 Wa●●●s, and Pluta●ch i● th● 〈◊〉 o● Fabiu● Maximus and Hannibal. excess, and riches, give reason and discipline to guide them. But without farther debating in this kind, I must call to remembrance in this place the Ancient custom of the old Romans. By what other means did Fabius reserve the decayed forces of the declining Empire, but that he knew how to delay, how to lengthen out matters, and dally with the time, all which angry men cannot do. The Commonweal had been utterly overthrown, that then stood in great extremity, if Fabius had dared so much as wrath persuaded him unto; but having for counsel the consideration of the estate of Rome, and the forces he had, under his government, which had they been defeated either in the whole or in part, all the rest was utterly ruinated, he laid wrath aside, and the desire of vengeance, a●d having his mind fixed upon the good of the Commonweal and upon the present occasion: he first of all surmounted Choler, and after that Hannibal. What did Scipio? Having forsaken Hannibal, and the Carthaginian A●mie, and all these with whom he should be angry, did he not translate the War into Africa in so slow a manner that they who envied his Virtue, reputed him for an idle and dissolute man. What did the other Scipio? did he not beleaguer Numantium for a long time, and patiently disiested both this his private grief, and the discontent of the whole State, by reason that Numantium kept out longer than Carthage. Which while he trencheth about and shutteth up his Enemy, he drew them to this extremity; that they murdered o●e an other. CHAP. XII. WRath then is neither profitable in skirmishes or in War, for it is too prove to temerity, and whilst she endeavoureth to harm others she hazardeth h●r self. That Virtue is most assured, that hath long time examined and governed herself, and hath been guided by good and wise counsel. The conclus●on of the refutation which is precedent, and ●n answer to an other objection. What then (saith he) shall not a good man be angry, if he see his Father strooken, his Mother ravished? He shall not be angry, but revenge and defend them. What fearest thou that his pierie towards his parents is not an occasion more pregnant to incite him thereunto then wrath is? We say after the same sort. What therefore? shall not a good man when he seethe his Father, or his son, cut in pieces, weep or fall in a sound? as we see it falleth out in women, as often as any slight suspicion of danger doth awake them. A good man executeth his offices without confusion or fear, and in such sort will perform those things that are worthy a good man, that he will do nothing that is unworthy a man. Shall my Father be murdered? I will defend him. A pretty re●utation of Theophrastus. Is he slain? I will bury him, not because I am sorry therefore, but for that I am bound thereunto. When thou sayst thus, Theophrastus thou seekest to draw more stronger precepts into hatred, & forsaking the judge hast recourse unto the people; because in such accidents every one is accustomed to be angry: thou thinkest that men will judge that that aught to be done which they do. For the most part, every one judgeth that affection to be just which they allow of. Are good men angry at their injuries? but they do the same, if warm water be not fitly mixed, if their glass be broken, if their shoe be sprinkled with dirt. It is not piety, but their infirmity that moveth that wrath. We resemble those to children who will weep no less for the loss of their Aunts, then for the death of their parents. It is the part of no pious but an infirm and weak mind to he angry for a man's friends. But this is a worthy matter, and well beseeming a man to show himself a protector of his parents, his children, his friends, and his Country: not by violence, or passion; but voluntarily with judgement, and discretion, with providence, and moderation. For there is no affection so desirous of revenge, as wrath is, by reason whereof she is wholly unproper to that effect, being hindered by her violence and fury; even as ●uerie passion is opposite and contrary to itself, in all that whereunto she is inclined, and whereto she runneth hastily. And therefore, neither in peace, or war, was it ever good. For she maketh peace like unto war; and in Arms forgetteth herself, that war is common, and cometh into an other man's power, whilst she is not in her own. Furthermore, vices therefore are not to be entertained and used because at sometime they have done some good: for fevours also do cure some kinds of sicknesses● neither ●herefore is it better not to have wanted them wholly. It is an abominable kind of remedy to recover health by the assistance of a likeness. In like manner, wrath although sometimes it hath beyond expectation profited as venom precipitation and shipwreck have done, yet it is not therefore to be reputed a thing entirely profitable, for oftimes poisons have preserved the life of divers person●. CHAP. XIIII. Moreover those things which we aught to esteem good, are the better, and more to be desired, the greater they be. If justice be good, no man will say, that it is like to be better, if any thing should be taken from it; if Fortitude be good● no man will desire that it should be diminished in any part, & wrath the greater it is the better that is, The increase of wrath is unprofitable, and therefore wrath itself. for who refuseth the increase of any good thing? but the increase of wrath is unprofitable, and consequently the bearing of the same is unprofitable. It is no good thing that by increase becometh evil. Wrath (saith he) is profitable: because it maketh men more hardy to fight. In this manner Drunkenness is profitable, for it maketh men more insolent and audacious, and many that have drunken over freely, are more ready at their weapons, In this manner say, that both prenzie, and Madness, are necessary for valiant men: because oftentimes Fury maketh men more strong and able. What? hath not fear sometimes made a Coward valiant, and the fear of death likewise enkindled, the weakest hearted men to the battle? But Wrath, Drunkenness, Fear, and such like, are but filthy and frail provocations, neither confirm V●rtue which hath no need of vice, but do sometimes a little quicken a slow and idle mind. No man is strengthened by his anger, except he have been strong before his anger. To them anger assisteth not, but supplieth the place of Virtue. In brief, if this passion were recommendable, it would follow every one that were most perfect; but they that are the most tetchie, are infants, old-men, and sick-men, and every Creature that is by nature weak and feeble, is ordinarily froward. CHAP. XIIII. A new objection of Theophrastus, touching the hearts good, men conceive against evil men. IT cannot be (saith Theophrastus') but that a good man should be displeased with the wicked. In this sense the better men should be the most choleric. But contrariwise they should be more peaceable, exempt from passions, and without hatred of any man. What reason might move them, to hate sins, considering that it is error which driveth them into these faults: But it is not the part of a Wise man to have those that err, otherwise he should hate himself. L●t him bethink himself, how many faults he committeth against good manners, how many things he hath done which require pardon? Than shall he be angry with himself. For a just judge pronounceth not one sentence in his own behalf, another in another's. A man (saith he) is not to be found, that can absolve himself, truth it is, that every man (saith he) is innocent but it is in regard of witnesses not of his conscience. How far more human were it for a man to show himself gentle, and pacified to those that offend, and rather to recon●●le them then to persecute them. It were better to lead them, into the direct way who for want of knowledge have strayed out of it; as to thrust them out of the way. An answer gro●ded upon diverse reason's. A man aught to correct him that offendeth by admonitions● forcible reprehensions, friendly but effectual speech: to the end to make him better for himself and for others. In brief, he aught to chastise him without passion of Choler. For what Physician is he, that will be angry and displeased with his Patient, whom he would recover? CHAP. XV. But they cannot be corrected, neither is there any thing in them that is capable of good hope; That a man may chastise, nay may execute ●●●enders without being transported by Choler. Let those be exterminated out of the company of men, who are like to infect those who converse with them, and since it is the only means, let them cease to be evil, but let this be done without hatred. For what cause have I to hate him whom I then pro●it most, when I take himself from himself. Doth a man then hate his limbs when he cutteth them off, this is not Wrath but a miserable cure. We chase away mad Dogs, we kill a res●ie and untractable Ox. We arde our scab Sheep, for fear lest they infect the flock; we strangle monstruous births; we drown our own children likewise if they be borne deformed and monsters. It is not an act of wrath but of reason, to separate those things that are unprofitable from those that are healthful and profitable. There is nothings which he that chastiseth an other should more refrain then from wrath, because that chastisement profiteth when it is done with judgement. Thence it is that Socrates said unto his slave, I had beaten thee, had I not been angry. He deferred the admonition of his servant till a more convenient time, and at that time he admonished himself. Whose affection shall be temperate, when as Socrates' da●e not trust himself to his wrath? There needeth therefore no angry corrector to chastise those that are wicked and do amiss. For whereas wrath is an offence of the mind, he that is faulty himself, must not punish offenders. CHAP. XVI. WHat then shall I not be angry with a thief? An answer to an other objection. Shall I not be displeased with a Witch. Not; For neither am I angry with myself when I let myself blood. For I apply all sorts of punishment in stead of remedy. Thou that as yet hast made but an entrance into error, neither offendest grievously but frequently, shalt first of all be secretly, then publicly reproved. If thou engage thy sel●e further in sin, so as words may not correct thee, thou shalt be fined for thy folly; but if thy fault requireth some more forcible and feeling punishment, thou shalt be banished and sent to unknown places. Of the order that aught to be ●bse●●ed in punishing malefactor's. But if thy malice increaseth, and waxeth obdurate, that thou have need to use more sharper remedies than the precedent; thou shalt be thrust into shackles and locked up in prison. If thou be come incurable, and thou growest to heap sin upon sin, if thou not only layest hold on the occasions to do evil (which never fail those that seek them) but that which is worst, if to do evil, thou hast no other occasion, but the wicked custom thou hast taken, thou hast drunk iniquity, and ●rt in such sort tainted and so deeply tinctured with wickedness inwardly, that it cannot find issue out, except thou burst and die presently. Thou hast long time sought for death, poor man that thou art, w● will gratify thee● we will heal thee of this fury of thy spirit wherewith thou art tormented, and having made thee pass by the punishment of other men and thine own, I will let thee see and feel the only good which remaineth for thee that is to say, death. Why should I be displeased with him whom I assist and greatly help at that time. To take a man's life from him, An amplification of that example above written and an answer to the precedent objection. is sometimes to show him favour and to do him a good turn. If I were a well experienced Physician, and should enter into an Hospital or some rich man's house, I would not ordain one and the same medicine for divers sick men. I see divers vices in so different minds, & am appointed to have the government of a City, I must search out a medicine for every one of their sicknesses. Shame must cure this man, travel that man; the whip one man, necessity the other, and the sword the last. Therefore, although in being a Magistrate, I aught to change my Garment, and 'cause the people to be assembled upon the sound of a Trumpet, yet will I ascend the Tribunal, not moved or displeased, but with the countenance of an upright judge, armed with the authority of the Laws, and will pronounce the sentence with a voice rather pleasing and grave, then furious: and peaceably yet severely will command the hangman to execute his office. And when I shall command any malefactor's head to be strooken off; and when I 'cause the parricide to be sown into a sack, and afterwards to be cast into the water; and when I judge the offending Soldier to pass the pikes; and when I command the Traitor and public enemy to be cast down from the Tarpeian rock, I will be so far from wrath, and so temperate in my mind, as when I kill Serpents or other venomous beasts. But wrath is necessary for him that will punish. What thinkest thou that the Law is angry with those she knoweth not? Whom she seethe not? Whom she hopeth not to be? We aught therefore to invest his affection, which is not displeased but only defineth. For if it be convenient for a good man to be angry for evil deeds, it shall be as lawful for him to envy the prosperity of evil men. For what is more unworthy than that some men flourish, yea and such who abuse the indulgence of fortune, for whom no fortune may be found out evil enough. But as well shall he see their commodities without envy, as their heinous offences without wrath. A good judge condemneth that which is evil, and yet hateth it not: What then? Shall not a wise man when he hath such a like thing in his hands be touched in mind, and more troubled then ordinary? I confess it, he shall feel some light motion. For as Zeno saith, when the wound in a wise man's Soul is healed, yet remaineth there some scar. So then he shall feel certain touches of suspicion and shadows of passion, yet without any passion. Aristotle saith, that some affections, if a man use them well, serve instead of arms; which should be true, If the wiseman aught to be moved and ●ow. if they might be used and laid aside as warlike instruments, at the pleasure of him that putteth them on. These Arms which Aristotle giveth nature, fight of themselves, and expect not that a man should make use of them, That which the Stoick● doctrine maintaineth & the examination of Aristotle's opinion a● touching passions. they govern and know not what it is to obey: virtue hath no need of instruments. We are sufficiently furnished by reason, wherewith nature hath fitted us. She it is that hath given us a weapon, firm, perpetual, obsequious, and certain, and such as cannot be reinforced against the Master. Reason of itself is sufficient enough, not only to foresee, but to execute any action. For what is more fond than that reason should seek assistance from wrath: a stable thing from an uncertain: a faithful from a perfidious, a whole from the sick? Moreover as touching the actions themselves, wherein the help of anger seemeth to be most requisite, reason itself is more stronger. For having marked out that which she aught to do, she remaineth always settled in her resolution and being unable to find out any thing better than herself to change her, she departeth never from her place. Contrariwise pity hath oftentimes driven wrath out of doors, for this passion hath no solid strength, but only a tumour, and useth violent beginnings, no otherwise then the winds which arise from the earth and being entertained by the floods and marshes are vehement● but not permanent. It beginneth with a great violence, and afterwards fainteth being wearied before her time, and when she hath invented naught else but cruelty, and new kinds of punishment, when execution is to be done, she is pacified and becometh gentle. Affection qua●leth quickly, reason is equal. Moreover also where wrath persevereth sometimes, if there are many that have deserved death, after the blood of two or three, she beginneth to be calmed. The first assaults of her are sharp, even as the venomnesse of Serpents are hurtful: that creep from their d●nnes● her teeth are harmless, when as often biting hath spent them. They therefore suffer not equally, who have offended equally, and often times he that hath offended the lest, suffereth the most because he is the object of the latest anger and is wholly unequally sometimes it extendeth itself farther than it should, sometimes it resisteth more than it aught. For she flattereth herself and judgeth as she list, and will not hear, and leaveth no place for excuse, and retaineth that which she hath apprehended; and suffereth not her judgement to be taken from her, although it be evil. Reason giveth place to either part, and time likewise, Afterwards she demandeth a term for herself, to the end she may have time to discuss the truth; wrath is hasty: The designs of Reason & wrath. Reason will have that judged which is rightful, wrath will have that seem rightful which she judgeth. Reason respecteth nothing but that which is in question, wrath is moved with vain things, and such as are nothing to the purpose. An assured countenance, a firm voice, a free speech, an exquisite garment, a delay without delay, a ●auour of the people, exaspereth wrath. Ofttimes in despite of the advocate ●he condemneth him for whom he pleadeth. And although the truth be laid before her eyes, she loveth and maintaineth error, she will not be reproved and in evil enterprises she esteemeth it more honest to be obstinate, then to repent herself. Caius Piso was in our memory a man exempt from many vices, A notable example, confirming that which ●e saith, that Anger aught not to be endued with Reason, because sh●● extingu●sheth it. yet extremely choleric, and such a one as took pleasure in his austerity. He being displeased, when he had commanded a Soldier to be brought before him, who had returned from his pillage without his companion as if he had murdered him, whom he could not bring in person, when he was requested time to find him out, denied it him, and condemned him to die. This Soldier, thus sentenced being brought without the trenches, already tendered his neck unto the Hangman, when suddenly his fellow Soldier appeared, whom men supposed to be slain: whereupon the Centurion who had the charge to see the execution done, commanded the Hangman to put up his sword, and after brought him to Piso, who was condemned to the end he might make proof of his innocency, since Fortune had afforded him the means. The other Soldiers flocked about these two, who embraced one another to the content of all their companions. But Piso incensed with choler, ascended the Tribunal seat and commanded both the Soldiers to be led to death: both that Soldier that had not slain his fellow, and him that was not slain. What indignity is this? Because the innocency of him that was condemned was manifest, both perished. Piso added the third. For he commanded that Centurion who had brought back him that was condemned; to be led to execution. Here three were appointed to die in one place for one man's innocency. O how cunning is wrath to feign causes of fury; I command thee, saith he, to be led to death, because thou art condemned; thee, because thou wert the occasion of thy fellow soldiers death; thee, because being commanded to see him executed, thou didst not ●bay thy Commander. He devised how to find three crimes because he found none. Wrath, say I, hath this evil in it, it will not be governed. She is angry with truth itself ●●f she seem in any sort opposite against her william. With cry, tumult, and iactation of the whole body, she persecuteth these whom she hath resolved to injury with reproaches and curses. This doth not reason, but if it must needs be so, silently and quietly, she ruineth whole houses from their foundations, and destroyeth whole families that are enemies to their Country. With their wives and children, she raceth down their houses, and leveleth them with the earth, and obscureth their names that are enemies to liberty, This doth she not with foaming at the mouth, Note this you that are Magigis●rates. nor shaking of the head, neither doing any thing that is undecent for a judge, whose looks, at that time especially, aught to be most pleasing, and stayed when he pronounceth matters of consequence. What needest thou, saith jerosme, when thou art intended to strike any man, to bite thy lip first? What if he had seen, the Proconsul leaping from the Tribunal, and taking away the Sergeants rods, and renting his garments, because the garments of such, as were condemned, were not rend off soon enough? What needeth it to overtorne the table, to break and fling away the pots, to beat one's head against the pillars, to tear his hair, and to thump his thigh and breast? How great is that anger thinkest thou, which because it is not so suddenly vented against another, as a man would, reflecteth upon herself? He is therefore held by his Neighbours, and entreated to pacify himself, none of which things doth he, who is voided of anger, but enjoineth every one his deserved punishment. Oft-times dismisseth he him whose guiltiness and forfeit he hath apprehended, if by confessing the act he promise' great hope of amendss, if he understand that the offence grew not from the malice of his heart, but as they say, was committed and not complotted with sinister intent. He will give such a pardon as neither shall be hurtful to those that receive the same, nor to those that give it. Sometimes will he repress the greatest offences committed by infirmity, and not by cruelty, more gently than other less, if in them be some hidden, covered, and inveterate craft. He will punish the same fault in different men, after a different manner: if the one have committed it through negligence, the other studied to do hurt. He will observe this always in every judgement, and execution to ordain one sort of punishment, to correct the evil, an other to cut them off. And in both these shall he consider, not those things that are past, but those things that are to come. For, as Plato saith, No wise man punisheth for evil doing, but lea●t we should fall to evil doing. For those things that are passed cannot be recalled, those things that are to come may be prevented, and those whom he would make examples of. For some cursed crime, he executeth them publicly, not only to the end they may die, but that others might be deterred from doing evil, by beholding the execution. An advertisement for Magistrates to beware of anger which cannot make a man more magnanimous. Each one aught to weigh and consider these reasons. Thou se●st how much a Magistrate should be exempt from all passion, when he undertaketh a thing of so great consequence, as the life and death of men, that are under his hands. The sword is indiscreetly committed to a furious man's hands. Neither aught we to think this that wrath addeth any thing to the greatness of the mind. For that is no greatness but a swelling, neither to bodies that are intended by abundance of bad humours, is the sickness and increase, but a pestilent plenty. As they whom anger, which is a passion vile and base, puffeth up and raiseth above the thoughts of other men, make themselves believe that their thoughts are sublime and high, whereas there is nothing firm in all that which they do, but as they have builded in the air, so sinketh it and falleth of itself. Wrath hath no assistant or sustainer, she proceedeth not from any thing that is permament and durable, but is windy and vain, and differeth so far from greatness of mind as audaciousness from fortitude, insolence from confidence, sadness from austerity, and cruelty from severity. There is a great difference betwixt a constant and a proud mind. Wrath enterpriseth nothing that is great or worthy. Contrariwise, in my judgement, it is a token of a dull and unhappy man, and guilty of his own weakness, to be sorrowful oftentimes. Even as those bodies that are exulcerated and sick, complain i● they be touched never so little, so is it a womanish and childish fault: yet is it incident to men, for men likewise have childish and womanish wits. What then? are not some words uttered by angry men, who have not the true knowledge of magnanimity, which seem notwithstanding to proceed from a great & generous mind? As that most dire and abominable speech, Let them hate me, so they fear me. Know that this was written in Sulla's time, I know not whether wish were worse for him, either to be hated, or to be feared: Let them hate me. He forethinketh that which will happen, that his subjects will curse, betray, and oppress him. What addeth he hereunto, The gods confounded him, so worthy a remedy hath he found out for hatred. Let them hate: What? whilst they obey? Not: whilst they approve? no. What then? so they fear, so would not I have him be beloved. Thinkest thou that this is spoken with a great spirit? Thou art deceived; for this is not greatness but cruelty. Thou art not to give credit to wrathful men's words, whose boasts are great and threating, but inwardly there hearts are craven and coward. Thou must not repute that to be true which is spoken by Livy that eloquent man. Of him, A man that had a mind rather great then good. These cannot be separated, ●ither it shall be great and good, or it shall not be great; because I mean th● greatness of a man that is unshaken, and inwardly solid, and even and equal from one end unto another, which cannot be in evil minds. For they may be terrible, tumultuous and dangerous to death, but they shall not have greatness whose foundation is strength and goodness: yet in speech, in action, and all outward appearance they will make show of great courage. They will let slip some words, which thou wilt suppose to be worthy and witty, as Caius Caesar did, who being angry with the heavens, because it thundered whilst his players acted, whom he imitated more diligently than he beheld them, and because his banquet was interrupted by lightning, that was scarce rightly aimed, he challenged jupiter to fight with him without delay, pronouncing this Verse in Homer: Either kill me, or I thee. What madness was it? he thought that either jupiter could not hurt him or that he could hurt jupiter. I cannot imagine but that this speech of his was of some great moment to incense their hearts of those that had conspired against him for they supposed it to be an insufferable matter to suffer him who could, not endure jupiter. Than there is nothing great or noble in wrath, not not when it seemeth to be most v●hement and despiseth both men & gods: or if any man supposeth that wrath produceth a great mind, let him say as much of dissoluteness. She will be carved in ivory, clothed with purple, covered with gold, transfer one Country to an other, shut up Seas, precipitate Rivers, hung Forests in the air. Let Avarice also be esteemed generous: she lieth upon heaps of gold and silver, his pastures and lands are tilled under the name of whole Provinces. And under every one of his Farmers he enjoyeth a greater quantity of land, than the Provinces that were allotted to those that were Consuls. Let lust likewise be reputed to be a worthy thing. It swimmeth over Seas, geldeth troops of young children, maketh the wise without apprehension of death to be murdered with her husbands own hands. The same may we say of Ambition, that she is magnanimous, and contenteth not herself with yearly honours, but will, if it may be, fill all the months and days of the year with one name, and plant her arms through all the world. It skills not how far all these proceed and extend themselves, they are trifles, they are miserable and depressed. Only virtue is great and excellent, for there is nothing great except it be pleasing and peaceable likewise. The end of the first Book of Anger. A TREATISE OF ANGER, WRITTEN BY LUCIUS ANNAEUS SENECA TO HIS FRIEND NOVATUS. The second Book. The Argument of JUSTUS LIPSIUS. IT hath two parts, the first containeth certain questions of Anger, the other remedies against the same. The first question is, whether Anger proceed from passion only. He denieth it, and proveth that both the mind and judgement are accessary thereunto. She therefore giveth ●are unto reason, and may be restrained, which could not be if she were from that only, and not from nature. By the way he setteth down a Stoical difference, betwixt motions and affections, this he prosecuteth to the fourth Chapter. Than addeth he an other question, whether cruelty and fierceness proc●ede from Anger, he denieth it, and saith that it is a different affection, yet that it oftentimes hath his beginning or nourishment from often displeasure. After this in the sixth Chapter, whether a good man be displeased with the offence or the offender? He d●nieth and dischargeth a wise man from all this affection until the eleaveth Chapter. From thence he inquireth whether wrath be profitable, because it delivereth a man from contempt, and terrifieth the evil? He doth not admit it, and confesseth that it is feared which is not good, or to be desired by a good man. For both wild beasts and sicknesses are feared. This until the thirteenth Chapter, and in it he confesseth that Anger may be ●ained, and yet not used by a wise man. Neither that she resideth in a simple and generous mind, because the free and unconquered nations have the same, yea such as are savage and incapable both of learning or reason. At length in the eighteenth Chapter, he profitably passeth over to the remedies of Anger, he dilateth these two things. That we should not b●e angry, and that we should not sin in our Anger, lest we fall into the same. Such and such an education is requisite, at last he willeth us to impugn the first causes of wrath, and always to use counsel and time. Than that suspicions are to be driven away, and excess avoided. Not to be angry with things that are insensible, with men of weak judgement, with those things which are done by nature, or for our good. He adviseth us to see and acknowledge our faults, whereby we may become more equal and just to others. Not to believe rashly, and to examine those things that are believed by the mind of the doer. Especially that pride is to be laid aside, and good opinion of a man's self which maketh men wrathful and revengeful. To suffer rather or to dissemble and to abstain from so filthy an affection, wh●se deformity is expressed in the mind and countenance. These are profitable lessons, let them be read and remembered. CHAP. I He entereth into a more particular discourse and disputeth first, upon the source of Anger. THE first Book Novatus hath comprehended matters more tractable, because it is an easy matter to run headlong in to vices, considering our inclination and disposition thereunto. But now we must unfold the smaller parcels of this discourse. For the question is, whether Anger begins upon judgement, or by impulsion, that is to say, whether she be moved of herself, or wh●ther she resemble the most of these passions, which take root in us before we are ware. But we must subject this dispute to these questions, to the end that she may be likewise raised to more high considerations. For in our bodies, our bones, nerves, and joints, which are the foundation of the whole, and other instruments of life scarce, seemly to behold are first form and ordained, and afterwards those, when the grace and our countenance, and face doth proceed. And in fury, after all this the choler which above all things ravisheth the eyes, is the last thing which spreadeth itself throughout our perfect bodies. It is not to be doubted but that a certain appearance of injury offered, moveth anger: but the question is whether wrath presently followeth after this appearance, without consent of the mind, or whether it be moved by his assent. But our opinion is that she dare do nothing of herself, but by the approbation of the mind. For to conceive an opinion of injury, and to desire to be revenged, and to unite both these things together, that is to say, that they aught not to have been angry, or that he aught to take revenge; this is no motion that may incite itself without our william. The above named motion is simple, that whereof we speak is compound, and containeth divers heads. He hath understood somewhat, he is displeased, he condemneth the same, he revengeth himself, this cannot be done, except his mind which was touched therewith, yield some consent. CHAP. II. Choler is the o●sp●ing of our consent. WHereto sayst thou appertaineth this question? To understand what wrath is. For if she be bred in us against our wills, she will never submit unto reason. For all those motions which are done against our will, are invincible and inevitable, as shivering when we are sprinkled with cold water, a starting back upon tickling: when we have heard some heavy message, our hair standeth upright; when immodest words, shame coloureth our countenance; and a swimming of the head followeth those that look down from some high places. Because none of all these are in our power, there is no reason that counseleth us to expose ourselves there-against. Wrath is driven away by good precepts. For it is a voluntary vice of the mind, not of those which happen by a certain condition of human kind, and therefore they befall the most wisest. Amongst which that first motion of the mind is to be placed, which moveth us after the opinion of injury. This motion attendeth us ever amongst the idle acts of a play, and upon the reading of Ancient Histories. We seem oftentimes to be angry, for banishing Cicero, and with Anthony for killing him. Who is not angry at Marius' Arms, and Sulla's proscriptions? Who is not displeased with Theodotus and Achillas, and that boy Ptolomey, for doing a heinous murder unfitting for his young year's? A song some times and a sudden strain of Music animateth us, and that warlike sound of the Trumpet moveth our minds, and a dreadful picture, and the doleful sight of just men's punishment amazeth us. There it is that we laugh with those that laugh, and in the company of these that mourn, we are heavy and are enkindled by beholding other men's fight, which are not wraths no more, than sadness is, which contracteth our brows upon the sight of an enemy, that hath suffered shipwreck; no more than then fear astonisheth the Readers mind, when he over looketh of the Story, how after the battle of Cannae Hannibal approached thee walls Rome. But all these are the motions of such minds, as are willing to be moved, neither are thy affections but beginnings and essays of those affections. For so doth the Trumpet refresh the soldiers ear, who hath a long time lived in rest, and walked in his long Robe, during the time of peace, and Warlike horses prick up their ears upon the clattering of Arms. They say that Alexander the great whilst Xenophantes sung; laid hand on his weapons. CHAP. III. NOne of these things, A subtle distinction of passion. which casually impel the mind may be called affections. These if I may so speak it, the mind rather suffereth than doth; That therefore is affection, not to be moved with the resemblances of things that are offered; but to suffer himself to be led by them, and to run after this casual motion. For if any man suppose that paleness, and trickling down of tears, and filthy pollution, or a deep f●t sigh, or eyes suddenly incensed, or any such like thing, is a token of the affection, and a sign of the mind●, he is deceived, neither understandeth he, that these are the agitations of the body. And therefore the stoutest man sometime waxeth pale, whilst he is armed, and the fiercest Soldier hath trembled and shaken his knees a little when the charge was first sounded, and the greatest Emperor, hath had a trembling heart before the two Armies had shocked and encountered together, and the eloquentest Orator, whilst he composeth himself to deliver his oration, hath felt a shivering in the extremities of his body. Wrath must not only be moved, she must have her outlopes abroad: for it is a passion; but never is a passion, without the assent of the mind● for it cannot be, that without the knowledge of the mind, a man should deliberate upon revenge and punishment. Some man hath supposed himself injuried, and would revenge himself, but upon the dissuasion of some cause, he presently changeth his counsel. I call not this Wrath, but a motion of the mind obedient unto reason. That is Wrath, which treadeth down reason, and draweth her after her. So then this first agitation of the mind, which is provoked by the appearance of some injury, is no more wrath than is the appearance of injury, but that succeeding emotion, which not only assumeth the resemblance of injury, but hath approved the same. Wrath is a concitation of the mind, tending voluntarily and with judgement to revenge. Is it to be doubted but that fear is attended by flight, Wrath by impetuosity? Take heed therefore, if thou persever in this opinion, that a man may embrace or avoid any thing without the consent of the mind. CHAP. FOUR The explication o● this definition ●i●st of the three mo●ions which are the beginning, the inc●●a●●, and advancement of Ang●r. AND to the end thou mayst know, how these passions begin, increase, and extend themselves. Consider that there are three motions. The first is not voluntary, but as it were a preparation of the affection, and a conjunction. The second is annexed, to a will which is not rebellious as that I aught to revenge myself when I am wronged, or that such a one that hath committed some heinous crime should be punished. The third motion is so violent that it will not revenge when it aught to do it, but hath wholly disclaimed reason. This first motion of the mind we cannot avoid, although reason assist us, no more than we can avoid those motions, which as I said happen to the body. We cannot choose but yawn, if we see an other man yawn. Neither can we choose but wink if a man suddenly steppeth behind us and blindfoldeth us. These things cannot reason overcome, happily custom and daily observation may lessen them. That other motion, which is bred by judgement, is overcome by judgement. CHAP. V THis question likewise is to be examined whether those men that ordinarily are incensed, and delight in man's blood be angry with such men, whom they put to death, from whom they never have received, nor suppose themselves to have received injury, such as were Apolidorus and Phalari. This is not Wrath, but Cruelty; For she hurteth not because she hath received an injury, but is ready to receive injuries, provided that she may do hurt. It is not to revenge himself that he whippeth and teareth men in pieces, but for pleasure sake. What then? The beginning of this evil is from Wrath, the which by frequent exercises having satified her appetite with murders and blood, and forgotten all Clemency; and driven Humanity from his heart, finally addicteth himself to all Cruelty. They therefore laugh and are glad, and enjoy much pleasure, and have their looks far different from those that are angry, they are cruel, yet quiet in their minds. They say, that Hannibal said when he saw a trench filled with man's blood. O fair spectacle. How far more worthy a thing had it seemed to him, had he seen a River or Lake filled therewith? What wonder if thou take so special a delight in this spectacle when as thou wert borne to blood, and from thine infancy hast been trained up in murders. The prosperous fortune of thy Cruelty shall follow thee for twenty years space, and shall every where yield thine eyes a grateful spectacle, thou shalt see this both about Trasimenum, and about Cannae, and lastly about thy Carthage. Volesus of late time Proconsul in Asia under the government of Augustus, after that in one day he had beheaded three hundredth walking amongst the carcases, with a proud countenance as if he had done some magnificent action worthy the beholding cried out in Greek. O Kingly exploit. What had this Volesius done had he been a King? This was not wrath but a greater and more incurable evil. CHAP. VI Virtue (saith he) as it is favourable to honest things, That the wiseman is not subject to this motion of heart whence proceedeth choler. so is she displeased with dishonest. What if it be said that Virtue aught both to be humble and to be great? But he that saith thus will have her extolled and repressed. Because joy in performing any notable action, is apparent and magnificent, anger and despite conceived by reason of another man's sin, is the sign of a sordid and base mind. Neither will virtue ever so far forget herself as after she hath suppressed vices, she should imitate them. It is his duty to chastise wrath, which is in no sort better but often times worse, than those offences, wherewith she is displeased. It is proper and natural for virtue to rejoice and be glad, to be angry is not for her dignity, no more then to mourn. But sadness is the companion of wrath, and anger after the repentance, and after the repulse converteth itself always into sadness. And if it be the act of a wise man to be displeased against sins, his displeasures shall increase if they be more great, and it will follow that the wise man shall not be simply angry, but wrathful. But if we neither believe that great or frequent anger hath place in a wiseman's mind. What is the cause why we wholly discharge him, not from this affection, there say I, can be no measure, if he must be angry according to the weight of every man's offence. For either he shall be unjust, if he equally be displeased with unequal sin, or most wrathful if he hath been incensed so often as offences have deserved displeasure. And what is more unworthy than that a wiseman's affections should depend on another man's wickedness. Even Socrates himself will forbear to be able to bring back the same countenance home with him, which he carried out of doors. CHAP. VII. But if a wiseman aught to be displeased against dissolute behaviour, He concludeth by that which passed before, that a wiseman cannot be angry with those disorders which he seethe. and incensed and aggrieved at wickedness, there is no man more miserable than he: he must needs spend the whole course of his life in anger and sadness. For what moment shall there be wherein he shall not see some matters that are to be disallowed: as often as he shall go out of doors he must pass by wicked, covetous, prodigal and impudent men, and such as have been made happy thereby, his eyes shall be turned towards no place, wherein they find not occasions of dislike? He cannot live if he be displeased so often as the cause requireth. These so many thousand men that trot to the Palace early in the morning, how bad causes, nay how far worse Lawyers have they? One of these complaineth against his Father's will, where he hath occasion to content himself therewith. Another pleadeth against his mother: Another accuseth his Neighbour of some crime, wherein he himself is more manifestly faulty, and he is chosen to be judge in those causes wherein he himself hath most offended, the badst cause is favoured by all men, and that Counsellor that pleadeth uprightly is disgraced, why prosecute I every particular? when thou seest the Courts of pleas stuffed with people, and the bars taken up with all sorts of people, and that great place wherein the most part of the people show themselves, know this that in that place there are as many vices as there are men. Amongst these men that walk in long gowns there is no peace, each of these will cell one another for a little gain. CHAP. VIII. A d●scription of the disorders of his time, represented to the end to express that a wiseman should be truly miserable, if he would torment himself to see so many miseries. NO man taketh profit, but by another man's loss, they hate the happy man, they contemn the miserable; they are aggrieved at their Superiors, and are grievous to their inferiors; they are provoked by divers desires, and for some light profit or pleasure they would see all things in confusion. Their life is nothing different from that of the sword players, who live and fight with one another. There is an assembly of bruit beasts, except we say that they are peaceable amongst themselves, and bite not one another: where contrariwise men have no content, but when they tear and spoil one another. In this one thing differ they from dumb creatures, that the one are tame to those that nourish them, but those are enraged against them most, by whom they have been relieved best. A wiseman shall never cease if he once begin to be angry: all the world is so full of vices and wickedness. There is more evil committed, then may by reproof and punishment be healed. Impiety and injustice are upon their rests, & forcibly just against virtue; day by day the desire of evil increaseth, and modesty decreaseth. The carriage of this age. Dissolution having driven from her all respect of equity and right, hath usurped upon all things at her pleasure; neither are heinous crimes nowadays committed in secret; they are perpetrated in the view and eye of all men. And such pre-eminence and power hath wickedness gotten in every place, so deeply is she possessed of all men's hearts, that innocence, which in times past, was rare, at this day is wholly extinguished. Have all or a few men broken the law. All the world is armed, as it were upon the sound of a trumpet, to confounded and mix right and justice with wickedness. ovid. Metamor. Nor from his Host the guest may be secured, Nor he whom law and marriage hath allotted To be a Father can remain assured, But by his Son his death will be complotted. Friendship twixt brothers may be hardly found, The husband seeks occasion to deprive His wife of life, and she would him confounded: Th'enraged Stepdame's daily do contrive To mingle poisons, and the son again To get his Father's wealth would see him slain. 〈…〉 maul a part of wickedness is this? he hath not described the camps of a factious commonweal, armed one against another, the father's following one part, The miseries of civil warre●. and the children another, all the Country fired by their hands that should defend it, the troops of horsemen scouting out on every side to discover the places, whether the condemned men were retired, the fountains poisoned, the plague spread abroad by artificial means, the trenches digged by the children against their own fathers, that were besieged, the prisons full of captives, the tyrannies, the secret counsels, whence hath followed the ruin of Kingdoms and other public estates, the whoordomes, deflouring, ravish, infamous and execrable uncleanness, all which things reputed for glorious and notable exploits are called wicked, when a man may hinder and extinguish them. CHAP. IX. Add now unto these the public perjuries of the people, A continuation of the former discourse, to prove that a wise man cannot possibly entangle himselve with so many miseries. the breach of alliances, the pillage carried away to him, that hath the greatest power, the deceits, the thefts, the cavils, tricks of so evil trust in so great a number, that we had need of three times as large places of justice as we have, to decide them in: if thou wilt have a wiseman displeased so much as the indignity of their wickedness requireth, instead of being angry h● will be constrained to be mad. Rather think thou this that he aught not to be angry at errors. For what if a man should be angry with those that stumble in the dark, or against the deaf, because they do not that which they are commanded, because they understand it not? or against children, who in stead of thinking on their duties, busy themselves in play and sporting with their equals, what if thou wouldst be angry with those that are sick, with such as are old and wearied? Amidst the rest of the incommodities of man's life, this is one; the darkness of our minds, and not only the necessity of erring, but the love of errors. If thou wilt not be displeased with any man, pardon all men; and excuse the infirmity of mankind. But if thou be'st angry, both with young and old, because they offend; be displeased also with little infants, because hereafter they will be vicious. Is there any man angry with children, who by reason of their tender years know not how to discern things? It is a more great and juster excuse to be a man then a child: we are borne to this condition to be creatures subject as well to the infirmities of the mind as of the body, not blockish nor stupid, but such as abuse our understanding. The one of us serve for example of vices unto the other. Every one follow those that go before, although it be in the way of error. Why should they not be excused if all of them go astray in the public way? CHAP. X. THe severity of a General is intended against private offenders, but then is pardon necessary, where his whole Army hath forsaken him. What taketh away a wise man's wrath? the multitude of offenders. He understandeth how unjust and dangerous a thing it is to be displeased with a guilty multitude: Heracli●us as often as he went forth a doors, and saw about him such a multitude of evil livers, nay rather men dying wickedly, he wept; having compassion of all those that met him with a joyful and contented countenance, being himself mild in mind, and feeble in heart, and such a one as deserved to be deplored himself. Contrariwise it is said that Democritus never looked abroad without laughing, so trifling reputed he all those things which were seriously done and ●ought after. Where in this world is there any place for Anger? All things are either to be laughed at, or to be lamented. A wiseman will not be angry with those that offend. Why? Because he knoweth that no man is borne wise, but is made wise: he knows that in every age there are few that become wise, because he understandeth the condition of human life, but no wiseman will be angry with nature; for what if he would wonder because that apples grow not on wild brambles? what if he wonder why thorns and bushes bear not exquisite fruit? no man is angry with nature when she excuseth the imperfection. A wiseman therefore is peaceable, and remitteth faults, not an enemy but an admonisher of those that do amiss with this mind daily walketh he out. Many will meet me in the way that are addicted to wine, many lechers, many that are ungrateful, many covetous men, and many that are possessed with the fury of ambition. All these men will he entertain as courteously as the Physician doth his sick patients. Is he displeased either with his Sailors or his Ship whose Bark having her timbers lose hath a great leak, and sinketh in much water? He rather helpeth them, he calketh the vessel to keep out the waves, he driveth out the rest and shuts up the holes that appear, and resisteth by his continual labour and pumping, those that are yet undiscovered, neither therefore intermitteth he because so much was gotten out, as was entered in. We had need of succours of long continuance against so continual and fruitful evils, not that they may cease, but lest they overcome. CHAP. XI. He prosecuteth the explication of the definition of Anger, which he termeth an emotion of the heart, tending voluntarily and with judgement unto vengeance, showing that t●is passion as being unprofitable, aught not to be found amongst wise men, who condemn the emotion and the vengea●●e● and rather neglect than ●●●re it. WRath, saith he, is profitable because she escapeth contempt, and terrifieth evil men. First of all wrath, if it be as much worth as it threateneth, for this very cause, because it is terrible, it is therefore hateful. But it is more dangerous to be feared then to be despised: but if it be without fear, it is more exposed to contempt, and subject to derision. For what thing is more vain and ridiculous then for Anger to be in tempest and tumult for nothing? Moreover, those things that are terrible are not therefore more great; and I would not have that said by a wiseman which might be said by a savage beast: that the weapon of a wild beast is to be feared. What, is not the ague, the gout, an ulcer evil? Is there therefore any goodness in these, or contrariwise are not all things more disdained, filthy and contemptible, in that they are feared? Anger is of herself deformed, and not to be feared, yet is it feared by divers men as a deformed vizard by infants. But why doth not fear always fall upon the head of him that is the author thereof? Neither is there any man feared that is himself secure. Remember thee in this place of Laberianus verses, which being spoken in the Theatre, in the midst of the civil wars, not otherwise made all the people attentive unto it, then if a speech had been uttered that testified the public affection. He needs must fear many whom many men fe●●●. So hath nature ordained, that he who thinketh himself great, because he is feared, is not himself exempt from fear. How much tremble Lions upon the lest noise? An unacquainted shadow, voice, and oder troubleth those beasts which are the fiercest. All those which affright others are afraid themselves. There is no cause therefore why any wiseman should desire to be feared. CHAP. XII. Neither therefore let any man think that wrath is great, That ●here is no great thing in Anger although it moveth ●●are. because she causeth herself to be feared, because there are certain things which are the most contemptible and yet are feared, as venoms, and some empoisoned meats, and a bite or sting of beasts. Neither is it to be wondered at, when as a line distinguished with feathers, containeth the greatest herds of wild beasts, and driveth them into the Toils, and by their effects they are called fear; for vain things are afraid of nothing. The shaking of a Chariot, and the rattling of the wheels driveth a Lion into his den; the cry of a Hog terrifieth an Elephant. So therefore is Anger feared as a shadow is by infants, as a red feather is by wild beasts. This passion hath nothing firm and powerful in herself, but she is only the Bugbear of vain minds. Wickedness, saith he, must be banished out of the world if thou wilt exterminate wrath, and as the one of these things is impossible so is the other. First of all a man may be warm, although that naturally it be Winter, and he may be temperate although the hottest months do reign. But by the benefit of the place he is exempted from the intemperature of the year, or by the patience of his body he overcometh the sense of them both. But take this to the contrary, thou must needs take virtue first out of thy mind, before thou entertain wrath, because virtues have no correspondence with vices; and no more at the same time can an angry man be a good man, than he that is sick be a whole man. All wrath, saith he, cannot be taken away out of the mind, neither doth the nature of man permit him this. But there is nothing so difficult and dangerous, which a man's mind cannot overcome, and that continual meditation bringeth not in use, and no affections are so fierce and obstinate which are not tamed by discipline. Whatsoever the mind hath enjoined himself he hath obtained. Some have gotten that government over themselves that they will never laugh, some have given over wine, some lechery, and some have framed their bodies to forbear all w●ter, another by accustoming himself to sleep little, hath gotten so much privilege that he is never weary of waking, some have learned to run upon small and slender ropes, and to bear great and mighty burdens, far exceeding the strength of any man, and to dive into the greatest depths, and without any breathing to remain long time in the bottom of the Seas. CHAP. XIII. THere are a thousand other things wherein an obstinate resolution surmounteth all other impediments, How profitable a fi●me resolution is against vices. and showeth that there is nothing difficult to him that hath resolved himself to be patiented. All these of whom I have spoken before, have had no recompense of their travail, or if they have received any, it was no great matter. For what honour hath that Tumbler gotten, who hath learned to dance upon a rope? that is exercised to bear a weighty burden upon his neck, that hath learned to restrain his eyes from sleeping? that is taught to dive into the bottom of the Sea? He awakeneth the stupidity of the m●●t part of men ●p●cially of ●h●se that are given over to A●ger. These larbors get but little reward. Shall not we entertain patience, who are to expect so great a reward as the tranquility of a happy mind? How great a thing is it to fly from wrath, which is the greatest evil, and with her to avoid the other passions, which accompany her, as rage, inhumanities' cruelty, and fury? We are not to seek our protection from any, neither aught we to excuse and dissemble our liberty, by saying, that either this is profitable or that inevitable; for what error hath wanted a Patron? Thou art not to say that it cannot be cut off, we are sick of curable diseases; and nature herself that created us for the best, will assist us if we will be amended. Neither as some men have said, A Stoical Paradox, as possible as for a dead man to sly. is the way to virtues dangerous and difficult, they are easily come by. I will instruct you in no vain matter. The way unto blessed life is easy, follow the same in a good hour, and under the favour of the gods. There is more difficulty in doing those things which you do. For what is more contenting then the tranquility of the mind? What more laboursome than wrath? What more remiss than clemency? What more turbulent than cruelty? Chastity is always at leisure, dissolution full of business; to conclude, the custody of all virtue is easy, contrariwise, vices cost very much in entertaining them. Must wrath be removed? This in part confess they likewise who say, that it is to be moderated and diminished. Let it be wholly given over: because it will profit nothing: without her a man may more easily and readily root out wickedness, the evil shall be punished and brought to a better pass. CHAP. XIIII. That a wiseman h●t● no need of wrath to perform his due●●e. A Wiseman effecteth all those things which he aught to do, without the assistance of any evil thing; neither will he intermix any thing which may trouble him in the government thereof. Anger therefore is never to be admitted, yet is it sometimes to be dissembled, if the slow minds of the auditory are to be stirred up. Even as we prick forth our sturdy horses by stick and spur, to perform their race. Sometimes they are to be put in fear, when reason cannot persuade. It is no less profitable to be angry then to mourn, then to fear. What then? Do not some causes fall out which provoke Anger? But even then most especially are we to get the start of her. Neither is it a hard matter to overcome the mind, when as the wrestlers also being exercised in their basest part, yet suffer they strains and strokes that they may spend his forces with whom they contend; neither strike they when wrath persuadeth them, but when occasion commandeth them. It is reported that Pyrrhus an excellent Master in wrestling and other exercises, was wont to command those that were his Scholars to refrain from Anger. For it is Anger that troubleth Art, and considereth which way she may hurt, not how she may prevent. Reason therefore oftentimes persuadeth patience, wrath revenge, and we that might escape the first evils, are thrust into greater. Some hath the contumely of one word not dis-jested with discretion, cast into exile, and they that would not bury and bear a trifling injury in silence, have been overwhelmed with most grievous calamities; in brief, being not able to endure, that a jot of their great liberty should be diminished, they have drawn themselves under a service yoke. CHAP. XV. TO make thee know (saith he) that wrath hath somewhat generous in it, That Choler ha●h nothing generous in it. thou shalt found that the Germans and Scythians (which are free Nations) are much inclined unto wrath; which cometh to pass because their spirits (which by nature are strong and solid) are easily moved and prove unto Anger, especially before they be tempered and mollified by discipline. There are certain passions which never take holdefast but on the strongest spirits: even as the most strongest and fruitfullest Coppise grow on the land which is least manured, and a Forest flourisheth in a fruitful soil. Therefore the minds that by nature are most strongest endure Anger, & being fiery & ho●e, suffer nothing that is little and feeble; but that vigour is imperfect, as in all things without Art, which grow only by the benefits of nature, which except they be quickly tamed, that which was disposed to become valour is converted into audaciousness and rashness. What, are not those spirits which are gentle and tractable less vicious? and are they not accompanied with mercy, love, and honest shame? I will therefore show thee a good disposition even in those things that are evil; but therefore are they not vices, although they are signs of a better nature. Moreover, all these Nations free in their fierceness, according to the custom of Lions and Wolves, as they cannot serve, so they cannot command: for they have not the force of a human understanding, but such as is beastly and intractable; but no man can govern, except he that can be governed. CHAP. XVI. FOr the most part therefore the Empire remained amongst those Nations which live under a milder clime: There i● no Nation of pliable inclination that are no● capable o● government, and ●it to be governed by the most exc●ll●nt amongst them. they that are bred towards the Northward and in cold countries, have their minds most untractable, as the Poet saith, And like unto their heaven. Th●y (saith he) are reputed to be the most generous beasts that are most wrathful. He is deceived that induceth them for an example to men, who for reason use violence: man in stead of violence hath reason. Neither is that passion profitable in them: all fierceness helpeth Lions, fear Hearts, violence the Hawk, flight the Dove: neither is that true, that the most excellentest creatures are the most subject to Anger. Shall I think those wild beasts better which live by rapine, because they are most fell? I had rather commend the patience of the Ox and those Horses that are governed by the bridle. But what is th● cause thou shouldest revoke man to such unhappy examples, when thou hast the world and God, who amongst all other living creature's, he only imitateth and only understandeth? They are accounted the most simplest men of all other that are most angry. For they are compared to fraudulent and cunning fellows, and seem to be simple, because they are discovered, whom I would not call simple but improvident. For we ●●signe this nam● to fools, to lechers and prodigal spenders, and such as are not cunning enough in their follies. CHAP. XVII. Whether it be a thing fitting for him that is publicly to declaim to be moved, and ●ow. AN Orator (saith he) that is moved and angry is sometimes the better, why not if he sergeant his Anger? For Players in pronouncing their speeches, although they be not ang●●●, yet move the people; but in acting the wrathful man cunningly. And before the judges likewise, and before the people, and wheresoever we ar● to confirm other men's minds in our opinion, sometimes we ourselves will feign to be displeased, sometimes sergeant fear, sometimes compassion to confirm the same in other men. And oft-times that which true affection could not have effected, imitation of affection hath performed. It is a faint mind●, saith he, that is without Anger. It is true, if he have nothing more powerful than Anger in him; neither must he be a thief, neither such a one as is rob, neither merciful, nor cruel, the heart of the one is too tender, the other too obdurate. Let the wiseman be temperate, and in executing that which he hath to do resolutely, let him entertain courage and not Anger. CHAP. XVIII. The second part of th●● B●oke sets down the r●medi●● against Anger. BEcause we have examined those questions which concern Anger, let us now descend unto the remedies thereof. They are two in my judgement: the one, that we fall not into Anger, the other, not to sin when we are angry. As in the cure of our bodies, there are some precepts to maintain health, othersome how to restore it when it is decayed, so to surmount displeasure there is one means to repulse it, another to repress it. Some shall be taught which are pertinent, and necessary for the whole life, and they shall be divided into education, and the years that follow. Education requireth great diligence, and is greatly profitable and necessary: for it is an easy matter to fashion & order tender minds, and those vices are hardly rooted out in us, which have grown with us. A fiery nature is a proper subject of wrath; for whereas there are four elements, fire, water, air, and earth, so have they their equal qualities, cold, hot, dry and moist. So then the mixture of the elements is the cause of the variety of places, creatures, bodies, and manners; thence cometh it that men's minds are more inclined to this or that, The complexions of our body's ●ro●ee● from the ●●●●l●ties that are predominant in them. according as the vigour of the element aboundeth more or less in them; thence it is that we say and call some Regions moist, some dry, some hot●, and some cold. The same differences are there betwixt men and beasts. CHAP. XIX. IT importeth very much to understand how much humidity or heat every one hath in him, The source whence ●ra●h springe●h and his seat. and according to the element that is most predominant in a man, such are his manners. The mixture of heat will make wrathful men; for fire is active and permanent. The mixture of cold● maketh men cold; for cold is of a slow and heaume nature. Some therefore of our sect are of the opinion, that wrath is enkindled in the breast, by reason of the blood that boileth about the heart. The cause why this place is especially assigned unto Anger, is no other, then that of all the whole body the breast is the hottest. They that have more moisture in them, their Anger increaseth by little and little, Because the Sun of the lesser world inhabiteth in it. because their heat is not prepared, but is gotten by motion. The displeasures therefore of children and women are more sharp than they are continuing, and more feeble in the beginning. In drier ages wrath is vehement & strong, but without increase, not adding much unto itself, because cold followeth the declining heat. Old● men are testy and always complaining as sick men do, and such as begin to recover their health, or that by lassitude or blood letting have lost a part of their heat. In the same estate are they that are extremely transported with thirst and hunger, and who have no blood in their bodies, neither thrive by that they eat, but consume daily. Wine enkindleth wrath, because it increaseth heat according to every man's nature. CHAP. XX. Much moved are some when they are drunk, some when they are feasting: divers appeareances o● wrath according to the habitude o● p●rsons, and ●hat we aught to know our own● native, and ●o ●●e the custom. neither is there any other cause, why they are most wrathful that have yellow hair and red faces, who have such a colour by nature, as other men are wont to have, when they are displeased; for their blood is swift and much troubled. But even as nature disposeth some men unto choler, so happen there many causes which may do the like that nature doth. Some hath sickness and the injury of the body drawn into this, othersome labour and continual watching night's spent in great thought, and desires, and loves; and whatsoever else that were hurtful to the body or mind, or prepareth the sick-man's heart to complaints. But all these are but beginnings and causes, and custom can do very much, which if it be depraved nourishes the vice. It is a hard thing to change nature, never is it possible to dissever the elements, whereof things are composed, after they are on●e mixed. But it will be profitable to know this, to the end we may forbidden them wine that are of hot natures, 11 d● legibus. How child●●n are ●o b● ordered. which Plato supposeth to be hurtful to children, and therefore forbiddeth us to add fire to fire. Neither are they to be crammed with meats, for their bodies are easily distended, & their minds like their bodies suddenly are puffed up. Let labour exercis● them without lassitude, that their heat may be diminished & not consumed, & that the over great fever in them skimmed and setled● Metaphora à vino sump●a. Pastime likewise will profit them, because a moderate pleasure quickeneth the mind, and temperateth it also. Those that are of a moist, dry, and cold complexion, there is no danger in their displeasures, yet are greater vices to be feared in them, as fear, difficulty, desperation and suspicions. CHAP. XXI. The continuaion of h●s discourse, and of the remedies against children's anger. The first is a good instruction. Such minds therefore are to be tempered and nourished, and to be animated with delights. And because we are to use some remedies against Anger, some other against sadness, and that these are not only to be cured by different, but contrary means. We will always have a care of that, which is increasing. It shall profit very much say I, to have our children well instructed in the beginning. But the manner of governing is difficult, because we must endeavour that we nourish not Anger in them, or dull and damp their spirits. The matter had need of diligent observation. The second is to keep measure and neither to animate or discourage them too much, and how we aught to proceed. For both that which is to be extolled and that which is to be depressed is nourished with the like, and such things as resemble do oftentimes deceive him, that is most diligent. The mind increaseth by liberty, and is embased by servitude. Praise the same, and it rouseth itself, and filleth us with great expectation, yet both these two expedients engender insolence and wrath. So therefore is he to be governed between both, that sometimes we use a bridle, sometimes a spur, that his mind may suffer nothing that is base and servile. Let him never have need to entreat any thing humbly, neither let it profit him though he hath so submissively entreated. If we grant him any thing, let it be rather by alleging unto him, that he hath just cause to demand the same, and that we have regard unto his former behaviour, and hope that he will do better hereafter, as he promiseth. In his exercises amongst his companions, let us neither suffer him to be overcome, nor to be angry. Let us endeavour that he may be always familiar with those with whom he is wont to contend, and that in his exercises he accustom himself not to have a will to hurt, The third that the● be not entertained ei●her too idly or too daintily. but to overcome. As often as he hath gotten the upper hand, or hath done any thing that is praise worthy, let us not suffer him to be proud or to boast thereof, for boasting followeth joy, and pride and to much esteem of himself, boasting. We will give him some recreation, yet will we neither suffer him to be slothful or idle, and above all things will detain him from the touch of pleasures. For nothing more enkindleth wrath, than an over delicate and dainty education: and therefore the only child, to whom we give liberty, and these Pupils that are left to their own pleasures, are ordinarily the most corrupted. The child that hath had his will in every thing, whose mother hath ordinarily dried the tears from his eyes, who hath had a master assigned him according to his own● fancy, will never suffer an injury patiently. Seest thou how every greater Fortune is attended with a greater anger? This appeareth in Rich men, in Noble men, in Magistrates especially when as whatsoever vainness and levity was in their brains, findeth a fit Wind to carry it away. Felicity nourisheth wrath, as soon as the troops of flatterers are encamped about proud men. The fourth to beware of flatte●e●●. They will say unto thee. What shall he answer thee, thou respectest not thyself according to the greatness of thy Estate, thou abasest thyself overmuch And other such like sufficient to entangle the wisest hearts, and such as have b●●ne prudently brought up from there infancy. Let childhood therefore be far remould from flattery. Let him h●are nothing but truth, let him learn f●ar●, modesty, obedience to his elders, and duty, and reverence. Let him extort nothing from thee by frowardness. That which was denied him when he wept, let it be given him when he is quiet. Let him see his Parents riches, but n●t use them: Let him be reproved for his evil deeds. CHAP. XXII. IT shall be to the purpose to give children ●uch Masters and attendants, What masters we aught to provide for our children. who are peaceable and gentle. That which is tender layeth hold on that which is nearest unto it, and groweth with it, and becometh like unto it. divers children that have grown in years, have represented the manners of their Nurses and masters. A young child brought up with Plato, returned home to his Parent's house, and hearing his Father exclaim and chide grievously said, I have never seen the like with PLATO. How children should be fed and clothed. I doubt not but that he imitated his father sooner than Plato. Let his diet be always slender. Let his attire be modest and answerable to that of his equals. He shall never be angry that any is compared with him, whom from the beginning thou hast made equal with many. But these things appertain unto our children. For in regard of ourselves the fortune of our birth, and of our bringing up cannot give any place unto correction, nor for the precepts to instruction. We must only provide for the time to come, and resist the first occasions. But the cause of anger is the opinion of injury, whereunto we must not easily give credit nor entertain the first reports and proofs how evident and manifest soever they be. A remedy of Anger is not to give credit to talebearers. For some things that are fallen have an appearance of truth, we must always give time: for time discovereth truth. Let not our ears be open unto talebearers. Let this vice of human nature be suspected by us, and made known unto us, that is to say, that what we unwillingly hear, we unwillingly believe, and before we judge, we are angry. CHAP. XXIII. WHat? The second to fly suspicions. are we not only moved and enforced by accusations, but also travailed with suspicions? and interpreting we not the worst of other men's looks and smiles; are we not displeased with those that are innocent? We must therefore pled with ourselves, the cause of him that is absent, and hold our anger in suspense. For a man may exact the punishment which is delayed, but he cannot remedy it after it is executed. See Laertius lib. 9 of the laws of the Philosophers and Plutarch his lives. The Tyrant killer is well known, who being apprehended before his attempt was performed and tortured by Hippias to the end he should discover his confederates: he reckoned up the names of all the Tyrant's friends that stood about him, who in his knowledge were most careful of his prosperity and life, and when he had commanded every one of them to be slain, whom he had nominated, he asked him: Is there any more, yet remaining? Thyself (said he) only for I have left none else alive that is dear unto thee: Wrath was the means that made the Tyrant to lend his assistance to the Tyrant killer, and to murder his own Guard, with his own sword● How more courageously dealt Alexander? who when he had read his mother's Epistle; wherein he was admonished that he should beware to be empoisoned by his Physician Philip, drunk of his presented potion without any affright. He had more confidence in his friend, and worthy was he to enjoy so upright a Physician, and worthy to make such a one. This praise I in Alexander the more, because no man was more subject unto anger, and the rarer government is in Kings, the more is it to be commended. The like did Caius Caesar who in the Civil wars demeaned himself so mercifully. For having intercepted a packet of divers letters that were written to Pompey, from those that seemed to have held the contrary part, or remained neuters, he burned them all, and although he were accustomed to keep a measure in his wrath, yet liked he better to admit no means. He held it to be a most grateful means of pardon to be ignorant of that wherein every man had offended. Credulity doth much mischief and often times we aught not to give ●are thereunto because in somethings it is better to be deceived then to distrust. CHAP. XXIIII. Evils occasioned by opinion and suspicion. SVspition and conjecture which are two betrayers of the mind, are to be banished. He hath not saluted me kindly enough; He hath not kissed me hearty; He hath abruptly cut of our discourse; he invited me not to supper; That man's countenance was more strange than it was accustomed. Suspicion wants no argument: we have need of simplicity, and the friendly interpretation of things. Let us believe nothing, but that which is subject to the eye, and manifest, and as long as our suspicion appeareth to be vain, let us chide our credulity. For this Chastisement will accustom us to believe nothing easily. CHAP. XXV. The third remedy against dagger is not to be agr●●●ed for ●●le and ab●●ct ●hings. FRom thence, doth this follow, that we be not exasperated by the smallest and most sordid things. The Page is scarce serviceable that either ministereth water to warm for our wine, or a bed to sit upon unmade, or a table negligently furnished. To be angry hereat, is but madnsse, he is sick, and of an evil constitution whom a little breath of wind causeth to quiver. Those eyes are very weak, which are dimmed by beholding a white vesture: he is over delicate that sweateth to see another man labour. It is reported that there was a certain man of Sibaris who was called Mindyrides who beholding one that digged the Earth, and lifted his mattock too high, began too commplaine himself as if he himself had traveled much, and forbade the other to work any more in his presence. The same man likewise complained oftentimes, because he lay upon a bed of rose leaves. Whereas pleasures have enthralled both the mind and the body there is nothing that seemeth tolerable, not because they are hard, but in that effeminate men suffer them. For what is the cause, why any man's cough, or sneezing, or a Fly not curiously enough driven away, should incense us, or a cup overturned, or a key lost by the carelessness of a negligent servant should trouble us? Will such a man peaceably endure a public slander, and reproaches urged against him, in declamations and open Court, that cannot abide to bear the scraping of a stool that is drawn by him? will he suffer hunger and extreme thirst in a winter's voyage, who is angry with his Page, because he hath not mixed his snow with his wine cunningly. CHAP. XXVI. THere is nothing therefore, The fourth to re●rain impatience in regard of these things that are without life and in regard of men and beasts. that more nourisheth Anger then intemperate and impatient dissoluteness, the mind is to be hanled hardly that he may not feel the stroke: except it be grievous. We are angry with these from whom we neither could receive injury, or those from whom we might receive it. Some of the first are without sense, as we have been wont often times to cast by a book that is written in small letters, and have torn a faulty, or as we cut our garments by reason they are not pleasing unto us in their fashion. How fond a thing is it to be angry with these which have not deserved our displeasure, neither feel the same? But we are angry with those that made them. First, we are angry almost ordinarily before we bethink ourselves of this distinction, again happily the very workmen themselves will give us sufficient satisfaction. One of them could not do better than he did, neither was he negligent in his occupation, upon purpose to displease thee. Another did it not to offend thee. In conclusion, what is more brainsick then to discharge and vent the choler, we have gathered upon things that have no sense? And as it is a folly to be angry with these that are inanimated creatures, so is it as foolish to be displeased with dumb beasts, because there is no injury except it proceed from discourse and deliberation. They can therefore hurt us as iron or a stone, but they cannot do us injury. But some there are that think themselves to be contemned, whereas some horses that are easily backed by another horseman, are sturdy to another man's riding, as if by judgement, not by custom, and the art of handling them, some beasts are untractable to some men. CHAP. XXVII. But as it is a foolish thing to be angry with these; To refrain impatience and not to be angry with infants. so aught not a man to be displeased with little children, or against those that have as little spirit as infants. For all these faults in the eye of an equal judge are reputed for innocence of imprudent men. Some things there are which cannot hurt, and have no power, but that which is beneficial and wholesome, as the immortal gods which neither will, neither can hurt. For their nature is mild and peaceable, and so far remote from doing other men injury as themselves. Mad are they therefore, and ignorant of truth, Much less against the gods. that impute unto them the raging of the Seas, in measurable showers, a rigorous winter, when as in the mean space there are none of these which either hurt or profit us, that are properly intended against us. For we are not the cause in this world of the revolution of Winter and Summer, these seasons are governed and have their order disposed by the gods; we estimate ourselves too highly, if we suppose ourselves worthy that so great things should be moved for us. There are none of these things therefore is done to our prejudice, nay rather there is nothing done which is not for our good: we have said that there are some things which cannot hurt, some things which will not● In this rank shallbe good Princess, Nor against our superiors in this World. Parents and Masters, judges and Magistrates, whose chastisement aught to be considered, as the razor of a Surgeon, the diet of a Physician, and other remedies, which neither do us good nor evil. Are we chastised, let us think not only on that which we suffer, but also on that which we have done, and let us enter into the examination of our life. If we will confess a truth unto ourselves, we have a greater matter to charge ourselves with. If we will be equal judges of all things, let us first of all persuade ourselves that there is none of us without a fault. For hence groweth the greatest indignation; I have sinned no ways, I have done nothing; nay, thou confessest nothing. If any man admonish or chastise us we are angry, when at that very time we sin. When as to our rebellious deeds we add arrogancy and contumacy. Who is he that dare maintain that he is innocent, in respect of all laws? That this may be thus, how defective is our innocence, in regard of good laws? how more infinitely is the rule of our duties extended then that of right? how much do piety, humanity, liberality, misery, and faith, exact all which are not enclosed in the ordinances and constitutions of men. CHAP. XXVIII. The fi●th is t● th●●ke 〈◊〉 how m●ny sorts men a●e guilty before God and M●n. NEither as yet can we attain to that strict innocence of the laws. We have done some things, and thought other things. We have desired some things and have followed others. We are innocent in some affairs, because we could not effect them. Thinking hereupon, let us be more favourable to those that offend. Moore attentive to those that reprove us, and let us not be displeased with ourselves (for with whom will we not be angry, if we be displeased against ourselves?) above all things let us beware to be angry with the gods. For it is not by their ordinance, but by the law whereunto all mortal men are subject, that we suffer all these incommodities which befall us. But sicknesses and sorrows do assault us. They that devil in a rotten house must seek to fly out of it by some ways. When it shall be told thee that any one hath spoken evil of thee, bethink thyself whether thou hast not begon it first, examine thyself by how many thou hast spoken. Let us think, say I, that other men do us no injury, but that they requited us with the like, and that some do it of malice, some by constraint, and others through ignorance, and that they likewise who willingly and wittingly do wrong; take not an occasion by the injury we have done, to do us another. Either is he fallen through the sweetness of his urbanity, or hath done somewhat, not with an intent to hurt us, but because he could not have attained his desire except he had repulsed us. Oft-times flattery offendeth us whilst she flattereth; whosoever shall remember himself how often times men have had an evil opinion of him, and interpreted the many good services and offices he hath done for injuries, how many men he hath loved whom he hated before time, he will not be displeased upon the first, especially if upon every injury that is done unto him, he say unto himself. These faults likewise have I myself committed. But where wilt thou find a judge that is so upright? He that coveteth every man's wife, and thinketh it a sufficient cause for him to love her, because she is a stranger will not admit another man to court his. He that will have another man keep promise upon a prefixed day, is no master of his word, the perfidious man persecuteth him that is a liar, and the informer cannot abide that another man should bring him in question. He will not have his servants credit touched who is negligent of his own reputation. Other men's sins are before our eyes, our own behind our backs. Thence cometh it that the Father more riotous than his Son, yet reproveth him bitterly for his lavish expense, he severely taxeth another man's excess, who is himself prodigal and hath no hold of his money: the Tyrant is displeased against the murderer, and he that is sacrilegious punisheth theft. The greater part of men are angry with sinners, The sixth is to take time and bethink ourselves b●fore we be angry. but not with the sin. We shall be more moderate if we examine ourselves, if we take counsel of ourselves, and examine whether we ourselves have not committed the like, whether we have erred in the same manner? Is it fit for us to condemn the same? Delay is a sovereign remedy against displeasure, neither require thou her in the beginning to pardon thee, but to judge thee. If she delay and admitteth any intermission, the fury thereof is abated. Strive not to attempt her all at once, her first assaults are most sharp, but thou shalt get the day of her, if thou dismember her by little and little. CHAP. XXIX. TOuching those things which offend us, Reasons why we should d●lay. some are told us, and some we hear, or see: we must not easily believe those things that are told us, many men lie to the end they may deceive, many because they are deceived. This man curries favour by accusing others, and feigneth an injury to the intent he may seem sorrowful for that which is done. There are some so wicked that they seek nothing more but to sow contention amongst friends. Another is suspicious and desirous in security, and from afar to behold a single combat, performed betwixt two, whom he hath set together by the ●ares. A notable comparison to this purpose. If thou wert made a judge in a trifling matter, thou wouldst not allow the cause, except it were approved by witnesses, and the witnesses thou wouldst not respect except they were sworn. Thou wouldst call both parties before thee, and give them time to answer, and yield them audience upon several days. For truth will the more manifestly appear the more often it is debated upon. Wilt thou condemn thy friend instantly before thou hast heard him, and before thou hast asked him the question? art thou angry with him before he either know his accuser or his crime? For at this instant, yea now presently, hast thou heard what was spoken on both sides. That very man, who first informed thee, will not justify his words, if he be driven to prove them. Thou hast no cause, saith he, to drive me to justify it, if I b● brought in question I will deny the same, or otherwise hereafter I will never tell thee any thing. At the same time he inciteth thee and draws himself out of the trouble and danger. He that will not speak unto thee, except it be in secret scarcely tells thee any thing that is worthy thy belief. What is more unreasonable then to believe a secret report, and afterwards to be openly angry? CHAP. XXX. THere are somethings whereof we ourselves are witnesses. The seventh is to consider the persons, to endure that which is possible. In these we will consider the nature and will of those that do them. Is he a child? we bear with his age, he knoweth not whether he offendeth. Is he a father? either before times he hath done us so much good, that upon just ground we aught to forgive him the wrong he might do us, or peradventure we are offended without cause, and he himself hath an occasion to complain against us. Is she a woman? She is deceived. Is he commanded? who except he will be injurious will be angry with necessity. Is he hurt? It is no injury to suffer that which thou thyself proferedst first. Advertisements worthy to be considered o● all men, especially of ●hose who are subject ●o displeasure. Is he a judge? Rather trust thou his opinion then thine own. Is he a King? if he punish thee being guilty acknowledge his justice, if being innocent, give place to thy fortune. Is it a dumb beast, or a stone, or such like? thou art like unto it if thou be angry at it. Is it sickness or calamity? It will pass more lightly if we suffer it patiently. Is it God? Thou losest as much time in murmuring at him, as when thou prayest him to be angry against thy neighbour. Is he a good man that doth thee injury? Believe it not. Is it an evil? Wonder not. Another man shall punish that wrong which he offereth thee, and he himself in doing evil is punished by himself. There are two things as I have said, that provoke Anger: Of th● s●cond sort o● r●m●di●s against Anger. the first is, if we seem to have received injury. Of this there is sufficiently spoken. It remaineth that we speak of the second, that is to say, whether we have been wrongfully injured. Some men judge those things to be injurious, which they aught not to have suffered, some because they hoped it not. We repute those things injurious which are sudden. Those things therefore most greatly move us, which happen unto us, contrary to our hope and expectation; neither is there any other cause why the lest matters offend us amongst our Domestiques, and why in our friends we call negligence an injury. CHAP. XXXI. HOw therefore, saith he, do our enemy's injuries move us? Because we expected them not, The first remedy i● to r●noun●e ●he love of our s●lues, to know ●nd condemn ou●●gno●●nce 〈…〉. or rather because we imagined not that they should be so dangerous. The too much love we bear ourselves is the cause hereof, and that it is which maketh us judge that our enemies should not touch us any ways. Every man hath the heart of a King in him, so that he will have authority over all men, and yet himself will be under no man's subjection. Against our ignorance. So therefore it is either our ignorance in things, or our insolence that maketh us Angry. As touching ignorance, are we to wonder if wicked men do wicked acts? Is it a new thing if our enemy do us the worst injury he may? If our friend forget himself sometimes? if our son or servant commit some fault? That great Captain Fabius said that this ordinary excuse, I had not thought it, was a base one: but I think it a most abject thing in a man. Bethink thyself of all things and expect, even in good manners there will be something harsh; man's nature beareth with trayt●rous friends, she endureth ungrateful men, she suffereth the covetous, she winketh at the impious. When thou wilt censure the manners of one man, think upon the public; where thou wilt most of all rejoice, there most of all wilt thou fear; where all things seem unto thee peaceable, there shall not want such things as shall hurt thee, yet lie they covered; think that will be somewhat hereafter that may offend thee. A Pilot hath never so cunningly discharged himself of all straits and perilous passages, but that he hath always an eye to his Anchor and tackle, to have all things in a readiness when need requireth. Against insolence. Before all things remember thyself of this, that the power to do evil is villeinous, execrable, and wholly unfitting for a man by whose benefits the wildest beasts are tamed. Behold the Elephants kept under yoke, children and women riding boldly upon the backs of Bulls, Serpents that slide upon the tables, and slip into the bosoms of men without doing them any harm, and Bears and Lions within doors, that suffer their mouths to be handled, and fawn upon their Masters. Thou wouldst be ashamed to change thy manners with bruit beasts. It is a heinous crime to hurt a man's country, and therefore a Citizen likewise, for he is a part of his country. The parts are holy if the whole be venerable, therefore man to man, for h● is a Citizen in this great City, which we call the world. What if the hands would harm the feet, and the eyes would not help the hands? Even as all the members are accorded together, A worthy induction of sweetness and good carriage toward our neighbours. because that it importeth the whole body, that the parts whereof it is composed should be entire; so aught we to support one another, because we are made to live in society. But this society cannot continued, if the parts of the same assist not and maintain not one another. We would not fli● from Vipers, and Serpents that haunt the water, and other creatures that are hurtful, either in their biting or stinging, if we could tame them, or keep them either from hurting ourselves or other men. We will not therefore strike a man because he hath offended, but to the end he offend no more, neither is punishment ever reserved to the time past, but that which is to come, because it is not ordained to entertain Anger, but to prevent it: for if every one should be punished that hath a depraved and offensive mind, no man should be exempt from punishment. CHAP. XXXII. But wrath hath some pleasure in it, and it is a contenting thing to be revenged. The refutation of their false opinion, that think it a great good to work other men's evil. It is far otherwise. For even as it is an honest thing in regard of benefits, to return a good turn for a good turn; so is it not in requiting injuries with injuries: in the one it is a dishonest thing to suffer ourselves to be overcome, and in the other to overcome. This word revenge is full of inhumanity, and yet is entertained for a wise thing, and differeth from contumely in nothing but in order. He that requiteth one injury with another, offendeth more excusably. A certain inconsiderate fellow struck Cato in the Bath, for who is he that had known him that would do him injury? and yielding him afterwards some satisfaction, Cato said unto him, I remember not that thou didst strike me. He thought it a wiser part not to acknowledge the wrong then to revenge it. Thinkest thou that he was not injuried in receiving this outrage? In no sort. He did himself much good, for he began to know what Cato was. It is the part of a great mind to despise injuries: it is a contumelious kind of revenge, that he thought him unworthy to revenge himself on. What magnanimity is. Many whilst they revenge themselves for every slight offence, have made their injury the greater. That man is great and noble, that after the manner of a mighty wild beast, listeneth securely the barking of lesser Dogs: but, saith he, we shall be contemned less, if we revenge the injuries we receive. If we come thereunto as to a remedy, let us come without Anger; not as if it were a pleasing thing to be revenged, but because it is profitable: but oftentimes it hath been more wisdom to dissemble then to revenge. CHAP. XXXIII. An answer to the r●ply that to revenge a man's self is to make himself feared by all men. BUT those injuries that are done us by mighty men are not only to be suffered joyfully, but patiently. They will do it again, if they believe they have done it. Those minds whom Fortune hath made insolent have this detestable quality in them that they hate those whom they have harmed. Famous and memorable is his speech who was become old in the service of Kings, when a certain man asked him: The misery of old Courtiers. How he had attained so rare a thing, as old age in his service in Court? By suffering injuries (saith he) and by giving thanks. Often times it is so profitable not to revenge injury, that it beseemeth us not to confess the same. Caius Caesar having imprisoned the son of one Pastor a famous Knight of Rome, being offended with the niceness of his attire and the curious frizling of his hair. when his Father required him to grant him his sons life, as if he had been admonished to punish his misdeeds, commanded him forthwith to be put to death, yet lest he should seem to behave himself too cruelly towards the Father, he invited him to supper the same day. Pastor came thither with a merry countenance, Caesar carowsed to him nine ounces of wine, and set an attendant expressly to see whether he did him reason. The poor man drunk up all, as if he had drunk the blood of his son. After this, he sent him perfumes and a crown; commanding the messenger to observe whether he took them● he received them the same day, wherein he had buried his son. The poor guest of a hundredth years of age, and such a one as was troubled with the gout, lay almost soused in wine, yet drunk he up such large potions, that might seem intolerable, had he banqueted at his children's birthday, yet shed he no tears, neither suffered he any sign of grief to slip from him. He supped as if he had gotten his sons pardon. Dost thou ask me why? He had an other: what did Priamus? A notable example of Achilles. dissembled he not his displeasure? embraced he not the King's knees? he applied those fatal hands to his reverend lips that were embrewed with the blood of his son; he supped, and yet without perfumes, without crowns; and him did his cruel enemy exhort with many comfortable speeches to eat his meat, not to the end he might empty hugh cups, setting a watch over his head to observe him. He had contemned Pastor had he feared, but now piety pacified his wrath. He was worthy to have liberty, to departed from the banquet to gather up his sons bones: yet suffered he not this. Mean while that courtous and gentle young man invited the good old Father, provoked the Father in merry cups to bury and pacify his cares. Contrariwise, Pastor feigned himself merry, and forgetful of that which had happened the same day. His other son had died likewise, had not the Father and guest pleased the tyrant Caligula, that invited him. CHAP. XXXIIII. With whom soever we are to deal withal, Choler is unnecessary. And this consideration is the second remedy. SO than we aught to avoid wrath whether it be with our equal, with our superiors or inferiors. To strive against our equals is a matter doubtful, against our superiors is fury, against our inferiors is baseness. It is the part of a silly and miserable man to bite him that biteth him. Gnats and Aunts turn there heads back to bite if a man layholde of them. Weak Creatures suppose themselves hurt if they be touched. It will make us more united, if we bethink our s●lues, how much he may profit us hereafter with whom we are angrier and the offences will be redeemed with mercies. Here is some abrupt breaking of. Let us also think on this what commendation the fame of Clemency will yield unto us, and how many hath pardon made profitable friends. Neither let us be angry with the children of our adversaries and enemies. Amongst the examples of Sulla's cruelty this is not on of the lest, that he deprived all their children who were proscribed from all public office and authority. It is an extreme injustice for a man, to make any one the heir of that hatred which he hath borne to his Father? As oftentimes as we shall be slow in pardoning, let us bethink us whether it should be good for us, that all the men of the World should be so affectioned against us. How often times doth he require pardon, who would not pardon? and how often hath a man humbled himself at such another man's feet, whom he before time hath driven out of his presence. What is more glorious then to change enmity into amity. The third remedy to give them the upper hand, whom we have the advantage of. What more faithful confederates have the people of Rome, than these who were their most mortal enemies. What should the Empire be at this day, except wholesome providence had mixed the conquered with the conqueror's. Shall any man be angry with thee? reconcile thou him by thy benefits. The displeasure suddenly qualeth when as the one part forbeareth to contend. No man fighteth except he be resisted. The fourth to give place to such as are quarrelsome. If both parts are contentious he hath the better hand, that first retireth himself, and he is conquered that overcometh. Hath he stricken thee? fly back, for in striking him again thou shalt give him both occasion to strike often & an excuse for striking: thou canst not be parted from him when thou wilt. Would any man strike his enemy so grievously, that he should leave his hand in the wound, and could not recall himself from the stroke? but wrath is such a weapon as it cannot scarcely be recalled. CHAP. XXXV. WE furnish ourselves with convenient arms with a sword not long or over short, The fi●t to discharge our sel●es of that which hindereth us so much as Anger doth. shall we not avoid the impulsions of the mind more grievous, more furious, and irrevocable than these? we take pleasure in that Gelding that stayeth as soon as he is rained in, that keepeth him in his ordinary pace, that knoweth when to turn, and which may easily be brought back to the place where he began his first carrier. We know that our nerves are out of frame, when as they are moved against our wills. He is either aged or of a weak constitution who when he would walk, runneth: we suppose those motions of the mind to be the healthfullest and strongest, which are disposed at our pleasure and not as they list. But nothing hath profited us so much as first, The sixth consideration, the deformity of Anger. to behold the deformity of a thing, and afterwards the danger. There is no passion more deformed than this which spoileth the fairest faces of the World and maketh those eyes dreadful which before time were peaceable. All seemliness abandoneth those that are angry, and if he be as decently arrayed as any man can desire, he will draw his gown aside, The description of wrath both i● b●die and mind. and will cast of all care of himself. If the hair of his head be naturally or artificially well trimmed, a man shall see it stare and stand upright. If the spirit be moved, the veins swell, the breast is shaken with violent breathing, the voice in issuing forth puffeth up the neck with fury. The joints tremble, the hands shake, all the body is tossed like a Pinnace in a tempest. In what estate thinkest thou is the mind inwardly, when such deformity showeth itself outwardly? How more terrible is the inward countenance? how more violent the breath? how more intended the passion, which would burst itself, A living description of anger. unless she enforced her passage? Such is their countenance, as the enemy hath, or wild beasts imbrued with slaughter, or of such as are addressed to spoil and slaughter. So deformed furies as the infernal monsters are imagined by the Poets; begirt with Serpents and breathing fire. Such as the most dreadful monsters of Hell assume unto themselves, when they issue forth to enkindle wars, to sow discord amongst Nations and to dismember peace. In such manner should we picture out anger, that hath fiery fury in her eyes, a cry compounded of puffing, lowing, mourning, and other such confused and dreadful noyces, shaking in both her hands her direful weapons without care of covering her body, frowning, covered with blood and wounds: yea mortified with strokes which she hath given herself, her gate ridiculous and furious, all her behaviour confused and confounded, running here and there to overthrow all that which she meeteth with all, hated of all, and above all things wishing her own death. And if she cannot do worse, desirous to tear Heavens, Seas and Earth, from their places, in brief no less hurtful than hateful. Or if a man will behold her in such sort as our Poets describe her: She in her hand shaketh a bloody whip. or, Having her cote or in many pieces rend, And with the blood of guiltlsse men besprent. Or if any man may imagine any more horrible face of a horrible passion. CHAP. XXXVI. The use of a glass good to refrain Choler. SOme (saith Sextius) that were angry have profited themselves by looking into a looking glass, for they were troubled in beholding so great a change in themselves, in that they knew not themselves at that time. But how little was that which this image reflected from the glass to represent and express their true filthiness and deformity? if the mind might have been seen, and might shine, and show itself in any matter, she would confounded us in beholding her so sordid, so enraged, so deformed, and puffed up. And now as yet her loathsomeness is so great, that she passeth thorough bones, and flesh, and whatsoever other impediments. But what if she were seen naked. For I believe that no man is terrified from wrath by beholding a glass: what then? he that came unto a looking glass to reform himself, had already conformed himself. They that are angry have no seemly countenance, their looks are dreadful and cruel, and such would they seem to be as they desire to be. Rather aught we to consider this how many men wrath hath armed to wound themselves. The seventh remed●e, is to consider how many men he hath reigned. Some thorough to much rage have burst there veins, and by force of crying have vomited blood, and abundance of humour being thrust into their eyes hath dulled and dimmed the sight and the clearness thereof, and such as were sick have relapsed into diseases. There is no more swifter way unto madness then this. Many therefore have continued the fury of their wrath, neither could recover again that understanding that they themselves exiled. Fury provoked A●●x to death, and wrath put him in fury. They wish death to their children, poverty to themselves, ruin to their houses● and deny themselves to be Angry, resembling those that are furious, who being enraged say they are not mad. Most friendly to their enemies, most dangerous to their dearest friends, forgetful of Laws except they may hurt thereby, incensed upon the lest occasion: neither affable in speech nor company or entertainment. They do all things forcibly, they are addressed to fight with their swords & to die on their swords. For a mighty evil hath surprised them, and such as exceedeth all other vices. Other sins enter by little and little, the force hereof is sudden and universal. To conclude she keepeth all other affections in subjection, and conquereth the most vehementest love. The conclusion is that choler is an extreme evil and the rather because it spareth no other vices. They have therefore murdered the bodies whom they have loved, and even enfolded in there arms: whom they have fitted to their graves. Wrath hath spurned at avarice, the most indurate and least flexible evil, enforcing her to scatter her riches, and to set fire on his house and goods, when they were all gathered together. What hath not the ambitious man cast away his so long affected tokens and titles of majestracie, and repulsed that honour which was offered unto him? There is no affection over which wrath hath no power. The end of the second Book of Anger. A TREATISE OF ANGER, WRITTEN BY LUCIUS ANNAEUS SENECA TO HIS FRIEND NOVATUS. The third Book. The Argument of JUSTUS LIPSIUS. HE prosecuteth the other part of the remedy against Anger, which he placed in the midst of his former Book, but differred the same. That we sin not in Anger, that is that we refrain the same and repress it; which is performed in divers sorts. But it must be done always and presently in a headlong, and unbridled affection which ARISTOTLE excuset●h: But he accuseth him, and once more discovereth the loathsomeness of Anger. These things performeth he until the fourth Chapter. Than groweth he to division alleging that he will speak of three things. First, how we may not be angry. Secondly, how we may be freed from Anger. Thirdly, how we may pacify and please such a one as is Angry. These although in other places he performeth with repetition of the former, yet performeth he it worthily, and profitably till the end of the Book: and thou shalt have golde● and divine admonitions and sayings. CHAP. I To refrain wrath in such manner as we o●●ht, we must leanne the natures of men that are attainted therewith. NOW, my Novatus, will we attempt to do that which thou thyself hast most instantly desired, namely, how we may root out Anger out of our minds, or at leastwise bridle it and inhibit the assaults thereof. This must be done sometimes openly and in all men's sight, when as yet the force of the evil is as yet so small as it cannot endure it: sometimes secretly when as it is to much inflamed and is exasperated and increaseth upon every impediment. We must consider what forces she hath, and how entire they be. Whether she is to be chastised and driven back, or whether we aught to give pl●ce ●nto her, whilst the fi●st tempest be pacified for fear lest she carry away those remedies with her, that should reclaim her: and consideration is to be had, according to every one's manners. For some are overcome by prayers, some insult, and are exasperated by submission: Some are overcome with terrors● some hath reproof, other some confession, the third hath shame revoked from their purpose, and some by delay, which is the true though slowest remedy of these so headlong passions, whereunto at the last we must descend. For other affections admit delay, and may be healed by little and little, but the sudden and headlong violence of Anger proceedeth not leisurely, but is wholly entire in the beginning. Neither doth she solicit men's minds after the manner of other vices, but she transporteth them, but vexeth them being no Masters of themselves, and that are as desirous of their own evil as of an others. She showeth herself not only furious against that she undertaketh, but against all that which casually encountereth her in the way. All other vices incite the mind, wrath casteth i● down headlong. The rest although they cannot resist their affections, at lest the passions themselves maintain themselves, this no otherwise then lightning and tempest and other impressions of the air (which are sudden and fall in an instant) reinforceth itself and increaseth more and more. These other vices are estranged from reason, this is wholly destitute, and is a fury. The rest have light accessions and decieveable increases; in wrath the minds of men are prostituted and dejected. There is no passion more astonished, that urgeth more, nothing that employeth his forces more desperately, and swiftly, or whether it be that she get the upper hand (which maketh her more proud) or whether she hath been repulsed (which inflameth her with fury) she giveth not over, neither retireth although she have been repulsed; and when Fortune presenteth her not with any adversary she striketh and biteth herself, provided that she may maintain herself: For her beginnings are small, but she becometh marvelously great. CHAP. II. She overslippeth no age, That all ages, men, and people are attainted with Anger which may not be said by other passion●. she excepteth no kind of men. Some Nations thorough the benefit of poverty a●e exempted from dissolution, neither know they what it is: some others have fled Idleness, because they are still in travel and wander from one Country to an other. They that live rudely and rustikely have never used trumperies, nor fraud, nor any of those mischiefs which are bred in places more frequented. There is no Nation under Heaven, whether they be Greeks' or Barbarians, how puissant soever they be, that can say that they are exempted from the assaults and instigations of anger, no less pernicious to those, who are subject to certain Laws, as to those whose Law is force and amongst whom the strongest is the greatest. To conclude those other passions invade men in particular● but wrath is the only passion that layeth hold upon all men. Never was it seen, that one only Nation was supprised with the love of one only woman. Neither hath a whole City fixed their hopes upon money and lucre. Ambiton seizeth this or that man only. Tyranny hath not dominion in all places. But oftentimes anger hath possessed whole troops, men, women, old young, Princes and their people have gathered together to satisfy Anger. And a multitude being incensed by two or three words of him that lead them the way, A lively representation of public fury. were moved to mutiny. Forthwith have they addressed themselves to ●ire, and he that for his eloquence wa● accounted gracious in all men's eyes, in the midst of honour and the height of his Discourse, hath purchased the displeasure of the whole Assembly. The Legions have darted their javelins against their general. The people have bandied against the Senate, and without expecting the elections or the nomination of Chieftain of the Army, have suddenly of themselves chosen out Captains to execute their furious designs, and rushing into the houses of men of honour, and the best Citizens, have executed and put them to death. They have broken the laws of Nations by outraging Ambassadors, and unspeakable fury hath possessed the whole City, they have not allowed time, to the end the public insurrection might be pacified, but incontinently have armed their Navy, and manned it with the first Soldiers they could get. Without order, without respect of ancient ceremonies the people have issued forth, being guided and governed by their own fury, laying hold on whatsoever weapons came casually to their hands, armed themselves therewith, and finally by a great and miserable overthrow, have received a ●ust punishment for their rashness and audacious ●ollie. CHAP. III. THis is the end of those Barbarians, who run thus inconsiderately to war, as soon as any appearance of injury hath seized their light brains: they are suddenly moved, and whether despi●e driveth, they rush in desperation into those Regions which they intent to spoil, without apprehension of danger, or observation of discipline; contrariwise, they seek out misfortunes, they take pleasure to receive wounds, and to run in furiously upon the points of the sword, and to make them way by the wounds which they received. It is not to be doubted, sayest thou but that the effect of choler is very great and dangerous, show us therefore some remedies and means how it may be healed. But as I said in my former Books, Aristotle stands forth, and pleads for Anger, and wills us not to extinguish it wholly in us. He ●●geth against Aristotle who maintaineth Ang●r, and showeth the baseness and villeiny thereof. He allegeth that it is the spur of virtue, and that if a man be deprived thereof, his heart is disarmed, and he becometh recreant, idle, and unable to execute any great attempts. It is very needful therefore to reprove the villeiny and beastliness of this vice, and to set before men's eyes how monstrous a thing it is for a man to be so hatefully and violently bend against another, and what fury is in him who ruinateth himself in ru●ning another, and pretending to plunge and drown certain things in the Sea, he cannot effect his purpose but by plunging and drowning himself. What then? Will any man call him sensible or discreet, who being surprised as it were with a tempest goeth not but is driven, and serveth a furious passion? Neither commanded other to execute his vengeance, but he himself will be agent to perform it, having his heart and hand stretched out to satisfy his cruelty, and without sparing (fierce hangman that he is) his own and only friends, yea, and those whom after he hath massacred, he will presently mourn for. Is it possible that any man should admit this passion for an abbeter and companion, and virtue who shutteth out all counsels, without which virtue can execute nothing. Frail and sinister are those ●orces, and powerful to their own prejudice, into which the sickness and the violence of the fit have driven the sick patiented. Think not therefore that I employ myself unprofitably in defaming Anger, as if men already doubted thereof. I do it because there are some found amongst the Philosophers of greatest note and reputation, See Aristotle in the fourth book of his morals● chap. ●1. who hath pleaded for her and said that she is profitable, and animateth the mind unto battle, and that in human actions and all other affairs, we aught to manage them with some vigour. But lest any man should be deceived, or should imagine, that either in a certain time and place it was a thing that were profitable, it behoveth me to discover the violent and unbridled rage thereof, and set her do 〈◊〉 withal her equipage, such as are her racks, her nerves and strings, her jails her gibbets and s●akes to be burned at, and books to drag dead bodies, divers sorts of shackles, divers sorts of tortures, the tearing of the flesh and members, the branding in the forehead, the dens of savage beasts. Let Anger be placed amongst all these instruments where she may gnash her teeth, and whistle out some direful and horrible noise, being of herself more hideous than all that whereof she maketh use to execute her fury. CHAP. FOUR CErtainly although we call the rest in question; The continuation of this description, and a lively representation of Anger. yet is there no passion more deformed than this, as in our former Books we have presented her fierce and furious, sometimes pale, having suddenly repulsed all her blood to the heart, then inflamed again, as if her whole heat and spirit were mounted again into her countenance, having her colour bloody, her veins swollen, her eyes sometimes quivering an sparkling, sometimes fixed and se●led upon something. Moreover, she hath teeth that grind, crack one against another, desiring to devour some one, and making such a noise as wild Boars are accustomed to do when they rub and sharpen their fangs. Add hereunto the beating of her hands and breast, her often sighs, her groans, drawn from the depth of her heart, the agitation of her whole body, her speech intercepted with sudden exclamations, her trembling lips sometime closed and mumbling divers menaces. I believe that the wild beasts being pressed by famine, or that bear an arrow fixed in their entrails, yea, and then likewise when they are at their last bay, are not so hideous as a man inflamed with choler. But if you will spare a time to hear her speeches and menaces, which the heart uttereth with tormented rage, would not every man incontinently retire himself from such a danger, when he shall perceive that Anger beginneth by his own misery? Wilt thou not therefore have me admonish those, who do all that they can, to make it known, that they are choleric, and think it to be a proof of their value, that a man transported with choler cannot be called courageous and free, but feeble and slave unto all others? Wilt thou not suffer me to advertise those that are more circumspect to look about themselves, that some other passions of the mind do invade the wicked, but Anger stealeth into the hearts of the most learned Clerks, and that otherwise behave themselves like good men, so that some men think Anger to be a token of simplicity, and ordinarily we suppose that he that is most honest, hath his part of this infirmity. CHAP. V How hurtful wrath is, and the th●●● principal remedies thereof. WHereto then tendeth this Discourse● To the end that no man should suppose himself to be warranted from this passion, because she induceth those men that are modest and peaceable by nature, to become rude and violent. Even as a good disposition of body, and the care to maintain ourselves in health, prevaileth nothing against the plague, which indifferently layeth hold both on w●ake and strong; so in Anger there is a danger as well for them that are disordered, as for those men that are sober and peaceable, and have care of themselves, the more the trouble, which Anger causeth in th●m is great. But for as much as the first remedy is not to be angry, the second to refrain Anger the third to remedy another man's Anger, I will first of all show th● means how to avoid Anger, secondly, how we may discharge ourselves of Anger, if it beginneth to be enkindled in us; thirdly, in what sort we may pacify a man that is displeased, and temper and reduce him to reason. We shall subdue Anger, if from time to time we represent unto ourselves all those vices that are hatched under this passion, and if we consider the same as we aught, with all her dependences and appurtenances; we must accuse her before ourselves, condemn her, examine her infirmities, and lay her open to view; then compare her with the most detestable vices, to the end that as yet we may be better instructed what she is. Avarice gathereth and locketh up for a honest man that is not covetous: wrath consumeth all, and gratifieth very few, and is welcome to none. An angry Master hath driven some of his servants to run away, some hath he put to death's when as he lost more by being angry, then that was for which he was angry: wrath hath made the father mourn, the husband to be divorced, the magistrate to be hated, and the Candidate to be repulsed. It is worse likewise then riot, because she taketh pleasure in her own delights, this in another man's sorrow. She surpasseth malignity and hatred; for they are contented to see any man become unhappy, this will make them unhappy; the other two rejoice at those evils which come casually, she cannot expect fortune, she will hurt him whom she hateth, and will not be hurt. There is nothing so grievous as secret hatred, but wrath concealeth it. What is more lamentable than war? therein is it that men discover their displeasures. Moreover, that public and private Anger is a weak and forceless war. Furthermore without recounting those damages which we will add hereafter, nor of ambushes, nor of perpetual care● which engender so many quarrels, wrath intending to revenge herself punisheth herself, she is the canker of human nature. For Nature inviteth us to amity, Anger to hatred; Nature commandeth us to assist one another, Anger to hate one another, the one commandeth us to profit, the other to hurt. Add hereunto, that whereas indignation proceedeth from an over great suspicion of himself, and seemeth to be courageous, yet is she weak and infirm; for no man is less than he by whom he suspecteth himself to be contemned. But a man that is truly valiant, and that knoweth his own worth, revengeth not an injury, because he feeleth it not. Even as arrows recoil back if they be shot at some stony and hard mark and such solid things as are strucken, procure his grief that striketh them; so is there no injury that may pierce a great heart, it is far weaker than that she attempteth. How far more worthy a thing is it to despise all injuries and contumelies, as if the mind● were impregnable. Revenge is a confession of pain. The mind is not great which is animated by injury. Either a stronger than thyself, or a weaker ●ath wronged thee; if he be weaker than thyself, spare him, if mightier support thyself. CHAP. VI THere ●s no one more certain argument of true magnanimity, then if thou resolve thyself, The effects of true magnanimity, approved by a fit comparison. that nothing may befall thee that may move thee. The highest and 〈◊〉 governed part of the world, and nearest to the stars, is not troubled with clouds, not subject to tempests, nor afflicted with storms: there is no tumult in the same, the inferior heavens push forth lightnings. In like sort a sublimed and high spirit is always quiet, and placed in a peaceable station, restraining in himself that, whence Anger borroweth an occasion of contention: it is moderate, venerable and settled. But thou shalt find none of these in an angry man: for who is he that is betrayed to sorrow and fury, that hath not rejected his former modesty? Who is he that is turbulent in passion, and incensed against another man, that hath not dispossessed himself of all shame fastness? What man is he that is displeased, that keepeth any measure, or remembr●th him of his due●y, or containeth his tongue, who hath been Master of any on● part of his body; who could govern himself? That notable lesson of Democritus to find out the true repose will profit us infinitely, If we do nothing either privately or publicly that exceedeth our forces. Never do things succeed so happily unto any man who intermeddleth with many affairs, but that sometimes by some one man, or from the affairs themselves, there ariseth some fault which disposeth the heart unto Anger. Even as he that traveleth hastily thorough the frequented streets of a City, must meet with many men, and in one place ●●●p, in another be stopped, and in a third be besprinkled with dir●; so in the travail & walks of this life, so confouded and confused, there happen many impediments and many quarrels: the one hath deceived our hope, another hath deferred it, another hath intercepted it, the events have not been answerable to our expectation. Fortune is not so addicted to any man that she yieldeth him every way correspondence in his manifold attempts. It followeth therefore that he knoweth not what it is to endure men, nor the estate of human affairs, who thinks that any thing befalleth him otherwise then he made reckoning of. To the end therefore that the mind may be quiet, it is not to be ●ossed, neither as I said; troubled with the managing of many affairs, nor to be charged with mighty affairs, and such as exceed her strength. It is an easy matter to carry light burdens, and to cast them from one shoulder to another, without letting them fall. But if any one hath loaded us, and the burden be heavy, we carry it with much labour, and finally we discharge it upon those that are nearest us, or if we pant under the burden by reason we are over laden, it is hard for us to go forwards or backwards without staggering. CHAP. VII. How requisite mediocrity and temperance are in managing the affairs of this ●i●e, and intemperating and quieting the mind. KNow thou that the same falleth out in civil and domestic matters. Those affairs that are ●as●y and light, accompany him that doth them, those that are overgreat and exceed his might, that acteth them, are uneasy to compass, and after a man hath laid hold of them, they puzzle and oppress him that carrieth them: finally when he thinketh that he hath best hold of them, he stumbleth, falleth, and his burden rolleth down upon him, and troubleth him. Thence falleth it out often times, that he who undertaketh difficult matters, and would make them easy, is frustrated of the most part of his thoughts. In all thine enterprises, measure thyself together with those things which thou wilt manage, and whereunto thou addressest thyself, otherwise the displeasure thou shalt conceive in leaving thy work unperfect, will make thee marvelously pensive. In this place we aught to observe whether a man be of a violent spirit, or settled, or fearful: In a generous mind, repulse will enkindle wrath, in a faint and abject mind, sadness: Let therefore our action be neither too small nor too audacious, nor too wicked; let us follow those things that are answerable to our hope, let us attempt nothing, that when we have attained the same, will make us wonder at the success thereof. CHAP. VIII. Noble observations for all men. LEt us take order that we receive not such an injury which we cannot disgeast. Let us lead our lives with temperate and familiar men, not with those that are troublesome and foolish: men invest their manners with whom they are conversant. And as some infirmities of the body are derived and transported by attouchment, so the soul communicateth her infirmities and passions, to those that approach her. A Drunkard hath drawn his companion into love with wine, and the company of dissolute fellows hath effeminated a man who should be as hard as the rock. Avarice empoysoneth those that devil near unto her; contrariwise, there is the same reason as is touching virtues, which moderate all things that are with them: neither was any profitable country or wholesome air more healthful for man's body, then for good minds that are scarce settled to converse with good men, which thing how available it is thou shalt understand, if thou consider how wild beasts are tamed by men's handling, and how the fiercest beast layeth by his fury, if he hath long time been under the discipline of a man. That which is furious in her is lenified and tempered by little and little. Moreover he that converseth with peaceable and good men, not only becometh better by reason of their example, but in as much likewise as he findeth no occasions to be displeased; he is not in practice of the passion. He aught therefore to fly from all these, who in his knowledge are disposed and easily provoked unto Anger. And who are they, sayst thou? many such as upon divers causes will do the same. The proud man will offend thee with contempt, the rich man with contumely, the lascivious man with injury, the hateful man with malignity, the quarrelsome by contention, the boaster and liar by vanity. Thou wilt not endure to be feared by a suspicious man, to be overcome by an obstinate, to be scorned by an effeminate man. Make choice of simple facile and moderate men, who will neither provoke thee to wrath, nor be mou●d though thou offend them. But as yet more profit shalt thou reap from submiss, courteous, and affable men, yet not so pliant as they may prove flatterers, for too much flattery offendeth angry men. I had a friend & he an honest man, but yet otherways too ready to be moved, who was as little pleased with flattery as he was with reproof. It is well known that Caelius the Orator was extremely choleric with whom, as it is reported, there supped a client of his within his chamber, who was endowed with singular patience, but hard was it for him being met with such a companion, to avoid his displeasure, with whom he supped. He therefore thought it to be the best to smooth him up in whatsoever he said, & to give way to him. Caelius could not endure this smoothing, but exclaimed. Speak somewhat against me that we may be two. But he also because being angry, he saw the other pacified & silent gave over his displeasure, because he had no adversary. Let us therefore at leastwise make choice of these (if we by privy to our own imperfections) that will apply themselves to our manners and discourse, undoubtedly they will make us delicate and bring us into an evil custom, not to give ●are to any thing that is displeasing unto us, yet shall this profit us, that they allow us some intermission and quiet in our error. A hard and untamed nature likewise will endure a flattering and affable entertainment. Nothing is harsh and displeasing when we smooth and handle it gently. As often as the disputation shall be longer or more eager, let us resist at first before it be enforced. Contention nourisheth itself and lays hold on those that fly her. It is easier for a man to abstain from a debate, then to retire himself. CHAP. IX. Moreover such as are angry aught to forbear all serious studies, The fourth expedient against Anger is neither to charge that mind or body to much. or at lest wise they are to exercise them without lassitude, and the mind aught not to be busied in many things, but to be entertained with more pleasing studies. Let the reading of Poets pacific him, and the overloking of Histories content him with varieties, let him be handled more tenderly a●d delicately. Pythagoras pacified the perturbations of the mind by his Harp. But who knoweth not that Clarions and Trumpets do wonderfully move? and that there are some strains of voice and music which make the mind tractable? Great things are profitable for confused eyes, and there are other colours that content the feeble sight, and the brightness of some other doth blemish them, so the study of pleasant stories doth comfort languishing spirits. We must fly the places, the pleas, and courts where audience is given, all which do exulcerate the mind, and beware likewise to weri● our bodies. For lassitude consumeth all that which is sweet and plausible in us, and awakeneth that which is sharp and stirring. For this cause they that have no good stomach intending to employ themselves in some matters of importance, are accustomed to repress the choleric humour which travel stirreth over much, by eating some little thing, and the rather because hunger extinguisheth natural heat, hurteth the blood, and stayeth the course thereof, by reason that the veins are traveled, or because the body being attenuated & faint encountereth the soul. Undoubtedly for the same cause & consideration sick-men & old men are subject unto anger. And therefore for the same causes are hunger & thirst to be avoided because they exasperated & inflame men's minds. CHAP. X. The fifth expedient is, the knowledge th●t we aught to have of ourselves and the infirmities of our minds. IT is an old saying, That it is easy to drive a wearied man into the frets. As much may be said of him that is a hungry, of him that is dry, and by every man that is displeased at any thing. For as ulcers upon every light touch, and afterwards upon a show of touching, seem painful, so the mind that is affected, is offended with the lest things, in so much as a salutation, an Epistle, an Oration, and Interrogation provoke them to displeasure. Such as are pained, are never touched without complaining. And therefore it is the best to take medicine upon the first sense or appearance of the sickness, in like sort to give no liberty to our discourses, but to refrain them carefully. But when the passions begin to take head, and burst forth it is an easy matter to restrain them. There are certain signs which go before a sickness. Even as tempests and showers have certain signs before they fall, so Anger, love, and all these storms which vex the mind; have certain tokens to presage them. Such as are subject to the falling sickness understand that their fit is at hand, when as the tops of their fingers and toes are cold, when their sight is darkened, when their memory faileth them, when their head turneth, and their nerves are contracted; Than have they recourse to their accustomed remedies to prevent their fall● that is at hand: by potions or perfumes they drive away that sickness which in this sort alieneth their senses, with fomentations they resist the conflict of their cold, and the rigour of their infirmity. If these remedies relieve them not, they retire themselves apart and fall where no man seethe them. It shall profit a man much if he know his disease, and if he be experienced to cut of the violence thereof, before it hath gotten power to exspaciate. Let us consider what it is that offendeth us most. One man is moved by bitter words, another by some outrages that are offered him. This man will have his nobility supported, that man his beauty. Such a one desireth to be reputed a gallant fellow, that other to be most learned; this man is impatient of pride, that other of contumacy. He thinketh his servants unworthy to draw him to displeasure. The other is a Tyrant within doors, and gentle without. Such a one thinketh himself mocked, if he be entreated. That other a contumely if he be not requested. All men are not strooken in one place. CHAP. XI. The sixth means to bridle Anger. Be not too curious. THou must therefore know what is weak in thee, to the intent that most of all thou mayst prevent the same: it is not expedient for us to see all things, nor to hear all things. Let many injuries pass by us, and he that endeavoureth himself not to know them, is for the most part waranted from them. Wilt thou not be angry? be not curious. Who inquireth what is spoken against himself? Who will ●ound and search out what evil speeches are spoken by him secretly, doth himself disquiet himself. An evil interpretation maketh us suppose that a word which is spoken by us is a great outrage. Some things therefore are to be differed, some things to be deludred, and somethings to be pardoned. Wrath in divers sorts must be circumscribed, and divers things are to be turned to jest and sport. They say that Socrates having received a box on the care, said nothing else but: That it was a great fault, A notable example. that men knew not when they should come abroad with a helmet upon their heads. It skills not how the injury be done, but how it is suffered. Neither see I why moderation should be a hard matter, when as I knew that the minds of certain Tyrants being puffed up by fortune and liberty, have repressed that cruelty which was familiar unto them. It is reported that Pisistratus a Tyrant in Athens, when as a certain Drunken man, that sat at banquet with him, had spoken many things against his cruelty (and there wanted not some● who would have executed whatsoever he should have commanded, and one man on this side, and another on the other, laboured to enkindle his displeasure) that he took all things patiently, and answered those, that provoked him after this manner: That he was no more angry with him; then if a blindfold fellow having his eyes tied up should run upon him. The greater part of men have bred quarrel to themselves; either by suspecting false things, or by aggravating small things. CHAP. XII. OFtimes Anger seeketh us out, The seventh means not to seek out evil occasions, and if they proffer themselves to repulse them. more oftentimes search we her, which is never to be called for, but even then when we light upon her, than aught we to reject her. No man saith unto himself; This for which I am displeased, either I have done myself, or else I might have done it. No man estimateth the mind of him, that committeth the fault, but the fact itself. Yet this is to be looked into, whether he did it wittingly or casually; whether he were compelled or deceived; whether he did it for hatred or reward; whether of his own accord or by another man's instigation. Furthermore, the age and fortune of him that doth this is to be respected much, to the end we may support the one with sweetness, the other with respect. Let us put ourselves in his place against whom we are displeased; now doth the wrong estimation of ourselves make us angry, and those things which we would do we will not suffer. Each man is not patiented; but the greatest remedy against wrath is delay, that the first fury thereof may be repressed, and that mist which dulleth our minds either may be dispersed, or be less thick. There are some of those things which carry thee away headlong, which I say, not a day but an hour may rectify, some of these will wholly vanish. If in this case we demand delay, it than appeareth that it is not Anger but reason that commandeth. What soever it be thou wouldst know what it is, deliver it into the hands of time. A man cannot diligently observe that which passeth away swiftly. Plato could not obtain any delay from himself when he was angry with his servant, but commanded him presently to lay by his coat, and to yield his shoulders to the strokes of the whip, which he himself would l●y on. After he knew that he was angry, he withdrew his hand that was ready to strike, and struck like unto him that was like to be stricken. Being afterwards demanded by his friend, who came thither by chance, what he did? I (saith he) chastise a man that is angry. This wiseman, astonished at this his deformed countenance and gesture, took no more heed to his slave, because he had found another, whom he aught rather to have chastised; he therefore deprived himself of that authority over his servants; and notwithstanding because his servant had committed some fault that was worthy punishment, he said unto SPEUSIPPUS, I pray thee chastise my servant with strokes, because I am angry. He beateth him not for that which another had beaten him: I am angry, said he, I shall do more than I should. I will do it more willingly. Let not this servant be in his power that is not Master of himself. Will any man commit revenge to a wrathful man, since Plato hath taken his authority from himself? Let nothing be lawful for thee as long as thou art angry: why? because thou wilt have all things lawful for thee. Fight thou with thyself, if thou canst not overcome thine Anger, she beginneth to overcome thee; if she be hidden, if we cannot give her issue, let us bury the signs thereof, and let us as much as in us lieth keep it hidden and secret. CHAP. XIII. The eighth means. Contain thine Anger inwardly, and show it not outwardly. THis cannot be done but with great labour; for she desireth to leap out to inflame the eyes, and to change the face: but if she may once show herself without us, she is above us. Let us hide her in the lowest retreat of our breasts, and let her there be concealed, but so, as she transport us not; and which is more, let us change all her signs, & all her marks to the contrary, let our countenance be more peaceable, our voice more tempered, or pace more settled; let us by little conform both the interior and exterior parts. It was a sign of Anger in Socrates when he humbled his voice and spoke sparingly; for at that time it appeared that he resisted himself. He was therefore both perceived and reproved by his familiars; neither took he in ill part to hear the reproof of his concealed Anger. Why should he not rejoice because many understood his Anger, no man felt it, but it had been perceived, except he had given his friend's power to chide him, as he himself had assumed the authority to reprove them. How much more aught we to do this? Let us entreat every one of our dearest friends at that time, especially to use his most liberty against us, when we are lest able to endure him, neither let him flatter with our Anger. Against so powerful an evil, and so gracious in our eyes, let us call for our friends help whilst our eyes are opened● and we are Masters of ourselves. CHAP. XIIII. Now by example expr●ss●th he the effects of choler. THey that can hardly bear Wine, and that fear the folly and insolence of drunkenness, command their servants to carry them from the place where they solemnize their festivals. They that have the experience, that their intemperance hath been the cause of their sickness, forbade their servants to give them their wills during the time of their infirmity. It is the best for it to provide some impediments against known vices, and above all things so to compose our minds, that although it be shaken by the most grievous and sudden accidents that may be, it either feel not wrath, or to restrain and embase the weight of the injury, that hath been unadvisedly offered him, without discovering his grief. That this may be done, it shall appear manifestly, if out of a great many examples, I shall produce some few, out of which a man may learn both how great evil anger hath in it, when she useth the power of the most mightiest men, and how much she may command, as soon as she is kerbed by a greater fear. Cambyses the King, Herodot. lib. 3. a Prince too much subject to wine, was admonished by Prexaspes, who was one of his Minions, to drink less, saying, That drunkenness was a loathsome thing in a King, who was followed by all men's ears and eyes. To this he answered, To the end thou mayest know (said he) that I am never out of temper, I will presently approve that after wine both mine hands and eyes can do their office. Hereupon he began to drink more freely than otherwise he was accustomed, and in greater cups, and being thus loaden and drunk with wine, he commanded his son who had reproved, to get without the door of the Palace, and laying his left hand on his head, to stand there uprightly; then bent he his Bow, and with the Arrow he shot, divided he the young man's heart, as he had protested to do, and opening his breast he showed him the head of the Arrow sticking in his heart, and looking back upon the father, he said, Now Sir, is not my hand steady? who denied that Apollo could have shot with better level. The gods confounded him, more slavish in mind then in condition; for praising such an action whereunto it was overmuch for him to be an assistant. He thought he had gotten a good occasion to flatter, when his sons breast was divided into two parts, and the heart as yet panted under the wound: he should have contested for glory against Cambyses, and challenged him to a second proof, whether he could as rightly hit the heart of the father, as he had don● of his son. O cruel King, worthy that all his subjects bows should be bend against him. When we have cursed him that ended his banquet● with punishments and funerals, we cannot but detest Praxaspes for his unnatural commendation of the shot● as well as Cambyses for shooting it. We see how the father should have demeaned himself, being upon the dead body of his son, and witness of the murder whereof he was the cause. That which is now in question appeareth that choler may be suppressed. He cursed not the King, neither uttered he one word of compassion, although his heart were as much wounded as that of his sons. It may be said, that he deservedly devoured his words, for had he spoken any thing as if he had been displeased, he could have done nothing that became a father. It may seem, saith he, that he behaved himself more considerately in that case, then when he reproved Cambyses for his immoderate drinking; and it had been better for him to have suffered him to drink wine then blood, who having the cup in his hand, and being occupied in drinking, suffered others to live in peace: he was therefore to be numbered for one of those, who to their great miseries have made it manifest, how dear good counsels cost them who are Kings favourites. CHAP. XV. I Doubt not but that Harpagus had spoken some such like thing to his Master Astyages King of Persia, The second example of Astyages and Harpagus. by reason whereof he was so much incensed, that he feasted the old man with the flesh of his children, and afterwards asked him how ●ee liked the dressing. Afterwards, as soon as he saw that he was glutted with his own miseries, he commanded their ●eads to be brought forth, and asked him, How he liked them? The wretched man wanted no words, he faltered not in his speech, but said, With a King every supper is pleasant. What profited he by this flattery? This, that he● was not invited to the relics of the banquet. I forbidden not the father to condemn the King's action, I forbidden him not to seek a condign revenge for so horrible an injury; but this in the interim will I say, that wrath which ariseth from extreme evils may be hidden, and be constrained to speak wholly contrary to his mind. This restraint of sorrow is necessary for those especially who haunt the Court, and are invited to Prince's Tables. Thus must they eat with them, thus must they drink, thus must they answer, thus must they smile at their children's funerals. Let us consider whether life be a thing that should be so much set by, although it concern not this matter. Shall we take pleasure to remain in so loathsome a prison? Shall we counsel ourselves to continued under the yoke of murderers? Contrariwise, we will make it known, that in all oppressions the way of liberty is laid open to us. If the mind be infirm and miserable through his own fault, he may end his miseries in himself. I will say both to him that attended the King, who shot his arrows against the hearts of his friends, and to him whose Master glutted the father's stomach with his children's bowels. Why mournest thou mad man? Expectest thou that some enemy destroying thy nation, or that some puissant King marching out from a far, Two stoical and profane resolutions, touch not too near these rocks, left they● sink thee. shall revenge that injury which is done unto thee? On what side soever thou turnest thyself, there is the end of these miseries. Seest thou yonder steepy place? from thence mayest thou descend to thy liberty. Seest thou that Sea? Seest thou that River or that Pit? Liberty sitteth in the bottom thereof. Seest thou that short, withered, and fatal tree? Liberty dependeth thereon. Seest thou thou thy throat, thy we sand-pipe, thy heart? These are the means to escape servitude. Thou showest me too dangerous and busy means to escape, and such as require a great mind and courage. inquirest thou which is the way to liberty? Every vein in thy body. CHAP. XVI. AS long therefore as there is nothing in our opinion so intolerable that it should expel us out of life, Of the patience which is requisite in adversities. let us remove Anger from us in whatsoever estate we shall be. Pernicious is she to those that serve; for indignation serveth not but to increase her torment, and the commandments that are given her seem to be more grievous and troublesome, the more obstinately she suffereth them: so the wild beast, the more he struggles in the net, the more is he entangled: so birds, whilst fearfully they shake off the birdlime, entangle and snare all their feathers. There is none so hard a yoke that so much hurteth him that bears it willingly, as him that repineth against it. The only remedy of the greatest miseries is to suffer them willingly, and to apply himself to those necessities which present themselves. But whereas this continency is profitable for those that serve, so the bridling of affections, and of this especially which is so furious and unbridled, a passion is most necessary for Kings. All things go to wrack when fortune permitteth as much as Anger persuadeth; neither can that power continued long which is exercised to many men's miseries: for great men put themselves into marvelous danger, when common fear joineth those together who lament in their particular. divers therefore of them have been slain by several persons, and sometimes by the whole multitude, when sorrow hath constrained them to join their displeasures in one. But divers have so exercised their Anger, as if it had been a Kingly matter. Amongst these was Darius, he (after he had extinguished the Empire of the Magies) overcame the Persians', and a greater part of the East. For having denounced war against the Scythians that dwelled about the country, a Noble and ancient Gentleman called Oebasus, besought him that ●e would leave one of his children behind him, to be a comfort to his father, and content himself with the service of two of them, he promised more than he required at his hands, and that he would dismiss them all; hereupon he caused them to be slain, and cast their bodies down before their father's eyes, to the end he might not be esteemed cruel, if he had carried them away all three. CHAP. XVII. But how much more facile was Zerxes, The fourth example of Zerxes and Pithius, Herod and Plutarch. who when Pithius the father of five sons, required the dismision of one of them, which soever he pleased, gave him leave to choose him whom he best liked, and afterwards when he had made his choice, dividing that son into two pieces, he cast them on either side of the way, and by this sacrifice purified his army? But this Prince was chastised according to his demerits: for after he had been overcome and discomforted on every side, and beheld the heaps of dead soldiers on every side, he marched thorough the midst of their murdered carcases. Such was the natural fury of barbarous Kings, ignorant and enemies of good letters● whence ensued Anger. But I will bring thee forth Alexander out of Aristotle's school, who in midst of his festivals, and with his own hands murdered his own friend Clitus, who had been brought up with him, because he could not flatter, and from a Macedonian and free man would not become a servile Persian. He likewise exposed Lysimachus (who was as familiar with him as the other) to the fury of a Lion. But did this Lysimachus (who had so happy fortune to escape the teeth of a Lion) for this cause become more mild, when he obtained a kingdom? no. For he cut of the nose and ears of Telesphorus the Rhodian, who was his dear friend and afterwards (as if he had been some strange beast) kept him closed in a cage, wherein he fed him, being unable to observe any thing of a man in him, by reason of the deformity of his face, of hunger and filth, and his ordure, wherein this poor Creature lay buried; having his knees and hands hardened, because the cage was over low for him; and would not suffer him to stand, upright. Besides by reason of often rubbing himself his sides were all flayed so that he seemed loathsome and dreadful to all those that beheld him, and being made a Monster by this punishment, he lost also all compassion. Yet when he was most unlike v●to a man, who suffered these things, yet was he more unlike, who did the same. CHAP. XVIII. I Can have wished that this cruel passion had remained amongst the Barbarians, Other examples taken out of the Roman histories. and had not taken possession of the hearts of us that are Romans, with other vices drawn from ●orraine Countries, and with the fury of divers new punishments, and means of revenge. Marcus Marius, in whose honour the people had raised Statues in every street, to whom with frankincense and wine the Romans sacrificed as to a god. By Lucius Sylla's command had his leg broken, his eyes pulled out, and his hands cut off; and as if he had killed him so often as he wounded him, by little and little, he piece-meal drew every part of him in peec●●. Who executed this commandment? Who could it be but Catiline? Who at this time exercised his hands in all heinous stratagems. He cut this poor body in pieces before the Tomb of Quintus Catulus, troubling with extreme insolence, the reverend Ashes of the mildest man of his time, on which Marius a man culpable in many kinds (yet agreeable to the people and not without cause, although it may be that it was more than reason) shed his blood drop by drop. Worthy was Marius to endure those things; Sylla to command it, and Catiline to execute it. But unworthy was the commonweal to receive into her body at once, the swords both of her enemies and Citizens. Why seek I out so far-fet examples? Not long since Caius Caesar caused Sextus Papinius, whose father had been a Consul, and Bollenius Bassus who had been Thresurer, and the son of his procurer, and other Senators and Roman Knights, to be whipped and tormented in one day, not because they had offended, but for his mind sake. Again, so impatient was he to differ his content, which his immeasurable cruelty incited him to take without delay, that walking in an Ally of his mother's garden, which separateth the porch from the river bank, he beheaded some, with divers Ladies and Senators by torchlight; what is that which provoked him? what danger either public or private threatened him to execute those persons by night? Was it so great a matter to stay till day light? But he would not have his Pantofles on, when he caused Romans and Senators to be murdered. CHAP. XIX. Here continueth he the monstruous description of Caligula●● cruelties. HOw proud his cruelty was, it shall be material to examine: although some may esteem that we wander from th● purpose, and contain not ourselves in the right path, but this shall be a prank of worth enraged above ordinary. He had caused Senators to be whipped: yea, so great was his insolence that it might be said, that it was an ordinary matter. He had subjecteth them to those torments and so cruel; that might be possibly invented, as to train them and broke them by ropes, to torment them by pressing, by rack, by fire, and by his furious countenance. And in this place, some may answer and say, what a trifling matter is this, if three Senators were like base slaves whipped and burned, by such a man who daily meditated on the death of the whole Senate, who wished that the Roman people had but one head; to the end that there so many offences committed in so many places and times, might be punished in one struck, and at one time? What hath been less heard of then night punishment? Whereas thefts are wont to be hidden by night: and punishments, the more public they be, the more profit they for other men's example and amendment. In this place some will answer me; That which thou so much admirest at, is this beasts daily exercise. He liveth for this, he watcheth for this, he studieth for this; Truly there shall no other man be found that had government, ou●r these whom ●e commanded to be punished, that stopped their mouths with a sponge, for fear lest they should have liberty to speak. What every dying man had not this benefit to bemoans himself? But he was afraid, lest some extreme pain should make any man utter his mind boldly; and he feared likewise le●t ●● should hear● those things which he would not. He knew also that there were many other infinite things, which no man durst object against him, except it were such a one that was ready to suffer death. When as sponges were not in readiness, he caused the wretch's garments to be cut in pieces, and to be thrust into their mouthes● what cruelty is this? Let it be lawful for a man to draw his la●t breath; give place to the Soul that she may freely departed; Let her be suffered to have passage by some other way, then by the wound which the body hath received. CHAP. XX. IT were too long a matter to add unto these, The cause why he made mention of Caligula●s cruelties. how many of their fathers whom he had put to death, were murdered the sam● night by the hands of Centurions, by the command of this pitiful Prince, who thought good by these means, to deliver the fathers from bewailing their children's deaths? For my intention is not to discover Caius cruelty, but the misery of Anger, which not only executeth her fury against one man or other, but also spoileth whole Cities and Nations, and beateth rivers also which are free from all sense of pain. As Cambyses King of Persia, Cambyses br●tish rage. who cut off the noses of all the people in Syria, by means whereof the place was afterwards called Rhinocolura. Thinkest thou that he spared them, because he cut not off their heads? He took delight in a new kind of punishment. Such like should the AEthiopians have suffered, who by reason of their long life, are called Macrobij. For against these, because they entertained not willingly the subjection that was offered them, but gave free answers to those Ambassadors that were sent unto them● which Kings call contumelious. Cambyses was mad at them, and without provision of provant and victuals, without discovery of the Country, by unhaunted and sandy ways, healed all his troops that were ●it for the war, which after the first days march wanted victuals, neither did the barren and unmanured Country, untracted by any foot, minister them any thing. First satisfied they their hunger with the tender leaves and tops of trees, then by leather mollified by ●ire, and whatsoever necessity had made meat. But when as amidst the sands both roots and herbs failed them, and the desert was found void of all living creatures, they killed every tenth man, and thereby had sustenance more dreadful than famine; yet notwithstanding, all this Anger carried the King on headlong. Having lost one part of his Army, and eaten another, until such time as he feared lest amongst others that were called, the lot should fall on himself, then at length sounded he a retreat. In the mean space, the best fowl was kept for his use, and the instruments of his banquets were carried upon Camels, whilst his Soldiers cast lots which of them should die miserable, and which of them should live worse. CHAP. XXI. THis man was angry with a Nation unknown unto him, and innocent of themselves, yet such as had he prospered should have tasted of his fury. But Cyrus was angry with a River: For marching on diligently to the war, the greatest moment whereof consisteth in taking opportunities and intending to surprise Babylon, he attempted to pass over the huge River of Gind, which was scarcely passable in the height of Summer, and when the water is at the lowest. There one of those white horses which were wont to draw his Kingly Chariot, was carried away violently by the stream, whereat the King was mightily moved; and swore that he would bring that River which had carried away his Princely baggage to that pass that even very women should be able to get over it without wetting their shoes. Which said, he employed all his forces herein, and continued so long that having digged nine score channels to turn the River, he afterwards reduced it into three hundredth and sixty arms or brooks, so that that great channel became dry, the waters being drained by so many other ways. Thus spent ●e the time which is an irrevocable loss in affairs of consequence, thus abated he his soldiers courage, who were broken by unprofitable labours, and had lost their occasion and preparation for the assault, whilst he having proclaimed war against his enemies, grew at odds with a River. He returneth to Caligula by his example to make Anger odious, and to enkindle others t● mercy, he showeth the mid behaviour of Antigonus. CHAP. XXII. THis fury (for what else canst thou name it?) seized the Romans likewise. For Caius Caesar overthrew a fair house of pleasure which was builded for pleasure near to Ponzol, because sometimes his mother had been kept prisoner in it, and made the fortune thereof notable hereby. For when it stood: the passengers that ●a●led by, inquired what it was, and now they demand why it is ruined. And as well oughtest thou to think on these examples, to the end to avoid them, as on those on the contrary part which thou art to follow, which are both moderate and gentle; who neither wanted cause to be angry, nor power to revenge themselves. For what was more easy and facile for Antigonus? then to command two of his Soldiers to be put to death, who lea●ing upon the Royal tent, did that which men do most dangerously and willingly that think evil of their Prince. Antigonus heard all that they speak, because betwixt them that talked, and him that heard there was but a Tapestry, which he softly pulled aside, and said Get somewhat farther of for feare● lest the King hear you. The same Prince upon a certain night, when he had heard certain of his soldiers detesting and cursing him divers ways, who had led them into that journey and dirty march, came unto them that were most displeased, and whereas they knew not by whom they were helped, he satisfied them, and said: Now curse ANTIGONUS by whose fault you were drawn into these miseries, but wish him well, notwithstanding who brought you out of this bog. The same as patiently endured the reproaches of his enemies, as of his Citizens. When as therefore the Grecians were besieged in a small Castle, and contemning the enemy by reason of the place jested upon Antigonus deformity, and sometimes derided his low stature, otherwhiles his hooked nose. I am glad said he, and, conceive some good hope if I have SILENUS in my Campe. This was Bacchus' companion and the eldest amongst the Satyrs. After he had overcome these brabl●rs by famine, he used the captives in such sort, that he placed those that were fit for war amongst his own companies and the rest he sold by the Crier, and this he said, he would not have done unless it had been expedient for them to have a Governor who had so bad tongues. His Nephew was Alexander, who darted his javelin against his table-guests, who of these two friends which he had, as I told you a little before, made the one a pray to a Lion, the other to himself. But of both these, he that was delivered to the Lion lived. CHAP. XXIII. He had not this vice either from his grandfather or his father: The second example of great mildness and mercy. for if there were any other virtue in Philip it was this, that he was patiented in all reproaches, which is a mighty instrument for the safety of a Kingdom. Demochares, who for the liberty and petulancy of his tongue was called Parrhesiastes, came unto him amongst other Athenian Ambassadors, and having courteously given audience to their Embassage, Philip said, Tell me if I may do any thing that shall be grateful to the Athenians. DEMOCHARES undertook the answer, and said, G●e and hung thyself. They that stood about him were displeased at so unhuman an answer, whom Philip commanded to be silent, willing them to dismiss that Thersites safe and sound. But you (saith he) the rest of the Ambassadors, tell the Athenians that they are more proud that speak thus, than they that hear them spoken without revenge. AUGUSTUS' CAESAR spoke, and did many things that were worthy memory, whereby it appeareth that he was Master of his own Anger. Timogines the writer of Histories had spoken somewhat against himself, somewhat against his whole family; neither lost he that which he had spoken, for an audacious kind of jesting is the soon entertained and divulged by every man. Caesar oft-times gave him warning hereof, and wished him to use his tongue more moderately, and seeing that he persevered, he forbade him his house. After that Timagines lived till he was very old, in Asinius Pollio's house, beloved of the whole City, notwithstanding Caesar's repulse, every man's doors was open to him. Afterwards he recited and burned those Histories which he had written, and cast those books into the fire which contained the acts of Augustus Caesar: and thus waged he war with Caesar. No man for all this refused his friendship, no man fled from him, as though he were blasted: there was always that gave him entertainment in the height of his disgraces. All these, as I said, Caesar endured patiently, neither was he moved therewith, notwithstanding that Timagines had violated both his praises and actions. He never was displeased with him that entertained his enemy, this only said he to POLLIO, Thou nourishest a beast; and when he addressed himself to give him an answer, the Emperor prevented him, and said, He is at thy command POLLIO, much good do it thee with him. And when as Pollio said, If thou commandest me CAESAR, I will presently forbidden him my house. What said he, thinkest thou? I will do this, who have reconciled both of you and made you friends? For Pollio in times past had been angry with Timagines; neither had he any other cause of dislike towards him, but because Caesar had entertained him. CHAP. XXIIII. What profit a man should take of the precedent examples, and what considerations besides th● we aught to annex, the better to refrain Anger LEt every man therefore say unto himself as often as he is provoked, Am I more powerful than Philip? yet he patiently suffered disgraces without revenging them. Can I do more in my private house then Diws Caesar thorough the whole world? yet was he content to lock up his gates against him that had slandered him. Or why should I for a bold and jesting answer, a proud look, or the grumbling and untowardness of my slave, expiate his fault with whips and fetters? Who am I that no man dare offend mine ears? Many have pardoned their enemies, shall not I pardon such as are sluggish, negligent, and branglers? Let age excuse a child, her sex a woman, liberty a stranger, familiarity a domestic. He offended me but even now. Let us bethink ourselves how often he hath contented us; But oft-times hath he offended otherwise? Let us endure that which we have suffered long. He was my friend: he did that which he pretended not. Is he an enemy? He did that which he aught to do. Shall we endure a wiseman? let us pardon a fool. Whatsoever befalleth us, let us say unto ourselves, that the wisest commit many errors, and that no man is so circumspect whom Anger doth not sometimes take tardy: none so mature and stayed, either in his words or actions, whose gravity may by fortune be drawn into some inconsiderate action: no man so fearful to offend, that whilst he flieth from offences, falleth not into them. CHAP. XXV. A continuation of the profits we gather by the precedent consideration. EVen as a poor man taketh comfort in his misery, when he seethe other great men's fortune stagger, and with a more temperate mind hath bewailed his sons death in a corner of his chamber, who seethe the woeful funerals of the heir of a Kingdom solemnised and borne forth; so with a more peaceable and contented mind shall he endure to be harmed and contemned by another man, whosoever bethinketh himself that there is no Potentate so great, who is not, or may not be attempted with injury. And if the most wisest do offend, let us thin●e with ourselves that there is no fault which is not excusable. Let us consider how oftentimes our young years have been scarce diligent in performing duties, immoderate in speech, scarce temperate in wine: if he be angry, let us give him tim● wherein he may consider what he hath done, and he himself will reprove himself; in conclusion, he will punish himself, yet for all this must not we be angry. This is undoubtedly true, that he hath exempted himself from common men, and raised himself to a higher degree, that despiseth such as provoke him. For it is the property of true magnitude, not to feel that he is strooken. So hath a furious beast, stalking a long with a settled pace looked back on those Dogs that barked at him. So do the enraged billows of the Sea insult in vain against an immovable rock. He that is not angry hath never been shaken by injury, he that is angry is moved: but he whom for the present I have mounted above all incommodity, with a certain embrace entertaineth the chiefest good, being equal not only to himself, but also to fortune. Whatsoever thou dost, thou art not great enough to obscure the brightness that enlighteneth me. Reason to whom I have assigned the conduct of my life, defendeth the same. The Anger will hurt me more than the offence; and why? Because there is a certain measure in the offence, but I know not how far mine Anger will transport me. CHAP. XXVI. But, A pertinent answer to those that allege that they can endure n●thing, for by this means they deprive themselves of that excellent happiness which courtesy produceth. sayest thou, I can endure nothing, it is a grievous matter to me to sustain an injury. Thou liest: for who cannot endure injury that can suffer Anger? Furthermore, thou pretendest to charge thyself with injury and Anger both at once. Why sufferest thou the cries of a sick man, the strange speeches of a lunatic, and the strokes of thy little children? Forsooth because they seem to be ignorant of what they do. What skilleth it by what error any man becometh imprudent, since imprudence is an equal excuse for all those that are attainted therewith? What then, sayest thou, shall he remain unpunished? Think that thou wouldst, yet it shall not be so: for the greatest chastisement that a man may receive who hath outraged another, is, to have done the outrage, and there is no man that is so rudely punished, as he that is subject to the whip of his own repentance. Moreover, it behoveth us to regard and consider the condition of human affairs, to the end we may be upright judges of all accidents. But he is unjust who upbraideth a private man with that imperfection which is common to all. If a man be black amongst the Moors, or hath a red head, and curled after the manner of the Almains; this is no dishonour to him, but becometh him well. That which is common to a whole nation, defameth not a particular: but those things that I have set down before, depend but on the custom of one country, which is but a little corner of the earth. Consider therefore whether it be not an easier matter to excuse it, which is the practice of the whole world. We are all of us inconsiderate and improvident, all of us uncertain, irresolute, and ambitious. But why hide I a public ulcer under milder words? We are all of us naughts. Whatsoever therefore is reprehended in another, that shall every man find within his own bosom. Why observest thou his bleakenesse of colour, his leanness of body? It is a common plague. Let us therefore be more temperate one towards another, we live evil men amongst evil men: there is one thing only that can make us quiet; a mutual facility in conversation. This man hath now injured me, but as yet I have not harmed him; yet now perhaps hast thou hurt some body, or at leastwise thou wilt hurt. CHAP. XXVII. EStimate not this hour or this day, How much the consideration of our weakness heartneth against Anger, which is the ninth means to refrain it. look into the whole habit of thy mind, if as yet thou hast done no evil, yet canst thou do it. How far better is it that an injury should be salved then revenged? Revenge consumeth much time, exposeth herself to many injuries whilst she is stung with one. We are all of us more long time angry than we are hurt; how far better is it to take another course, and not in this sort to sort vices together? Should a man be thought well in his wits if he should kick at a Moil with his heels that had strooken him, or tear a Dog with his teeth that had bitten him? These, sayest thou, know not that they offend. First of all, how unjust is he who is displeased when men come unto him to reconcile themselves? Again, if it restrain thee from being angry with beasts, because they are destitute of reason; in the same rank number him that doth something without judgement: for what skilleth it if he resemble not beasts in any other thing, in the fault which excuseth beasts, he showeth himself as brutish as they be? He hath offended; for this is the first and this is the last. Thou hast no cause to believe him, although he saith, I will not do it again. Thou shalt see that he will once more offend thee, and another him, and the whole course of life shall be travailed with errors: we must handle savage things courteously. That which is wont to be said in sorrow, may effectually be spoken likewise in Anger. Whether wilt thou give over once or never? If once, it is better to leave off Anger, then to be left by Anger: but if this fault shall always continued, thou seest how unquiet a life thou denouncest to thyself, as it befalleth him who is always swollen up, and incensed by wrath. CHAP. XXVIII. The tenth means, not to seek any occasi●● of displeasure. furthermore, if thou thyself seek not the occasions and means to provoke thine Anger, and if thou enkindlest not thy displeasure, thou shalt see it departed from thee of her own motion, and time will weaken it daily. How far better is it for thee that thou shouldest surmount her, then that she should be Mistress of thee? Thou art angry now with this man, now with that man, now with thy slaves, anon after with thy francklins, now with thy father or mother, now with thy children, with those of thine acquaintance, then with such as thou hast but newly met withal: for the occasions present themselves in every place, except a peaceable mind contain and govern us. Fury will drive thee hither and thither, and as new provocations shall arise, thy rage shall be continued. Go to unhappy man and when is it that thou wilt love? O how good time losest thou in so bad a thing? How far better were it now to get thee friends, and to mitigate thine enemies, to govern the Common weal, to transfer thy endeavours to the government of thy family, then to look about thee what injury thou mayest do another man. What wound thou mayest inflict either on his dignity, or his patrimony, or his body? When as this cannot befall thee without contention and danger, although thou encounter with thine inferior. Although thou see him tied hand and foot, and that he be in thy power to do with him whatsoever thou pleasest, oftentimes it hath been seen that a man in striking another with all his force, hath put his shoulder out of joint, or his arm, or hand, or else in biting hath broken his teeth, and spoiled his gums. Anger hath made many men lame, and hath weakened many; yea, even then when she hath gotten matter of patience. Add hereunto, that there is not any thing so feeble in this world, The eleventh consideration, is, t●at we hurt our ●●●ues more th●n ●● do our enemies. that perishes without putting him in danger that would crush or break it. Sometimes grief, and sometimes casualty hath matched the strongest with the weakest. And which is more, the most part of those things which move us, do harm us more than we hurt other men. But there is a great difference whether a man oppose himself against my pleasure, or whether he hinder it not, whether he take it from me, or give it me not. But we accounted it all one whether a man take from us any thing or deny us; whether he cut of our hopes, or differ them: whether he be against us, or for himself; whether for the love of another man, or the hatred he beareth us: But some have not only just, but also honest causes to stand against us. The one defendeth his ●ather, the other his brother, another his uncle, the third his friend. Yet pardon we not those that do these things, which should they not do; we would condemn them: nay more which is incredible, oftimes we allow of the deed, but condemn the doer. CHAP. XXIX BUT yet assuredly every great and just man affectioneth and well respecteth him amongst his enemies; The twelf●, beware to con●ound t●y judgement and hate not him whom thou praisest, and lest of all him whose misery requireth thine assistance. that most valiantly and adventurously behaveth himself, for the liberty and conservation of his Country, and wisheth himself such a Citizen and such a Camerado as that is in his dangers. It is a shameful thing to hate him whom thou praisest but how far more shameful to hate any man, for that for which he is worthy of mercy: if any one being taken prisosoner, retaineth as yet some remanders of his liberty, and showeth not himself so ready in base and troublesome businesses, if having thorough idleness gathered so much fat, that he cannot come so swiftly as his Master's horse or coach: if wearied with all days travail he sleep; if he refuseth to labour in the fields or doth not bestow himself so, as a stout peasant should do; by reason he had lived in a City, where he had much ease, and that now he is tied to a business that is tedious and continual, let us consider whether he cannot do that which we would require at his hands, or if he will not do it: we shall bear with divers men; if we endeavour ourselves to judge before we be displeased. But now we believe that which the first assault of our passion buzzeth in our ●ares; afterwards although we b●e moved upon no ground: yet persever we lest we should seem to have begun without any cause, and that which is most damnable, the iniquity of wrath maketh us more obstinate. For we nourish and increase the same as if it were an argument of just Anger, to be grievously angry. How far better is it to examine the beginnings, and to consider how harmless? That which thou seest fall out in bruit beasts, the same shalt thou discover in man, we are troubled with frivolous and vain things. CHAP. XXX. A Read colour exasperateth Bulls, The thirteenth, Except thou wilt become a beast be not moved at frivolous and vain matte●s as they are accustomed to do that are overtaken by Anger. the Asp is enkindled in the shadow, a white Cloth provoketh Bears and Lions. All things that nature hath made fierce and dreadful are astonished at a little matter. The same befalleth disquiet and foolish minds. They are strooken with suspicion of things, and in such sort as some times they call moderate benefits injuries, in which the most frequent, but the most, yet truly the most urgent causes of choler consist. For we are angry with our dearest friends, because they have done us less courtesy than we expected, than other men have done us; when as there is a present and ready remedy for them both. Hath he favoured another man more? let us delight ourselves with ours without comparison: he shall never be happy, that tormenteth himself at an other man's felicity. I have less than I hoped for? But happily I have hoped more than I aught. This part is most of all to be feared. Hence arise most dangerous displeasures, and such as invade the most holiest and blessedest things of the World. julius Caesar was killed by a greater number of his friends, then of his enemies: whose immeasurable hopes he had not satisfied. Such was his intention, neither ever was there any man that carried himself more better, or more liberally, when he became Master of his enemies, for he challenged nothing to himself, but the power to distribute; but here could he satisfy so many importunate desires, when as all men desired so much as one man could? He saw therefore with naked daggers, those followers of his about his throne; and amongst the rest Tullius Cimber, who before time had been an affectionate partaker of his, and those other, who after the death of Pompey were become Pompeians. CHAP. XXXI. The fourteenth Have more respect to another m●ns good then to th●ne own and never think that tho● hast obtained to little. THis very passion hath raised the subjects against their Prince, and urged the most faithful to conspire the death of those, for whom and in whose presence, they had desired in times past to lose their lives. He that hath respect to another man's good, neglecteth his own. And thereupon we are angry with the gods likewise, because some one man outstrippeth us, forgetting ourselves how much and how important envy followeth them at their backs, yet so great is the importunity of men, that although they have received much, yet suppose themselves to be indignified, because in their iudgement●● they are capable of more. Gave he me a Praetorship? but I looked for a Consulship. Gau● they me twelve Maces? yet they made me not an ordinary Consul. Would he have me to undertake the charge of numbering the year? but he failed me in the election, when I sought for the Pontificial dignity. Have I been brought into the College of Bishops and Augurs? but why in company? Hath he consummated my dignity? but he hath allowed nothing towards my charge and patrimony: He gave me that which he aught to have given to an other, he added nothing of his own. Rather give thanks for those things which thou hast received, expect the rest, and rejoice, because that as yet thou art not full. Amongst all other pleasures, it is no small one, to see that there is somewhat remaining, for which thou mayst hope. Hast thou sped better than any other? rejoice, because thou art the first amongst others that hath thy friends heart. Do many exceed thee? consider that the number of those that march after thee, surpasseth those whom thou followest. CHAP. XXXII. ASkest thou me what is the greatest vice in thee? The fi●thteenth, to disg●st t●y wrath a li●●le & take leas●ue to consider what command●ment the passion hath over ●h●e, and whereupon it is founded. thou forgest false considerations, thou highly prizest thine own gi●tes, and neglectest others. Let one thing deter us in an other. Let us be afraid to be angry with some for reverence sake, let us forbear other, and for pity sake endure other some. Undoubtedly we shall perform a goodly piece of work, if we shut our unhappy slave in prison. Why are we so ha●tie to beaten him: and so sudden to break his legs? this power will not be lost, if it be deferred. Let that time come wherein we may be Masters of ourselves. Now speak we out of passion: when she is quailed, then shall we see how weighty this debate is. For in this especially are we deceived. We come to knives, to capital punishments: and by bonds, imprisonment, and famine, we revenge the crime which should be chastised by whipping and slighter punishments. How (sayst thou) commandest thou us to consider, how all those things, whereby we seem to be harmed, are trifling, miserable, and childish? But I for mine own part would persuade nothing more than to take upon us a great mind, and to examie and see how these things for which we quarrel run and sweat, after how humble and abject they be, and such as are not to be respected and thought upon by any man, that thinketh on any high or magnificent matter. There is much brabbling about money, she wearieth the Courts of Pleas, she sets the fathers and children together by the ears, she mixeth venoms, she delivereth swords as well into the hands of the executioner, as of the soldier, she it is that is imbrued with our blood. For her are the marriage beds of man and wife filled with brawls, for her the Tribunals of Magistrates are over-pressed with throngs Kings are enraged and ransack countries, and overthrow Cities, which were builded by the labour of ma●y age's, to the end that Gold and Silver might be sought out in the ashes of the City. CHAP. XXXIII. IT pleaseth me to behold those caskets of money that lie heaped in a corner. The sixteenth, That all our goods are not worth half the labour we employ upon them and the busy care to enjoy them is a wretchles misery. These are they for which men weep out their eyes, for which the iudgement● Hals are confused with muttering, for which judges being nominated out of remote Countries sit in judgement to sentence whether of both party's avarice is most just. What if it be not for a bag or casket of moni●, but for a handful of silver, or for a penny borrowed or lent to a man's slave, an old man without hei●es and ready to die, is ready to burst with Anger● what if for less than the thousand part of a man's interest, a sickly Usurer with crooked limbs and lame hands only left him to number his money, crieth out and in the very violence of his accessions, crieth out for money to his suerties● If thou bring me forth whatsoever money that is curran● and usual in all kind of metals, if thou cast before me whatsoever treasure, which avarice would bury against after she had digged it up, I think that all this heap is not worthy to furrow up the brow of a good man. How much are they to be laughed at, for which we spend so many tears? CHAP. XXXIIII. PRosecute the rest somewhat further I pray thee, and consider the eating and drinking, and all that proud equipage that dependeth there upon, so many labours to keep the house clean, so many strokes given, so many outrageous speeches, and so many unseemly countenances, suspicions resty jades, Idle slaves, wicked reporters of other men's words: for from all these it cometh that in the end some think that nature hath done men wrong, in giving them the faculty of speaking. Believe me we are bitterly angry for such slight things, and for which children are wont to be froward, and to scratch one another. There is nothing serious or great in all that which we do with so much care & thought. Thence groweth your Choler & Fury because you esteem these things great which are nothing. Such a one would have taken away my goods, that man having long time had a good opinion of me, hath finally defamed me, this man would have corrupted my minion. That which should be the link of lou● which is to will one thing, is the cause of hatred and sedition. CHAP. XXXV. A more exact description of this n●ti● of wrath which is tormented at trifles and things of no moment. THE way that is strait moveth quarrel amongst those that pass thorough it. That which is open and large is over narrow for Armies that encounter together. These things which you desire because they are small, neither can be transferred to one except they be taken from an other do incite quarrels and troubles amongst those that affect the same things. Thou art angry if thy frackling or thy wife or thy retainer answer thee, & afterwards thou complainest that the commonwealth hath lost all liberty, which thou thyself hast exterminated out of thine own house. Again if thou speak unto thy servant, and he answer thee not thou termest it disdain and rebellion. Thou wilt have him speak, thou wilt have him hold his peace, thou wilt have him laugh, what before his Master sayest thou I before the Father of the family. Why criest thou? why chidest thou? what moveth thee in the midst of thy supper to call for scourges; because thy servants talk or because thy attendants are not seruiceble, or because no man answers thee? Hast thou no ears but to hear Music, and pleasing songs and words well fitted and pleasing? yet must thou hear men laugh, cry, flatter, pl●●d, tell joyful and tragical news, and men's tongues and the cries of divers Cre●tures. Poor man why art thou affrighted at thy seruant● cry, at the ●inging of a Basin, at the noise of a door that is opened and locked? although thou be so delicate, yet must thou hear the crack of thunder. That which is spoken of the ●ares, may be transferred to the eyes, which are no le●●e troubled with objects when they are badly addressed: for they are offended at a spot, or soil, or silver plate badly cleansed and their tin platters; if they shine not at the sun. For these eyes that are delighted with nothing but Marble and jasper finely polished, that like no table except it be of costly wood, and well carved, which will not fix themselves in the house, except on these things that are g●ilded and embossed; without doors with content enough, behold the rugged and dirty ways and the most part of those that meet with them badly clothed, and the walls of Cities half ●aten away, ruined and unequal. CHAP. XXXVI. WHat is the cause then why that which offendeth them not abroad, The eighteenth, Give over to corrupt thy senses and call thy mind every day to a reckoning. chafeth and troubleth them thus in their houses, but an equitable and patiented opinion in public, but a crabbish and quarrelsome disposition at home? All our senses are to be brought to a conformity. By nature we are patiented, if our mind cease to corrupt them, which is daily to be drawn unto an account. This did Sextius, that when the day was spent and he retired himself to rest, was wont to examine his mind after this manner. What infirmity in thee hast thou healed this day. What vice hast thou resisted? In what part art thou bettered? Anger will cease and become more moderate, if she knows that every day she must appear before a judge. What therefore is more laudable than this custom, to examine our daily actions? What sleep followeth after this scrutiny? how quiet, pleasing, and free is it, when either the mind is praised or admonished, and being a watchman and secret censor of himself, examineth his defects? I use this power, and daily plead before myself, when the candle is taken from me, and my wife holdeth her tongue, being privy to my custom. I examine the whole day that is past, and ruminate upon actions and words. I hide nothing from myself, I let slip nothing: For why should I ●eare any of mine errors, when as I may say: See thou do this no more: for this time, I pardon thee. In that dispute, thou speakest more rashly, see that hereafter thou contend not with such as are ignorant, they will never learn, that never learned. Thou hast more freely admonished such a one than thou oughtest, and therefore thou hast not amended him but offended him. In regard of the rest, see not only whether it were true which thou spakest, or whether he to whom it was spoken can endure to hear truth. CHAP. XXXVII. A Good man rejoiceth when he is admonished, The nineteenth, That it is unposble to continued in life except thou refrain choler. a wicked man cannot brook a reprover. At a banquet some men's bitter jests and intemperate words have touched thee to the quick? Remember to avoid the vulgar company: after Wine men's words are too lavish, and they that are most sober in their discourses are scarce modest. Thou sawest thy friends displeased with the Porter of a Counsellors chamber, or some rich man because he would not suffer him to enter, and thou thyself being angry for this cause growest in Choler with the cullion. Wilt thou therefore be angry with a chained dog, who when he hath barked much will be pacified with a piece of bread? get farther of him● and laugh. He that keepeth his Master's door, and seethe the threshold besieged by a troop of solicitors, thinketh himself no small bug, and he that is the Client thinketh himself happy in his own opinion, and believeth that so hard an access into the chamber is an evident testimonies that the Master of the same is a man of great quality and a favourite of Fortune. But he remembreth not himself that the entry of a Prison is as difficult likewise. Presume with thyself, that thou art to endure much. If a man be cold in Winter; if he vomit at Sea, if he be shaken in a Coach, shall he marvel hereat? The mind● is strong and may endure all that whereunto he is repaired. If thou hast been seated in a place scarce answerable to thine honour, thou hast been angry with him that stood next thee, or with him that invited thee, or with him that was preferred before thee, Fool as thou art, what matter is it, in what place thou art set at the table, a cushion cannot make thee more or less honest. Thou wert displeased to see such a one, because he spoke evil of thy behaviour. Art thou at that point? by this reckoning then En●ius in whose poetry thou art no ways delighted, should hate thee, and Hortensius should denounce war against thee, and Cicero if thou shouldest mock his verses, should be at odds with thee. CHAP. XXXVIII. The twentieth and last to take profit by the examples of patience and m●●knesse. WHen thou suest for an office dost thou not peaceably entertain those that give their voices to the election, although they nominate not thyself? Some man hath disgraced thee? what more than Diogenes the Stoic was, who discoursing one day very effectually upon the subject of Anger, was scornfully spit upon by a froward youngman; this injury entertained he both mildly and wisely. Truly (saith he) I am not Angry, yet doubt I whether, I aught to be angry. But our friend Cato demeaned himself better, whom as he pleaded a cause; Lentulus that factious and seditious fellow in the time of our forefathers, hawking up from the depth of his stomach a thick and filthy spittle, blew it right into the midst of his forehead. For in wiping his face he said no other thing but this. Truly LENTULUS I will now maintain it against all men that, they are deceived, who say thou hast no mouth. CHAP. XXXIX. NOW my Novatus we are already instructed how to govern our minds, if either they feel not wrath, or be superiors over it. Let us now see how we may temper other men's Ire, for not only desire we to be healthful ourselves, but to heal others. We dare not attempt to moderate and pacify the first anger by persuasion: ●or ●he is deaf and mad: We will give her some time; remedies are best in the declination of favours, neither will we attempt her when she is inflamed, and in fury, for fear lest in striving to quench, we enkindle the same; the like will we do in respect of other passions. Repose healeth the beginning of sicknesses. How much (sayst thou) doth thy remedy profit, if it pacify, Anger when of herself, she beginneth to be pleased? First it is the cause that it ceaseth the sooner, than will it keep her lest she fall again, and shall receive the passion itself which he dare not pacify it. It shall remove all instruments of revenge, it shall feign displeasure, to the end that as a helper and companion in her sorrow, it may have more authority to counsel her, it shall coin delays, and whilst she seeketh greater punishments, defer the present. It shall by all means give rest and remission to fury, if she be more vehement it shall either induce shame or fear in her, against which she shall not be able to resist; if she be weak it shall invent discourses, either grateful or new, and wind her away with a desire of knowledge. It is reported that a Physician when he had a King's daughter in cure, and could not perform the same without the means of a lancet, that whilst he gently handled her Pap that was greatly swollen, he conveyed his lancet into a sponge, and so opened it. The maiden had repined should he have ministered the remedy openly, and she because she suspected it not, suffered the pain. CHAP. XL. SOme things are not healed except they be deceived. To one of these thou shalt say, How by words well applied, or by authority we may have over men, wrath may be pacified. Beware jest thy wrath be pleasing to thine enemy. To another, Take heed jest the greatness of thy mind, and thy reputed courage in all men's judgement he brought in question. Truly I am displeased with him, and that beyond measure, yet must we stay our time, and we will be revenged. Conceal thy displeasure a while whilst thou mayest, and we will pay him home double. But to check him that is angry, and to oppose thyself against him, is to cast oil on the fire. Thou shalt attempt him divers ways, and after a friendly manner, except happily it be so great a person, that thou mayest diminish his wrath, as Augustus Caesar did when he supped with Vedius Pollio; one of the servants had broken a crystal glass, whom Vedius commanded to be carried away, and to be punished by no ordinary death: for he commanded him to be thrown amongst his Lampreys, which were in kept a great Fishpond. Who could otherwise think but that he did it to entertain his excessive pleasures? The boy escaped out of their hands, and fled to Caesar's feet, desiring nothing else but that he might die otherwise, and not be made meat for Fishes. Caesar was moved with the novelty of the cruelty, and commanded him to be carried away, yet willed that all the crystal vessels should be broken in his presence, and that the Fishpond should be filled up. So thought Caesar good to chastise his friend, and well did he use his power. Commandest thou me to be dragged from the banquet, and to be tortured by new kinds of pnnishment? If thy cup be broken shall men's bowels be rend in pieces? Wilt thou please thyself so much as to command any man to death where Caesar is present? CHAP. XLI. THus aught we to oppose ourselves against a powerful person, to the end that from a more eminent place a man may assail a wrath that is intractable, Now addresseth he himself to exhortation, persuading us ●o avoid ●urie. and such a one as this whereof I lately told you, fierce, cruel, bloody, which could not now receive any cure, but by the fear of a thing more greater than itself. Let us give repose unto our minds, which we shall do if we dilate continually upon the precepts of wisdom, and the acts of virtue, and likewise whilst our thoughts desire nothing but that which is honest. Let us satisfy our conscience, let us do nothing for vain glory sake, let thy fortune be evil, so thine actions be good. But the world admireth those that attempt mighty matters, and audacious men, are reputed honourable, and peaceable are esteemed sluggards. It may be upon the first sight, but as soon as a well-governed life showeth that it proceedeth not from the weakness, but the moderation of the mind, the people regard and reverence them. So then this cruel and bloody passion is not profitable in any sort; but contrariwise, all evils, fire, and blood feed her, she treadeth all modesty under foot, embrueth her hands with infinite murders; she it is that teareth children in sunder, and scattereth their limbs here and there; she hath left no place void of heinous villeynies, neither respecting glory nor fearing infamy; incurable, when of wrath she is hardened and converted into hatred. CHAP. XLII. The continuation of those persuasions which are easi● to be practised, especially if we consider the shortness and incertainty of our lives. LEt us abstain wholly from this vice, let us purge our mind and pull up those passions that are rooted in it, whose holdfast be it never so little, will spring again wheresoever it is fastened; and let us not only moderate our Anger, but wholly root it out, and drive it from us. For what temper is there in an evil thing? But we may, if so be we will endeavour; neither will any thing profit us more than the thought of mortality. Let every one say unto himself, as if it were unto another, What helpeth it us, as if we were borne to live ever, to proclaim our hatreds, and misspend so short a life? What profiteth us to transfer those days which we might spend in honest pleasure, in plotting another man's misery and torment? These things of so short continuance would not be hazarded, neither have we any leisure to lose time. Why rush we forward to fight? Why beget we quarrels against ourselves? Why being forgetful of our weakness, embrace we excessive ●atreds? And being ready to break, ourselves rise up to break others. It will not be long but either a favour, or some other infirmity of the body will prevent these hatreds which we hatch in our implacable minds. Behold death at hand, that will part these two mortal enemies. Why tempest we? why so seditiously trouble we our life? Death hangeth over our heads, and daily more and more lays hold on him that is dying. That very time which thou destinatest to another man's death, shall be the nearest to thine own. CHAP. XLIII. ●he con●lu●ion, wherein he discovereth summarily the goods that proceed from a peaceable life, & ●he c●●ls that are c●us●d by Anger. WHy ra●her makest thou not use of this short time of thy life, by making it peaceable both to thyself and others? Why rather endeerest thou not thyself in all men's love whilst thou livest, to the end that when thou diest thy loss may be lamented? And why desirest thou to put him lower, whose authority is too great for thee to contend against. Why seeekest thou to crush and terrify that base and contemptible fellow that barketh at thee, and who is so bitter and troublesome to his superiors? Why frettest thou at thy servant? thy Lord? thy King? Why art thou angry with thy client? Bear with him a little, behold death is at hand which shall make us equals. We were wont to laugh (in beholding the combats which are performed on the sands in the morning) to mark the conflict of the Bull and Bear when they are tied one to another, which after they have tired one another, the Butcher attendeth for them both to drive them to the slaughter-house. The like do we; we challenge him that is coupled with us, we charge him on every side, mean while both the conquered and the conqueror are nee●e unto their ruin. Rather let us finish that little remainder of our life in quiet and peace, and let not our death be a pleasure to any man. Oft-times they that were together by the ●ares have forsaken their strife, because that during their debate, some one hath cried fire that was kindled in a neighbour's house, and the interview of a wild beast hath divided the thief and the merchant. We have no leisure to wrestle with lesser evils, when greater fear appeareth. What have we to do with fight and ambushes? Dost thou wish him with whom thou art displeased, any more than death? Although thou sayest nothing to him he shall die; thou losest thy labour, thou wilt do that which will be don●. I will not, sayest thou, forthwith kill him, but banish, disgrace, or punish him. I pardon him rather that desireth his enemy should be wounded, then scabbed; for this man is not only badly but basely minded, whether it be that thou thinkest of death or any one more slight evil, there is but a very little difference betwixt the day of thy desire, until the punishment which such a one shall endure, or till the time thou shalt rejoice with an evil conscience at the miseries of another man: for even now, while we draw our breath we drive our spirit from us. Whilst we are amongst men, let us embrace humanity, let us be dreadful or dangerous to no man; let us contemn detriments, injuries, slanders, and garboils, and with great minds suffer short incommodities, whilst we look behind us, as they say, and turn ourselves, behold death doth presently attend us. The end of SENECAES' three Books of Anger. A DISCOURSE OF CLEMENCY, WRITTEN BY LUCIUS ANNAEUS SENECA To NERO CAESAR. The first Book. The Argument of JUSTUS LIPSIUS. THese Books were written in the beginning of NERO'S reign, which he himself manifestly proveth in his first Book and ninth chapter, whereas he writeth that he was entered into the nineteenth year of his age. And undoubtedly both the words and matter are worthy of a Prince; and I would to God they would read the same, and from thence gather the fruits of mercy and magnitude. He beginneth with NERO'S praise, and that deservedly; for his beginnings were moderate. Afterwards in his third Chapter he divideth his writings into three parts: the one of Manuduction, the other which explicateth the nature of Clemency, which leadeth men thereunto and firmeth them. In the first, the first whole Book entreateth thereof, and in the forefront he setteth down the profit of Clemency, and how greatly it beseemeth Kings. That Clemency well becometh them, because they are the heads of the Commonweal, and we as the body and members. But who is he that spareth not and nourisheth not his body? And that she is necessary also where there are many offenders, whom if thou punishest always, thou makest the Commonweal a solitude. By the example of the gods, who spare us. Likewise in regard of fame, because King's actions are the objects of all men's eyes, and the lest cruelty is too long. By their security; for they that govern thu●; are more secure, and he annexeth some notable actions of AUGUSTUS. Contrariwise, in tyrants who work their own destructions by cruelty, hatreds, and perils. But a Prince doth therefore punish seldom, mildly and temperately, with the mind, and after the example of Parents, and that moderation is fruitfully used in Schools, Camps, amongst beasts and servants: yea, it is used by nature, by the example of Bees, whose King hath no sting. But now a Prince when he punisheth, either punisheth for his own or another man's cause: in his own cause he aught not to be rigorous, because he liveth in so high a fortune that he needeth not the solace of revenge: not in another man's cause, but according to the law, to amend them, or make other better or more secure. And all these things the seldomness of punishment will effect, they that are often, are set light by, and are despised. In the shutting up he setteth down the detestation of cruelty, and the mischiefs and overthrows that grow by her. CHAP. I NERO CAESAR, I have determined to writ of Clemency, How requisite it is for the great men of this world to study how to moderate their minds, which they may do the better if they meditate what pre-eminence th●y have above other m●. to the end that in some sort I may serve thee for a mirror, and show thee to ●hy self, in such sort, as thou mayest receive a perfit contentment thereby for although the true fruit of virtuous actions be to have done them, and that without virtues themselves there is no recompense whatsoever, that is worthy of themselves, yet there is a certain pleasure ●o examine and visit a good conscience every ways, and then to fix a man's eyes upon this infinite multitude, turbulent, seditious, passionate, that bathe themselves willingly in other men's bloods, yea, in their own, if they have broken the yoke that restraineth them, and to speak thus in himself to himself. I am he amongst all other mortal men, who have been agreeable to the gods, and whom they have chosen for their lieutenant upon the earth. I have the power of life and death over all nations. It lieth in my hands to dispose the estate and condition of every man; fortune pronounceth by my mouth that which she intendeth, that every man shall have and possess in this life: whole Nations and Cities conceive occasion of rejoice by my commandments. There is no Nation whatsoever that flourisheth not by my good will and favour; upon the lest inkling I shall give, so many thousands of swords, which have been sheathed by my peace, shall be drawn again. It is in my power to ordain what Nations shall be exterminated, which shall be transported from one country to another, which in franchised, or made sub●ect; what Kings shall be conquered, and whose heads shall be adorned with the royal wreath; what Cities shall be ruinated and what builded. Being thus possessed of so great power, neither hath wrath, nor youthly heat, neither folly or insolence of men, who have often made the most temperate to lose their patience, neither the proud design to make show of my power, in causing other men to fear, a glory too frequent amongst such as are monarchs, have never enforced me to chastise or put any man to death wrongfully. My sword is hidden, nay more, kept in the sheath. The blood of my meanest subjects is carefully spared by me. Although a man have many imperfections, yet in regard he is a man, he is gracious in mine eyes: my severity is hidden and my Clemency apparent. Such a watch have I over myself, as if I were to yield an account to the laws (which from obscurity I have brought to light) of all mine actions. I have pardoned one by reason of his youth, another because he was old, that man because of his magistracy, that other for his obscurity: and when in those that were faulty I found not any occasion of mercy, I bore with them for the love of myself. If the immortal gods summon me this day to yield up my reckoning, I am ready to accounted for the whole world. Caesar thou mayest boldly speak this, that of all those things which thou hast embraced under thy protection and safeguard, tho● hast taken nothing from the Commonwealth, either by violence or cunning. Thou hast wished and purchased innocence's which is a praise very rare, and such as yet hath not been granted to any Prince. Thou losest not thy pains, and this thy singular bounty hath not met with ingrateful or misconceiving subjects. Each one acknowledgeth the good thou hast done them. Never was man so beloved by another as thou art by the Roman people, whose great and continual felicity thou art. But thou hast laid a weighty burden on thy shoulders. No man speaketh more now of the former years, either of the Empire of Augustus or Tiberius. Neither seek they any pattern besides thyself, whereby they may govern their life. One year of thy government showeth that which we hope for in the years that follow, which would hardly be imagined, if this thy bounty were borrowed for a time, but is natural. For no man can long time conceal his imperfections, and the actions suddenly discover what the hidden nature is. Those things that contain verity, and which grow from that which hath some firmity in it increase, and from time to time wax better and better. The Roman people were very much perplexed whilst they stood in expectation, whereunto thy generous nature would apply itself at the first. Now are all men's desires accomplished and assured; for it is not to be feared that thou wilt forget thyself suddenly. Too much felicity maketh men over-greedie; neither are desires at any time so tempered, that they stay themselves upon that good which is befallen them. Every one ascendeth from great unto greater, and they that have attained such things as they hoped not for, embrace strange designs: yet all thy Citizens do now confess that they are happy, and that nothing can be added to their felicity, except it should be perpetual. Many things 'cause them to confess thus much, namely, their great and assured repose, with all the commodities of life, which is a good which befalls a man very hardly, and upon the end of his years. Furthermore, a justice placed above all injury. They represent unto themselves, and see an excellent form of public government, which containeth all that which is requisite to establish a perfect liberty, provided, that it be seconded by a continual diligence. But principally both great and little are ravished, in considering thine affability, so equal and answerable to all men's expectations. For as touching thine other virtues, every one partaketh them according to the proportion of his fortune, and expecteth more or less of thy largesse; but all of them in general depend upon thy Clemency: neither is there any one so assured in his innocence, that had not rather prostrate himself before thy Clemency, which is so ready to excuse and wink at every man's faults. CHAP. II. Although the mercy and benignity o● Princes serveth for such as ●re guilty in especial, yet both the innocent and virtuous reap a profit thereby. But I know there are some that think that Clemency emboldeneth those men that are most wicked, because it standeth in no stead, except it be after that the fault is committed, and this virtue only ceaseth amongst those that are innocent. But first of all, even as the use of Physic is as honourable amongst the sick, as it is amongst the whole; so although the nocent cry upon Clemency, yet the innocent forbear not to reverence it. Moreover, Clemency hath place in the person of those that are innocent, because the quality of the persons putteth them in danger; and Clemency not only assisteth the innocent, but oftentimes virtue likewise by reason, that the tim●s may become such, that such things may be oppressed and punished, which should be praised. Moreover, a great part of men may grow to an amendment in their lives; yet must we not always pardon the greater number that offend. For where the difference betwixt good and bad men is taken away, there followeth a confusion and a breaking forth of errors. There must therefore be some moderation practised that know●th how to distinguish good minds from reprobate; neither aught a Prince to have a confused and vulgar, neither too restrained Clemency: for it is as great cruelty to pardon all, as to pardon none. We must hold a mean; but because moderation is hard to be observed, whatsoever is like to be more than equity requireth, must incline more to humanity then rigour. CHAP. II. But these things shall more fitly be decided in another place: Division of the Book. for the present I will divide this matter into three parts. The first shall serve for a Preface or Induction. The second shall express the nature and habitude of Clemency: for whereas there are vices that sergeant virtues, they cannot be diistnguished except thou set down some marks whereby they may be known. Thirdly, we will inquire how the mind attaineth to this virtue, how he fortifieth himself thereby, and by use maketh her his own. But it must needs appear that of all other virtues there is none more convenient for man, because there is none more human than it: and not only amongst us Stoics, who maintain that a man is a sociable creature, and is made for the common good of others; but also amongst those that give m●n over to pleasure, all whose speeches and actions tend to their particular profit. For if a man seek for repose and idleness, he hath found in Clemency a virtue agreeable to his nature which loveth peace and restrain●th the hand. But of all others Clemenci● becometh no man more than it doth a Prince: for so is great power honourable and full of glory in great Potentates, if they use it for the comfort of many; as contrariwise force is pernicious that serveth to no other end but to offend others. A man cannot sufficiently express how firm and well grounded his greatness is, whom all men ●now ●o b● as much for th●m, a● he is more highly raised above them, whom th●y observe to k●●pe continual watch; for the safety of them all in common, and of every one in particular● upon whose approach they run not aways as if any evil ne●red ●hem, or that some cruel beast broke out from his den, but they flooke and ●●n unto him, as to a gracious and shining sun, ready and addressed to adu●●ture upon their weapons who have plotted treasons against him, and to make a bridge of their bodies for him, if for the conservation of hi● life it w●r● n●edfull for him to march upon the bodies of men that were m●ngled and ●ut in p●ec●s. They which about him during the time that he sleepeth, by day th●● they in●l● 〈◊〉 this● person on every side, and jest any one should hurt him they expose themselves to all dangers for him, whatsoever they be that present themselves. This consent of Nations and Cities, in loving and maintaining their Kings, and employing their body and goods in defence of a Prince's life, is grounded upon good reason. Neither is this baseness and madness in them for one man, yea, and he sometimes old and decrepit, in so many thousands to attempt upon the points of their enemy's weapons, and to redeem one soul by the death of many, and that one an old and weak man sometimes. An excellent comparison. Even as the whole body serveth the soul, and by means thereof seemeth more great and of fairer appearance, whereas the soul contrariwise, lies hid and invisible, without any certain knowledge in what place it remaineth; and yet notwithstanding the hands, the feet, the eyes do serve the same, the skin as her Bulwark defendeth her, and she it is that stayeth or maketh us run hither or thither at her pleasure; so that if she be covetous we travel whole Seas to become rich; if ambitious, we presently o●fer our right hands to be burned, or we voluntarily leap into the fire: so this infinite multitude which environ one only soul, is governed by the same, and guided by reason itself, which would otherwise depress and oppress her own forces, except she were sustained by his counsel. CHAP. FOUR THey therefore love their own safety, when as for one man they lead ten legions to the battle, The love between Prince and subject is the maintenance of an estate. when they run resolutely to the charge, and present their breasts to be wounded, to the end their emperors colours should not be taken. For he it is that is the bond, whereby the Commonwealth is fastened together; he is that vital spirit by which so many thousands live: of herself she should be nothing but a burden and pray, if so be that soul of the Empire were taken from her. The King in safety, all men live in peace, The King once lost, the● faith and troth doth cease. Such an accident shall extinguish the peace of Rome, To govern well and to obey well are the two sinewe● of an estate. this shall bring the fortune of so great a people unto ruin. So long shall this people be freed from this danger, as long as she knoweth how to endure government, which government if at any time she shall shake off, or having cast it off by any casualty, shall refuse to undergo again this unity and contexture of so great an Empire, shall be divided into many parts, and even then shall Rome cease to command when she refuseth and neglecteth to obey It is not therefore to be wondered at that we love Princes, Kings, and Tutors of public States (by what name soever they be called) more than our private familiars. For if men of the best judgement do think that that which concerneth the Commonwealth is of greater importance then that which toucheth their own particular, it followeth that he, upon whose safety the whole Commonwealth hath an eye should be more dearly lo●ed th●n any other. In time past Caesar so united and enbosomed himself in the Commonwealth of Rome, that the one might not be separated from the other without the ruin of them both; for as he had need of forces, so had they of a head. CHAP. V IT seemeth that this my Discourse is estranged too far from mine intended purpose, By the similitude of the head and members, that Clemency is wholly necessary to Princes, since their subjects expose themselves to all dangers for them. but to speak the truth, it nearly concerneth the matter. For if it be so as we may truly conclude, that thou art the soul of the Commonwealth, and she the body; Thou seest, as I think, how necessary Clemency is: for thou seemest to spare thyself when thou sparest others. Thou oughtest therefore to bear with evil subjects, not otherwise then thou wouldst do with languishing members● and if sometimes there be need of blood-letting, take heed jest the vein be opened more largely than the sickness requireth. Clemency therefore, as I said, is agreeable unto all men's nature, but especially it best befitteth Princes, because in them she findeth more people to preserve, and a greater matter wherein to show herself. For how little hurteth a private cruelty? but Prince's displeasure is a war. But whereas amongst all virtues there is a certain concord and agreement, neither is the one more better or more honest than the other, yet are there some virtues that are more fit for some persons. Magnanimity becometh every mortal man, yea, even he that is the most basest and abiectest man of the world. For what is greater and more manly then to repulse adverse fortune? Yet this magnanimity showeth itself more amply in greater fortune, and appeareth more powerful in the Tribunal then near the earth. Into whatsoever house Clemency cometh, she maketh the same more peaceable; but in the Palace the rarer it is, the more wonderful it is: for what is more wonderful than he against whose wrath nothing can make head, to whose severe sentence even they that are condemned give consent; whom no man will question with, why he did this, nay if he be extraordinarily angry, dare entreat for any thing; to lay hold on himself, and to use his power more mercifully and mildly, and to think this in his ●eart no man can kill contrary to law, no man can pardon but myself? A great mind becometh a great fortune, and if he mounteth not himself as high as she is, and if he raise not himself above her, he embraceth her likewise, and bringeth her to the ground. But it is the property of a great mind to be pleasing, peaceable, settled, despising all injuries and offences, as being raised to a higher estate. It is a womanish quality to be enraged with wrath, and after the manner of wild beasts (and they not the most generous) to bite and trample down those that are under their feet. Elephants and Lions pass by those whom they have murdered and cast down. Those beasts that have no noble heart are the most obstinate. Inexorable and cruel Anger becometh not a King; for he is not very much eminent above him, with whom by reason of displeasure, he maketh himself equal; but if he give pardon, but if he give dignity to those that have endangered and deserved to lose their estates; he doth that which no man else can do, except he that hath power and principality: for life is often taken from him that is a superior, but never given to him that is an inferior. To save is the property of an excellent fortune, which may never more be wondered at, then when he hath gotten the opportunity to do that which the gods do, by whose benefit both good and evil men are borne into this world. That Prince therefore that taketh upon him the mind of the gods, let him willingly entertain some of his subjects because they are good and profitable, leave the rest as men to make up the number, let him rejoice that some are, & other some let him suffer. CHAP. VI Cruelty dispe●pleth Cities and Countries, mercik maketh them fortunate. Think what solitude and desolation there would be in this City (in which a World of people going and coming incessantly by the spacious streets cease not to justle one another as oftentimes as something hindereth their walk which is as a violent torrent which a man would stay, in which three streets are requisite at one time, for three theatres and in which as much corn is consumed as is gathered in many Countries) if a man should leave none but such, as a severe judge would absolve. Who is he amongst the receivers and treasurers that shall get his Quietus est, if he be as strictly examined: as he doth others? Is there ever an accuser without a fault? And I know not whether there be any man more difficult to give pardon than he that hath often deserved to beg the same. We are all faulty, the one more, the other less, the one of deliberate purpose, the other being driven there unto by adventure, or drawn by other men's wickedness. Sometimes we have not constantly persevered in one good resolution, and have lost our innocence with grief, and in spite of ourselves; neither only ●or the present do we amiss, but until the last hour of our life, we shall be still full of sin. Although a man hath so well purged his mind that nothing can trouble or deceive him any more yet by sinning he attainted his innocency. CHAP. VII. A most strong reason to persuade Princes to be merciful to their subjects. BEcause I have made mention of the gods behold hear an excellent pattern which I present unto a Prince, to conform himself thereunto (that is to say) that he deal with his subjects in such sort as he would have the gods to deal with him: were it expedient for us that the gods should never excuse our pardon or faults, but that they should persecute us with all rigour? Should there be any great Prince in this World be found who should live in assurance and whose members the Aruspices should not gather up? But if the merciful and just gods punish not the faults of mighty men by confounding them by lightning, how much more just is it, that a man who hath the charge over men should exercise his Empire with merciful mind, and think whether the state of the World be more gracious or fairer to the eye, in a fair and bright day, or when as all things are shaken with thunder-crackes and lightnings flash on every side. But one and the same is the estate of a quiet and moderate Empire, of a fair and shining Heaven. A Kingdom where cruelty reigneth may be compared to a troublesome and obscure time, under which every one trembleth and waxeth pale, by reason of the sudden cracks of thunder, and where he that troubleth others is as wonderfully troubled for his own part. We pardon those private men more easily, who revenge themselves obstinately, for they may be hurt, and their sorrow cometh from injury. Besides they fear contempt, and not to revenge an injury, seemeth rather to be an infirmity than Clemency. But he that may easily revenge, and yet forbeareth the same, obtaineth a certain commendation of mercy. Men of bore quality may more freely exercise their hands, contest, strive, and give liberty to their passion. The strokes betwixt equals are light, but exclamation and too much intemperance in words, ill beseemeth Majesty. CHAP. VIII. THinkest thou it a grievous matter, that the liberty of speech should be taken from Kings and permitted to inferiors? This sayest thou, is a servitude and not an Empery. But their condition is different, who lie hidden in community which they exceed not, whose ver●ue appear not but struggle long time, and whose vices lie hidden in obscurity. But common report awakeneth your actions and words, and therefore there are no men that should be more careful of their reputations, of whom men speak much, and in divers places, whether they do well or ●uill, How many things are there which are unlawful for thee, but permitted us by thy benefit. I may walk alone in any part of the City without fear, although I be accompanied by no man, and no man attend me from home, and without any sword by my side, but in the fullness of thy peace thou must live armed. Thou canst not wander from thy Fortune, she will besiege thee, and whether soever thou goest a great train will follow thee. Behold whereunto sovereignty is subject, she cannot become less, but this necessity is common to thee with the gods. For they are tied unto Heaven, it is not permitted them to descend from thence, neither is it secure for thee to descend from the throne of thy greatness. Thou art nailed to thy greatness. Few men know our designs and business, we may go forth and return and change our fashion without any public note taken of us. Thou canst no more be hidden then the Sun. A great brightness invironeth thee round about, towards which all men bend their eyes. Thinkest thou that thou comest forth? no thou risest like the Sun. Thou canst not speak but all the people of the World understand and mark what thou sayst. Thou canst not be angry but all men tremble. Thou canst not afflict any man, but all that are about thee shake for fear. Even as the lightnings fall to few men's peril but to all men's fear, so the chastisements of mighty Potentates are more full of fear then of evil, and not without cause. For in him that can do, all men consider not what he doth, but what he may do. Moreover, patience maketh those private men, disposed to endure those injuries that are offered them easily enough; But Clemency is a more assured safeguard to great men. Because a frequent revenge represseth the hatred of a few men, but provoketh infinity others. The will to revenge aught sooner to fail then the cause. Otherwise as the trees that are pruned, spread forth in many more branches, and many kinds of seeds, are cut to the end they may grow more thicker, so the cruelty of a King increaseth the number of his enemies in extinguishing them. For the Parents and Children, the Allies and Friends succeed in their place, who are slain. CHAP. IX. HOW true this is I will admonish thee by a domestic example. Caesar Augustus was a merciful Prince, if any man shall estimate him, from that time he undertook the Empire (although in the common calamity of the Commonweal, his sword was unsheathed.) When as he had grown to those years of age whereunto thou hast now attained, and had gotten ninet●ene years on his back; and had hidden his dagger in the bosom of his friends, laid ambushes to defeat Mark Anthony the Consul, being one of the Confederates in the triumvirate; about the fortieth year of his age, and being resident in France, there was tidings brought unto him, that Lucius Cynna a man of weak judgement had conspired and plotted treason against him. It was told him where, when, and how he should be attempted by one of those, who was a party in the confederacy. Whereupon he resolved to revenge himself upon him, and caused a counsel of his friends to be assembled. He took no rest that night, where as he thought with himself, how he should put a young Gentleman to death of Noble parentage, and who but for this one fault was upright enough: and beside was Cneius Pompeius' Nephew. Now could he not execute one man alone, because at supper time he had discovered to one that was called Anthony the whole edict of the proscription: Grieving therefore and disquiet in mind, he uttered divers speeches, and each of them contrary the one unto the other, what then (saith he) Shall I suffer him that would murder me to walk at his pleasure, and shall I live perplexed. Shall he remain unpunished, who not only hath resolved to kill me, but to sacrifice me (for their intent was to assail him at a a sacrifice) who have been assailed in vain by so many civil wars, and attempted by so many battles both by Sea and Land? After some pause and silence he exclaimed again more violently against himself, then against Cynna, and said why livest thou, if thy death be profitable and pleasing to so many? When shall I see the end of so many punishments? is there not blood enough shed yet? my head is the mark whereat so many young Roman gentlemen's swords are aimed. Is my life so dear unto me that for the conservation thereof, so many souls should perish? At last Livia his wife interrupting his discourse, The great wisdom of Livia. said unto him: Will you vouchsafe a woman's counsel? Do that which Physicians are accustomed to do. Who when as usual remedies take no effect, do attempt the contrary. Hitherto thou hast profited nothing by severity. After Saluidienus thou hast ruinated Lepidus, after Lepidus Murena, after Muraena Caepio, after Caepio Ignatius, without reckoning up the rest, whose impious and impudent attempts make me ashamed. Now make thou trial what thy mercy will profit thee. Pardon Lucius Cynna, his treason cannot be denied; he cannot hurt thee now● but may increase thy renown Caesar being glad, that he had met with such an advocate, gave his wife thanks, and presently discharging those friends he had called to counsel, he caused Cynna alone to be called unto him, and commanding all the rest out of the Chamber, after he had commanded them to set Cynna a chair fast by him, he begun thus. This first of all do I require at th● hands, that thou interrupt me not, neither that thou exclaim in the midst of my discourse, hereafter thou shalt have liberty to speak. Thou knowest Cynna that having found thee in mine enemy's Camp; and known thee not only to be a suggested, but a born enemy unto me, how I saved thy life, and restored thee to all thy patrimony. At this day thou art so happy, and so rich that the Conquerors bear envy against thee that were conquered, when thou wast a suitor for the Pontifice, I gave it thee neglecting divers others whose parents had attended me in my wars. Having thus and so well deserved at thy hand●, thou hast resolved to murder me. When as Cynna began to cry out, that such madness was far from him Augustus stayed him and said. Thou keepest not thy promise with me Cynna? for it was agreed between us that thou shouldest not interrupt me. I tell thee thou preparest to kill me, he told him the place, the confederates, the day, and the order of the ambush, and who was the man should strike the stroke. And when he perceived him troubled, and not only silent because he had promised to be so, but because he was guilty. With what mind said he dost thou this? To the end that thou thyself mayst be Emperor? Truly the Commonweal should be hardly encumbered, if none but I were the let of thine authority and dignity. Thou canst not govern thine own house. Of late a franckling of thine hath had the credit to condemn thee in justice for particular affairs. Is this the easiest business thou canst undertake to contest and contend with Caesar? Take it to thee, if I be the only man that hinder thy hopes, I surrender it; Paulus, Fabius Maximus, the Cossi and servilians and so many Gentlemen of value, and Children of such worthy persons, that do honour to their Statues, thinkest thou they will endure thee? But lest in repeating his Oration, I should fill up the greater part of this volume, who was well known to have debated with him for the space of two whole hours, after he had long time discoursed upon that punishment wherewith he would content himself, he added. Well Cynna once more I give thee thy life, before times as to mine enemy, now as to a Traitor and a Parricide. From this day forward let friendship be continued between us, and let us strive to the uttermost to make it known, whether I have given thee thy life with a better heart, The effect and fruits of mercy. or thou accepted the same with a more assured thankfulness. After all this of his own accord, and unasked h● gave him the Consulship, complaining of him that he durst demand nothing, so that ever after Cynna was a most affectionate and faithful servant of his, and made him his heir, and never after this did any man conspire against Augustus. CHAP. X. THY great grandfather gave them life, Other testimonies of Augustus his mercy. whom he overcame, for had he not pardoned them over whom should he have had government? Sallust, the Coccians, the Duillians and all the Soldiers of the first company of his Guard had borne Arms against him, notwithstanding he inrowled them, & chose them to be the nearest about his person. The Domitian's, messala's, Asivians, and Cicero's, and all the most famous personages in Rome were indebted to his Clemency. How long time bore he with Lepidus? he suffered him for many years to walk with that Equipage that became a Prince, and would not suffer the Office of high Bishop to be transferred unto him, except it were after his death, for he had rather that it should be called an honour then a spoil. This Clemency of his brought him to that security and felicity which he enjoyed, this made him grateful and gracious in all men's eyes, although he had laid hold on the Commonweal, who as yet knew not what it was to endure the yoke of subjection, such a name at this day doth this mercy of his give him, that other Princes will hardly obtain during their lives. We believe him to be a God, not by any decree or ordinance: we confess that Augustus was a good Prince, we acknowledge him well worthy of the name of the father of his country, for no other cause then for this, that he revenged not those contumelies that were offered him (and which in Prince's ears are wont to sound most harshly) no more than he did his actual injuries, for that he smiled at reproachful speeches that were offered him, for that he seemed to punish himself when he persecuted others, for that whomsoever he had condemned for the adulteries of his daughter, he was so far from executing them, that in their dismission, and for their better security he gave them passports and safe conducts. This is truly called pardoning, that when thou knowest that there are divers that are addressed to be angry for thee, and gratify thee if thou hast caused any to be put to death, thou not only contentest thyself to give life, but also procurest that he to whom thou hast given it be maintained and conserved. CHAP. XI. To persuade Nero to continued his Clemency, he compares him with Augustus Caesar, and showeth that Nero had the advantage in this respect, because his predecessor had that praise also after his cruelty committed, he in the entrance and infancy of his government. THus Augustu● behaved himself when he was old, or at leastwise when old age began to seize upon him: In his youth he was hot, wrathful, and did many things which he never looked back unto without remorse. No man dare compare Augustus' courtesy to thy Clemency, although he equal thy young years with his more than mature age. Suppose that he were moderate and merciful after he had died the Actium Seas with blood of Romans, sunk in the Sicilian both his own and foreign ships, sacrificed a great number of men upon the altars of Perusa, and caused many multitudes of men to be put to death in the time of the triumvirate. But I call not this Clemency, but wearied cruelty. The true Clemency and mercy, O Caesar, is that which thou showest, which hath not begun with the repentance of cruelty, thine is not soiled, thou hast never shed the blood of Roman Citizens. This in a Prince is the true temperance of a mind, and an incomprehensible love towards mankind, not to be enkindled with any desire or rashness, not to be corrupted by the example of former Princes, not to weigh how far his authority may extend over his subjects, but to dull the edge of the Imperial sword and dignity. Thou hast exempted thy Citti●, O Caesar from all bloody massacres, and performed this, which with a great mind thou mayest glory in, That thorough the whole world thou hast not shed one drop of man's blood: and the more great and wonderful it is, because the sword was never committed to the hands of any one more younger than thyself. Clemency therefore doth not only make men more honest, but more secure; What care Princes should have to make 〈◊〉 ●nd●ngs answerabl● t● his beginnings. and is not only the ornament but the assured safety of Kingdoms, who thorough Princes have attained long life, and left their governments to their children and nephews, but the power of tyrants is execrable and short. What difference is there betwixt a Tyrant and a King? In appearance they have one and the same dignity, the difference is, that Tyrants take pleasure in their tyranny, Kings do justice but upon cause and necessity. CHAP. XII. WHat then, are not Kings sometimes accustomed to put men to death? The difference betwixt good Princes and Tyrants. It is true; but so often as they are assured that it is for public profit. The Tyrant's heart is set upon murder. But a Tyrant differeth from a King in fact, not in name. For Dionysius the elder may justly be preferred before divers Kings. And what letteth us to call Lucius Sylla a tyrant, who gave over killing when he found no more enemies? Although he forsook his Dictature, and took upon him the rob of a private Citizen: yet what Tyrant hath there ever been that so greedily drunk up human blood, than he was who commanded seven thousand Roman Citizens to be slain? And when as being in counsel in the Temple of Bellon●, near unto the place where the execution was done, he had heard the cries of so many thousands that groaned under the sword; & perceiving that the Senate was affrighted thereat. Let us intent our business (saith he) Fathers Conscript, these are but a few seditious persons, whom I have commanded to be slain. He lied not herein; for these seemed but a few in Sulla's eyes. But hereafter we will learn by Sylla how we aught to be angry with our enemies, especially if being separated from the body of Citizens, they have taken upon them the name of enemies. Mean while, as I said, Clemency effecteth this, that there is a great difference betwixt a King and a Tyrant, although both of them are environed with guard●. But the one maketh use of these forces to maintain peace, the other that by great fears he may pacify great hatreds. Neither securely doth he behold that very guard, to whose custody he hath committed himself, but one contrary thrust●th him into another; for he is both hated because he is feared, and will be feared because he is hated, and useth that execrable verse which hath overthrown many; And let them hate me so they fear. Not knowing what fury is engendered in the hearts of subjects when their hatreds are increased above measure. For a moderate fear restraineth men's minds, but a continual violence, and such as is raised even unto the brim, awakeneth and emboldeneth those that are deepest asleep and giveth them courage to hazard all. If thou keepest savage beast's soulded up in gins and nets, a horseman may assault them with his weapons at their backs, yet will they attempt their flight by those places they were wont to fly, and will spurn fear underfoot. That courage that groweth from extreme necessity is marvelous forcible. Fear must leave us some gap to escape out at, and show us less danger then hope, otherwise he that was not determined to de●end himself, seeing himself in equal danger, will adventure upon dangers, and hazard tha● life which he esteemeth not his own. The forces which a peaceable Prince shall gather for the good of his subjects are faithful and assured; and the brave soldier who seemeth to adventure for public security, endureth all travail willingly, as being one of the guards of the father of his country. But as touching the violent and bloody Tyrant, his guard must needs be aggrieved at him. CHAP. XIII. A description of the misery of Tyrants and cruel Princes, all intending to this point, to recommend Clemency more and more. NO man can have ministers of a good and faithful will whom he useth in tormenting, in racking, and butchering men to death, to whom he exposeth men no otherwise than he would to beasts. Such a one liveth in no less pain and torment then those whom he holdeth in prison, because he feareth both men and gods as witnesses and revengers of his crimes, and who is already come to that pass, that he dare not change his manner of living. For amongst all other things cruelty hath this cursed evil in her, that she is incorrigible, she persevereth and is not able to recover any other better course. One wickedness must be sustained by another. But what is more unhappy than he is, who cannot choose but be evil? O how wretched is that man, but truly to himself? For as touching others, it were very ill done by them to have pity of him who hath exercised his power with slaughters and rapines, who hath fear of all things as well domestic as foreign, that fearing arms hath recourse unto his weapons, neither trusting to his friend's faith nor his children's piety: that having regarded in all sorts that which he hath done, and that which he pretendeth to do, and coming to open his conscience replenished with mischiefs and torments, oftentimes feareth death and desireth it again as often; more odious to himself then to those that serve him. Contrariwise, he that hath the care and charge of a Commonwealth, although he have a more intent eye to the conservation of some things more than other things, yet entertaineth all the members of the State as carefully as those of his body, inclining always unto sweetness: and if it be expedient for him to do justice, he showeth that having no enmity or beastliness in his heart, it is to his hearts-grief that he layeth his hand on his weapon. Such a one, desiring to approve his government to his subject, exerciseth his power peaceably and to all men's profit, reputing himself in his own judgement sufficiently happy, if he shall make his fortune and condition known, affable in speech, facile in access, amiable in countenance, which most of all winneth th● people's hearts, favourable to honest enterprises, enemy to evil designes● he is loved, defended, and reverenced by all the world. The same speak men in secret of him as they do in public. They desire he should have issue, and that sterility caused by wars and other public evils should be abolished: no man doubteth but that he shall deserve well at his children's hands, to whom he shall show a world so happy. This Prince living in security, by his own means, hath no need of guard or garrisons, he useth his arms as the means of his ornament. CHAP. XIIII. Another instructor for a ●rince, to teach ●im to keep a measure in his mercy. WHat therefore is his duty? That which belongs to good Parents, who are wont sometime to admonish their children gently, sometimes to chastise them with threats, and sometimes with stripes. Doth any man of a settled judgement disinherit his son upon the first offence, except many and mighty injuries overcome his patience? except there be somewhat more that he feareth then that which he condemneth, he will not blot him out of his Testament. He assayeth divers remedies before hand to reclaim him from his dissolute and inconstant disposition, but when he hath no more hope than assayeth he his last remedies. No man cometh to practise his extremest chastisements, except he hath consumed all his remedies. That which the Parent doth, the same aught a Prince to do: whom we have called the Father of the Country not led thereunto by vain adulation. For those other names are given for honour sake. We have called them Great, Happy and Augusti, and have heaped up whatsoever titles we could invent for ambitious Majesty: attributing them unto these. We have called him the Father of the Country, to the end he might know, that he had a fatherly power given him over his Country, and consequently very moderate, careful of his children, and providing for their good, rather than his own particular. If the father must cut of some one of his members it shall be as late as he can, and after he hath cut it of, he will desire to revive it again, and in cutting it of, he will tigh and differ long time, and in divers sorts. For he that condemneth too soon condemneth willingly also, He that chastiseth over severely, ordinarily chastiseth unjustly. In our memory the people of Rome stabbed to death a Roman Knight called Erixo, with their bodkins, for whipping his son to death. Scarce could the authority of Augustus Caesar redeem the same from the hands of displeased Fathers and children. CHAP. XV. ARIUS having discovered, that his own son had attempted and conspired his death, Having compared a good Prince to a Father, he maketh mention about the end of the precedent section of an evil Father and here of a good, to the end to express by the same that a good Prince aught to assay all means in respect of his subjects before he descends to extreme rigour. after he knew of the fact banished him, for which act of his all the people commended him, especially for this that having banished the parricide to Marsillies, he furnished him, with as great an annual pension, as he had allowed him before he had trespassed in this sort. This liberality was the cause, this liberality of his was the cause, that in that City, where the badst causes want no advocates, that no man doubted but that he that was guilty, was deservedly condemned, since the Father who could not hate him, had the courage to condemn him. By this very example I will give you the means to make a comparison betwixt a good Prince, and a good Father. When Titus Arius would draw his son into question, he called Augustus Caesar to counsel, who came from his own palace to this private man's house, sat down as a party of the counsel; and he said not why came he not to my house? which had it happened; the censure of the fault had been Caesar's, and not the fathers. The fact being understood, all circumstances examined, the young man having been heard in his defence, and his answers and accusations considered. Caesar required every one of the Counsellors to set down their opinions in writing, to the end that no man should subscribe to his opinion, or if he spoke that other men should follow him: and before that the billets were opened, he swore that he would not be Titus Arius heir, who was reputed a rich man. Some base fellow will say, that Caesar was afraid, jest he should seem to give entrance to his hope by the condemnation of the young man. But I think otherwise, that every one of us to defence ourselves against the false opinions, that men might conceive against us, aught to fix ourselves upon the assured confidence of good conscience. Prince's aught to do many things, to get them a good report. He swore that he would not be his heir. That same day Arius lost another son but Caesar redeemed the liberty of his sentence, and after he had approved that his severity was without respect of recompense; of which thing a Prince should have an especial care always, he sentenced him to be banished to that place where his father should think fit. He judged him not to be sowed up in a sack, to be made a prey for Serpents, or to die in prison, remembering himself that he sat not there as a judge, but as a Counsellor to the father. He said that the father aught to content himself with the mildest kind of punishment, in regard of his son; who was as yet young and drawn unto this wicked act, in pursuit of the execution whereof, he had showed himself to be fearful, which excused him in some sort, and that it sufficed therefore to banish him from Rome, and from his father's presence. CHAP. XVI. By comparison of fathers and Masters and others in authority, and by the example of their government be teacheth a Prince how unseemly a thing cruelty and too much severity is. O Prince, worthy always to be called by fathers into their Counsel, worthy to be made coheir with their innocent children. This Clemency becometh a Prince, that whether so ever he cometh, should make all things more mild. Let no man be so abject in a Prince's eye, that he hath no feeling of his death or danger, whatsoever he be, he is a part of the Empire. Let us make a comparison, betwixt the smallest Kingdoms and the greatest Empires; There is but one kind of Government. The Prince commandeth his Subjects, the father his children, the master his scholars, the Captain or Lieutenant his Soldiers. Shall he not be reputed a wicked father, who with continual whipping upon the slightest occasion, seeketh to still his children? Whether should that Master be more worthy the liberal studies, who flayeth his Scholars, if they have not exactly remembered their lessons; or by reason of their weak sight have faulted in their reading; or he that had rather mend them, and teach them by admonitions and modesty? Give me a Captain or Lieutenant that is cruel, he will make his Soldiers forsake him, and yet these are to be pardoned. Were it a reasonable matter, to handle a man worse than we do bruit beasts? But he that is a good breaker of horses, terrifieth them not with often strookes, for by that means he will become more fearful and stubborn, except thou handle and stroke him with a gentle hand. The same doth the Huntsman, who teacheth his hound to draw dry foot, and who useth those whom he hath already trained to the game to rouse or hunt it. Neither doth he often threaten them, for therefore their courage is directed, and whatsoever forwardness is in them, is daunted by degenerate fear; neither doth he give them liberty to wander and stray here and there. To these mayest thou add those that have the driving of slower Cattles, which being bred unto reproach and misery thorough too much cruelty, are enforced to refuse their yoke. CHAP. XVII. Since a man is ●he 〈◊〉 untamed creature of the World, we ●●ght to handle h●m gently. THere is no living Creature more untoward, none more untractable by heart then a man is, yet no one is to be spared more than he; For what folly is it for a man to be ashamed to spend his spleen upon Dogs, and Horses, or Asses, and to entreat a man more rudely? We cure sicknesses and yet are not angry with them, but this disease of the mind requireth a gentle medicine and th●● he who cureth the same should not be angry with th● sick. It is the part of an evil Physician to despair that he shall not cure. The same aught he● to do to whom the security and protection of all men is committed, in those whose minds are affected, he must not suddenly cast by his hopes, neither incontinently pronounce what deadly signs there are in the infirmity. Let him strive with vices and resist them, let him upbraid some with their infirmity, deceive other some by a gentle cure, because he i● likeliest more soon and better to heal them by deceivable medicines. Let a Prince endeavour carefully not only to cure but also to give a smooth cicatrix to the wound of offence. A King obtaineth no glory by cruel punishment for who doubteth but he may● But contrariwise his glory is most excellent, if he containeth his power, if he deliver many from the fury of their Enemies, and ruinateth no man by his displeasure. CHAP. XVIII. IT is an honour to know how to command a man's servants modestly, Another reaso● taken by comparison betwixt the greater and the lesser if all things ar● not lawful in a Master over his servants, they are no less lawful for a Prince over his subjects that are men. and in our slave we are to think not how much punishment he may endure and we inflict upon him without reproof, but what the nature of right and justice will permit thee: which commandeth us to spare our Captives and such whom we have bought to be our bondslaves. How much more just is it for thee not to abuse men free, ingenious, and honest, as thy bond men, but to entertain them, for such as are under thy governments to defend them as thy subjects, and not afflict them as thy slaves. It is lawful for bondmen to fly to Caesar's statue. Although we have authority to do what we list with our slaves, there is somewhat which the common right of living Creatures permitteth us not to execute upon a man, because he is of the same nature that thou art. Who hated not Vedius Pollio more worse than his own slaves did, because he fatted his Lamproys with man's blood? and commanded those that offended him to be cast into the fish-pool to what other end then to feed Serpents? O wretched man worthy a thousand deaths, whether he presented his slaves to be devoured by those Lamproys he would feed upon, or whether to this only end he nourished them, that in that sort he might nourish them. Even as cruel Masters are pointed at thorough the whole City, and are reputed both hateful and detestable: so the cruel demencie of Princes, who have contracted infamy and hatred against themselves, are enregistered in Histories to be a hatred to posterity, Had it not been better never to have been borne then to be numbered amongst those that are borne for a public misery? CHAP. XIX. THere is no man that can bethink him of any thing that is more seemly for him that is in authority then Clemency in what manner soever, Now concludes ●e as in a general sentence that which he said in the beginning that mercy is the most noted virtue in Princes. and by what right soever he hath the pre-eminence over others. And the more higher his dignity is that is endued with this virtue, the more noble shall we confess his ornament, to be which should not be hurtful but composed according to the law of nature. For nature hath invented Kings, which we may know by other living Creatures and in particular by Bees, whose King hath the largest room in the Honey Combe, and is lodged in the middle and most securest place. Besides he laboureth not but examineth the labour of the rest, and when their King is lost the whole swarm is dispersed, also they suffer but one, making choice of him that is the boldest in fight. Moreover the King is noted for his seemliness, in that he differeth from the rest both in greatness and goodliness: yet herein is he most distinguished from them; Bees are the most angry and fellest Creatures that be, according to the capacity of their bodies, and leave their stings in the wound, but their King hath no sting. Nature would not have him cruel nor to seek revenge that might hazard his life, and therefore took away his weapon, and disarmed his wrath. All Kings and Princes aught to consider this excellent example. It is the custom of nature to discover herself in little things, and the lest Creatures minister unto us the most noblest examples. Let us not be ashamed to learn some good thing of the smallest Creatures, since the mind of man aught to be more settled then evil which he doth is hurtful and dangerous. By my consent I would have man reduced to this condition that his wrath should be broken with his own weapon, and that he might have no more means to hurt then once in his life, nor exercise his hatreds by an other man's hands: for easily would fury be wearied; if of necessity she should act that which she herself commandeth, and if she should express her power by the harzard of her life: neither as yet is she secured in her match. For she must needs be surprised with as much fear, as she would have other have fear of her, her eyes be fixed on every man's hands, and at such times as a man intendeth not to touch her, she believeth that he will assault her, and hath not one only minute of repose. Is it possible that any one would live so unhappily, when the means is offered him to pass his days without the hurt of any man, and consequently execute the affairs of his charge in all security, and with great contentment? He abuseth himself that supposeth that a King is secure in that place, where there is not any one but is afraid of him. One security must be assured by an other mutual security. We need not build strong Citadels, on high hills, nor fortify unaccessible places, nor cut down the sides of Mountains, nor ensconce ourselves with many walls and towers. Clemency will secure a King in the open field. His only impregnable fortress, is the love of his Citizens. What more worthy thing can a Prince wish for, then to live in all men's good opinion, and in such love of his subjects, that their vows and prayers should incessantly and secretly be powered forth for his security: that if his health be crazed, they listen not after his death, but are wonderfully afraid, lest they should lose him? that there is nothing so precious in any one of their eyes, that they would not exchange for his health, and security; that thinketh that whatsoever hath befallen the Prince, is fatal to themselves? Hereby the Prince hath approved by continual arguments of his goodness, that the Commonweal is not his, but that he is the Commonweals. Who dare contrive any danger towards him? who would not if he could, prevent any disaster that is toward him, under whom justice, peace, modesty, security and dignity do flourish, under whom the wealthy Cities abound in the plenty of all good things? neither with other minds reverence they, or behold they their governor, then if the immortal gods should vouchsafe them the liberty to behold themselves. And why doth not he that follow the nature of the gods, which is to be gracious, liberal, and powerful, to do good, become a second to them? This is it that becometh a Prince to affect, this aught he to imitate: and as they desire to be the greatest, so let them endeavour to be the best. CHAP. XX. THe Prince is accustomed to do justice for two causes, Having generally discoursed of Clemency and Mercy at this present: in way of partition, he digesteth and gathereth together that which hath been said in divers Chapters, and showeth that whether a man regard the person of a Prince, or of a private man, there aught no cruelty to be used. either punisheth he the faults that are committed against himself, or against another. I will will first of all speak of that which concerneth him. For it is a harder matter for a man to temper himself, when he chastiseth others, to satisfy his private disgust, then to propose it for an example. It were in vain in this place to admonish a Prince, not to believe lightly, to examine the truth, to favour innocency, that it may appear, that he is no less careful to examine that which concerneth him that hath offended, as that which toucheth the judge. But this appertaineth to justice, and not unto Clemency. For the present we exhort him, that being manifestly wronged, he remain Master of his own heart, and give over punishment, if so be he may safely do it; or at leastwise differ it, and be more inclined to pardon those faults which are committed against himself, as against others. For even as he is not liberal, that cutteth a large thong out of another man's leather, but he that taketh that from himself which he giveth to another: So will I call him merciful, not that weary, and is aggrieved at another man's affliction, but him who having just and urgent occasion, passionateth not himself, and knoweth that it is the act of a great mind in the height of his authority to suffer injuries, and that nothing is more glorious in a Prince, then to pardon those who have offended him. CHAP. XXI. Revenge is ordinarily wont to produce two effects, A subdivision of his matter, tending to that which he hath spoken of, and showing that sinner that by revenge, neither increaseth nor maintaineth his estate, he aught not to suffer himself to be mastered by such a passion. for either it bringeth him comfort that hath received the injury, or putteth him in security for the time to come. A Prince's Fortune is so great, as it needeth not such like solace, and his power is more manifest, then that he need to seek the opinion of his greatness from the ruin of another. This, say I, when he is assaulted or violated by any of his inferiors, for if he seethe those who sometimes were his equals, become his underlings, he is sufficiently revenged. A Servant, a Serpent, an Arrow have slain a King. Not man hath saved a King, except he that saved him were greater than himself. He therefore that hath attained the power over life and death, aught to use so great an authority bestowed upon him by the gods courageously, especially towards those, who in his knowledge have sometime opposed themselves against his greatness: having attained this dignity, he is sufficiently revenged, and hath done that which was reqwisite for an entire punishment. For he that should die, hath lost his life, but whosoever from a high degree, hath been prostitute at his enemy's feet, where he attendeth the definitive sentence of his Crown and life, liveth to his great glory, that preserveth him: and addeth more to his renown by his life, then if he had sentenced him to death. For he is the continual spectacle of another man's virtue. In a triumph he had quickly passed by. But if his Kingdom likewise may safely be redelivered into his hands, and he might be restored to that pre-eminence from whence he was fallen, his praise riseth above all measure, that was contented from a conquered King to take away nothing but his glory. This it is to triumph truly in a man's victory: and to testify that he found nothing worthy in the conquerors hands, that was answerable to his worthiness and value. As touching our Citizens and men that are unknown to us, and such as are of base condition, the more moderately must we deal with them, the less honour we shall get by afflicting them. Pardon some men willingly, disdain to revenge thyself on other some, and retire thy hand from them, as if they were some little silly creatures that would soil thy fingers, if thou shouldest touch them; but as touching those that are either to be pardoned or punished in the eye of the State, make use of the occasion of thy accustomed Clemency. CHAP. XXII. He prosecuteth his partition, and showeth that a gentle chastisement profiteth more, both to him that is chastised, and to the Prince himself then cruel vigour. LET us pass over to those injuries that are done unto another, in punishing which the Law hath observed three things, which a Prince likewise aught to follow, either to amend him whom he punisheth, or to the intent that his punishment may make the rest better; or that by cutting of the evil, the rest may live more securely. Those, shalt thou more safely amend with less punishment, for he liveth more diligently, that hath some days of his life pardoned him to live in. No man careth for his decayed dignity. It is a kind of impunity not to be able to be punished any more. But the fewness of executions reformeth the City's manners the more. For the multitude of offenders breedeth a custom of offence, and the note of infamy is the less, the greater the number of delinquents there be: and severity by being over usual looseth her authority, which is the greatest honour she hath. That Prince settleth good manners in his City, and more happily extinguisheth the vices thereof, if he wink at them, not as though he allowed them; but as if he were aggrieved at them, and with great hearts-grief, was enforced to punish them. The Clemency of him that governeth maketh them ashamed that offend. The punishment seemeth the more gr●●uous, when the sentence is given by a merciful man. CHAP. XXIII. Th●t continnal and cruel punishments, do not so much repress offences, as the prudent Clemency of Prince's. BEsides, thou shalt s●e those things oftentimes committed which are often times punished. Thy Father within the space of five years sowed up more parricides, than were condemned to that death in all the ages before, as far as we can gather. As long as there was no law established against this heinous crime, no children durst attempt or imagine this so unnatural a wickednesse● For those Lawmakers and notable persons most wise and well experienced, thought it better to make no mention of this crime in their Laws, as a most incredible matter● and such as man should not be so cursed, as to imagine, then to publish by the establishment of severe laws against the same, that so horrible an offence might be committed. Parricides therefore began with their law, and their punishment taught them their offence: Piety was in a desperate estate after we saw these sacks more often then gallows. In those Cities where men are punished very seldom, every one agreeth to live innocently, and they entertain innocency as a public good. Let the City think herself innocent and she shall be: if she see the number of such as are dissolute is but small, she is vexed the more. Believe me, it is a dangerous matter to let a City see that there are more wicked than good. CHAP. XXIIII. THere was a decree set down in times passed by the Senate, He proveth for the third point both by similitudes and examples, that punishments assure not good men. that our slaves and freemen should be distinguished by their attire, but afterwards it appeared what danger was imminent if our servants should have begun to have numbered us. Know this, that if no man be pardoned, this is likewise to be feared, that it will quickly appear what advantage the worse part hath over the better: no less dishonourable are many punishments to a Prince, than many funerals to a Physician. He that governeth more mildly, is obeyed more willingly. Man's mind is naturally rebellious, overthwart and proud, he followeth more willingly than he is led. And as generous and noble horses are better guided by an easy bit, so voluntary innocence followeth Clemency of her own motion: in the City this sweetness is a good that deserveth to be maintained. So then there is more gotten by following this way. Cruelty is human evil, it is unworthy so mild a mind: this is a beastlike rage to rejoice in blood and wounds, and laying by the habit of a man, to translate himself to a wild beast. CHAP. XXV. FOr tell me Alexander, I beseech thee, whether of these two is more strange, either that thou command Lysimach●● to be cast unto the Lions, or that thou thyself tear him in pieces with thy eager teeth. The throat and cruelty of the Lion is thine own. O how gladly wouldst thou have had these claws, and that great throat, capable to devour and swallow men? We request thee not that this hand of thine, which hath put to death three of thy dearest friends, should do good to any man, nor that thy fellow heart, the unsatiable ruin of Nations should glut itself otherwise then in blood and murders: we will take it for thy Clemency, and so call it, if in murdering thy friend thou make choice of an executioner amongst the number of men. This is the cause why cruelty is most of all to be abhorred, because she passeth the bonds, not only of custom but of humanity. She searcheth out new punishments, and applieth her mind thereunto, she inventeth instruments to multiply and prolong pain, and to content herself in those torments which other men suffer. Than doth that dire sickness of the mind grow into most desperate rage, when cruelty is turned into pleasure, and to murder men is reputed a May-game. For such a man is attended by confusion, hatred●, venoms, swords, by as many dangers is he assaulted as he is the danger of many men, and sometimes by private counsels and sometimes by public calamities he is surprised and circumvented. For the slight and private overthrow of some particulars, incenseth not whole Cities: that which beginneth to rage on every side, and indifferently attempteth all men, armeth every man against it. The smaller Serpents slip by us; neither are they much sought after, but if any one waxeth above ordinary measure and bigness, and becometh a monster, when he hath infected the fountains by drinking in them, and scorched with his breath, and rend with his talons whatsoever he treads upon, we shoot at him with Bali●tils and Crossbows. The smaller evils may speak fair and so escape, but we make head against the great ones. If there be but one sick in a house, it makes no great matter, but when it appeareth by the death of many that the plague is there, the City cries out and every man flies, and each man lifteth up his hands to heaven. If some private house be set on fire, the neighbours bring in water and quench it; but when the fire is scattered abroad, and lays hold on many houses, it cannot be quenched but by the ruin of a part of the City. CHAP. XXVI. He showeth what danger it is for a man to take pleasure in cruelty, and how much good Princes get by amiable and courteous entertainment. He concludeth that Clemency is the fairest flower in their Garland. Servile hands likewise have revenged the cruelty of particulars, although they saw their death before them. The cruelty of Tyrants, the Nations, people & those that were oppressed, and such as were most nearly threatened thereby, have attempted to confounded. Sometime their own guards have conspired against them, and exercised upon them that perfidiousness, impiety, and cruelty which they themselves had learned of them. For what can any man hope from him whom he hath trained up to be evil? wickedness appeareth not long time, neither sinneth she as much as she is commanded. But put case that cruelty be assured; what a Kingdom hath she? Not other than the form of sacked Cities, and the terrible faces of public fear. All things are sad, troublesome and confused, even the pleasures themselves are feared: they banquet not securely, and in their feasts though they be drunk they must have a watch over their tongu●●: they cannot trust their theatres where men seek occasions to accuse and put to death now this man, now that man● when their banquets be prepared with greater charge, and Kingly riches, and by the excellent invention of cunning Artists, who is he, I pray you, that would take pleasure to departed from his sports to a prison? Good gods what a mischief is this, to kill, to rage, to delight in the noise of shackles, to cut off citizens heads, to shed blood in every place, wheresoever he cometh, to terrify men and make them fly from his terrible looks? What other life would there be if Lions & Bears did reign? if Serpents and every other noisome creature should have power over us? They being void of reason, and being condemned by us for the crime of immanity, abstain from those of their own kind, yea, and similitude is a protection amongst the savage beasts; but amongst men only rage forbareth not his dearest friends, but maketh one account of strangers as of homebred, whereby he may more busily creep into private men's slaughters, and afterwards into the ruin of Nations. He reputeth it to be for his royalty to cast fire upon houses, and to plough up old Cities: he believeth it to be scarce Kingly to command one or two to be slain, except at one time a troup of miserable men stand subject to his sword, he accounteth his cruelty to be enforced 〈…〉 not the Chariot's of barbarous Nations be sprinkled with blood, no● spoils g●tten i● warre● T●is i● a diu●ne power t● save men by companies, and publicly: but to murder many, and they unheard is the act of a Tyrant and Murderer. The end of the first Book of Clemency. A DISCOURSE OF CLEMENCY, WRITTEN BY LUCIUS ANNAEUS SENECA To NERO CAESAR. The second Book. The Argument of JUSTUS LIPSIUS. ONce more he praiseth NERO and his excellent voice. Than passeth he over to the second part and showeth the Nature of Clemency, and defineth the same. He explaineth it the more by the contrary vice, and bringeth forth Cruelty and describeth it. Afterwards he limiteth Clemency, and will have it removed from Compassion, for this is a vice amongst 〈…〉 give pardon, but to spare and to provide for, and 〈…〉 is the end of the Book, 〈…〉 things are wanting, 〈…〉 to be sorrowed for in so worthy a Tract: which had it not been in my judgement this s●cond Book had, equalled t●e first. CHAP. I He animateth Nero to continued in his well begun government, with that plac●bilitie he hath thitherto used, he secondeth his Counsels with praises which serve as spurs to a good mind. THat which most chief moved me Nero Caesar to address and dedicated this discourse of Clemen●i● unto thee, was a speech of thine which not only rauishe● me with admiration, at such ●ime as I hard it, but as when afterwards I recited it to others. A generous speech, the argument of a great mind and greater lenitie● which was not studied for o● fitted to flatter other men's ears, but suddenly broke forth; and brought thy beauty that contended with thy Fortune into the public eye and censure of all men. Burrus a Captain of thy Guard, a man of honour and known by us for such a one, having charge to carry two thiefs to execution, laboured, that thou wouldst sign the sentence that was given against them both: which being deferred divers times, he insisted at last that it might be dispatched. But after that, to thy own hearts-grief and thy distaste h● had drawn the writing out of his bosom, and delivered it into thy hands thou cried'st out● I would I could neither read nor writ. O speech worthy to be heard by all those Nations that inhabit the Roman Empire, and by those neighbour Countries, that are scarcely assured of their liberty, and by those likewise who both in mind and might arm themselves against their prosperity. O very worthy to be revived in the open assembly of all living men, and whereof Kings and Princes might make use when they should tak● their oath unto th●ir Subjects. O speech worthy the ancient innocency of Mankind, in ●auour whereof the former age's should wax young again. Truly this is the body wherein all of us aught to accord in equity and Clemency, driving far from v● this covetousness to enjoy other men's fortunes, whence all the infirmities of the mind do aris●. Now it is that piety, integrity, loyalty, and modesty, should lift ●p ●heir heads● and that vices which have so tyrannously dominered over v● long time, should finally quit their place, and resign it to an ag● more happy and pure. CHAP. II. I Dare well hope and promise Caesar that the greater part hereof shall come to pass●. He presageth the continuance of Nero's Clemency, to the comfort of his Subjects and the amaze of his enemies. This Clemency of thin● shall by little and little be published, and spread thorough all the body of thine Empire, and all things shall conform themselves according to the example which thou givest them. Good health proceedeth from the head, and afterwards causeth that all the members are nimble and strong, as contrariwise they languish, if the spirit that quickeneth them, be amated. And both thy Citizens and associates shall be worthy of this bounty, and good manners shall be reestablished thorough out the whole World, & shall be extended in every place. Suffer me to insist a little longer one this point, not to the intent to 〈◊〉 flatter thine cares, for it is not my custom. I had rather offend thee in speaking truth, then please thee by flattery. What is the cause then, why I desire thou shouldest be so familiarly exercised in the knowledge of thy good words and actions? Truly no other but that one day thou mayest say and do that with judgement, which now thou sayest and dost by a natural aptitude of thy mind. This consider I with myself that many great, but they detestable speeches of Princes are entered into men's hearts, and are ordinary in their mouths as this. With deadly hate let them pursue me, Provided always that they fear me. Whereunto resembleth that Greek verse who willeth that when he is dead, The solid Earth should with the fire be mixed. And others of this kind: But I know not how such spirits, so prodigious and so hateful, have expressed their violent and furious conceits in a more plentiful manner. I have never as yet heard a proud word uttered by a good and merciful Prince. What is it then that thou art to do? Forsooth this, that as slackly as thou mayest and with some remorse; and with some delays also until such time as thou art enforced thereunto, thou writ that which draweth thee in hatred of good letters, yet so as thou dost in temporising and delaying divers times. CHAP. III. What Clemency is, and the definitions thereof. BUT lest some time this goodly and pleasing name of Clemency should happily deceive us, let us see what Clemency is, what a one she is, and to what end she tendeth Clemency then is a moderation of the mind, that restraineth the power which ● man hath to revenge himself, or it is a gracious moderation of the superior towards his inferior, in establishing of punishment. The surest way shall be to set down divers definitions, for fear lest one suffice not to express the same, and that the form thereof (if we may so speak) escape us not. One may therefore say, that it is an inclination of the mind, tending to show himself merciful when he aught to chastise. This definition will have some opposition, although it be such a one as draweth nearest the truth. If we say that Clemency is a moderation remitting somewhat of the punishment which is deserved and due, some one will reply that there is not any virtue that doth less than she aught. But all men know that Clemency is that virtue which reb●teth some what of that which she might exact. They of weakest judgement suppose that severity is opposed against it, but never was one virtue contrary to another. CHAP. FOUR Of Cruelty opposed against Clemency, and the definitions and kinds thereof laid open by examples. WHat therefore is opposed to Clemency? Cruelty which is no other thing then a cruelty of mind in exacting punishments. But there are some that are cruel although, they do not punish any: such as they are who kill men whom they never saw, but met with in the way, not to the intent to lessen the number, but killing them because they took pleasure in killing. Moreover not content to murder, they tortured more bodies as Busir is Procrustes did, and those Pirates who first of all beat their prisoners and afterwards burn them to death and dust. Truly this is cruelty, but because it followeth not revenge (for she was not injured) neither is displeased at any man's offence (for no crime hath overslipped before) it is not comprised in our definition, which definition contained an intemperance of the mind in exacting punishment. We may well say that this is not cruelty, but beastly fury which taketh pleasure to torment the body, and we may likewise call it madness, for their be divers kinds thereof, and none more certain than that which extendeth itself to murder and massacre men. I will therefore call them cruel, who have no occasion to punish, yet such as keep no measure, such as Phalaris was, who not contenting himself with putting innocents to death's exceeded in his executions all human and probable measure. We may to avoid all ●●●ill, say this cruelty is an inclination of the mind unto most grievous punishments. Clemency driveth this cruelty far of from her, because she hath better correspondence with severity. It is very pertinent to the matter to inquire in this place what mercy is, for divers men praise her for a virtue: A paradox of the Stoics, which Aristotle answereth in the fourth of his Ethics and Mortals. and call a good man merciful. But this is an imperfection of the mind, Cruelty and Mercy are the two extremes of Severity and Clemency, we must fly both, the one and the other, for fear lest under appearance of Severity we become cruel, and under colour of Clemency show ourselves merciful. There is not so great danger herein, but they that fall into one extremity are as much out of the way, as they that fall into the other. CHAP. V EVen as therefore Religion reverenceth the gods, In this Chapter, he maintaineth the Doctrine of the Stoics, Against affection, approving that those Philosophers were not so unnatural as they were reported to be. so Superstition violateth them, so all good men should show Clemency and Meekness, but avoid mercy. For it is naught else but a baseness of the heart which melteth in beholding an other man's miseries. It is therefore most familiar to those of the basest metals and minds. Such as are old women and tender hearted females, who weep to see them weep, that are condemned, who would willingly break up prisons, if so be they were permitted to do it. Mercy regardeth not the cause but the condition, but Clemency is conjoined with reason; I know that amongst ignorant men, the sect of the Stoics is condemned, for being over severe and such a one as could not give good counsels to Kings and Princes. For it is objected against them that they will not suffer the wise man to use mercy, and to pardon. These objections considered a part, and by themselves are odious. For this were to cast all those headlong into despair that have offended, and to subject all offences to punishment. If this be so, who are more severe than this sect, which forbiddeth us to remember that we are men; and exclude mutual help which is the assure Haven against the tempest of Fortune. But I say that there is no sect more benign and gentle than this is, nor that loveth men better, nor that is more intent to the good of all men, in such sort as all the scope thereof, is to serve, succour and procure the good, not only of his Scholars, but also of all other men as well in general as in particular. Mercy is an infirmity of the mind, by reason of the appearance of other men's miseries, or a sadness conceived for the evils an other man suffereth, and supposeth that he suffereth them wrongfully. For a wise man neither troubleth nor tormenteth himself, his understanding is always clear, neither can any thing happen that may obscure the light thereof. Nothing becometh a man more than greatness of courage; But he cannot have a noble heart, that fear and sorrow may animate it, or any of these passions obscure or contract it. This shall not befall a wiseman; not, not in his calamities, but he shall dart back again all these arrows that Fortune hath shot against him, and shall break them before her face. He shall retain one and the same countenance, always both peaceable and constant, which he might not do if sorrow were lodged in his heart. Ad hereunto that a wiseman is provident, and hath his counsel in a readiness; But that which is clear and pure, never proceedeth from sadness, which is a trouble of the Soul, and is not proper to examine any action; nor to invent profitable things, neither opportunely to avoid dangers. So then a wiseman is not moved with sadness for an others misery, because he is exempt from misery; but otherwise, he will willingly and with a joyful heart, do all that which the merciful would do against their wills. CHAP. VI The description of a wise man according to the doctrine of the Stoics. HE will assist his neighbour that weary, without weeping himself; he will lend him his hand that is in danger to be drowned; he will lodge him that is famished, feed him that is poor, not with outrage, as for the most part they do, who would be esteemed merciful, who disdain and repulse the poor when they aid them, and fearing lest they should touch them, but as a man to a man he will give, as out of the common purse. He shall pardon the Son for his Mother's tears, command his grieves to be loosed; he shall preserve him from the fury of wild beasts, to whose rage he should have been exposed, to the content and pleasure of the people, he will bury the carkies of him that was condemned; But he will do all this with a peaceable mind, and without change of countenance. He will not therefore be moved, but will help, will profit, as being borne for the common good and the service of the Commonweal, whereof he will give every one his apart. Yea, he will extend his bounty to the miserable by proportion, and will reform such as are wicked and to be amended. But to those that are afflicted and oppressed, he will yield his assistance more willingly. As often as he may, he will not suffer adversities to touch them. For how might he better employ his forces and riches, then in relieving those whom the inconstancy of worldly affairs hath overthrown. He will neither be abashed nor dismayed, to behold the disfigured face of a sick man, or a beggar, or of an old man leaning on his staff, but he will assist all those likewise that deserve, and after the manner of the gods, behold with a bountiful eye the poor that are oppressed. Mercy is a near neighbour to misery, for she hath, and draweth somewhat from her. Know that those eyes are weak which are bloudshot themselves, in beholding another man's suffusion: even as assuredly we aught not to call them joyful but sick, who cough upon every occasion, and that yawn as soon as they perceive an other man open his mouth. Mercy is an imperfection of the mind, that is too much affectioned unto misery, which if a man seek for in a wise man, it were as much as if he should require him to cry out at the Funerals of those whom he never heard of. It remaineth to declare why a wise man pardoneth not. CHAP. VII. A question depending on the ●orme● discourse, whether a wise man pardoneth? He answereth by distinction to maintain that which he said of Mercy. LEt us now set down likewise what pardon is, to the end we may know that a wise man aught not to give it. Pardon is a remission of deserved punishments. But why a wise man aught not to pardon, is fully debated by those who decide this matter to the full. For mine own part to speak shortly, as in a matter reserved to an other man's judgement, I say that he is pardoned that should be punished. But a wise man doth nothing but that he aught, neither pretermitteth any thing of his duty, and therefore he quitteth not the punishment which he aught to exact, but that which thou wouldst obtain by the means of pardon, he giveth thee by a more honest expedient. For he supporteth, counseleth, correcteth, and doth as much as if he pardoned, although he pardon not, because he that pardoneth, confesseth that he hath omitted something which aught to be done. He will be contented to admonish some without chastising them, considering that they are old enough to amend. He will dismiss an other in safety, although he be apparently guilty, because he hath been deceived, and fell into the offence being drowned in wine. He will dismiss his enemies in safety, and sometimes with commendations, if they have undertaken War upon honest grounds, as for their f●ith, confederate● or liberty. These are not the works of Pardon but of Clemencies' Clemency hath ●ree will, she judgeth not according to use and custom, but according to equity and r●ght, and she may absolve and tax the charges at what rate she listeth. He doth none of these things, as if he had done any thing less than iust● but as if that which he had constituted were most just; ●ut to ●ardon is ●●is, ●ot to ●●nish those things which thou judgest worthy of punishment. Pardon is the remission of a deserved punishment. Clemency effec●eth this principally, that she declareth those whom she dismisseth to be exempted from the punishment they should suffer. She is therefore more accomplished and honest than pardon. In my judgement, the controversy is upon the word not upon the matter. A wise man will forgive many things, and save many that are scarcely wi●e, yet such as may become capable. He will imitate good husbandmen, who not only cherish strait and tall trees, but applieth under-props likewise to uphold those which are made crooked by some accident. They lop some jest the over-thicknesse of their bows do hinder their growth, they nourish some that are infirm by reason of the sterility of the soil, and to those that spring under the thickness of a covert, they give them open air. According to these, a wise man shall see how he aught to entertain every nature, and by what means those that are depraved, may be strengthened and straightened. Many things are here wanting. The end of the second Book of Clemency. A TRACT OF BLESSED LIFE, WRITTEN BY LUCIUS ANNAEUS SENECA TO JUNIUS GALLO HIS BROTHER. The Argument of JUSTUS LIPSIUS. He wrote this Book when he was old, and set it down for an Apology against those that calumniated his wealth and behaviour. He approveth that Blessed life consisteth in virtue, yet that she despiseth not these external things if they befall her. It is a lofty writing, and excellent in the parts thereof, and because it containeth golden sentences and excellent sayings. There are two parts thereof; First, what Blessed life is, and how a man may attain thereunto. As touching the former, he denieth that it is to be sought, either in Opinion or Manners; if we keep the ordinary way, we stray the farther from her. Reason only is to be given care unto, 〈◊〉 saith that B●essed life is agreeable to 〈◊〉, that is placed in virtue, not in pleasure a● EPICVRVS ●●●ld have it, No● and diffusedly he refelleth this with the slaves thereof; so far as h●● will neither have pleasure joined with virtue, but abolisheth this name utterly; This till the sixteenth Chapter. Thence followeth the other part to the attainment therof● therefore ●s o●●ly Virtue to be embraced. And are the rest to be despised? He denieth it; He saith that external things may be admitted, but not as the end. Yea, ●ee maintaineth, that the● wh● as yet are but in the way, and amongst the number of those that are pr●●●●ient, ha●e need of some indulgence of fortune. Here cunningly and manfully enough defendeth he his own cause, and induceth an adversary to say: Why hast thou 〈…〉 of Vert●●? hast thou not other helps. Why hast thou servants, Mo●ey, F●r●●s, and Householdstuff? He answereth diversly? And first of all that he is 〈◊〉 wise man, but that he endeavoureth to be wise. Afterwards for these worthy men, PLATO, ZE●LO, ARISTOTLE, against whom in times past these were objected. Virtue is a ●●igh matter; They are to be honoured who labour to ascend, although du●ing their 〈◊〉, they faller are hindered. Than purposely speaketh he of Richeses, whether a wise 〈◊〉 aught to have them; From the one and twenty Chapter. And he averreth that they are had but not beloved, yet gotten honestly that they are, and must be spent bountifully He whetteth his Style against th●se long-tongued babblers, and under the person of SOCRATES, armeth the edge of ●is Style against them● But the end is wanting, and those things that are usually added, are of an other man's writing, and of a different Arguments CHAP. I ALL men brother Gallio are desirous to live happily, It sufficeth not to desire happiness, we aught to know what true happiness is, and afterwards by what m●●●●●● we attain thereunto. yet blind are they in foreseeing that which maketh the life blessed & happy: and so difficult a matter is it to attain this blessed life, that the swifter every man is carried with adesire to compass her, the farther off departeth he from her, if he have failed in the way: which when it leadeth us to the contrary, the very swiftness thereof is the cause of our greater distance from her. First of all therefore we aught to consider what that is which we require: then to look about us by what way we may more speedily attain thereunto, being assured that in our journey (so the way be true and strait) to undrstand how much we have daily profited, and how nearer we are unto that whereunto our natural desire impelleth us. As long as we wander hither and thther and follow not our guide, but the dissonant bruit and clamour of of those that call on us to undertake different ways, our short life is wearied and worn away amongst errours● although we labour day and night to get us a good mind. Let us therefore advise both, whether we tend, and by which way we pretend; and walk forward under the conduct of some wise man who is exactly instructed and practised in those paths which we are to tract. For the condition of this voyage is far different from other peregrinations: for in them if any certain place be limited, and we do but inquire and question with the inhabitants of that place, they will not suffer us to wander; for here the worst way, and that which seemeth the most shortest and usual doth most of all deceive us. There is nothing, therefore that is more to be prevented by us, then that we follow not like innocent sheep, the troup of those that walk before us, walking forward not whether we should address themselves, but whether we are led by other men. But there is nothing that entangleth us in greater miseries, then that we couple & apply ourselves to every rumour, supposing those things to be the best which is most approved and received by the conceit of all men, and whereof there are most examples, and live not according to reason, but only according to other men's fashion. From thence proceedeth this so great heap of men tumbling one upon an other. That which falleth out in a great press of men, when the people themselves, throng themselves, where no man so falleth, but that he draweth down an other after him, and the foremost are the cause of the ruin of those that follow: this mayst thou observe, and see it fall out in every estate of life. There is no man that erreth to himself, but is either the cause or Author of other men's error. For much are we hurt because we apply ourselves to those that go before us, and whilst every man had rather believe, than judge, we never ●udge of our lives but content ourselves always to believe: thus error delivered unto us from hand to hand, vexeth and overturneth us, and we perish by other men's examples. But we shall be healed, provided only that we separate ourselves from the vulgar, but now the people stand out against reason in defence of their own error. This therefore cometh to pass that is usual in Common Assemblies, wherein, those men whose voices made the Praetor, admire to hear him named; when the inconstant favour of such a multitude hath whirled itself about. We approve and condemn one and the same thing. This is the end of all judgements in decision whereof divers men give their opinions. CHAP. II. He taxeth those who think themselves well governed if they ●ollow the multitude. WHen the question is of happy life, thou must not answer me according to the custom of those debates which are censured by voices. This part seemeth the greater; for therefore is it the worst: Human affairs are not disposed so happily that the best things please the most men. It is an argument of the worst cause when the common sort applaudeth it. Let us inquire what is best done, not what is most usually done; and what planteth us in the possession of eternal felicity, not what is ordinarily allowed of by the multitude, which is the worst interpreter of truth. I call the multitude, as well those that are attired in white, as those that are clothed other ways, for I examine not the colours of the garments wherewith the bodies are clothed, I trust not mine eyes, to inform me what a man is, I have a more better and truer light, whereby I shall distinguish truth from falsehood. Let the soul found out the good of the soul. If once she may have breathing time to retire herself into herself, O how will she confess unto herself, after she hath been examined by herself and say: Whatsoever I have done, yet I had rather it should be undone; Whatsoever I have said when I recollect it, I am ashamed of it in others; Whatsoever I wished I repute it to be the execration of mine enemies; Whatsoever I feared, good gods, how better was it then that which I desired? I have quarreled with many men, and (if any society be amongst evil men) I have altered their hatreds and drawn myself into favour with them; and yet as yet I am not friends with myself. I have endeavoured to the uttermost to get in favour with the multitude, and make myself known unto every man by some noble action: what other thing did I but oppose myself against weapons, and show hatred a place wherein he might bite me? Seest thou these who praise eloquence, that follow riches, that ●latter authority, that extol power? all these are enemies or can be enemies, for in effect they are all one. How great soever the number be of those that admire, as great is there number who do envy. CHAP. III. Since we seek for that good which is truly a●d not apparanth good, let us not derive our example, either from the exterior ap●ear●ce or the public applause. WHY rather seek I not some thing out, which is good in use that I may find in my mind, not show in outward appearance? These things where at we gaze, these things whereat we stay, and with admiration one man showeth unto another, do outwardly shine, but are inwardly miserable. Let us seek our somewhat that is good not in appearance, but solid and united, and fairest in that which appeareth the lest. Let us discover this, neither is it far from us, we shall find it. Yet hadst thou need to know whether thou shouldest stretch thy hand. But ●ow as if we were in darkness we pass by these things that are nearest us, and stumble upon those things which we desire. But lest I draw thee thorough a Labyrinth I will let slip other men's opinions, for it were too long a matter to reckon them up and confute them, and let thee know our own. And when I tell thee ours, I will not tie myself to any one of our principal Stoics: I have authority enough to speak what I think, I will therefore follow some one, I will command another to give a reason of his, and happily being cited after all others, I will disallow none of those things which the former have decreed, and I will say: This think I over and beside, and in the mean while following the common consent of the Stoics; I will consent to Nature which is the mother of all things. For it is wisdom not to wander from her, but to form ourselves according to her Law and Example. The life than is happy which is according to her nature, which can no otherwise hap them if the mind be first of all sound, and in perpetual possession of her health. Again, if she be strong, and vehement, and fierce, and patiently likewise apt for the times, curious of the body, and those things that appertain thereunto, yet not over careful or diligent in those things which maintain life, disposed to use the presents of Fortune, without admiration of any thing: without wondering at any of them, no ways inclined to servitude. Thou understandest although I aim it not, that from thence there followeth a perpetual tranquility and liberty, driving away far from us all those things that either provoke or terrify us much. For instead of the frail pleasures, (and for those things that are small and frivolous, and that hurt us at that time, when we make use of them● to satisfy our passions) there succeedeth an excellent joy assured, and a continnal peace and repose of the soul, and a greatness of the mind accompanied with mildness. For all fury proceedeth from infirmity. CHAP. FOUR A Man may likewise define our good after an other sort that is to say express the same thing in other terms. The divers d●finitions of a happy life. Even as one and the same Army sometimes spreadeth itself out at large, sometimes restraineth and locketh up herself in a little place, either bendeth herself like a Crescent with horns on either side and hollow in the midst; or marcheth in a Battalion having wings to warrant them, and howsoever she is disposed, yet hath she always the same force and resolution to maintain the party for which she is levied, so our definition of the Sovereign good may sometimes be extended out a far, sometimes comprised in few words and gathered as it were into itself. It will all come to one if I say: The Sovereign good is a mind despising casualties, and content with virtue: or an invincible force of the mind well experienced in the affairs of this. World, peaceable in his actions, full of humanity and regard of those with whom she converseth. It pleaseth us likewise to define it thus, that we call him a blessed man, who esteemeth nothing either good or evil, except a mind either good or evil, a respecter of honesty, content with virtue, whom neither casualties extol nor depress, who knows no other greater good than that which he can give himself, who reputeth it for a true pleasure to contemn pleasures. Thou mayest if thou wilt expatiate, turn this definition into one or two other sorts provided that the principal remain. For what forbiddeth us to esteem him happy that hath his spirit free, raised, assured, and firm, estranged from all fear and desire, that esteemeth nothing but virtue and disdaineth nothing but vice? All other the base multitude of things, neither detracting any thing nor adding aught to blessed life, come and go without increase or detained of the chiefest good. He that hath laid so good a foundation, shall be always followed whether he will or not, with a continual joy, with a profound content that proceedeth from excellent thoughts, because he contenteth himself which he possesseth, neither desireth any more than that he hath at home why should he make a scruple to change willingly the light frivolous and assu●ed, motions and pleasures of the body with goods, so certain as these other are? that day he shall recence no pleasure that very day shall he conceive no grief. CHAP. V He confuteth those that set their felicity on pleasures of the body, and defineth what a happy man is. THou mayst then see into what dangerous a●d miserable servitude he falleth who suffereth pleasures and sorrows (too unfaithful and cruel commanders) to posses●● him successively. We must therefore issue out and found liberty and this doth no other thing give us then the neglect of Fortune. Than shall that inestimable good arise, namely the repose of the mind retired into an assured place, and mounted so high that she seethe all the mists of errors incontinently, scatter themselves in such sort that from the knowledge of the truth, there proceedeth a great and constant joy a sweetness and freedom of conscience wherein the virtuous man shall take pleasure not as they are goods, but as the fruits which proceed from the ground of that good which is in him. Because I have begun to discourse liberally, I say that he may be called blessed, who by the benefit of his reason, neither feareth nor desireth any thing. I make mention of reason because stones, and beasts are both of them destitute of fear and sadness, and yet no man will say that they are happy Creatures, because they have no sense or understanding of felicity, put into this rank, those men whose dullness of nature, and ignorance of themselves hath drawn them into the number of sheep and beasts. There is no difference betwixt these and them, because the one have no reason and the other their reason depraved, and if she discourseth it is only to weaken and ruinated herself. For no man can be called blessed, who is exiled from the truth. That therefore is a blessed life which is grounded upon an upright, certain, and immutable judgement. For than is the mind pure, and exempt from all evils; when it hath no feeling of any renting or prickings. Whatsoever resolved to persist there, wheresoever she is settled, and resolute to maintain her abode, in spite of wrathful and repining Fortune. For in regard of pleasure, although it be dispersed in every place, although she come from every part, and try and attempt by all means whereby she may entangle us, ●yther in whole or in part: what man is he amongst men that hath any impre●ssion of manhood in him, that will suffer himself to be flattered and tickled therewith day and night, and forsaking the soul, will have a care of the body? CHAP. VI BUT the soul likewise (saith he) shall have her pleasures. An answer unto these that would confounded the pleasures of the body and the soul together. Let her enjoy them, and let her sit as judge over dissolution and pleasures. Let her glut herself withal those things that are wont to delight the senses. Furthermore, let her look back to those things that are past, and remembering herself of her decayed pleasures let her enjoy those that are needest her, extend her hand to the ●uture, ruling her hopes, and lifting up her thoughts to that which is to come whilst the body tumbleth in delights and surfeits. This in my judgement is a mere misery, because it is a madness to embrace the evil in stead of the good. Neither is any man blessed without health, neither any man healthy, that longeth for hurtful, and letted healthful things pass. He therefore is blessed, who hath a right judgement. Blessed is he that is contented with the present whatsoever they be, that is a friend to his own affairs, blessed is he who in the government of his whole life giveth ●are unto reason. As for those that have said that the Sovereign good consisteth in pleasure it behoveth them to consider how sordid and abject a place it is wherein they have lodged a thing so precious. For their excuse they allege that a man cannot separate pleasure from Virtue, and they say likewise that no man can live honestly except he be pleasant and jovial: and that to be joyful and honest, is one and the same thing. Yet see I not how these two things may be coupled together. And why I pray you may not pleasure be divided from virtue? Forsooth, because every beginning of good proceedeth from Virtue. From the roots hereof even these things spring which you love, and desire so much. But if these were inseparable, we should not see that somethings are pleasing, but yet not honest, and some things most honest but difficult and such as may not be recovered but by dolour and pain. CHAP. VII. Add hereunto likewise that pleasure intermixeth itself with a most vicious life, A continuation of the former refutation where he showeth that pleasure is incompatible with Virtue, and consequently i●, which is estranged from the chiefest good. but virtue admitteth it not: It is with pleasure yea for pleasure's sake that some are unhappy. Which would not come to pass, if pleasure had intermixed itself with virtue, which virtue often misseth never needeth. Why unite you things different, nay more, contrary. Virtue is a thing high, kingly, invincible, infatigable; pleasure humble, servile, weak, frail, whose actions and bou●ds are Taverns and Brothel houses. You shall found Virtue in the Temple, in the market place, in the Court, in the Court of Guard smoutered in dust, ●●d with heat, having hard hands: pleasure of times lying hidden and affecting darkness about baths and Hothouses, and such places as fear the Constable, dainty, effeminate, souzed in Wine, and Perfumes, pale, painted, and ●e ●●abor●d with medicine. Th● chiefest good is immortal, it cannot perish, neither hath it satiety, neither repentance, for the just mind is never al●ered● he is never hateful to himself, neither being herself the best, hath 〈◊〉 changed any thing. But pleasure at that time when she most delighteth● is extinguished● Neither taketh she up great room, and therefore she quickly filleth and loatheth, and after the first assault pineth away, and as their is nothing centaine, whose nature is in motion so can there not be any substance of that thing that cometh and passeth quickly, and such as is like to perish in the very use thereof. For he hath attained thither where he should end, and in beginning he already regardeth the end. CHAP. VIII. In continuing his refutation, he declareth what this manner of speech meaneth, that to live happily, and according to Nature, is one and the same thing. furthermore the evil have their pleasures, as well as the good. And the basest take no less contentment in their absurdities, then great men do in things that are excellent. And therefore the Ancients have commanded, that we should follow the better and not the most pleasing life. For Nature must govern us, she it is that ruleth and counseleth reason. To live then happily and according to Nature is one and the same thing. I will now tell you what this is. If we carefully and confidently conserve the goods of the body, according as we aught, and as they are agreeable unto Nature, as gifts that have no continuance, but communicable, from day to day: If we enthrall ourselves not to their servitude, and if those that have been distributed to our neighbours possess us not● if that which is agreeable unto us, and given us as an overplus to the body serveth us only in that Nature, as spies and forlorn hopes in an Army: in brief, if they serve us and command us not, then may we say that they are profitable and necessary for the soul. A man that is entire aught not to be surmounted with exterior things, he must admire nothing but himself, he aught to be confident, disposed against all casualties, a composer of his own life, and see that his resolution be accompanied with science and constancy, that that which he once hath conceived, remain unaltered, and that no exception accompany his resolution. It is understood likewise although I add it not, that such a man be addressed and ordered as he aught, gracious and magnificent in all his entertainments the true reason shall be engrafted in his senses, and take from thence his principles. For from thence it is and from no other place, that she extendeth herself, to apprehended the truth, and afterwards returneth into herself. The World likewise that embraceth and comprehendeth all things, and God who is the Governor of this World, extendeth himself truly to exterior things, and yet he returneth in every part entirely into himself. Let our mind do the like, that after she hath served the senses, and by the means thereof, hath extended itself to external things, she may possess herself, in brief that she may l●e and stay herself upon the chiefest good. By this means she shall become a faculty and power according with herself; and that certain reason shall arise which is neither shaken nor extravagant in her opinions, apprehensions or persuasions, but being well ordered and well agreed with her parts with which she saith, (if we may so say) in the same time, she hath attained the fullness of her felicity. For she hath no way that is rugged or slippery to pass thorough, neither any wherein she may stumble or fall. She shall do all that which she listeth, and nothing shall befall her that is unexpected, but all that which she shall do shall turn to her good, easily, addressedly, and without delay. For idleness and want of resolution discover contradiction and inconstancy; thou mayest therefore boldly maintain that the peace of conscience is the Sovereign good, because it must needs follow, that the virtues remain there where consent and union have their abode, vices at are odds amongst themselves. CHAP. IX. BUT thou likewise (saith he) honour'st Virtue for no other cause but for that thou expectest some pleasure thereby. The peace of Conscience is the chiefest good, but Seneca place●h this peace in the siege of human reas●n, which we must bear with all in a Stoic and a Pagan, who knew not what the gift of regeneration was First Virtue is not therefore sought after, because she bringeth with her some pleasure, for she produceth it not, and yet is not without it. Neither laboureth she for this, but her labour is, although she hath an other aim to attain this likewise. Even as in a field that is ploughed up for Corn, some flowers spring up amongst the good grains, and yet no labour is bestowed on this herb, although it delight ●he eye. The purpose of him that sowed the Corn was far otherwise, this came by chance: so pleasure is not the reward or cause of Virtue but an accession unto Virtue. Neither is it pleasing because it delighteth; but because it is pleasing it delighteth. The chiefest good consisteth and is grounded on judgement & the habit of a good mind, which having fulfilled his habitude, and confined himself within his limits, the chiefest good is consummate, neither desireth any other thing more. For without all them is nothing, no more then beyond the end. Thou art therefore deceived when thou askest me, what that is for which I require Virtue: for thou seekest for somewhat that is above the chiefest. Thou askest me what I pretend from Virtue? herself: for nothing is better, she is the reward of herself. Is this a small thing, when I say unto thee, that the Sovereign good is an inflexible vigour, a providence, a firm disposition, a liberty, a concord, and beauty of the soul? dost thou look for any thing more, whereunto these may be referred? why namest thou pleasure unto me? I seek for the good of a man, not of the belly, which is more disordered then any bruit beast. CHAP. X. THou pretendest to be ignorant (saith he) of that which I say: That there is neither content nor joy in the pleasures of this world, when they are never so little separated from Virtue, which maketh use of those pleasures with moderation For I deny that any man may live pleasingly, except he live honestly likewise: which cannot befall bruit beasts, which measure their good by their bellies. I protest I tell thee both painely and publicly, that this life which I call pleasant, cannot consist without the adjection of Virtue. But who knoweth not that even the very foolishest amongst you are the fullest of pleasure, and that iniquity aboundeth in delight, and that the mind itself not only suggesteth some kinds of pleasure, but also many? First insolence and over great esteem of a man's self, a pride surpassing all other, a blind and improvident love of that which a man hath, affluent delights, a joy proceeding from trifling and childish occasions, detraction, and arrogancy, rejoicing in contumelies, sloth and dissolution of the sluggish mind; that is benumbed in itself. But these doth Virtue discuss, she pulls us by the ear, and estimateth pleasures before she admi● them, neither careth she much for those, she hath entertained, (although she admit them) neither is delighted in the use of them, but temperance is joyful: but when as temperance diminisheth pleasures, she injurieth the chiefest good in meddling with the same. Thou embracest pleasure, I moderate it. Thou enjoyest pleas●r● I use it: Thou thinkest it to be the chiefest good I scarcely de●me it good. Thou dost all things for pleasures sake and I nothing when I say that I do nothing for pleasures sake I speak of that Wise man to whom alone thou grantest pleasure. CHAP. XI. That the voluptuous person is not wise, and consequently is depriu●d of virtue and hath no part in Blessed Life. BUT I call not him a wise man that is subject to any passion above all things, if he be a vassal to pleasure. For being subject unto her how shall he resist labour, danger, poverty, and so many tempests as storm about this life? how shall he endure the sight of death and sorrow, how shall he sustain the assaults of this World & of so many other dreadful adversaries, if he be conquered by such an effeminate enemy? He will do all that which pleasure persuadeth him unto. Go to: seest thou not how many follies she will persuade him to. She cannot sayst thou persuade any thing undecently, because she is accompanied with Virtue. Seest thou not again what the chiefest good should be if he had need of such a Guard to make him good. But how can Virtue govern pleasure, when she followeth her when as it is the part of a servant to attend, and of a Master to command. You make her the servant that should command. But you prefer Virtue unto a goodly office, you make her a taster to pleasures. But we will see whether Virtue be lodged amongst those who have done her so many outrages since she can no more be called Virtue, if she hath given over her place. In the mean while (for it is that whereof we entreat) I will show that there are divers voluptuous men on whom Fortune hath powered all her goods whom thou must need, confess to be evil. Look upon Nomentanus and Apicius two careful engrossers (as these men call them) of whatsoever delicate either Land or Sea affordeth, and who present upon their tables all the choice Creatures, that are fit for meat in every Country. Behold these very men who from there beds, behold their Kitchens, who fill their ears with Music, their eyes with pleasing shows, and delight their palates with sundry sauces, with soft and gentle fomentations, all their body is suppled, and lest in the mean while their nostrils should be idle, that very place is filled with divers odours, wherein the funeral banquet of dissolution is celebrated. Thou wilt say that these men have their pleasures, yet are they not at their ease, because they rejoice not in goodness. CHAP. XII. That the pleasures of wicked men are not truly pleasures but follies, and ●uries, contrariwise those of the wise are modest. Evil will befall them (sayest thou) because divers things happen in the interim which trouble the mind, and contrary opinions shall disquiet the spirits, which I grant that it is so. Yet notwithstanding those very fools. Those inconstant fellows whom repentance attendeth at the heels receiving great pleasure that we must needs confess that they are so far from all trouble as from a good mind and (that which befalleth many) they are pleasant fools, and merry mad men. But on the contrary part, the pleasures of wise men are remiss and modest, feeble enough secret and less observed, because they are not sought after; and if they come without calling, they are less made account of or entertained. For they intermixed the pleasures of this life, as men are wont to mingle ●heir serious matters with sports and pleasant discourses. Let them desist therefore to join inconveniences, and to implicate Virtue with Pleasure, for by such fals● opinions they seduce those who are already to much corrupted with vice. The one of the●e abandoned unto his pleasures always drunk and tumbling on the Earth, knowing well that he liveth voluptuously: believeth also that he followeth the Tract of Virtue: because he believeth that pleasure cannot be separated from Virtue, ●nd afterwards entitleth his vice● with the name of wisdom, and publisheth those things which should be hidden. So these kind of men who have not learned it of the Epicure, surfeit in their delights, and being drowned in vices, hide their voluptuousness in the bosom of Philosophy: and have their recourse thither where they hear that pleasure is praised. Neither estimate they rightly (for such undoubtedly is my opinion) how sober and moderate his pleased is: but fly unto the name seeking out a patronage and excuse for their lusts. They therefore lose that one good which they had in evils which is the shame of offending. For they praise these things whereof they were ashamed and glory in their vice and therefore youth cannot rouse and recover itself, when they ascribe so fair a title to so foul an error. CHAP. XIII. THis is the cause why this praise of pleasure is so pernicious because honest precepts remain buried hereby, Why the praise of pleasure is pernicious. and that which most corrupteth is most apparent. But my opinion is (although I speak it to the disgust of those of my Sect) that the precepts of the Epicure are holy, right, and if th●u examine them more nearly severe enough. For he scantleth the wing of pleasure very much, neither giveth her any liberty, but imposeth the same Law upon voluptuousness that we do upon Virtue. He commandeth her to obey Nature, but that which sufficeth Nature is too little for dissolution. What is it therefore? he that calleth slothful idleness, and the variety of gourmandize and dissolution, felicity; he seeketh a fair pretext for an evil thing, and whilst he cometh thither being shrouded under a name of respect he followeth pleasure not that which he hath learned; but that which he had in herself, and thinking his vices had been taught him in some School, he pleaseth himself in them, not fearfully, not obscurely, yea he surfetteth on them in the sight and presence of all men, I will not therefore say as divers of our Stoics do, that the Epicures Sect teacheth nothing but wickedness, but this I say that it hath an evil report and is undeservedly defamed. No man can know this thing except he be admitted to know the secrets of this School. The front and that which appeareth outwardly is the cause why men detract the same, and speak so sinisterly of it. It is as it were a valiant man clothed in an effeminate rob. As long as thou maintainest modesty, Virtue is in security. Thou wilt say that thy body is not addicted to any uncleanness, but thou holdest as (some say) the Drum in thy hand, and awakenest others to do evil. Make choice therefore of an honest title; and let the inscription be such as may incite the mind to repel those vices which weaken, as presently as they are entertained, whosoever approacheth Virtue, he giveth hope of some generous thing. He that followeth pleasure seemeth to be weak, broken, effeminate, disposed to do wickedly. Except some man decipher unto him what pleasures are, to the end he may know which of them are limited within a natural desire: which are carried away headlong and are infinite, and the more they are fulfilled the less are they satisfied. Well then let Virtue lead the way, and our steps shall be assured. Overgreat pleasure is hurtful, in Virtue it is not to be feared that there should be any thing excessive, for she herself only is the mean. That which is tired with his own greatness 〈◊〉 not good. CHAP. XIIII. How a man will agreed pleasure with Virtue. BUT to those that have a reasonable Nature, what better thing than reason may be proposed? If this union be agreeable, and if a man will travel in such company towards happy life, let Virtue go before and pleasure follow after, as the shadow doth the body. It is a small matter for a great mind to give pleasure for a Handmaid to attend on Virtue, which is the most honourablest Mistress that a man may meet with all. Let Virtue march before and carry the Ensign, yet notwithstanding, we shall have pleasure, although we be Masters and governors of the same. She will press us to grant her something, but she cannot constrain us thereunto. But they that have given the superiority to pleasure, have wanted both, For they lose Vertue● Moreover they have not pleasure; but pleasure is Lord over them, with whose want they are either tormented, or else in abundance strangled. Wretched if they be forsaken by her, and more wretched if they be overpressed. Like these who are entangled in the Syrtes: Now are they left on dry Land, presently hurled away with the violence of the stream. But this falleth out thorough too much intemperance, and the blind love we bear unto the same. He that requireth evil for good, casteth himself into great danger if he obtain the same. Even as we hunt wild beasts with labour and hazard, and when we have caught them it is a hard matter to keep them: for oftentimes they tear their Masters in pieces; so fareth it with those who have great pleasures, for they turn to their great miseries; and surprise them when they imagine they have the mastery over them. Which the more and greater they be, so the less is he, and more subject and slave unto many whom the common sort call happy. To continued and prosecute the similitude which I have proposed: Even as he that searcheth the haunts of wild beasts and accounts it a great matter to catch such dumb Creatures in his nets, and environ some great Forest with a kennel of hounds, to the end to follow their Tract, forsaketh his better affairs, and renounceth many other offices: so he that followeth pleasure, neglecteth all other things, respecteth not his former liberty, but dependeth on his belly, neither buyeth he pleasures for himself; but selleth himself to pleasures. CHAP. XV. BUT what (saith h●) letteth Virtue and vol●pt●ousnesse to be confounded in one, Against those that will 〈◊〉 Ve●tu● with pleasure, 〈◊〉 with 〈◊〉 together. to the end that from them both the Sovereign good might be derived, so that it might be one t●in● to be honesty and to be pleasant. Because ther● cannot be a par● of honesty which is not honest, neither shall the chiefest good have her sincerity, if she discover aught in herself that is unlike the better. Neither is that joy which proceedeth from Virtue, although it be good, a part of the chiefest and absolute good. Not more than mirth and tranquility, although they are derived from most excellent causes. For these are goods: yet such as attend the Sou●raigne good, but perfect it no●. But whosoever will associate Virtue, and pleasure, and not equal them; by the frailty of the one he mortifieth all●that which is active in th● other. Finally he inthralleth that invincible liberty that knoweth nothing more precious than herself. For he beginneth to have need of Fortune which is the greatest servitude of all others. And he is attended by a doubtful, fearful, and susptious life, fearful of casualties, and suspended upon the moments of time. Thou givest not Virtue a settled and immovable foundation, but commanndest her to stand in a slippery place. But what is so uncertain as the expectation of casualties, and the variety of the body, and such things as affect the body? How can he obey God, and entertain every thing that happeneth to him with a good mind, and cease to complain of Fate, and be a faithful interpreter of his own casualties, if he be shaken with the smallest assaults of pleasures or sorrows? neither can he be a good tutor or defender of his Country, nor a maintaner of his friends, if he be inclined to pleasures. Thither therefore doth the chiefest good ascend from whence she may not be drawn by any force. Whereby there is neither entrance given to sorrow, hope, or fear, nor to any other thing which may indamnifie or lessen the greatness of the chiefest good. And only Virtue may ascend thereunto, by her steps this steepy rock must be broken, she will stand stiffly, and whatsoever shall happen will endure it● not only patien● but also willing, knowing that every difficulty of time is but the Law of Nature. And as a good Soldier will endure wounds, number his scarres● and though thrust throw with many weapons, will dying love that Captain for whose sake h● breatheth his last: so will Virtue have this Ancient precept in mind, March after God. But whosoever complaineth, weary, and mourneth, is compelled to do that which he is commanded; and notwithstanding is violently enforced to do that which is enjoined him? But what madness is it rather to be drawn then to follow? As great in truth● as if thorough sortishnesse and ignorance of thy condition, thou shouldest lament, because some misfortune is befallen thee, or shouldest be amazed and diffident, that thou couldst not endure thate which happeneth as well to the good as to the evilly that is to say sickness, death of parents and friends● weakness, and such other encumbrances of mortal life. Let us courageously endure all that which the common condition of all things that are created submitteth us unto. We are obliged unto this, to endure all the accidents of our life without troubling ourselves with those casualties, which we know how to avoid. We are borne under a Royal domination. It is liberty to obey God. CHAP. XVI. He concludeth, that a happy life consisteth in Virtue, and showeth what counsels this Virtue giveth, and what good she bringeth. TRue felicity therefore is placed in Virtue. What will she counsel thee to? That thou think that neither good or evil that happeneth unto thee, neither by Virtue nor by malice. Afterwards that by the means of God thou remain always firm and confident against evilly and that as far●● as breathe in thy power thou follow God. What then is that which is promised thee, if thou behavest thyself after this manner? Great things and such as are answerable to those that are divine. Thou shalt be enforced in nothings Thou shalt want nothing, thou shalt be free, assured and exempt from all damages thou shalt undertake nothing in vain: thou shalt do that which thou pleasest without trouble or disturbance. All things shall fall out as thou wishest: Adversity shall not touch thee. What then? shall Virtue only which i● thus perfect and divine suffice to live happily? And why should it not suffice? I say this, it is more than sufficient. For what can he want that is contented with every thing and desireth nothing whatsoever? he that hath gathered all things that are his into himself; hath no need of any external thing. But he that tendeth unto Virtue although he hath gotten the greater part of his way, yet hath he need of some indulgence and favour of Fortune, who as yet is entangled amidst the cares of this life, and hath not as yet acquit himself of those bonds which tie him captive to this World. What difference then is there, some are tied, some are locked up, and som● are fettered. But he that hath gotten more high, and is as it were lifted up from the Earth draweth his chain, being as yet not at full liberty, and reputed for a man that is wholly free. CHAP. XVII. Having so highly spoken of the sovereign good and of a happy life, He taxeth those that flatter vices. IF therefore any one of these that bark at Philosophy allege that which they are accustomed, why then speakest thou better than thou livest? whence cometh it that thou flatterest a man more greater than thyself? that thou esteemest money to be a necessary aid, that thou art moved if thou losest the same, that thou weepest if thou hearest news of the death of thy wife or of thy friend, that thou art glad if thou be praised and spoken well of in all places, and that detractions torment thee? Why are thy Country grounds better trimmed then the natural use requireth? why keepest thou no ordinary rule in taking thy repast? what meaneth thy house be●ter furnished then other men's? What moveth thee to drink Wine more older than thyself why is every thing so well ordered in thy hous●? whence cometh it that thou plantest trees, which serve for no other use but for shade? whence is it that thy wife weareth the revenue of a rich family hanging at her cares? And what is the cause that thy Pages are so richly appareled? why hast thou an art in thy house to know how to serve the table, and that thy plate is not set upon thy board rashly, and at every man's pleasure, but is served in by courses, and that thou hast a carver to cut up thy dainties? Add hereunto if thou wilt● Why hast thou goods beyond S●as? And why art thou Master of so many goods that thou knowest not how to number them? Art thou so dishonest and negligent that thou knowest not three or four of thy servants? or so dissolute that thou hast them in so great number that thy memory sufficeth not to contain● their names? Hereafter I will assist thee in speaking evil of me, and besides this will propose against myself, more than thou thinkest For the present, behold what answer I will make thee. I am not wise (and to satisfy thy displeasure the better) I shall not be wise. I require not therefore of myself to be equal with the ●est, but to be better than the worst. It sufficeth me ●o cut of day by day some part of my vices, and to check my imperfection●; my health neither is, nor shall be entire. I prepare unguents but no exact remedies for my pain of the gou●e, contenting myself if it trouble me not often, and that it be loss furious and burning than it is● I● I be compared with thee, for swiftness of pa●e I am but a weak runner. CHAP. XVIII. I Speak not this for myself (for I am drown●d in vices) but fo● him that already hath got ground. That this reproach is not new, That a wiseman in condemning other men's vices beginneth with his own, and hath a desire to mend himselfe● That we aught patiently to endure scoffs because the best men have not escaped them. Thou spe●kest, sayst thou in one kind but believest in another. This hath been reproached by some lewd companions, enemies of all good men to Plato, to the Epicure and to Zeno. For all these showed how we aught to live, and not how they themselves lived, I speak of Virtue not of myself. When I blame vices I first of all reprove mine own, and when I may possibly I will live as I aught. This malignity infected with divers poisons shall not drive me from my laudable designs. This venom which you vomit out against others, and where with you poison yourselves shall not hinder me from praising that life, according to which I know that I aught to govern myself, although I govern not myself in that sort as I aught therein. Your malignity (I tell you) shall not restrain me from adorning that Virtue, which I follow not, although it be estranged and far off from me● Shall I expect that reproach, shall I in any sort restrain her hands which neither respected Rutilius, nor forbore Cato? Why should not any man in these men's opinion, ●ee over rich to whom Demetrius the Cynic seemed not poor enough? O exact person and adversary to all the desires of Nature, so far as he forbade himself to demand those things from the use whereof he had resolved to abstain. For he maintaineth that the wiseman wanteth nothing. Markest thou this? he professed not the science of Virtue but of poverty. CHAP. XIX. THey deny that Diodorus the Philosopher and the Epicure who not long since hastened his own death, A paradox of the Stoickies, who praise those that murder themselves. The iniquity of those men that accuse others and yet amend not themselves. by cutting his throat with his own hands, followed not in this act the Doctrine of the Epicures. Some impute this unto fury, some unto ●olly, and vain glory. He contrariwise content and ●urnished with a good conscience hath given testimony to himself in departing out of this life, and hath prased the repose of his days and arrived at the port, pronouncing that which you have heard, in despite of your teeth and ●hat which you yourselves also must say when your turn cometh. Long have I lived and fully h●●● I ended, That race of life that Fortune first commanded. You dispute of an other man's life, of an other ma●s death, and bark like little Dogs, against the names of great and laudable men, as if you met with men that were unknown. For it is expedient for you, that no man should seem good, because an other man's virtue should not reproach your iniquities. To your great hearts grief you compare famous things with your absurdities, ne●ther perceive you that this boldness of yours woundeth you wounderfully● For if the Scholars of Virtue ●ee covetous, voluptuous and ambitious, what name shall we allot you, who have the very name of Vert●●? You obi●●● that no man doth that which he toucheth and that he doth other wise than he speaketh. Is this to be wondered at? Considering that they propose great and valorous things, which are above all the tempests of the world, and strive to nail themselves to the Cross, wherein every one of you hath planted some nail: yea, before they are at the place of punishment, they are content to be tied to any wood that they meet withal. They that do not chastise and reprove themselves by themselves, are so many times tied unto the Gibbet, as there are passions that draw them hither and thither, and are so ready to outrage an other; I would believe them, were their not some of them that from the gallows cursed and spit on those that beheld them. CHAP. XX. That a man hath purchased much that he h●th gotten himselve good thoughts, altho●h the effects follow not always. THe Philosophers perform not what they speak, yet perform they very much, because they speak that which they have conceived with an honest mind. For if their words and deeds were one, what were more blessed than they? In the mean space, thou hast no cause to despise good words, neither those hearts that are full of good thoughts. You aught to praise the fair and honest occupations of the mind, and the study of good Sciences, although there follow no effect thereupon. What wonder is it if they that have attempted high matters, attain not to honour? Reverence thou the hardy and difficult enterprises of Virtue, admire the men, although attempting great matters, they fail of their purpose. It is a generous thing, for a man that considereth not his own, but nature's forces; to attempt and undertake high matters, and to con●●iue that in his thought which the most ablest men in the world cannot effect; who hath purposed and said this unto himself; I will keep the same countenance in beholding death, as I kept when I heard that she approached me. How great weight so ever shall be imposed on me, I will yield my shoulder, and my mind shall sustain my body. I will make as small reckoning of those goods that I have, as of those that I have not, if they lie on the ground in another man's house, it shall not trouble me● neither if they shine about me will I be proud. I will neither respect the present prosperity or future adversity; I will look upon every man's land as if it were mi●● own, and on mine as if it were all men's; I will so live, as if I knew that I was borne for others, and for that will I give thanks to nature that hath appropriated me to that use. What could she do more for me? She hath given me only unto all men, and all men unto me alone, what so ever I have, I will neither keep it too niggardly, not spend it too prodigally. I will believe that I possess nothing more, then that which is well given me. I will not esteem any benefits by the number or weight, nor estemate them any other ways, but in respect of him that receiveth them. That shall never seem too much to me, which a worthy man receiveth at my hands; I will do all things, not for opinion but for conscience sake. I will believe it is done in the sight of all men, whatsoever I do unwittingly. The end of my eating and drinking shall be to satisfy the desires of nature, not to fill and empty my belly. I will be pleasing to my friends, gentle and facile to mine enemies. I will grant before I be ●●ked, and will prevent all honest demands. I will remember that the World is my Countrie● that the gods who govern the World are above me, and stand about me as censors of my deeds and words. And as often as nature shall redemaund my Soul, or reason dismiss it I will departed this life with this testimony, that I have loved and laboured to have a good conscience, and to be exercised in laudable actions; that no man's liberty hath been diminished by me, nor mine by any man. CHAP. XXI. Whosoever resolveth with himself to do this, That good thoughts are the beginnings, and the high ways to good works. he will assay he will walk towards the gods, and aspire unto great things, although he always attain them not. But you that hate Virtue and such as are virtuous do nothing new. For sick eyes are afraid of the Sun, and those creatures which see not clearly but by night, are astonished as soon as the bright some day appeareth, and retire themselves to their lurking holes; In brief, those creatures that fear the light, lock them up in their retreats. Grieve and spend your wretched tongs in detracting good men; bark and bite at them, sooner shall you break your teeth then lay hold or hurt them. But why liveth such a one, who saith he is a friend of Wisdom so deliciously? Wherhfore saith he should a man despise riches and yet he hath them? He doth naught else but speak against the love of this life, and yet he liveth. Why commendeth he sickness, and yet so diligently maintaineth and longeth for health? Banishment with him is but a word of no use, and he saith that the change of a man's Country is no evil thing: Notwithstanding, if he may make choice, he endeth his days in the place where he was borne. He judgeth that there is little difference betwixt a short and long life, yet if nothing let him he extendeth his age, and flourisheth in quietness for many years. He saith that these things should be contemned, not in regard of the propriety and possession, but in respect we should not have them with labour, he will not drive them from him, but will follow them securely when they flit away. In what storehouse may Fortune better lock her riches then there, from whence she may fetch them, without complaint of him that keepeth them. Marcus Cato when he praised Curius and Corancatus and that Age, wherein it was an offence worthy of censure, to have some few plates of Silver, was himself master of a million of Gold, far less in respect of the treasure which Crassus had, yet far more than Cato the Censor was Lord of. By far more had he surpassed his great Grandfather, had they been compared together, than he was surpassed by Crassus; And if greater fortunes had befallen him, he had not refused them. For a wiseman thinketh himself worthy of all those presents of fortune. He loveth not riches, and yet he preferreth them before poverty, he receiveth them into his house but not in his mind, neither treadeth them under foot in possessing them, but containeth them, and will have an excellent subject to exercise his virtue upon. CHAP. XXII. Why a virtuous and good man despiseth not riche●, and to what use they serve him. But who doubteth, but that a wise man hath a greater means to express the worthiness of his mind, when he hath riches, then when he hath poverty, when as in poverty there is but one virtue not to be dejected, not to be depressed. In riches a man may say that temperance, libertie● diligence, disposition, and magnificence, have a spacious field to show themselves in. In this place there is a noble discourse of the use of riches. A wise man will not contemn himself, although he be of a low statu●e, yet could he wish that he were higher. Though he be slender in body, and have lost an eye, yet will he be content, yet had he rather that his body were strong enough. He will love it so, when he shall know that there is some thing in him more strong and more vigorous; he shall endure sickness and wish for health. For some things although they be small in appearance, and such as may be taken from us, without the ruin of the principal good, yet add they something to perpetual joy which springeth from virtue. So do riches affect and comfort him, as a fair and merry wind doth a sailor, as a fair day, or as a covert in cold weather and rain. But who is he say I, amongst our wise men, who account virtue for the only good, that denieth likewise that these which we call indifferent, have some worth in them, and that some are to be preferred before others. To some of these some honour is given, to some great. Do not therefore deceive thyself, riches are amongst those things that are to be desired. Why then sayest thou, dost thou mock me, when as they are as highly esteemed by thee as they are by me? Wilt thou know how differently they are affected? If riches slip out of my ●ands, they shall carry nothing away with them but themselves; Thou wilt be astonished, and seem unto thyself to be left without thyself, if they departed from thee. Richeses with me are in some request, with thee in high esteem. In brief, my riches serve me, Thou art a slave to thine. CHAP. XXIII. That riches a● honest, both in regard of the getting of them, as in respect of the possession and use of them. Give over therefore to forbidden Philosophers to have money. No man hath condemned Wisdom to perpetual poverty. A wise man may have great wealth, but taken from no man, nor bought with the effusion of other men's blood, gotten without any man's prejudice, without unlawful gain, whose departure shall be as honest as their entry, whereat no man shall grieve except he be envious. Urge against them as much as thou pleasest, they are honest; in which, where as there are many things which every man would have called his, yet is their nothing that any man may say it is his. But the wise man will not estrange the bounty of Fortune from himself, neither will he glory or be● ashamed of that patrimony that he hath gotten with honesty; yet shall he have wherein to glory, if his doors being open, and the City admitted to enter to examine his substance, he might say; Let every man take that hence which he knoweth to be his! O great man, happily rich, if his actions be answerable to these speeches of his, if after this speech he have so much; this I say, if sa●e and secure he hath submitted himself to the City's search, if no man hath found aught in his house, that an other man may challenge, boldly and openly, he shall be rich. Even as a wise man admitteth no money into his house that is badly got, so will he not refuse nor exclude great riches, which are the gifts of fortune and th● fruits of virtue. For what cause is there, why he should envy them a good place? Let them come and dwell with him; he will neither boast of them, nor hide them, the one is the sign of an insolent mind, the other of a fearful and weak mind; as if containing a great good within his bosom. Neither as I said, will he cast them out of his house. For what will he say? Whether this, you are unprofitable; or this, I know not how to use riches? Even as although he can walk his journey on foot, yet he had rather get up into his Coach, so if he may be rich he will, and he will entertain riches yet as slight and transitory things, neither will he suffer them to be burden some to any other, nor to himself. He will give then, what harken you now? Why open you your bosoms? he will give, but either to good men, or to those whom he may make good. He will give, but with great deliberation, making choice of the worthiest as remembering himself, that he is to give an account both of his expenses and receipts. He will give upon a just and reasonable cause, for to give quilly, is a shameful loss. He will have his bosom open, but not rend, out of which much money shall pass, but nothing shall be lost. CHAP. XXIIII. HE deceiveth himself, Of the vs● of Goods in regard of the divers relief of our neighbours, and how we aught to give. whosoever thinketh that it is an easy matter to give; This thing hath great difficulty in it, if so be it be given with judgement, not scattered by adventure or rashly. I gain the heart of such a man, I restore unto an other, I secure this man, I take pity on that man; I furnish such a one, because he deserveth to be warranted from poverty, and to be no more busied in seeking his fortune. To som● I will not give although he want; because, although I should give yet will he still be needy. To some will I offer, and other some will I press to take, I cannot be negligent in this thing, I never oblige so many unto my profit as when I give. What sayest thou, dost thou give to receive again? Yea, to the end I may not lose; yet must the gift that is given be in such hands whence it may not be redemanded, it may be restored. Let a benefit be bestowed like a treasure that is deeply hidden, which thou wilt not dig up, except thou hast need of it. What? hath not a rich man's house abundant matter to do good? For who would tie liberality only to Citizens and men of account? Nature commandeth us to do good unto men, whether they be slaves or freemen, whether they be naturally bred, or by manumission freed of in just liberty or given amongst friends. What is that to the matter? Wheresoever a man is, there is a place of benefit. The wise man likewise may spread his money in his own house, and exercise liberality, which is not so called, because it is given to freemen, but because it proceedeth from a free mind. This liberality of a wise man, is never employed upon filthy and unworthy persons, neither is it ever so wearied● but that as often as he findeth out a worthy receiver, it floweth abundantly, you are not therefore to give a sinister interpretation, to those things that are spoken honestly, manfully, and stoutly, by those that are lovers of Wisdom. But consider this first of all● that there is a difference betwixt him that is studious of wisdom, and him that is wise & hath gotten wisdom. He that hath wisdom will say unto thee, I speak justly, yet am I entangled with many vices. You are not to require of me a life that is every way correspondent to my words, whereas I endeavour as much as I may to make and form myself, and address myself according to an excellent pattern. If I proceed as well a● I have intended, require this of me, that my deeds may be answerable to my words. But he that hath attained the fullness of wisdom, will deal otherwise with thee, and will say. First of all thou art not to permit thyself to give sentence of thy betters; for now already (which is the argument that I am in the right way) I have gotten thus far as to displease evil men. But to let thee know, that I envy no mortal man, hear what I promise' thee, and how much I estimate every thing. I deny that riches are good, for if they were, they should make good men: but now since that which is found amongst evil men, cannot be called good, I deny them this name, yet confess I that they are to be had, that they are profitable, and bring great commodities. CHAP. XXV. Although a wise man possesseth ●iches, he accounteth them not for true goods, and why he had rather have them, then have them not. Hear therefore what the cause is, why I number them not amongst goods, and what thing I consider in them, more than you, since it is agreed between us both that they are to be had. Put me into a rich house; put me there where I shall be ordinarily served in silver and gold; I will not be proud for all this, which, although I have by me, yet are they without me. Transfer me to a wooden bridge, and drive me amongst the beggars, I will not therefore despise myself, because I sit amongst them, who thrust out their ●and to have an alms given them; for what is this to the matter, whether a crust of bread be wanting to him, who wants not the power to die? what then is it? I had rather have that fair house then a bridge. Lodge me in a rich bed with delicate hangings, and goodly furniture, I will not suppose myself more happy, because I have soft and silken covering upon me, and because purple carpets are spread for my guests to sit upon. I shall be no whit more miserable, if my weary head rest itself upon a lock of hay, or if I lie upon a Circensian and broken pad, whence the straw breaketh forth, through the rotten and ragged linen. What therefore is it? I had rather show what my manner were in cleanly and decent apparel, then with half covered or naked shoulders. Though all the days of my life should be pleasant, and that one honour should draw on others that are new, I would not be a whit prouder for all this. Change to the contrary this indulgence of time; let my mind be wounded every ways with losses, sorrows, and divers incursions: Let not an hour slip without some complaint, yet will I not say, that I am wretched amongst the wretchedest; I will not therefore curse my day, for I have already resolved with myself, that no day should seem fatal unto me. What therefore is it? I had rather temperate my joys, than still my sorrows. This will Socrates say unto thee: Make me the conqueror of all nations; let that delicate a●d triumphant Chariot of Bacchus carry me as far as Thebes from the sunne-rise; Let the Persian Kings require laws at my hands, then will I think myself most of all to be a man when all the world shall salute me for a God. join to this sudden greatness, a contrary change; Let them cast me upon a hurdle, to be led in show in the triumph of some proud and insolent enemy by reason of his victory, I will march with such a countenance behind his Chariot, as I did when I was mounted in mine. What therefore is it? I had rather overcome then be taken. I will despise the whole Kingdom of Fortune, out of that if I may take my choice, I will choose the best and most pleasing. What so ever befalleth me, I will repute it good, but I desire they should be easy and pleasant, and such as should least trouble me in the handling of them. For, thou must not think that there is any virtue without labour, but some virtues need spurs, other some rains: Even as the body that ascendeth a high place aught to be kept back, and he that ascendeth upon should bear forward: so some virtues are as it were descending, some that are troublesome to mount. Is it to be doubted, but that patience, valour, and perseverance, and other virtues opposed to afflictions, and tread fortune under foot, are such virtues as mount and advance themselves with travel, and outstrip many difficulties? What therefore? Is it not as apparent, that liberty, temperance and clemency march downwards? In these we contain our mind, jest it slip. In these we encourage and incite: So then when there shall be question of poverty, we will arm ourselves with the strongest, best disposed, and such as know best how to fight: in the use of riches, we will call the other which will march leisurely, and sustain the weight. CHAP. XXVI. THis being thus distinguished, I had rather have the use of those virtues, What difference there is betwixt a fool and a wise man, When as both would be rich. the exercise whereof is peaceable, then to assay those other that make a man sweated blood and water. I therefore saith the Wiseman, live not otherwise then I speak, but you hear otherwise then you should: only the sound of words is come to your ears, but what they signify you inquire not, what difference then is there betwixt me a fool, and thee a wise man, if both of us will have wealth? Great: for riches are to the wise man as his slaves, to the fool as his commanders. The wise man giveth not any authority to riches, but they master you wholly: you, as though some one had promised you an eternal possession of them, accustom yourselves to them, and cleave unto them. The wiseman doth then most of all meditate upon poverty, when as he is in the midst of his poverty. Never doth an Emperor so trust to peace, that he prepareth not for war, which he reputeth to be already proclaimed, although as yet they are not come to handy strokes. A fair house, as though it could never burn nor fall down, maketh you insolent. Richeses do amaze you, as if they were out of all danger, and were greater than that fortune had power enough to consume them. Idleing you envy your riches, neither foresee you the danger of them. Wherein you behave yourselves like Barbarians besieged in a place, who set their arms a cross, beholding those that besiege them traveling after certain engines, and know not what they be, neither understand whereto men will make use of these engines of battery, which are addressed far off from the Wall. The same befalleth you, you rot in your goods, neither think you what casualties hung over your heads every ways, and that suddenly shall pluck from you the fairest and the richest spoils. Whosoever shall take away a wise man's riches, shall leave him that which is his, for he liveth being contented with those things that were present, and secure of the future. I have never so much persuaded myself saith Socrates, or any other that hath the same right and power over human affairs, as to apply my manner of living to your opinions. Use your accustomed habit every way. I will not think them to be the injuries of men, but the cries of little children. Thus will he speak that hath gotten and attained wisdom, whose mind being freed from all vice, will loathe him to reprehend others, not because he hateth them, but because he would amend them. To these will he add: Your reputation moveth me, not in mine own respect, but for your cause: When I see you hate and harrow virtue, it is a forswearing of good hope. You do me no more injury, than they do the Gods, who overturn their altars; but your evil intent, and evil counsel appeareth even there where it could not hurt. Thus bear I with your impertinencies even as almighty jupiter doth the follies of the Poets; Whereof one of them giveth him wings, an other horns, an other brought him forth as an adulterer; an other, as a night-watcher; an other, as cruel towards the Gods; an other, as unjust towards men; an other, as a ravisher, and corrupter of children of free condition and of good parentage; an other, for a parricide, and such a one as hath invaded other men's dominions, yea, the kingdom of his own father: all which was to no other end, but to take from men (who believed that the Gods were such) all shame of doing evil. But although these things hurt me nothing, yet do I warn you for your own sakes, and counsel you to embrace virtue. Believe those that having long time followed her, cry out that they follow some great thing, and that one day or other, will show itself more excellent, and honour her as the Gods, and reverence those that serve her, as you would do the professors and priests of the Gods: and as often as there is any mention made of the sacred letters, keep your silence: for this word is not derived from favour, Favete linguis non ● favore. as divers men suppose, but silence is commanded, that the sacrifice might be duly performed without any interruption. CHAP. XXVII. By reason of silence whereof he entreateth, he showeth by an ●xpr●sse comparison, that th●re are not any people in t●e world more carefully to be listened unto then wisem●n, and t●ey that are unctuous, & thereupon he in●roduceth Socrates as the most exc●ll●nt who magni●ieth virtue, and showeth that happy life consis●eth in the same. WHich so much the rather aught to be enjoined you, that as often as any thing is uttered by that Oracle, with an intent and humble voice, you may hear the same. When some Apostatate Priest maketh a man believe, that the sister of Apollo hath sounded, when any one well learned to carve the flesh from his muscles, woundeth himself both in arms and shoulders with a sparing hand, when some woman creeping upon her knees along the ways howleth, and an old man appareled in linen, carrying in his hands a lantern and a candle at midday, crieth out that some one of the Gods are displeased; you flock about him, and listen, and entertaining one another's mutual amaze; you affirm, that he is some Prophet. Behold Socrates crieth out from that prison, into which when he entered it, be cleansed it, and made it more honest than any Court of plea. What madness is this? What nature is this so opposite against Gods and men? to defame virtues, and to violate holy things with malignant speeches? If you can, praise good men, if not pass by them. But if you take pleasure to exercise this unbridled liberty, assail one another: for when you are mad against heaven (I say not that you commit sacrilege) but you lose your labours. Sometimes I ministered matter to Aristophanes to break his jests upon me, and all that band of comic Poets powered out their envenomed scoffs against me: my virtue grew more famous by these very means, whereby they assailed her; for it behoveth her to be produced and attempted; neither do any men more understand what she is, than they, who by provoking her, have tired her forces. The hardness of the flint stone is known to no men more than to those who strike upon it: I present myself unto you in such sort, as a rock in midst of a tempestuous sea, the which is on every side, & incessantly beaten with the waves and yet notwithstanding continues in his place, and neither by length of time, nor by the assaults of the same, is any ways consumed. Enforce yourselves against me, and leave me at your pleasure, I will overcome you with patience, whatsoever he be that attempteth those things that are firm and impregnable, employeth his forces to the ruin of himself. And therefore seek out some more soft and yielding matter, wherein you may fix your weapons. But have you so much leisure as to examine other men's faults, and to give your censures of any man: Why this Philosopher hath so fair a house? why the other suppeth more daintily? you observe pustules and little spots in other men, being yourselves besieged with ulcers. It is as much as if you should carp at some men's freckles and warts which should appear in their fairest bodies, and you yourselves were overgrown with a loathsome scab. Object against Plato, that he desired money; against Aristotle, that he received the same; against Democritus, that he neglected it; against the Epicure, that he spent it; object against me Alcibiades and Phaedrus. O how happy should you be, when you could but sergeant our vices? but why rather examine you not your own vices which wound you on every side; the one assailing you outwardly, the other burning in your bowels. The affairs of the world are not brought to that pass, although you are wholly ignorant of your estates, that you may have so much leisure as to employ the rest of your time, and your tongues in detraction of good men. CHAP. XXVIII. THis understand you not, The continuation of a wise man's discourse in the person of Socrates. and you carry an other countenance than becometh your fortune, even as many men do, who sitting in the Circus or Theatre, and some one dead in their houses, and are wholly ignorant of that which hath happened. But I beholding from a high place, see what tempests either hung over your heads, that will somewhat later break from out their cloud, to such as are near at hand, that shall ravish both you and yours away, as soon as they shall meet you. And why? see you not already likewise, although you have little sense thereof, a certain tempest that transporteth your minds, and hurleth you up, flying and pursuing the same things, and ravisheth you now lifted up on high, now battereth you against the ground. The end of the Discourse touching a blessed life. THE TRANQVILITIE AND PEACE OF THE MIND. WRITTEN BY LUCIUS ANNAEUS SENECA, AND DEDICATED TO SERENUS. The Argument of JUSTUS LIPSIUS. AND this Book is to be numbered amongst those that are profitable and worthy both for their matter and handling. It was written in the beginning of his return from his banishment when he was admitted to the Court and preferred to be NERO'S Schoolmaster. This appeareth by these words, in his first Chapter. This dissolution abashed me, and this abundance of delight spreading itself, and sounding round about me, ravished me, coming from a place where I had long time settled myself to live in obscurity. He toucheth and taxeth the dissolution of the Court, which before times was unknown and hateful unto him. The order in the handling hereof is confused, yea scarcely is there any, and an over sight or defect unless I be deceived, appeareth in many things. But this is the sum hereof. The occasion of his writing, he draweth from his inconstancy and irresolution, his mind being neither settled or quiet in any sort. This saith he is their custom who are in the way to wisdom but have not as yet attained the same, nor tasted the fruit thereof, which is tranquility. O great good, and what is it? he describeth the same. How shall I attain thereunto? by flying inconstancy, what then is she? her he punctually describeth she is driven away by divers remedies first by occupation and that either public, if the times or thy understanding admit it, or private to the end, thou mayest converse amongst the best studies and meditations. Yet must not we suddenly fly from the Commonweal, that there are many parts thereof, and that we have liberty to embrace any one of them. This until the fourth Chapter. Than added he if we intent business, three things are to be considered ourselves, the business, or men for whose cause, or with whom we act. In ourselves our forces are to be examined, what and how far they may neither let us attempt further. In our affairs? what are we able to overcome them, whether likewise there be a chain of them and whether they lead us farther that our returns aught to be always free. In men: whether they be worthy of our labour or expense of time. But they are not vain, ambitious, neither occupied in any serious matter. Afterwards in the seventh Chapter, he addeth but scarce to the purpose. That an especial ●nd perfect friend is an entertainment of tranq●iliti●●●nd delight, but such a one as is not of an e●ill disposition, ●nd such ●s ●cc●seth all things● Again, there is 〈◊〉 perfect text, and in the eight Chapter of the means of Patrimony, that it be ●ot great nor small to nourish tranquility, but mean and 〈◊〉, and that may be maintained by Parsimony. But excess is to be avoided, yea in the very instruments of life, as in o●r Liberaries or Books. After this he over slippeth in the tenth Chapter, and proveth that trouble's befall in every estate of lif●, but that ●hey ●re m●llif●●d by custom, by beholding another man's Fortune, which of times is th● worst. Likewise that desires ●●e not to be banished far from us, but best near unto ●s, and eas●● t● be l●id hold on. And thus instruct●th ●ee a proficient and young Scholar, for 〈…〉 ●eed to fight, for he overcometh all Fortune, which he ●ore-thinketh to ●e this or th●t, and by foresight thereof m●llifieth and breaketh it. This ●●till the twelfth Chapter. After that another Tract that we are not to tramell in unnecessary m●tters, neither as much as in us lieth, in foreign. He urgeth DEMO●●●TVS heavenly precept. That many things are not done, either privately or publicly Presently after 〈◊〉 the fourteenth Chapter, he driveth us from Levity and pertinacy. That is nei●her busily to change in life, neither if thou hast chosen evil, obstinately to clean unto that, but to behold all things with an equal and almost a pleasing countenance. For what is life, b●t ● jest? L●stly in the sixteenth Chapter that simulation is to be fled, ●nd too careful composition of ● man's self. Let simplicity be entertained and sometimes mirth, yea and sometimes banquet and freer drinking. This drowneth cares, and freeth and extolleth the mind. In the end he concludeth, that he hath set down what they are that may maintain tranquility, and may restore it, by which you may see what the partition was, but truly it is not existant at this present. Therefore as many things of SENECAES', are the words to be praised in part, the order of the whole is defective, and that either by the injuries of time or at lest wise by the negligence of transcriptors. CHAP. I DEbating with myself Serenu●, Seneca introduceth Serenus or some other in his beginnings to whom he discovereth the infirmity, of his mind, and demandeth remedy at his hana's to settle them. and examining my present life, there were some vices of mine that appeared openly and subject to every eye, and such as I might touch with the hand, some more obscure and closely hidden, some other that were not continual, but such as returned at certain times and spaces; and these of all the rest were most troublesome, because (if I may so speak it) they resembled such enemies, as charge and assault at unawares, which keep me either from being always ready, as in time of war; or to live in security, as I aught to do, in time of peace: yet principally observe I this habitude in myself, (for why should I not disclose the truth, since thou art my Physician?) that neither I am truly and entirely delivered from these which I feared and hated, neither again subject unto them. I am in your estate, that is not altogether so evil; yet do I nothing but complain myself, neither find I any thing that may content me● I am not sick, and yet I am not well. Thou must not here tell me, that all the beginnings of virtues are feeble, and that in time their continuance and strength is increased: I know well that these things which are of consequence, as honour and reputation, to be eloquent, and all that whereupon our neighbour's ground their judgement, are fortified by time, and those that require some provision of true force, and they that are farded to please the eyes, respect some years, until such time as by little and little they get some time that may give them tincture. But I fear jest custom which bringeth constancy to things, fix this imperfection more deeply in me. A long conversation either with good or evil men induceth love. But I cannot show thee so well at once, as in part, what this infirmity of the mind is, which is hovered now this way, now that way, without staying itself resolutely on that which is good, and without declining also unto the evil. I will tell thee what befalleth me, give my infirmity afterwards what name thou pleasest. Great is my love to parsimony, I confess it, I like not a bed ambitiously furnished, I like not a garment newly drawn from the coffer, nor brought from the press where to make it shine; it hath endured a thousand weights and torments; but a homely, raiment, proper for the time, that hath not been hoarded up, nor is to be worn with too much care; that meat pleaseth me that few men may dress, and less pages attend, that's readily prepared, and that passeth through a few men's hands, that is ●asily gotten, and easily dressed, that is neither scanty nor dear, that may be found in all places, that neither spendeth the patrimony, nor hurteth the body, nor is like to be returned by the way it entered. I like a homely and a homebred servant, old and rustic, plain, such as my father used, without these new fashions, and the workman's mark, a table not chequered nor renowned amongst the people● because that divers men had been masters of it, who loved to make good cheer, but fit for my use, which for the beauty thereof shall not bewitch the eyes of my guests with pleasure, nor enkindle them with envy. After I had taken pleasure to see these things above said, a great troop of young Pages nourished apart, more diligently and costly appareled than they should be in a private house; and vassals and slaves garnished with gold, and a troop of servants that shined (so neatly they were attired) suddenly dazzled mine eyes. Furthermore, a house wherein nothing was trod upon but that which was precious, where riches were scattered in every corner of the house, where the roofs shined with gold, and where the flattering people haunted which follow and attend those patrimonies that fall to ruin. Why should I reckon up the waters so clear that a man might see the bottom, which incessantly run about those places where the feasts are solemnised? What shall I speak of the banquet, answerable to the rest of the magnificence? the things amazed me, and this delicious abundance coming to spread itself, and to ●ound about me, who came from a place where I have lived a long time, settled in a solitary life, ravished me wholly, my sight is dulled somewhat, I more easily lift up my mind then mine eyes against such pomp, I departed therefore not worse but discontent; neither walk I so joyful and merry amidst my brittle household-stuff, and a silent disgust and doubt assaileth me, whether that train were not better than mine, none of these change me, yet every one of them shake me. Sometimes I am ready to follow that which my Masters have commanded me, & to thrust myself into the affairs of estate. I am content to accept of honours and maiestracy, not persuaded to undertake the same, either for purple ornaments or golden rods, but that being thus advanced I might be more proper and better disposed to do pleasures to my friends, my kinsfolk, my Citizens, yea, and all mortal men● I follow Zeno, Cleanthes, Crysippus, no one of all which intermeddled with the commonweal, though every one of them counseled others thereunto. But when I had induced my mind thereunto, which is not accustomed to such debates. If any unworthy matter present itself (as in all human life there are too many) or if it go not forward easily, or that things slight and frivolous require much time to be employed in them; I return back again to my solitude, and do as beasts that are tired and wearied, that run more swiftly than they have done all the day before when they draw near unto their Stable: then is my mind conceited to contain itself within mine own walls. Let no man hence forward take one day from me, which cannot restore me a sufficient recompense for so great a loss, let my mind cleave unto himself, let him seem himself: let him not intent no foreign businesses, nor any thing that is subject to every man's censure, let tranquility be loved which is void of private and public cares. But when as reading hath roused and lifted up my mind to more confidence, and noble examples have pricked me forward I take a pleasure to haunt the judgement court, to lend one man my voice, another man my labour, which although it profit him not, yet was it aimed for his profit, to restrain another man's pride in the judgement court, too badly puffed up by his too great fortunes. In studies me thinks undoubtedly that it is better to contemplate the things themselves and to discourse upon them, and to fit them with convenient words, so as without search they may be subject to the thing that is in question. What need we to compose works that shall continued for many ages. Wilt thou beaten thy brain to the end that men may speak of thee when thou art out of the world! Thou art borne to dye, the secret funeral hath the lest troubles. If therefore thou wilt wright any thing to pass the time withal, writ it in a simple style for thine own use, not to affect praise. They that study for a day need no great labour. Again, when my soul is lifted up with the greatness of thoughts, she is ambitio●s in coying words, and as her conceptions are great, so endeavoureth she to be eloquent; and according to the dignity of the subject is the carriage of the style. Than forgetting this law, and this restrained judgement, I am carried aloft, and speak now by another man's mouth. And not to prosecute the rest more at large, in all things this infirmity of a good mind altereth me, and I am afraid lest it should escape me by little and little, or (which is yet more tedious) that I am not always in suspense and doubt as he that feareth to fall, and hath as yet no more evil than I could foresee. For we judge of our private affairs and behold them familiarly, and favour is always a hindrance unto judgement. I think that many men might have attained wisdom except they had thought that they had attained the same; except they had dissembled something in themselves, and overpassed some things with open eyes. For thou must not thin●e that other men's flattery maketh us so evil as our own doth. What man is he that dare speak truth unto himself? Who is he that being placed amidst the troops of his commenders and flatterers, that flattereth not himself more than all the rest? I pray thee therefore if thou hast any remedy to stay this debate of my soul, that thou wilt honour me with this good, that I may say that thou art he that hast set me at quiet. I know well that the motions of my soul are not dangerous, provided that they be not over violent. To express unto thee in an apt similitude the matter whereof I complain, I am not tormented with the storm but I have a provocation to vomit. Take from me then this pain whatsoever it be, and help him that is sick in the sight of the land. CHAP. II. He showeth ●irst o● all the difference that is betwixt those that ●eele troubles of their mind●, and others that have no apprehension thereof, or that take pleasure to be in trouble. Than declareth he how the first sh●●ld be handled. Truly my Serenus I have long ago sought for such a one without speaking a word of it, that had such and the like thought in his mind. There is nothing that admonisheth me more nearly than their example, who being delivered from a long and grievous sickness feel as yet by times some shivering ●nd slight motions, and when as they have been freed from the relics of their infirmity, yet are they disquieted by some suspicions of a relapse, and being already whole offer their hand to the Physician to feel their pulse, and suspect every heat and motion of their bodies. Such men's bodies Serenus are healthful enough, yet are they not as yet well accustomed thereto, but have a certain trembling agitation, resembling that of the calm sea or some l●ke when a tempest is ceased on it. They have therefore need not of those harder remedies which we likewise overpass, as in some place to oppose thyself against thy passions, in some place to be displeased, in some other place to be more grievously angry: but we have most need of that which cometh last, that thou trust thyself, and believest that thou art in a good way, being no ways distracted by the by-walkes of many men wandering here and there, and of some that err about the way. But that which thou desirest which is not to be shaken, is a great and perfect thing, and approacheth the felicity of God. This stable seat of the mind the Grecians call 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 whereof Democritus hath written an excellent volume. I call it Tranquillity, neither is it necessary to imitate or to mould new words according to their form. It sufficeth that the thing which is in question hath a name which expresseth the force of the Greek word without representing the letters. So then we demand how the spirit may remain always like unto himself, march with an equal train, be favourable to himself, and behold hi● attempts with a good eye, to be joyful and content, neither raising nor depressing himself overmuch. This is called tranquility, but let us inquire in general how we may attain hereunto: thou shalt take as much of the public remedy as thou wilt; mean while I will discover the whole vice whereby every man may know his part, and thou likewise mayst understand how less● trouble tho● hast with the loathing of thyself, than they who tying themselves to a fair show, and labouring under a great title would willingly discover themselves, but I know not what shame entertaineth them. All are in the same cause, both they which are vexed with levity & anxiety, and a continual change of their purpose, who are always better pleased with that which they have left, and thos● that watch & gape after vain hopes. Add unto those men likewise who are not transported in their life by the means of inconstancy but thorough their sloth. They live not as they would but as they began, moreover there are innumerable other properties, but only one effect of the vice which is to displease themselves. This springeth from the intemperature of the mind & from fearful and scarce prosperous desires, whereas they dare not as much as they desire, or attain not the same, and are wholly be●t upon hope always instable and mutable, which must needs befall those that live in suspen●●. Their whole life is in expectation, and they teach and enforce themselves to dishonest and difficult things, and whereas their labour is in vain they are vexed with their fruitless disgrace: neither are they sorry because they have done evil, but that they willed the same in vain. Than repent they themselves that they had begun and fear to begin it again, and afterward they are surprised with a confusion of the mind which cannot found issue, because they neither can command nor obey their desirres, so that they lead a life which cannot be exempt from confusion, and have their minds tied and languishing amidst fruitless vows and desires: and all these are more grievous unto them, wh●n as in despite of that misfortune that travaileth them, they would have recourse unto repose, and to secret study's which the mind cannot endure, that is fixed on the affairs of the world, desirous to be in action, by nature unquiet, and having little solace in himself. And therefore their delights being drawn from them, which their occupations ministered unto them, b●ing busied in certainty therein, the mind endureth neither house nor solitude, the walls are displeasant to him, and being thus abandoned by himself, he unwillingly beholdeth himself. From thence proceedeth this tediousness, this contempt of himself, this perpetual agitation of the mind, this sad and feeble patience in repose, especially when he is ashamed to confess the cause, when shame tormenteth him inwardly, when covetous desires close up his heart, when none of these finding issue strangle one another. Thence cometh that sadness and consumption, and a thousand floods and assaults of the uncertain mind, held in suspense by the enterprises he hath begun, abated by the remembrance of the remediless estate of his present affairs. Thence groweth that thought which maketh them detest the repose they enjoy, complain themselves that they have nothing to do●, and to bear endless hatred and envy at other men's prosperity; For unhappy idleness is the nurse of envy, and all of them desire to be dead because they could not outstrip others. This envy conceive against other men's fortunes, and his own disgraces causeth the mind to fret and murmur against fortune, to accuse the malice of the time, to retire himself into some corner apart, and to stoop under his torment in fretting and consuming himself. For man's mind is swift and ready to be moved, and rejoiceth very much when any occasion is offered to exercise himself. But above all others this pleaseth those men that are malignant, whose minds are sharpened and ordinarily whetted in managing affairs. Even as there are certain ulcers that are glad to be rubbed, and desire to be handled, and the itch is not content except a man scratch it; So these spirits which are seized with desires, as with malignant ulcers, take no pleasure but in travail and affliction; For there are certain infirmities which delight our bodies with a kind of pain, witness those that turn themselves on this side, now on that, and refresh themselves in changing their bed. Such was Achilles in Homer, sometimes he lay upon his belly, then upon his back, and could never remain in one ●state. It is the true act of a sick man not to be able to suffer any thing long time, but to think that his health consisteth in his tossing and turning. Hence are divers travels undertaken, and shores sought out, and lenity which is always an enemy to those things which are present, now by sea, and then by land, adventureth daily. Let us go now into Campania, now that delicate soil delighteth us, let us visit the wood countries, let us visit the forest of Calabria, and let us seek some pleasure amidst the deserts, in such sort as these wandering eyes of ours may be relieved in beholding at our pleasure the strange solitude of these savage places. We must go see Tarentum & that haven so much esteemed, and the air so sweet in Winter, & the stately houses of these ancient people. Let us return to Rome back again, our ears have too long time been estranged from the applause of the Theatre & the Circensian sports, now would I take pleasure to see men's blood spilled. Behold here how one voyage begetteth another, and how after we have seen one thing we long for an other. After this manner each man flies himself. But what pro●iteth him to fly if he cannot escape, he runneth after himself, and hath a very dangerous company that attendeth him. L●t us therefore know that the evil that presseth us, cometh not from the place but from ourselves. There is no affliction how light soever it be that is not over-waighty for us, we are neither patiented of labour or pleasure, we cannot bear our own affairs, nor any thing else. Some by reason hereof have procured their own death's, b●cause that oftentimes having changed their deliberation, they fell back again always into the same, and met with nothing that is new, by means whereof both their life and this world began to displease them, and the words which are the signs of foolish and enraged pleasures come into their heads. How long shall we always see the same? CHAP. III. For a first remedy ●e requires th●t t●e mi●d should b● occupied ●n ●●m●●ocation w●●ch mi●●t ●e profitable to oth●rs. THou askest me what remedy I think necessary against this perplexity. It shall be good (as Athenodoras' counseleth us) to detain ourselves in affairs of estate, and to serve the commonweal. For as some spend the day in taking the sun, and in exercises● and care of their bodies, and as it is profitable ●or wrestlers to employ the most part of their time in exercising their arms and strength whereunto they have only dedicated themselves; so is it requisite for us who prepare our minds to the managing of public affairs to be always in action. For he that hath resolved himself to become profitable to his Citizens, yea, unto all men at one time doth two things, handling (according to that endeavour that is given him) both the public and his particular affairs. But b●cause (saith he) in this so mad ambition of men, where so many detractors wrist all things to the worst; simplicity is scarce secure, and there will be always more lets then successful events, w● aught to retire ourselves from the managing of public affairs; considering this that a well se●led heart hath the means to show itself in his private house. It fareth not so with men who for the most part have their actions secret and hidden, as with Lions and other bruit beasts, who are locked up in their grates to restrain their fury; yet in such sort aught a man to seek out solitude, that wheresoever he remaineth in quiet, he may desire that the vigour of his mind, his speech and action may serve every one in particular and all in general. For not only he alone serveth the Commonweal that produceth the Candidates to sue for offices, that defendeth the accused, who giveth his advise as touching the affairs of peace and war, but also that other that instruct youth, that in so great want of good manners informeth men's minds with virtue that layeth hold on, and restraineth those who are addicted to avarice and dissolution, or at lest wise that hindereth them from passing further, and who in his private house procureth the public good. Who doth more, either the judge in a City that with his assistant pronounceth a brief sentence in a process that strangers and Citizens have before him: or he that teacheth what justice is, that showeth what piety, wisdom, pureness, contempt of death are, and how excellent a goad a good conscience is? If then thou employest thy time in study, thou hast not lost, these honours that are due to the execution of thy charge concerning the public, neither shalt thou be exempted from the same. Neither is he a soldier that standeth in the front of the battle and defendeth both the right and left wings: but he also that guardeth the gates, and standeth sentinel in a place though not so dangerous, yet necessary, and keepeth his watch that hath the government of the Ammunition house; which charges though they be not bloody, yet have they (that execute them) their pay as well as the rest. If thou shalt retire thyself to thy studies, thou shalt avoid all care that tortureth man's life, thou shalt not be troublesome to thyself nor unprofitable to others; thou shalt get thee many friends, and the better sort of men will accept thee. For virtue, although she be poor and abject, yet is she never obscured, but she showeth the beams of her brightness a far off, and whosoever is capable will acknowledge, and follow her steps. For if we renounce all conversation and fly from human society, and live only to our private respect, this solitude deprived of all honest occupation will found nothing at last whereto to addict herself; we shall begin to build some houses, and to overturn others; we shall t●rne the sea out of his place; we shall 'cause the rivers to altar their courses, and dispense the time very evilly, which nature gave us to bestow well. Sometimes we are too sparing, sometimes over-prodigall, some of us employ the same in such sort that we can yield no account thereof, others have none left them. And therefore there is nothing more shameful to see an old man (that to approve that he hath lived long time in this world) can produce no other witness but the number of his years. For mine own part (my dearest Serenus) me thinks that Athenodoras' submitted himself too much to times, and fled from them overhastily. I confess well that we aught sometimes to retire ourselves but leisurely, and with a secure retreat, our ensigns displayed, and without impeachment of our worldly dignity. They are more valiant and more assured than their Conquerors that make a fair and honest retreat. So in my opinion aught virtue to behave herself, and if the inconstancy of worldly affairs disturb all, and taketh away from a virtuous man the means to do good; yet for all this aught he not to turn his back, nor to cast away his weapons to save himself by flight, and to thrust himself in a secret place, as if there could be any corner where fortune could not found him out: but he aught to be less busy in affairs, and found out some expedient with judgement to make himself profitable to his Country. Is it not lawful for him to bear arms? let him aspire to some public charge: must he not live privately? let him pled. Is he put to silence? let him help his Citizens by his private counsel. Is it dangerous for him to enter the judgement place? let him show himself a faithful friend, a gracious companion, a temperate guest in houses, in theatres, at feasts. If he have lost the office of a Citizen? let him use that of a man. And therefore with a great mind have we not shut ourselves within the walls of one City, but have thrust ourselves into the conversation of the whole world, and have professed that the world is our Country, that we might give virtue a more spacious field to show herself in. Is the Tribunal shut against thee, art thou not admitted to pled, or to assist the common Counsels of the City? look back and see what great Nations and peoples are behind thee, never shall so great a part be kept from thee, that a greater be not left thee. But beware that all this proceed not from thine own error: for thou wilt not undertake a public charge except thou be a Consul, a Pritanes, an Ambassador, a supreme Dictator. What if thou wilt not be a Soldier except thou be a Commander or a Tritane? although that others have the vanguard, and fortune hath put thee in the rearward, do thy devoir in that place, fight with thy voice, thy exhortation, and thy courage. He also that hath his hands cut off in fight, findeth some means to animate his companions, who standeth only and encourageth them with crying. So must thou do if fortune hath drawn thee from the first rank of public charge, yet stand thou and help with thy crying. If thy mouth be stopped, yet stand; and help with thy silence. The industry of a good Citizen is never unprofitable, for by his hearing, by his sight, by his countenance, by his beck, by his obstinate silence, and by his very gate, he may profit. Even as certain wholesome drugs by their only smell (without either touch or taste) do comfort greatly; so virtue, whether it be sowed or locked in itself, whether it be by authority, or by accident, whether she be constrained to scantle her sails, or to be idle or mute, confined in a strait, or lodged at large, spreadeth a far and unperceived, performeth some great and profitable good. In brief, she serveth in whatsoever estate and countenance she be considered. What? thinkest thou that the example of a man that liveth retired and to purpose, is of little use? I say, that it is an act of a singular virtue to know how to forsake affairs, and to repose himself, when as the active live being hindered by divers accidents, or by the condition of estate cannot effect his designs. For never see we affairs brought to that extremity but that a virtuous man hath the means to do somewhat that is good. Canst thou found a City more wretched than that of the Athenians was, at such time as thirty Tyrant's rent it in pieces. They had put to death Thirteen hundred of the most nobles and most virtuous in the City, and for all that cruelty ceased not thus but incensed itself, and augmented daily. In that City which was adorned with the most venerable Counsel of the Arcopagites, where there was a Senate and an assembly of people worthy of so worthy an assembly of Senators; there were gathered daily a miserable troup of murderers, and a wretched court of tyrants, too small to contain them. Can this City be in repose wherein there were so many tyrants as there were Soldiers? There was not any hope for these poor Citizens to recover their liberty, nor any remedy whatsoever against such a multitude of mischiefs. For where is it that this poor City might found so many Harmodians? Notwithstanding (all these miseries) Socrates was in the midst of them, who comforted the mournful Fathers, and exhorted those that despaired of the Commonweal, and reproved the rich (who feared their goods) for the overlate repentance of their dangerous avarice, and to those that would follow him, bear about a worthy example, whilst amongst the thirty tyrants he walked confident and free. Yet this man did the Athenians murder in prison, and he that safely insulted over the troops of tyrants, his liberty could not a free City endure and harken to, to the end thou mayest know, that a wise man hath an occasion to show himself in an afflicted Commonweal; and how in a flourishing and blessed state many envy, and a thousand other disarmed Cities do reign. Howsoever therefore the Commonwealth is disposed, howsoever fortune permitteth, so either may we enlarge or contract ourselves, provided always that we be stirring, and suffer not ourselves being chained with fear to be dulled and astonished. Nay he shallbe truly a man who (when as dangers are eminent every ways, and when as swords and chains thunder in his ears) neither breaketh his fortune, nor hideth it. Curius Dentatus was wont to say, That he had rather be dead then live. It is the last of all evils to departed from the number of the living before thou diest. But thou art to endeavour, that if thou light on such a time wherein thou canst not intermeddle with the Commonweal without danger, to usurp more time for thy repose and study, and no otherways then in a dangerous navigation make sail towards the haven, neither expect thou, until such time as affairs leave thee, but disjoin thou thyself from them. CHAP. FOUR FIrst, The means to effectuate this remedy is to fly vain glory, foolish bashfulness, pride, wrath, and folly. therefore we aught to examine ourselves; next, what business we undertake; lastly, what they are for whose cause we undertake them, or with whom we deal. Above all things a man aught to estimate himself, for, for the most part in our own judgements, we seem to be able to do more than we can. There is one that looseth himself in over-trusting his own eloquence; another hath spent more than his revenue mounteth to; another hath oppressed his weak body with laborious offices. There are some that are to bashful to intermeddle with civil affairs, which require a confident countenance and resolution: some men's contumacy is unfit for Court; some there are who have no government over their wrath, and every slight occasion driveth them to intemperate language; some cannot refrain from jesting, neither can they abstain from dangerous gibing. To all these, repose is more profitable than business: a fierce and impatient man by nature will avoid the provocations of harmful liberty. CHAP. V NExt of all these things which we undertake are to be estimated, That we charge not and occupy not ourselves above measure. and our forces are to be compared with those things which we will attempt. For there must always be a greater force in him that beareth, then in the burden. These weights must needs bear him down, that are greater than he is that carrieth them. Besides there are ●ome affairs that are not so great as they are fruitful, and breed many other business, and these are to be avoided, from whence a new and divers occasion of trouble ariseth: neither must thou adventure thither, whence thou canst not freely return again. Set thy hand to these things, whose end thou mayest either effect or at leastwise hope. These things are to be left that extend themselves farther than the act, and end not there where thou intendedst they should. CHAP. VI WE must likewise make some choice of men, He adviseth us to shun the secrets of ungrateful persons, and such as are proud who think that all the world is bound unto them, and feed on nothing but vain glory. and to consider whether they are worthy on whom we should employ a part of our life, & whethe● the loss of our time may be redeemed to our profit. There are some that think that we are bound to do them pleasure before we be desired. Athenodorus saith, that he would not go to supper with him who would not think it a courtesy in him to accept the same. I believe thou conceivest, that much less would he be invited by them, who requited their friends courtesies with feasts, and accounted their many dishes for a debt, as if they were intemperate to do an other man honour, take from them their witnesses and spectators, they will conceive no delight in their secret banquets. Thou art to consider whether thy nature be more apt for public business, or for idle study and contemplation; and thither art thou to incline, whether the vigour of thy mind carrieth thee. Isocrates being laid hold on by the Ephone, withdrew himself from public pleas, supposing himself to be more fit and profitable to writ histories; for enforced wits never satisfy expectation, and the labour is in vain where nature repineth against it. CHAP. VII. A remedy against a troubled mind, is to ●aue a ●rusty friend. YEt nothing will so much delight the mind as a faithful and pleasing friendship: how great a good is it when the hearts are prepared, wherein a man may safely bury all his secrets, whose conscience thou fearest le●se then thine own, whose words may terrify thy discontents, whose counsels can resolve thy doubts, whose mirth may dissipate thy sorrow, and whose countenance may comfort thee? Such friends as these let us make choice of as far as is possible for us: for vices creep into us, Marks to show and know what friend● we aught to choose. and invade every one that is nearest them, and hurt by touching. Therefore as in the plunge we aught to take heed, jest we sit by these who are already attainted, and infected with the burning sickness, because thereby we shall incur danger, and be poisoned with their very breath; so must we endeavour in the choice of our friends, that we admit such as are lest polluted. It is a beginning of sickness to accompany those that are infected: neither will I enjoin thee this to follow and contract friendship with none, except he be a wise man; for where wilt thou find out such a one, whom for so many ages we have sought after? but we are to take him for the best who is the least evil. Scarce couldst thou make a happier choice, hadst thou leave to se●ke for good men amongst Plato's and Zenoph●ns, or amidst the the troop of Socrates Scholars, or if it were granted thee to review the time wherein Cato lived, which as well brought forth many that were worthy to be borne in Cato's age, as many worse than ever were, who were the plotters of many heinous crimes. For their vices need of both sorts, to the end that Cato might be the better known. Of good, by whom he might approve himself; of bad, Who they are that are not to be entertained into friendship. in whom he might make trial of his forces; yet especially let such be avoided, who are melancholy and deplore all things, who, upon every occasion are ready to complain, although his faith and benevolence be unfeigned, yet so distempered a companion, that grieveth and grudgeth at all things, is an enemy to tranquillity. CHAP. VIII. LEt us pass over to riches which are the causes of all men's miseries: for, The third remedy is now to fear poverty, because the poor have many advantages above the rich. if you compare all things whereat we are aggrieved, as deaths, sicknesses, fears, desire's, patience of sorrows, and labours, with those evils which our money ministereth unto us, this part will weigh heaviest: we aught therefore to bethink us, how far lighter the sorrow is not to have them, then to loose them, and we shall understand that poverty hath by so much the less torments, by how much she hath the less matter of loss: for thou art deceived, if thou thinkest that rich men do with greater courage endure their losses. The pain of a wound is equal both in the greatest and smallest sadness; Bion speaketh very elegantly, That it is no less troublesome for those that are bald, to have their hairs pulled of, then to those that have but high locks. Know thou this both in rich and poor, that they have equal torments; for both of them told their money, neither without grief and sense thereof could they endure to loose it. But as I said, it is more tolerable & easy not to get riches, then to loose them, and therefore shall you see them more merry, whom fortune never looked upon, than those whom she hath forsaken. Diogenes saw this, who was a man of a great mind, and endeavoured himself that nothing might be taken from him. Call thou this poverty necessity, or want, and impose whatsoever ignominious name thou list upon security, I will not think this man happy if thou find me out an other that can loose nothing. But I am deceived, if it be not a Kingdom among the covetous, the deceivers, the thief, and lewd persons, that there is one that may not be hurt. If any man doubt of Diogenes felicity, he may likewise doubt of the estate of the immortal gods, whether they live blessedly enough, because they have no fields, nor gardens, nor lands for a husbandman to blow up, not a great bank of money in the market place. Art thou not ashamed whosoever thou art that admirest riches? Behold I pray thee the heavens throne, shalt thou see the gods naked, giving all things, having nothing. Thinkest thou him poor, or like unto the immortal gods, that hath despoiled himself of all transitory things. Callest thou Demetrius more happy who was Pompey's Libertine, because he was not ashamed to be more richer than his Master? Every day was the number of his servants brought unto him, as the master of an Army to a General, who for all his riches should have long since contented himself with two servants, and a lesser seller. But Diogenes only servant ran away from him, neither thought he him so much worthy as to recall him when he was showed unto him. It were a shame (saith he) that Manes could live without Diogenes, and Diogenes could not live without Manes. A continent speech of Diogenes. Me think he said, meddle with thine own business Fortune, thou hast no more power Diogenes. Is my servant run away? no, he is departed free. A family requireth maintenance, men must take charge of the feeding of so many greedy beasts, raiment must be bought, thieves handsel prevented, and such as weep and detest, must be admitted to service. Hence, far more, happy is he that oweth nothing but to him●elfe, whom he may easily deny: but because we have not so much strength, our patrimonies be to be husbanded that we may be less exposed to the injuries of ●ortune, An excellent example to show the advantages of the poor. The bodies of meanest proportion and who may lock themselves in their arms, are more addressed than those great and unweeldy bodies, which by reason of their length and thickness are exposed to strokes. The best measure in riches is that which neither falleth into poverty, neither is far estranged from poverty. CHAP. IX. The fourth remedy is to keep a measure in desire, gathering, possessing & using worldly goods. ANd this measure will be well pleasing unto us, if first of all parsimony content us, without which neither any riches will suffice us, neither any prove great enough, especially whereas the remedy is at hand, and poverty itself by the assistance of frugality may convert itself into riches. Let us accustom ourselves to remove pomp from us, and to measure the ornaments of our honour by the necessary use of things. Let our meat appease famine, or drink thirst; let our desires be appeased by things that are necessary. Let us learn to walk upon our own feet, not to clothe and feed ourselves according to every new fashion, but as the custom of our Ancestors persuadeth us unto. Let us learn to increase continency, to decrease lasciviousness, to temper our excess, to pacify our wrath, to behold poverty with equal eyes, to respect frugality, although we will be ashamed to yield such remedies to our natural desires as cost very little, to have unbridled hopes, and our mind that dependeth on future things, kept as it were under bonds, to behave ourselves so that we require not our riches at fortune's hand, but rather from ourselves. So great variety and iniquity of casualties cannot (I say) be so repulsed, that many storms press not upon those that rig forth much Shipping. Our affairs must be drawn into a strait, to the end that adversities may attempt us in vain. And therefore banishments and calamities have sometimes become remedies, and those incommodities that are most grievous have been healed by lighter, where the mind is disobedient to precepts, and will not be cured by gentle means. But why may not this be profitable? If both poverty and ignominy, and the overthrow of a man's fortunes accompany these: one evil is opposed against another. Let us therefore accustom ourselves to be able to sup without any guests, to be served with less attendants, to be appareled according to our necessities, and to devil more retiredly. It is not only in the course of the Circean sports; but also in the carriers of this life that we aught to retire and contract ourselves. And in studies likewise (wherein the charge is most commended) so long will I have a reason as I have a measure. To what end serve so many infinite Books and Libraries when as their Master in all his life time can scarcely overread their Tables? A multitude of books burdeneth and instructeth him not that learneth, and it is better for thee to addict thyself to few Author's, then to wander amongst many. Forty Thousand books were burned at Alexandr●a, a worthy monument of kingly riches. Some men may praise this as Titus Livius did, who saith, That it was a work that showed the magnificence and wondrous care of Kings. But this was not magnificence or any other laudable act, but a studious excess. Nay more, it was not studious, because they had gathered them, not to profit studies, but to show th●ir pomp, as it falleth out with divers ignorants, who scarce knowing the letters wherein their slaves are exercised, heap up book● not as instruments of study, but ornaments of their suppers. Let us therefore gather so many books as may suffice, and collect nothing for ostentation sake. It shall be more honest (sayest thou) to employ my money herein, then in vessels of Corinth and painted Tables. That is every ways vicious where there is overmnch. Why wouldst thou less pardon him that would get reputation by means of his Marble and ivory, than another that searcheth through all Countries to buy unknown Authors, and happily such as are reproved and censured, and doth naught else but breath upon his books, If a great company of books be not accompanied with a serious s●udy, and w●ll governed, that is but a ●e●k●rie. and takes no pleasure but in their covers, or in their titles? Thou shalt ordinarily see amongst the most idle, whatsoever Orators or Histories there are, and their studies filled up from the top to the bottom: And at this day amongst the baths and stoves are Libraries builded, as if they were a necessary ornament in the house. But all these works of learned men excellently written, bound up, and enriched with their pictures, are bought to no other end but for show and beautifying of wal●. CHAP. X. But it may be thou art fallen into some troublesome and difficult course of life, The fift remedy is to endure quietly the difficulties of a man's vocation, and to accustom himself because he seethe that pleasures are intermixed with perplexities. and ere thou knewst it; some fortune either public or private hath entangled thee● in such sort, as thou neither canst lose or break the bonds. Think with thyself, that such as are fettered at the first can hardly bear their shackles or the irons on their legs, but afterwards being better resolved do suffer the same, and conclude to endure them patienly, necessity teacheth them to sustain them constantly, and custom easily. Thou shal● found in whatsoe●●● kind of 〈…〉 be, delights, remissions, and pleasures, except thou hadst not rather think 〈…〉 evil, then make it hateful. The greatest good that we have received by nature is, that she foreseeing how many troubles we are to endure in this world hath found out a remedy to ●en●●●e the same, which is customs, which in 〈…〉 maketh the greatest evils familiar and supportable; no manifold endure it if the continuance and sense of adversity were ●● bi●t●r as 〈…〉 we are all of us coupled by fortune, some of us have a 〈…〉 some a more base and sordid inth●almen●●. But what skilleth 〈…〉 all of us are environed with the same guard, and they that ●nchai●e o● 〈◊〉 a●●●enchained themselves. It may be● thou think●st that the cha●●●e which i● tied ●o the left arm weigheth not as much as that on the right. Some are 〈◊〉 by their honours, other some by their base ●●●a●e. These are 〈◊〉 subject to another's empery, others are vassals to them●elues● ther● are some that are confined in one place, others that are arrested by ●●o●● charges that are committed unto them. All our whole life is a servitudes we aught herefore to accustom ourselves to our condition● and no ways to complain of the same, 〈◊〉 to apprehended all those commodities which are ●bout us. Th●re is nothing so distasteful wherein an equal mind cannot found some solace. Ostimes a● ingenious man may writ infinite things in the smallest tables, and ●ee 〈◊〉 knoweth how to march readily, maketh the straightest aboard habitable 〈…〉 found. Add reason to thy difficulties, for the hardest things may be in 〈◊〉 the straightest laid open, and those things that are most grieu●●●s press them lest that discreetly can endure them. Besides● desires are not to be● sent far off from us, but let us suffer them to hover near abo●t us, because they endure not to be restrained whol●e. Leaving those things which either cannot be done or hardly can be achieved; let us follow those things that ar● near●●s, and are answerable to our hopes. Y●t let us know, that all that wh●ch outwardly ●at● divers appearances is equally light, and inwardly 〈…〉 le● us 〈◊〉 those that are more highly preferred, those things that see●e most highest are in most danger. They likewise whom adversity holdeth in suspense shall b●e more assured by withdrawing pride from those things which of themselves are proud, and reducing their fortune (as much as in them lieth) to an humble place and out of danger. There are many that are enforced to remain in their high degree, from whence they cannot descend but by falling, but yet it behoveth them to bear witness, that the greatest weight they bear upon their backs is to know, that they are constrained to be grievous and troublesome unto others. That they are not relieved but tied unto their charge, and that by justice, clemency, and human laws, and by a gracious manner of demeanour they prepare themselves divers succours and defences against the assaults of fortune that may happen, by the hope whereof they may be more assured in their fevers. There is nothing that can so much exempt these men from these agitations of the minds, than always to prefix a certain limit to their increase, and not to attend till fortune retire them from the same, but to take counsel of themselves, not to attend the extremities. So some desires, but they finite, shall acuate their minds, and shall not be infinite nor uncertain. CHAP. XI. He maintaineth always the doctrine of the Stoics, and distinguisheth the s●u●●●ous from the wise, whom he raiseth above all human fortunes, and describeth him here with his contentments. THis Discourse of mine appertaineth to ignorant persons, and such as have little knowledge, and are of depraved judgement, not unto a wise man. For he must not walk fearfully or slowly. For so great a confidence hath he in himself, that he doubteth not to encounter Fortune, neither will he ever give place unto her; neither hath he cause at any time to fear her, because not only he numbereth his stars, his possessions, and dignities, but his own body likewise, his eyes & hands, and whatsoever it be that maketh his life dear unto him, yea, himself, as things that are hired, and liveth as though he were but lent unto himself, ready to restore the whole willingly to those that redemand the same; neither therefore mispraiseth he himself, because he knoweth that he is not his own, but so diligently and circumspectly shall he do all things, as a religious and holy man is wont to do with those things that are committed to his trust. And whensoever he shall be commanded to make restitution, he will not question with fortune, but will say, I give thanks for that I have possessed, and had: It hath cost me much to entertain those things which thou hast given me, but because thou commandest me, I gratefully and willingly restore them again, and if thou wilt have aught continued in my hands, even now will I keep it, if thou be other ways minded, I restore unto thee, and redeliver into thy hands, my money and plate, my house and family whatsoever. If nature summon us which first gave us credit, to her will we answer. Receive a mind better than thou gavest me, The seventh remedy is not to prize this life, nor that which ●ee possess more than we need, but to dispose ourselves courageously unto death, and to whatsoever casually. I neither delay nor hide myself, I willingly and readily deliver thee it which thou gavest me when I knew it not. Take it to thee; what evil is it to return to that place from whence thou camest? He shall live badly that knoweth not how to die well. We must therefore above all things set light by this life, and accounted our souls amongst the number of those things that are not ours: We hate (saith Cicero) those skirmishers, if in any sort they desire to beg their lives, we ●auour them if they pretend to contemn the same: Know that the like befalleth us; for oftimes the cause of dying, is to die fearfully: that fortune that maketh sport for herself, whereto saith she shall I reserve thee wretched and fearful Creature as thou art? thou shalt receive more wounds and scars, because thou knowest not how to yield thy throat: but thou shalt both live longer, and die sooner, that manfully entertainest thy death, not in plucking back thy neck, or opposing thy hands. He that shall fear death, will never do any thing worthy a living man: but he that knoweth that this ordinance of life and death was decreed and presently ordered in him, at such time as he was conceived, he will live according to the rule and ordinance was prefixed him, and this likewise with no less constancy of mind will he perform, that none of those things that befall him, may seem sudden to him: for to foresee that which is to come, as though it were already past, is the mean to repulse the assaults of all necessities, which shake not these who attend them constantly, and know that there is nothing new in them: but they oppress those men that make themselves believe t●at no misfortune shall ever surprise them, and who think on nothing but pleasure and content; for there is no suddenness either in sickness, or in captivity, or in ruin or in fire: For I know well into what tumultuous retreat of dangers nature had locked ●e: so oftimes have men cried fire and water amongst my neighbours, so oftimes have the torches and tapers which were carried before the dead bodies of this or that man's children past by my doors? Often have I heard the noise of high buildings that suddenly fell down to the ground. one night hath carried away divers friends that I had made in the Palace, in the market place, in company, and hath as it were cut off the hands of those which had promised and sworn fidelity unto me. Shall I wonder then that those dangers that have hovered so long about me, are finally fallen upon me? The most part of those that are ready to set sail, The eighth remedy is to remember that all evils that be●all us, and all other men cannot happen, and consequently to detain ourselves in good time. think not upon a storm; for mine own part in doing well I will never be ashamed of the danger that may befall me. Publius' that had a more vehement spirit then either the Tragic or Comic Poets had, as often as he had given over his Mimic foperies, and such as ordinarily he used to delight the common people: amongst many other words, not only beseeming the Comic but the Tragic Theme, he useth these: That which happened to one man may chance to every man. Whosoever beareth these words in his hart, & considereth how many miseries his neighbour suffereth from day to day, and thinketh that they are intended against him, will arm himself long time before he be assailed. Too late is the mind instructed to endure danger when their assault is given: I would not have thought ●hat this should have been I would not have believed that this should come to pass. And why not? what riches are there that are not readily attended at their heels with misery, famine and beggary? what dignity is there, what scarlet rob, what Augurs purple garment, what noble man's slipper? that is not accompanied with disgrace, banishment, dishonour, imputation, and extreme contempt? what Kingdom is there, for which ruin, desolation, tyranny and torments are not prepared: neither as these divided by great spaces of time, but there is but a moment of an hour betwixt royalty and captivity. Know thou therefore that every condition is subject to alteration, and whatsoever assaulteth one man, may assail thee in like sort. Art thou rich? what richer than Pompey? who after that Caius his ancient cozen and new guest had opened Caesar's house to lock up his own doors, wanted both bread and water, in such sort, that he who possessed so many rivers, that had their courses and falls within the precinct of his lands, begged for drop● of water, and died for hunger and thirst in his kinsman's Palace, whilst his heir prepared a public funeral for the starveling. Hast thou had great honours? what so great or so unexpected, or so general as Sejanus? that very day wherein the Senate conducted him with honour, the people tore him in pieces with fury, and he whom Gods and men had loaden with so many honours as could be heaped upon him, had not a mammocke left of him for the hangman to fasten his hook in. Art thou a King? I will not sand thee to Croesus, who was commanded to mount the pile where he should be burned, and whence he descended, having recovered both his life and kingdom; neither will I sand thee to jugurth, whom the Roman people saw led in triumph that very year wherein he was so much feared. We have seen Ptol●my King of Africa, and Mithridates King of Armenia, amongst the number of those Soldiers that were of the Emperor caligula's guard; the one of these was sent into banishment, the other wished for it but under more faithful conditions. For he was slain by the way. In so great in●ertainety and mutability of affairs, thou reputest not that already done which may be done; thou givest adversity power over thyself which he hath broken whosoever espied them first. The next after these is, that we labour not in superfluous and unnecessary things, The ninth remedy is so sly unnecessary occupations. that is, that we neither desire those things which we cannot attain, or that having attained the same, we feel not overlate, and to our great shame the vanity of our covetousness, in fine that our travel be not unprofitable & of no effect, or the effect unworthy our travel: for for the most part sorrow and sadness succeedeth by these, if either that we expected fail 〈◊〉, or we be ashamed of the success. CHAP. XII. WE must cut off these encounters practised by the most part of men, who do naught else but run from house to house from the market place to the Theatre. The tenth, to sly vain curiosity. They entangle themselves with other men's affairs, resembling those who seem to be always busy about somewhat. If thou ask any of these that goeth out of his doors: Whether goest thou? what thinkest thou? He will answer, verily I know not, but I will visit some friend, I will do somewhat. They loiter about to no purpose, seeking out business, neither finish they those that they intended, but those they meet by chance. Inconsiderate and vain is their course, resembling that of the Ants, which creep along the shrubs, & now get up to the top, and strait run down to the bottom, without aught else doing but running. Such a life do many men lead, and a man may well say that they are idle without repose. Thou wilt have compassion of some of those who run as it were to a fire, and who overturn all those that they meet with, and fall upon them, for they run to salute some man that will scarce look upon them, or go to attend some stranger to his funeral, or to accompany some Lawyer: or to honour a Bridal, or to follow some Litter, or sometimes to bear it themselves: then returning home very weary and toiled into their houses, thou shalt hear them swear, that they knew not why they went out, neither why they left the house, and notwithstanding the next day they will idle it after the same manner. Let therefore all our labour tend to some end, and have some scope. It is not industry but the false appearance of things that tormenteth, and disquiet mad men: for they busy themselves not without some hope, the exterior beauty of this or that inflameth them in stead of taxing their vanity, by reason that the sense is occupied. In like case are all they, who go already to the intent to multiply the number of the people that walk about the streets, are carried away by vain and light occasions; and he that hath nothing to employ himself in, gets him out of doors upon the dayspring, & after he hath knocked at divers men's doors, whence he hath been honestly dismissed by the Porter, and by others, who have hindered him from entrance; there is no man with whom he acquainteth himself more unwillingly then with himself. On this evil there dependeth a most pernicious vice, which is curiosity; search into affairs and secret knowledge of many things that are dangerous, both to be spoken and heard. Democritus having had proof hereof, said; That he that will live peaceably, aught not to intermeddle with many affairs, either private or public. Having a reference to those things that are unnecessary: for if they are necessary, there are not many but innumerable things to be done, both private and public: but whereas no solemn office inviteth us, our actions are to be restrained. CHAP. XIII. FOr he that doth many things yieldeth himself subject to fortune's power, To what danger they that are ●u●ious oppose themselves, and why the Wiseman is exempt from these dangers. but the surest way is to make trial of her very little, but to think always of her, and never to put confidence in her. I will sail except somewhat hinder me; I will be Praetor except some one let me, and my business shall come well to pass except some accident cross it. This is the cause why we say, that nothing befalleth a wise man contrary to his opinion; we say not that he is exempt from the chances of this life, but from the errors; neither do all things fall out unto him as he wisheth, but as he thought: and first of all he thought that somewhat might resist his purposes. The sorrow a man conceiveth, for that he could not attain to that which he pretended, is light, and scarcely toucheth the heart when he promiseth himself not that things shall succeed as he desired. CHAP. XIIII. WE aught likewise to accommodate ourselves to affairs, without presuming over much of our conceptions. Let us dispose ourselves thither whether Fortune leadeth us, neither let us fear the charges of our counsels or condition, provided that levity transporteth us not, which is a mortal enemy to tranquillity: for it must needs be, that obstinacy is both doubtful and miserable from which fortune always extorteth somewhat, and levity much more grievous, that no ways containeth itself: both of these are enemies to tranquillity, both too unable to change any thing, and unapt to suffer any thing. In all casualties a man aught to retain his mind far from all external things, and to reflect upon himself, to procure that he t●ust in himself, to rejoice in himself, to content himself with his thoughts, to estrange himself, as much as he may, from other men's affairs, to apply himself to himself, not to have any sense of his losses, and take in good part his adversities. When Zeno the Stoic understood that his ship was cast away, and all his goods drowned, Fortune (saith he) willeth me to follow the study of wisdom more freely. A tyrant threatened the Philosopher Theodorus with death, and that his body should not be buried. Thou hast (saith he) an occasion wherein to delight thyself; thou hast a pint of blood in thy power: For as touching my burial thou shouldest be a great fool, if thou thinkest that I care whether I rot above or underground. Cannius julius an excellent man, whose glory is no ways diminished, although he was borne in our age, contested long time with the Emperor Caius; who as Caius was departing from him said unto him, Lest happily thou ●latter thyself with foolish hope, I have commanded thee to be put to death. I thank thee (said he) worthy Prince. I know not well what he m●ant or thought by these words, for divers considerations present themselves unto me. Thought he best to upbraid him, and to show how great his cruelty was, wherein death was a benefit? Or did he reproach him for his ordinary fury? for they gave him thanks likewise whose children were slain, and whose goods were taken from them. Or did he willingly entertain his death as a liberty? whatsoever he thought he answered worthily. But some man may say that Caius after this might have granted him life. Cannius was not afraid of this: Caius faith was too well known in such like commands. Thinkest thou that he passed those ten days without fear, betwixt the day of his sentence and that of his execution? It is uncredible to be spoken what words he spoke, what he did, and how peaceably he lived during this delay. He was playing at Chess at such time as the Centurion who led a troup of condemned men to death commanded him likewise to be cited. Having scarce finished his game he counted his men, and said to him withwhom he played, Beware (saith he) when I am dead that thou beliest me not, and sayest thou hast won the game. Than nodding his head to the Centurion he added, Bear me witness (saith he) that I have the vantage of one. Thinkest thou that Cannius cared for the man? no he mocked. His friends were dismayed because they were to lose such a man. Why (saith he) are you sad? inquire you whether souls be immortal? I shall know it presently. Neither ceased he to search out the truth even until his latter breath, and according to his custom to propose always some question. There followed him a Philosopher of his own train, and when he approached near the place where the tomb stood whereupon daily sacrifice was made to Diws Caesar. Cannius (quoth he) what thinkest thou now, and whereon fixest thou thy mind? I am resolved (said Cannius) to mark in this most swift moment of time, if the soul shall feel that she is passing forth. And he promised that if he found out any thing, he would return to every one of his friends, and tell them what the estate of souls were. Behold Tranquillity in the midst of a tempest; behold a mind worthy of eternity, which summoneth his destiny for an argument of the truth, who seeing himself ready to deliver his last breath, questioned with his departing soul, and that will not only learn until death, but learneth something likewise out of death itself. No man philosophied longer: But this so great a man shall not be obscured so slightly, his praise shall be carefully eternised, we will commend thee to everlasting memory. O worthy Cannius, the greater part of Caius cruel murders. CHAP. XV. But it profiteth nothing to have cast away the cause of private sadness. The twelft remedy is that we aught to despise all human things, bear them contentedly that are imposed on us, & laugh with Democritus. For sometimes the hatred of mankind possesseth thee, and a troup of so many fearful sins present themselves, when thou bethinkest thyself how rare simplicity is, how unknown innocency, how seldom faith, except when it ministereth profit, how the disadvantages of dissolution are as hateful as the advantages, and ambition is so excessive and proud, that she cannot contain herself within her limits, and boasteth not but in her villainies. The mind is blinded and obscured, and as if all virtues were overturned, which neither we may hope for, neither is it profitable for us to have, darkness overcloudeth all things; we must therefore dispose ourselves, that the vices of the common sort be not displeasing unto us, A comparison betwixt Democritus & Heraclitus. but rather may s●●me ridiculous, and rather let us imitate Democritus then Heraclitus. For this man as often as he went abroad wept, and the other laughed. To this man, all those things which we do seemed miseries; to that man, follies: All things therefore are to be set light by, and to be endured with a patiented mind; for it is more fitting to laugh at life, then to bewail it. Add hereunto also, that he deserveth better of mankind who laugheth thereat, than he that bewaileth it: for he leaveth some good hope, the other so foolishly bewaileth it, that he dispaireth of the recovery thereof, and he that cannot abstain from laughter, in beholding all that which the world doth, is of a greater mind than the other that spendeth himself in tears, when as he meaneth the lightest passion of the mind, & thinketh that there is nothing great, nothing severe, nor any thing serious in this so great preparation and show of men. Let every one present unto himself the occasions which may either dismay or rejoice us, and he shall know that that which Bion said is true, That all the affairs of men are answerable to their beginnings, & that their life is neither more holy nor more severe than their designs, conceived only in their souls: But is better peaceably to behold men's public manners and imperfection, then torment himself thus for other men's afflictions, and inhuman is that pleasure that delighteth in other men's evils; even as it is an unprofitable humanity to weep and sergeant sadness, because some man carrieth forth his child to be buried. In thine own misfortunes likewise it behoveth thee to carry thyself so that thou yield so much unto thy sorrow as it requireth, not as custom demandeth. For many men power forth tears for a show, and so often have they their eyes dry as they want witnesses of their sorrow, judging it an absurd thing not to weep when all men are discomforted. So deep an impression hath this evil fixed in our minds, to depend on other men's opinions, that sorrow (which of itself is the simplest thing) is converted into dissimulation. The thirteenth remedy is to think, that good men are neither miserable in their li●e nor in their death, and that ●or the same cause we aught to resemble them. There followeth another point which is accustomed to dismay and make men pensive, and not without cause, that is, because good men die miserably. As S●crates is compelled to dye in prison, Rutillius to live in exile, Pompey and Cicero to yield their necks to be strucken off by those whom formerly they had defended, and that Cat● (the living image of virtues) leaning on his sword should at once lose his life and his Country's liberty. It must needs torment us to see fortune recompense good deserts so unjustly, and what now may any man hope for himself, when as he seethe the best men suffer the worst afflictions? What shall be done hereupon? Consider how every one of them behaved himself constantly, and if they were valiant desire their minds, if they perished effeminately and basely, there is nothing lost. Either they are worthy that their virtue should please thee, or unworthy that a man should bewail their cowardice. For what is more hateful then to see great men dying valiantly, to 'cause other men to be caitiffs and cowards? Let us praise him that was so often worthy to be praised, and say; The more constant, the more happy art thou: thou hast fled human casualties, hatred & sickness, thou hast left thy prison, thou wert not worthy in thy God's opinion of an evil fortune, but unworthy against whom fortune might now do any thing: but those that would retire themselves, and in the instant of death look back unto life, must have hands laid on them. I will neither weep for any one that laugheth, or any one that weary. The one hath himself wiped away my tears; the other hath by his tears effected this, that he is unworthy of any tears. Shall I weep for Hercules because he was burned alive, or Regulus, because his ●l●sh was pierced with so many nails, or Cato, because he courageously endured the wounds he gave himself. All these men by a light expense of time found out the means to make themselves eterned, and by dying attained to immortality. There is yet another great subject of careful thoughts that thou disguise and sergeant cunningly, The fourteenth remedy is to s●●e hypocrisy. neither ever show thyself to be such outwardly, as thou art inwardly, resembling the lives of many, which ar● feigned and fashioned o●ely for ostentation: for it is a death to stand thus always on our guard, and to fear to be surprised in an other estate than we are accustomed. We are never void of care, as long as this opinion governeth us, & that men estimate our persons as oftentimes as they see us: for many things fall out which discover us in spite of our hearts, and although so retired an observation of a man's self succeedeth well, yet so it is, that to live always, thus disguised, doth but afflict and affright the life which would enjoy a thousand pleasures if she were beautified with an open and simple manner of action, and set not a vail before her manners. True it is that this life is an hazard of contempt, if all things were discovered unto all men; for some there are that disdain all that which they approach somewhat near unto, and observe, and better were it to be contemned by reason of simplicity, then to be tormented with a perpetual dissimulation. The ●i●teenth, to keeps a measure in solitude and conversation. Yet oughtest thou to keep a measure, and it importeth thee as very much to be advised, whether thou livest simply or negligently; we aught to retire ourselves very inwardly within ourselves ● for the conversation of those men that are of different humour from us, disturbeth those things that are well composed, and reneweth affections, and exulcerateth whatsoever is either weak or uncured in the mind, yet notwithstanding it is needful to intermix solitude and freedom together, in such sort as the one may be practised near unto the other. Conversation will make us love ourselves, The sixteenth to give some re●ose ●nto the m●nd, acc●●ding to Socrates, Cato, & Sci●ione● examples. solitude inciteth us to go and found out others, the one will comfort the other, solitude will heal the discontent we have conceived against the press of so m●ny people that we have met withal, & to frequent with divers men remedi●th that discontent which solitude breedeth. Neither is the mind to be entertained equally in the same intention, but to be revoked unto some pastimes. Socrates was not ashamed to play with children, and Cato made him merry with wine when public affairs had tired him, and Scipio exercised his warlike and triumphant body in dancing (not foolishly as men are wont to do at this day with res●uences and tricks that are more than effeminate) but as the ancients were wont to dance in their sports and festival days, with a decent and comely behaviour, whilst no dishhonour or reproach might ensue, though he had been observed by hi● very enemies. There must some remission be gi●en to our minds; for after a little repose they will become more better and active in all things. Even as we aught not to overlay our fruitful lands, jest by continual fecundity their heart and force● be spent and consumed; so continual labour ruinateth men's minds, if you suffer them to expatiate and delight themselves a while, they will recover new forces. Continual travel dulleth and blunteth the edge of understanding; neither to this vicissitude would the desire of man bend so much, except that sport and pastime had some pleasure and natural content, the frequent use whereof taketh away all that which presseth and afflicteth our spirits. For sleep is necessary for digestion, and if a man continued the same both day and night, it will be death. There is a great difference betwixt giving some liberty to a thing, and leaving it wholly at random. The Lawmakers have ordained festival days, to the end that men should assemble together to entertain public sport, interposing the same as a necessary temperament and refreshing of traveles. And as I have said, great personages allowed themselves certain play-days in every month, and some other never passed day which was not as it were divided betwixt travel and repose, such (except I forget myself) was that great Orator Asinius Pollio, who gave over all occupations after ten of the clock; nay more, he would not read ordinary letters, for fear jest some new ●affaire might fall out, but he enclosed all the travel of the day time, from the morning until that hour. Some took their pleasure about twelve of the clock, and referred over those affairs that were of smallest importance till after dinner time. The order of the ancient Romans in the manner of their lives. Our Ancestors have forbidden to make any new report unto the Senate after ten of the Clock. The Soldier disposeth his Sentinels by hours, and they that return from some voyage of war, are exempted from night-watch. It is a necessary thing to give liberty to the mind, & to grant him intermission, which may serve to nourish, and reinforce the same; Furthermore, to walk here and there amidst the fields, to the end that having free and open air, he may be the more comforted and lightened. Sometimes to go in Coach, to travel and change Countries, augmenteth the forces, likewise to make good cheer, and to drink somewhat freely more than custom, and so far as we drown not ourselves in wine, but to drown our cares in it: for wine driveth away cares, searcheth the secrets of the mind, driveth away all sickness, and is the remedy of sadness; and therefore B●cchus the inventor of wine was not therefore called Liber, because of the liberty of his tongue; but because he delivereh men's minds from the servitude of cares, and maketh them more disposed and forward to attempt any thing. Of the liberty which is sometimes allowed good minds. But as a moderation in using liberty, so a temperance in wine is commendable and wholesome. It is supposed that Solon and Arcesilaus were good drinkers: and Cato was taxed for drunkenness: but whosoever reproacheth him in this sort, shall rather prove that this crime of drunkenness is an honest thing, then that Cato behaved himself dishonestly. But neither is it to be done often, le●t the mind should contract some evil custom, although at sometimes a man aught to give him liberty, and present some means of delight, and lay aside for a while the over severe and sober manner of life. For if we give credit to the Greek Poet. It's sometimes pleasure to be mad and foolish. Or Plato, He that is in his right wits, looseth his labour to go and knock at the gate of the Muses, or Aristotle. There was never any great wit that had not some spice of folly; if the mind be not stirred, and as it were mounted above itself, he can speak nothing highly, nor above others. After he hath contemned vulgar and ordinary things, and that a holy heat hath raised him above ordinary, then beginneth he to sing with a mortal mouth, I know not what that is more than human. As long as he is in himself, he can attain to nothing that is high and difficult. He must desist from his usual custom, and rouse himself, and bite the bridle betwixt his teeth, and bear away him that governeth him, The means how ●o make all these remedie● effectual. and carry him thither whether of himself he was afraid to ascend. Thou hast my Serenus these instructions that may conserve and restore the tranquillity of the mind, and make head against those vices that daily steal upon us, yet know thou that none of these are forcible enough for those that slight them over, but it behoveth the mind which is inclined to fall and err, to be retained by an intentive and continual care. The End of the Book of Tranquillity and repose of the Mind. OF THE CONSTANCY OF A WISE MAN: OR, THAT A WISE MAN CANNOT FEEL ANY INIURIE. WRITTEN BY LUCIUS ANNAEUS SENECA. The Argument of JUSTUS LIPSIUS. THis Book betokeneth a great mind, as great a wit, and much eloquence: in one word it is one of his best. It was published (as I suppose) about the time of the former Book which he wrote of tranquility, whereunto they annex this, but unproperly. The Argument is different, and thus handled. He beginneth with the praise of the Stoics, whose Paradox he debateth upon, That a wise man is not affected with injury. What then? (said Serenus) Was not Cato touched with contumelious strokes and spittings upon him? From this objection he entereth into the matter, and yet (saith he) he was not affected with injuries. For he was a wise man, and injury hath no power over a wise man: which notwithstanding (saith he) is spoken in that sense, not that injuries are not offered him, but that he admitteth them not. This worthily handleth he until the fourth Chapter. Than divideth he that whereupon he is to debate into two parts, by setting down the difference betwixt Injury and Contumely. Touching the former, he denieth that it is incident to a wise man; and as for the last he admitteth it not. Of Injury these are his arguments. A wise man suffereth no evil, but injury is an evil thing: Secondly, Injury detracteth and diminisheth: but nothing is taken from a wise man, for he hath all things reposed in himself and that strongly, as Stilpo. The third. The stronger is not harmed by the weaker: and therefore not virtue by malice. Hear it is obected. But was not Socrates unjustly condemned? He was so, but without his injuries. They proffered it him, he rejected them by wisdom. As for example, thou givest me venom, and I repress the force thereof by an A●idote: Thou committest the crime, and I suffer. The fourth argument. Injury is mixed with injustice, but this befalleth not a wise man; Ergo, not the other. The fift argument. No man profiteth a wise man; Ergo, no man hurteth him. The sixth. Injury is either through hope or fear: but a wise man is touched with neither of them. The seventh and last. No man receiveth injury that is not moved: A wise man is not moved. And in this place is the conclusion of the first part, and an exhortation to imprint this lesson in our minds. The other was of Contumely, which he explicateth in the tenth Chapter what properly it is, and then driveth he it from a wise man. First, because a wise man knoweth his own greatness, and therefoe Contumely appertaineth not unto him, which hath both her name and being from Contempt. Secondly, Proud and insolent men infer Contumely; The wise man contemneth such men, and therefore this vice is condemned by them. Thirdly, No man contemneth his superior or his better: but such is the wise man. Therefore smileth he at those things that are spoken against him as in banquets at children's toys. But what? doth a wise man endure all these things? doth he not correct and moderate them? yes he doth it sometimes, as men are wont to check their children, not because he hath received any injury, but because they have done it. And hitherto until the 14. Chapter he argueth against Contumely or injury only, now refuteth he them both together. By this argument Security is proper to a wise man. It is not if either he entertain or can admit any of them. The like the Epicures maintain, though not so confidently. In conclusion, he adviseth us to reject divers flight and frivolous things, whereat the common sort are offended, and to laugh at them lest we be derided. His conclusion is how injuries are to be borne either by him that seeketh after wisdom, or him that hath attained the same. The one suffereth it with some touch of mind, and with some resist also. The other with both, and like a conqueror chaseth them before him, and triumpheth over them. I repeat it again; This Book was written by a man of great mind, let us confirm ourselves thereby in this so great malice both of times and men. CHAP. I He iusti●ieth the doctrine of the Stoics, and discovereth their ●●ri●htnesse in animating men to virtue. I May well say (my Serenus) there is as much difference betwixt the Stoics and other Philosophers, as between Females and Males, whereas both the one and the other are equally assistant to the good of human society; but the sects of the Stoics is borne to command, and the other are made to obey. For other Philosophers handle men's infirmities tenderly and flatteringly, as for the most part domestical and familiar Physicians are wont to do their sick patients, not healing them by the best and speediest means, but by feeding their humours. The Stoics entertaining a more constant course, they care not whether their followers found the way pleasant or not, but labour to pull us presently out of danger, and to conduct us to so high a place, which is so far raised above any human misery, that it over-looketh ●ortune. But the ways whereunto we are called are high and rugged, for who ascendeth to an high place that keepeth the plain? yet is not the way so difficult as some men suppose. True it is, the first entry over is stony, steepy, and seemeth unaccessible, as they that behold from a far suppose, that the Country through which they travel, is wholly of one level, and hath neither path nor way, which proceedeth from the great distance that deceiveth their sight, but in drawing nearer and nearer, these divers ways which the error of our eye had confounded, seem by little and little to be distinct, and that which happened a far off to be a steep, proved afterwards an ordinary path easy end to be mounted. The occasion of the question. When as of late we happened to discourse of Cato thou wast mightily displeased (as thou art always impatient of iniquity) because so great a person as he was was not so well known in his time, because (although he were far more worthy than either Pompey's or Caesar's) they ranked him lower than the Vatinians, and it seemed an unworthy matter in thy judgement, because that dissuading the law they took from him his gown in the Market place, and drew him from the place where the laws were published, as far as the Ark of Fabius, by the hands of the seditious faction, and for that he endured the cruel reproaches, shameful spittings, and other contumelies of the unbridled multitude. To this I answer thee at that time, that thou hadst more occasion to be moved in the behalf of the Commonweal, which Clodius on one side, and Vatinius, and other wicked men on the other side set to sale, and being blinded with covetousness saw not, that in selling their Country they likewise sold themselves. CHAP. II. AS touching Cato I besought thee not to trouble thyself about him, The resolution of the same in a word, the subject whereof which is Cato is compared with Ulysses, and Hercules, whereat we are not to marvel, because the Stoics have taken Cato as the exemplary image of a wise man. for I told thee that a wise man could neither be injured by words or deeds: but that the immortal Gods had given us in Cato a more living example of a wise man, then either Ulysses or Hercules in former ages. For these have our Stoics pronounced to be wise men invincible in labours, contemners of pleasure, and conquerors in all Countries. Cato contended not with savage beasts, which Huntsmen and Peasants are to prosecute and hunt; neither by fire and sword subdued he● monsters; neither lived he in those times wherein it was thought that one man could carry the whole heaven on his shoulders, for theses old fables are out of credit, and men in these days are better advised. But he waging war against ambition, a monster of divers forms, and with the immeasurable desire of rule (which the whole world being divided into three parts could not satisfy) against the vices of a degenerate City, that sunk under the weight of her own burden, stood alone and uphold the decaying Commonweal, as much as one hand could then sustain, until such time as being either ravished or torn from his Country, he accompanied long time the ruin that he had sustained, until such time that such things (which without heinous crimes could not be separated) were extinguished togethers For neither did Cato live after liberty was lost, neither liberty after Cato's death. Thinkest thou the people could in any sort injury this man, because they either took from him the praetorship or his Gown, or soiled his most sacred head with the excrements of their mouths. A wise man is secure, neither can he be touched with any injury or contumely. CHAP. III. ME thinks I see thy mind incensed, A reply to this resolution, grounded on the Paradox of the Stoics. and boiling with anger, and thou art addressed to cry out; These are they that lessen the authority of your precepts: you promise' great things, and such as neither may be wished, nor can be believed. Afterwards, after so many great words, and when you have denied that a Wiseman is poor, you confess that oftentimes he hath want of a servant, of clothing, of a house, and of meat. Having denied that a Wiseman is a fool, you avow that he is sometimes transported, and that he speaketh some things unproperly; in brief, that he suffereth himself to be distracted thither, whether the violence of his passion carrieth him. You deny that a Wiseman is a slave, and yet confess that he may be sold, that he will do that which is commanded him, and will subject himself as a slave to all that service which his Master shall require at his hands. Thus after you have braved a long time, you fall into the condition of other men; and there is no difference between you but in change of names. I suspect that there is I know not what like in that which you propose, that a wiseman cannot be outraged either in deed or word. But if these be different things; that i●, if you say, that a Wiseman cannot be angry, or cannot be injuried. For if you say that he endureth the injury patiently, he hath no privilege. He pertaketh only a common good, that is to say, patience, which is learned by a custom of hearing, and bearing injuries. If thou sayst that he cannot be outraged, that is to say, that no man will attempt to do him injury: An answer to this reply. I will give over all other affairs, and become a Stoic. But my intent is not to dignify a Wise wan with an imaginary honour of words, but to lodge him in such a place where no injury may attain unto him. What then? shall there be no man that will attempt or provoke him? There is nothing so sacred in this world, that meeteth not with some sacrilege. But the gods cease not to be raised aloft, although there be some so wicked men that will assail a greatness and majesty, so high placed that they cannot hurt or attain unto. That thing is exempt from harm, not because it is not strooken, but because it is not interessed. By this mark I will make thee know a Wise man. Doubtest thou that an invincible force, although it be assailed, is no more assured, than that force which is not provoked, considering that there is not any force in those forces that are unapproved, and that contrariwise the constancy which despiseth all assaults, is justly held for the most certain? So know thou that a Wiseman is more to be esteemed, because no injury can do him harm, then if no man provoked him any ways. I will call him a valiant man that is invincible in war, that is not astonished upon the enemy's charge, who taketh no pleasure in fatting idleness, nor in the conversation of such as do nothing. I say then that a Wiseman is not subject or exposed to any injury whatsoever, neither careth he how many darts are shot against him, since he knoweth that he cannot be pierced. Even as there are certain hard stones which Iron cannot enter, and the Adamant will neither be cut, filled or bet to powder, divers comparisons to fortify his answer. but abateth the edge of these tools that are applied unto it: as there are certain things which cannot be consumed by fire, but continued their hardness and habitude amidst the flames; and even as the rocks that are fixed in the heart of the sea break the waves, and although they have been assaulted, and bet upon many infinite times, retain no impression of the storms that have assailed them. even so the heart of a Wiseman is solid, and hath gathered such force that he is as secure from injury, as those I made mention of. CHAP. FOUR WHat then is there no man that will attempt to do injury to a Wise man? He particularly describeth the privileges of a Wiseman, & first that the outrages th●● are done vn●● him, touch him not. yes, he will attempt, but he shall not attain unto him; for he is so highly raised above all the attaints of worldly things, that there is no violence whatsoever, that can aim his attempts so hi●, be it your Princes and monarch, who have so many engines and servants at their command, should enforce themselves to hurt him. All their endeavours shall be frustrate before a Wise man be offended, even as Arrows and Bullets that are shot into the air, mount more high than our sight, but they fall back again without touching heaven: what dost thou think that that foolish King when he had darkened the day with the multitude of his arrows, could hit the sun with any one of them? that c●sting his chains into the bottom of the sea, he could have touched or enthralled Neptune. Even as celestial things are not subject to human hands, & they that overturn temples, and melt down Images, do no ways hurt the Deity: The second, that although he is touched, yet endureth he the evil. so whatsoever is attempted either crabbedly, immodestly, or proudly against a Wiseman, is done in vain. But it were the better if th●re were no man that would attempt the same. Thou wishest the world a thing hard to come by, that is to say, innocency. As touching those that do the evil, it were better for them that they did it not, but in regard of him that endureth the same; it is no evil for him. I will say further, that I think tha● wisdom discovereth the forces of his content, more where he is barked at and assailed, as security is in an enemy's Country, a great argument, of a worthy General, and exercised Captain. But if thou pleasest my S●r●nus ● l●● us divide injury from contumely. The former of these by nature is more tedious, the other more light and distasteful, only to those that are delicate, whereby they are not hurt but offended. Yet so great is the dissolution and vanity of men's minds, that some men think there is nothing more displeasing and tart. So shall you find a servant that had rather be scourged with whips, then buffeted with strokes, and that supposeth that death and stripes are more tolerable than contumelious words. The world is grown to that folly, that we are not only vexed with sotrow, but with the opinion of sorrow also, as children are wont to do who are affrighted with their shadows, with deformity of men, sergeant faces, and are provoked to tears, when they hear some name that they like not, & start at the motion of our fingers and other things, which the weakness of their judgement makes them readily condemn. CHAP. V Injury hath this intent to harm some man. But wisdom leaveth no place for evil: The third, ●e can neither suffer detriment in body or mind, or goods●, and therefore that ●e can no ways be injured. for there is no evil for her but vice which cannot enter, there where virtue and honesty devil; and therefore injury doth not affect a Wiseman: for if injury be the sufferance of some evil; and a Wiseman cannot suffer evil; there is no evil that appertaineth to a Wiseman. Every injury is a diminution of him to whom it is offered, & no man may receive any injury without some detriment either in honour, body or in goods, but a wise man can lose nothing: he hath all his good enclosed in himself; he no ways putteth confidence in fortune; he entirely possesseth his riches, contenting himself with virtue, which hath no need of accidental things, and therefore may neither increase nor decrease: for having attained to the height, there is no place for increase. Fortune taketh away nothing but that which she hath given; she giveth not virtue, and therefore cannot take it away; virtue is free inviolable, immutable, assured, and so hardened against casualties, that she neither may be shaken or overcome. She holdeth her eyes fixed against the most dreadful objects in this world, she never changeth her countenance, whether they present her with prosperities, or tempt her with adversities. So then a Wiseman looseth nothing of that which he perceiveth is subject to losse● for he is in possession of virtue only, from whence he may never be driven, and useth other goods as things that are borrowed. But what man is he that is moved at the loss of that which is not his? but if injury can attempt nothing which is proper to a Wise man, The image of virtue confirmed by a succeeding and notable example. because they are conserved by his virtue, therefore injury cannot be done unto a Wis●man. Demetrius named Poliorcetes, that is a taker of Cities, having brought in subjection the City of Megara, asked Stilpon the Philosopher if he had lost any thing? Not (saith he) for I carry all my goods with me, and yet his house had been ransacked, his daughters ravished, and his Country ruined: But Stilpo got the victory over Demetrius, and although his City were taken, he showed himself invincible, yea exempt from all damage, for he kept with him the true goods which may well be laid hold on. But as touching those goods that were pillage and taken from him, he judged them not his, but reputed them to be casual, and such as followed the beck of fortune, and therefore settled he not his heart upon them, as if they had been his own. For the possession of all those things that abound externally, is slippery and vnassured. Bethink thyself now, whether either a thief, a backbitet, a dangerous neighbour, and envious rich man, or some King broken with old age could do him injury, from whom war, and that enemy, who professed a goodly Art, to subvert and shake Cities, could take away nothing. Amidst so many naked weapons, amidst the tumult of so many outraging soldiers; betwixt fire & blood, and the sack of a City, surprised by assault, amidst the ruin of Temples falling upon the Gods; one only man remained quiet and constant. Thou art not therefore to think that I promised thee more than I can perform, for if thou wilt not credit me, I will give thee sureties, for thou scarcely believest that there is so much constancy in a man, or that his mind may be so great, except he press forth and tell thee, CHAP. VI TO the end thou mayest know (saith he) that a mortal man may raise himself above all the accidents of this life, What pro●it● we may reap by Stilpons' constancy & example. The description of a virtuous man. may regard with an assured eye the pains, losses, wounds and strokes, and the hurly burly of infinite calamities that environ him, that he may endure adversity, con●ent himself moderately in prosperity, without relying on this, or grudging himself on that, but remaining always like himself in good and evil fortune, not to esteem any thing his except it be himself, or in regard of that part of himself which maketh him virtuous: I am ready to prove this unto thee, and to show thee that under this overturner of so many Cities, the walls are beaten down by the violence of his Rams, the high Towers fall to the ground by the means of his Ours, and if he raiseth his platforms as high as the tallest towers, yet notwithstanding he cannot find out any engines that may shake a heart that is well assured. I have crept out from under the ruins of mine own house, I have passed thorough fire, flame and sword, wherewith I was environed on every side, I know not whether my daughters are more courteously used then the rest of the City, I am old, and alone, The misery of those that seek content in corruptible things. seeing nothing but acts of hostility; on what side so ever I turn myself, yet I maintain that all my goods remain in security, I aver, that I have all that whatsoever was mine before. Thou must not think Demetrius, that I am overcome, or thou art victorious. Thy fortune hath overcome mine: I know not what is become of these my goods which are subject to loss, and change their master. As touching my true goods, they are and shall be mine, and with me. The rich have lost their riches, the voluptuous their lives and minions which they had entertained with the hazard of their ho●our, the ambition● neither haunt the palace nor the marketplace as before, nor those retreats wherein they made show of their vanities, the usurers have lost their bonds and books of account, wherein avarice made drunk with the love of herself, imagineth commodities of all sorts. For mine own part I have all my goods in such sort, as no man hath either touched or spoiled them in any sort: Speak unto those that weep, that lament, who to save their money, present their disarmed bosoms to naked weapons, that fly with a heavy burden upon their backs before the enemy. Resolve thyself therefore Serenus, that this perfect man, full of virtues both divine and human, looseth nothing: his goods are environed with solid and impregnable ramparts, whereunto thou wouldst in some sort compare the walls of Babylon, upon which Alexander mounted, nor the fortresses of Carthage or Numantium, enforced by one only hand, nor the Capitol or any place whatsoever, how strong and defenced so ever it may be. The enemies either have or might set foot therein: but the fortresses that defence the Wise man, cannot be surprised, neither fear they fire, they cannot be entered or scaled, or undermined, they are impregnable like the nature of the gods. CHAP. VII. SAy not therefore as thou art accustomed to do, that this our Wiseman is found in no place, An excuse of that which he hath proposed of a wise man's virtue. we paint not vain glory in a man's understanding, neither conceive we a Colossus of sergeant virtue, but such as we have confirmed and approved: we both have and will present thee: happily such a one is rarely found, not not in many ages; for these things that are great and exceed custom and vulgar measure, are seldom engendered and brought to effect: but I believe that Cato, for whose cause we entered into this dispute, exceedeth by far the Wiseman which is now in question. The forth privilege, the virtuous cannot be injured by the vicious, but virtue is more powerful than vice, and easily subdueth the same. To return to my purpose, that which offendeth aught to have more force than that which is offended. But wickedness hath not more force than virtue, whereupon it followeth that a Wiseman cannot be offended, good men cannot be injured but by evil men, peace and friendship is entertained by good men: Wicked men hurt virtuous men as much as they do one another, if no man can be harmed, except he be more weak than he that harmeth him, and the evil men be more weak than the good, and the good cannot be offended, but by those that resemble them not, the wise man cannot be offended. For I am not now to remember these, that no man is good but a wiseman. But (sayst thou) Socrates was condemned unjustly, & received injury. In this place we aught to observe, that it may so fall out, that some man may outrage me, and yet I shall not be injured; as if a thief had stolen something out of my grange in the Country, and locked it up in my house: he hath rob me, but I have lost nothings A man may be guilty although he hath committed no offence; if he live with his own wife, imagining that he lay with an other man's, he shall be an adulterer, although his wife shall not be an adulteress. Some one hath given me poyso●, but having intermixed it with my meat, it lost his force; in giving me this he is guilty, although no evil ensue thereupon. He ceaseth not to be a murderers who hath thrust his sword at me, although I have put by the blow by the benefit of my cloak. All wickednesses are accomplished in regard of the offence before the mischief be acted. There ar● certain things of that condition, and so united, that the one cannot be without the other: that which I say, I will endeavour to lay open; I can move my feet, and yet run not, I cannot run except I move my feet: although I am in the water, I can choose whether I will swim, and if I swim I cannot choose but be in the water: so is it in this case that is in question, if I have been injured, it must needs be that the injury hath been done: but although the injury hath been done, it followeth not consequently that I have received it: for many things may fall out that may prevent the injury, even as the hand that is lifted up to strike, may be prevented by some accidents: and arrows that are shot, may be avoided in some sort, so may some things repulse and stay all injuries whatsoever, in such sort as they shall neither be done nor received. CHAP. VIII. The fi●th, since a Wise man wanteth nothing, he can receive 〈◊〉 injury for his felicity is complete, a mere Stoical Paradoxy; ●he Christ●an expected a greater compliment. furthermore, justice cannot endure any injustice, for contrary things cannot be united together: but an injury cannot be done but unjustly. It followeth therefore, that a man cannot do injury to a wise man; neither oughtest thou to wonder that no man can do him injury, since there is not any man that can bring him any profit: for a wise man wanteth nothing which he can receive in way of gift, and an evil man can bestow, nothing on a wise man: for he must have it before he give it; but he hath nothing which a wiseman would be glad he should bestow upon him. Therefore no man can either hurt or profit a wise man. As the immortal gods neither desire to be aided, neither can be hurt; no more also can a wise man, who is neighbour to the Gods, and like unto God, except in this that he is subject to death. Tending and walking towards those things that are high, governed, assured, permanent, peaceable, impregnable, gracious, and created for the good of all men; assisting himself and others, he will covet no base things he bewaileth nothing because that in all accidents he dependeth on reason, and marcheth with a divine thought. He cannot receive injury by any means I say, not only in that respect, that he is a man no not from fortune herself, which as often as she encountereth with virtue, never retireth but to her disadvantage; if we entertain that great evil with a willing and constant heart, in respect whereof the most rigorous laws of the world can do nothing, and the most cruel tyrants can do nothing, wherein fortune seethe all her Empiry consumed. In brief, if we know that death is not an evil thing, less cruel shall we deem an injury to be, more courageously shall we endure all other evils, such as are less displeasures, ignominies, banishments, the death of our parents and quarrels; for although all these incommodities invirona wise man, yet stifle they him not, nay more, he grieveth not at any of their assaults. And if he patiently endure the injuries of Fortune, how far more easily suffereth he these of the rich and mighty sort, who are but the instruments of fortune. CHAP. IX. HE therefore endureth all these misfortunes as he would abide the rigour of the winter, All injuries to a wise man are but as cold and heat, rain● and sickness. rains, heats, and other accidents, neither judgeth he of any man so well, that he imagineth that he did any thing by counsel which is only incident to a wise man. The rest do nothing with prudence. All their actions consist in frauds, ambushes, and disordered motions, which the Wiseman ranketh amongst casual things. But all that which is casual assaileth and environeth us externally. Remember thyself likewise, that these things, by means whereof men endeavour to hurt us, produce many occasions of offences. As if a man should wrongfully accuse us, or suborn some witness against us, or if they should disgrace us in the presence of great men, or attempt such other accustomed practices amongst men that have either leisure or credit. It is likewise an other ordinary injury, if a man take that profit which an other man thought to make, The seventh, 〈◊〉 bridling in his pas●ions, judgeth of evil otherways then passionate men do; and converteth all to good. out of his hands, or a reward long deserved, or an inheritance recovered with much travel, or the credit of a house wherein he had done faithful office●. The wiseman neither liveth in hope nor in fear, but disburtheneth himself of these difficulties. Furthermore, no man is injured except he be moved, and he is moved and troubled, as soon as he is touched: but an upright man is never vexed, he bridleth in his extravagant discourses, he enjoyeth a deep and peaceable repose, and although an injury touch him, and move, and hinder him, yet is he not attainted with choler, which groweth from a pretended injury, and the reason why he is not displeased, is, because he knoweth that a man cannot wrong him. Thence proceedeth it, that he walketh always with an upright countenance, a merry cheer, possessed with a continual joy, which in such sort strengtheneth itself, that in stead of being abashed at those injuries which men may offer him, and for those disa●ters that may happen in life, he maketh use of these difficulties, as means to know & make proof of his virtue. Let us make profit I beseech you of this discourse, and let us listen attentively both with heart and ear, how a Wise man behaveth himself when he is outraged, although that for all this we are not so well advised, as to cut off any thing of our wantonness, of our violent covetousness, nor of our pride and arrogancy. The Wiseman seeketh this liberty without meddling with your vices, neither is it a question here, whether it be lawful for you or no to do injury; but how a Wiseman beareth all injury, and continueth firm, patiented, and confident in courage. In this sort have divers borne away the palm in combats and exercises, when by their invincible patience they had wearied the hands of those that stroke at them. Suppose our Wiseman to be one of those men, who by long and constant exercise have recovered the force to endure and weary the force and assaults of their enemies. CHAP. X. SInce we have discoursed upon the first part, now let us descend unto the second; The eighth, that all complaints of those that suppose themselves injured, are so vild and unworthy, that it were a disgrace for a Wiseman to think that he should be moved at such things. in which, by some particular reasons, and by divers common, we will confute that opinion men have of contempt and contumely. Contumely is an injury so small, as no man either complaineth or revengeth himself, therefore neither do the laws themselves prefix any penalty thereunto. This passion is moved by a certain baseness of the hart that is displeased, for some either dishonourable deed or word. As for example. This Lord hath not given me audience to day, yet hath admitted an other. He hath carelessly turned his head aside when I spoke unto him, or hath mocked me before all men: In stead of placing me at the upper end of the table, he hath set me below. What shall I call these complaints (or such like) but vomitings of a sick soul whereunto they are subject, who are over delicate, and such as live too much at their ease; for I have no leisure to note these in particulars, when as worse do follow. Our minds weakened and made effeminate by too much repose, and become insolent for want of knowing what true injury is, are moved at such things which (for the most part) proceed from this, because he that either saith or doth them understandeth not himself. By means whereof, the other that is moved and passionate, pretending to be injured, showeth himself to be a man both heartless and witless. For undoubtedly he supposeth himself to be contemned, and this misprision of his proceedeth from naught else but his base, wild, and abject courage. But a wise man is contemned by no man, he knoweth his own greatness, he is resolved that no man (except himself) can attempt any thing to his advantage or disadvantage. And as touching all these miseries (or rather distractions of the mind) so far is he from not overcoming them, that he feeleth them not. There are other crosses likewise, although they overthrow him not, as pains and weakness of body, loss of friends, and children, ruin of Countries afflicted by war. I deny not but a wise man hath some sense of these evils, for we say not that he is hard and stupid, like a flint or as a bar of Iron. There is no virtue that hath not a sense of that which she suffereth. The ninth. Although he feel the strokes he hath a remedy at hand, whence followeth his cure which deserveth not this name; considering that the hurt is rather an imagination than any other thing, if we consider those who pretend to do thee wrong. CHAP. XI. WHat is it then? I confess that a wiseman receiveth some strokes, but he rebateth them, he healeth them, and maketh them without effect: as for these that are less he feeleth them not, neither useth he his accustomed virtue, constancy & patience, in respect of these, but either he marketh them not, or thinketh them worthy of derision. Besides, whereas the greater part of contumelies are offered by proud and insolent men, and such as know not how to carry their good fortune: the wise man hath a means to despise that swollen affection, which is the constancy and greatness of his mind, which is the greatest of all virtues, the which passeth swiftly above all these vanities, as vain appearances of dreame● and nightly visions, which have nothing solid or true in them. He thinketh likewise that all other men are so base, that they have not sufficient courage to contemn that which is so highly raised above them. Contumely is so called of contempt, because he that outrageth another doth it but in contempt. But no man contemneth his better or him that is more excellent than himself, although he say, or do some thing which contemners are accustomed to do. For young children, strike their parents on the face, and an infant hath towsed and torn his mother's locks, and spit upon her, and discovered such things in the sight of the servants which should have been hidden, and hath not abstained from dishonest and disorderly speeches, and yet none of these do we call contumelies. And why? because they do it not in contempt. The same is the cause why we bear with the urbanity of our slaves, and take delight to hear them jest at their masters, and after they have gibed at them first, they have liberty to taunt others that are at the table, the more contemptible and ridiculous a man is, the more liberty hath he of his tongue. There are some men that buy wanton children, and animate them in impudence, and give them masters to teach them to scoff and bite at every man, as if they had but recorded their lesson, neither call we these contumelies but merry jests. CHAP. XII. But what folly is it now to be delighted, The tenth, He esteemeth the injuries that are offered to him by the vicious a●●lightly as he would the words of children, which know not what they say. A comparison betwixt young & old fools of the world. and strait again offended with the same things? and to call that a reproach which is spoken by a friend; and a better jest that is uttered by a servant? The same mind that we have towards children, the same hath a wiseman towards all men, who after their youth are become childishly old. Can a man term those old men otherways then infants, whose minds are depraved, and errors increased, and who differ in nothing from children, but in the bulk of their bodies, and outward forms, but are no less inconstant and uncertain, and desirous of pleasure, without choice, fearful and quiet, not in mind, but for fear? neither therefore will any man say, that there is a difference betwixt them and children, because the one is covetous of checkestones, nuts and small money, the other, of gold, silver and Cities. Children make Princes and judges, amongst themselves, sergeant Senators, and with staves and pieces of wood represent ridiculously the ensigns and marks of justice. These play the like sports in good earnest in the field of Mars in the Market place, and in the Senate. Children sitting by the rivers side, make them houses of sand. These a● if busied about some great matter, are occupied in stones, in walls, and building houses, and have made those things dangerous which were invented for the conservation of our bodies. So then both the young and old are infants, but the one are more advanced in beastliness, and more fools then the other. And therefore upon good ground the wise man taketh pleasure and pastime in the outrages of th●se great Infants, and sometimes he chasticeth them as children, not because he hath received injury, but because they have done it, Why a wise man sometimes chasticeth those that offend in deeds or words. and to the end they should do it no more, for so are wild beasts tamed by strokes, neither are we angry with them, because they cast their rider, but we struck them and cherke them with the bit, to the end that by managing them we may make them tame. Know therefore that this is answered which was opposed against us, why a Wise man if he hath neither received injury or contumely punisheth those that did the same: for he revengeth not himself, but punisheth them. CHAP. XIII. But why is it that thou thinkest not that the same infirmity of of mind attendeth a Wiseman, In this place he answereth some questious, and the first is why the Wiseman suffereth the insolency both of young and old. when thou mayest observe the same in others, though not upon the same cause: for what physician is angry with a lunatic person, who will interpret a sick man's reproaches to the worst, that is vexed with a fever, and is forbidden to drink cold water? The same affection hath a Wiseman towards all men, as the Physician hath towards his sick Patients, who disdaineth not to handle their privities, if they have need of remedy, nor to see their urines and excrements, nor to hear the outrages which fear maketh them to utter. The wise man knoweth that all these which jet in their gowns, or are apparelled in purple, who, although they are well coloured and fair, are sick and diseased: whom in no other sort he looketh upon but as intemperate sick men. Therefore is he not angry with them, if during their sickness they have been so bold as to speak injuriously against him who would heal them; and as he setteth light by all their honours, so tormenteth he himself as little with their despite and insolences. Even as he taketh little pleasure, if a beggar do him honour, no more will he judge it a contumely, if the basest companion return him not the like when he hath saluted him; so will he neither wax prouder, if many rich men do him honour; for he knoweth that they differ nothing from beggars, nay that they are more wretched than the other, for the one need little, the other much. And again, the wiseman will not be moved, if saluting the King of Medes, or Attalus of Asia, he pass by him without speaking, and with a disdainful countenance, for he knoweth well that he hath as little cause to envy such a Prince's state, as the condition of him that in a great famine, hath the charge to keep and oversee the sick and mad men. Shall I be angry if one of those who negotiate in the market place near to the Temple of Castor, or that make it their traffic to buy slaves, and who have their shops filled with a troop of base slaves, saluteth me not by my name, not as I think, for what goodness is there in him, under whom there are none but evil men. Therefore as he will neglect this man's humanity, or inhumanity; so will he do a Kings. Thou hast under thy governments, both Parthians, Medes and Bactrians, but such as thou containest by fear; neither darest thou lay by thy bow, by reason of them who do nothing in regard of thee, whom thou must handle as slaves, but such as desire likewise to be rid of thee, and seek for a new Lord. So then a wise man is not offended at any man's injury, and although that one is not of the same reckoning as others, yet he esteemeth them alike, because they are no less fools the one as the other: now if but once he embase himself, so far as either he be moved with injury or contumely, he can never be secure, but security is the proper good of a wise man; neither will he endure that by revenging the contumely that is offered him, he honour him that did the same: for it must needs be, that he whosoever is displeased for an injury that is done him, will likewise be glad to be honoured at his hands. CHAP. XIIII. THere are some men that are possessed with so great madness, The seco●d, whence it cometh that he confesseth readily the faults both of the one and the other. that they think that a woman can offer them outrage, what matters it how rich she be, how many vassals she have to carry her letters; what though her ears are laden with pendants, and her chains be large and spacious; yet all of them alike are impudent creatures, and except she be endowed with much science and learning, she will be cruel and incontinent in her desires. There are some are much vexed, because they have been repressed by some Lady's Groom, that helps to make her ready, and call it contumely, if a Porter be over currish, at the pride of the Clerk of Check, and the loftiness of a groom of the Chamber. O how much are we to laugh at these toys? with how great pleasure is the mind to be filled, when a man beholdeth his own quiet amidst the tumult of other men's errors? what therefore? shall not a wise man be bold to approach the gate where there is a crabbed & froward Porter? if any affairs of importance shall command him, he shall attempt and appease the Porter whatsoever he be, in giving him some present, as we are wont to give bread or meat to a dog that barketh; in brief, he will not disdain to disburse some thing to enter, remembering himself that there are certain bridges which a man cannot pass over without paying toll; and therefore he giveth some money to this Towle-man or that Porter, for he knoweth how to buy that which is to cell, contrariwise that man hath a base mind that boasteth that he hath spoken freely to a Groom of the Chamber, that he hath broken his staff, that he hath gotten access to his Master, and caused the Varlet to be beaten. He that contendeth maketh himself an adverse party, and vaunting that he hath overcome, maketh himself equal: but what shall a wise man do if he be buffeted? that which Cato did at such time as an enemy of his gave him a box on the ear, he entered not into choler, neither revenged he that insolency. True it is that he pardoned not the injury, but he denied that he had received it: he showed himself more courageous in protesting that he was not moved, then if he had pardoned him that struck him. We will stay no longer on this point: for who knoweth not that in matter of these things which a man supposeth either good or evil, a Wise man's opinion is different from all other men, he respecteth not what they repute either villainous or miserable, he followeth not the common tract, but as the stars are retrograde in their courses, so carries he himself in a fashion which is contrary to all others. CHAP. XV. CEase therefore to demand whether a wise man shall be outraged, if he be strucken, The fourth, what is the reason why a wise man is so patiented, if his eye be pulled out, if base fellows exclaim against him in the open street; if at a Prince's banquet he be placed at the lower end, and set to eat amongst the grooms, if he be constrained to endure all the indignities and despightes that may be done to a man of honour. These insolences either great or little, shall appear unto him of one nature: if the smaller touch him not, no more shall the greater, if a little move him not, a great deal shall not stir him. But you measure a great mind according to the extent of your own weakness, and considering only how far your patience doth extend; you think you do very much, if you allow a wiseman some further term and limit of patience than you allow your own. But his wisdom hath placed him in other confines of the world, that have nothing common with you. Therefore if crosses, incommodities, and adversities, which both the eye and ear abhor, present themselves on every side, and in great number: he shall not be dismayed thereat, and as he crosseth every one of them, so shall he make head against all together: he deceiveth himself, that a Wise man may support one thing and not another, & who will close his magnanimity in certain bounds, except we manacle and tie fortunes feet and hands, she will tread us under foot; neither think thou that this is only a Stoical austerity; for the Epicure whom you have made choice of for a pattern of your idleness, and whom you suppose to be the Master of delights, idleness, and mere pastime, saith that fortune seldom times visiteth a Wise man. How nearly uttered he a manly speech; Wilt thou speak more bravely, and wholly drive away fortune? Consider that a Wiseman's house is narrow, without pomp, without noise, without decking without Porters who give or refuse entry to goers out or in; but although the gate be not kept by any man, yet fortune setteth no foot therein; knowing well that she shall not be entertained there where she hath no credit at all, but if the Epicure himself who hath given his body all the pleasures that he can imagine, disgesteth injuries: is there any occasion to think it incredible, extraordinary, and above nature, which the Stoics pretend. The Epicure saith, that a Wise man aught to endure injuries, but we say that a Wise man cannot be injured. CHAP. XVI. To manifest that which is past, ●hee showeth what he intends by the word injury. NEither hast thou cause to conclude that this repugneth against Nature. We do not deny but that it is an incommodious thing to be beaten, to be enforced and to be maimed in some member; but we deny that these are iniurie●. We take not from them the sense of pain, but the name of injury which cannot be admitted without impeachment of virtues reputation. Let us consider which of these two opinions are to be admitted. Both of them consent in the contempt of injury. Askest thou me wherein they differ? Such there is as between two stout sword players whereof the one dissembleth his wound and standeth on his guard; the other, looking back at the people that cry out maketh show that it is nothing, and will not endure to have them parted. You must not therefore think that the difference is over great. But there is an other point that properly concerneth us. These two examples teach us to contemn injuries & outrages, the which I call shadows & suspicions of injury to contemn which we aught not, to seek out a wise man, we need but a well advised man that may speak thus unto himself; whether do those things befall me deservedly or undeservedly; if deservedly, it is no contumely, it is but a correction; if undeservedly, How a man aught to interpret those things that are spoken by an other. let him be ashamed, that deals unjustly; and what is that which is called contumely? He jesteth at me, because I shake my head, because I have weak eyes, because I have little legs, and am of a low stature. Is this an outrage, if a man tell me tha● which every man seethe? we laugh at any thing that is spoken in the presence of one; we are angry, if it be before many; and we leave not then men liberty to speak that which we ourselves will say ourselves: we are delighted with temperate jests, and are displeased at those that are immoderate. CHAP. XVII. CHrysippus saith, How vainly we fly from the precepts o● the wiser and are besotted on trifles, and ●aine injuries in our own imaginations. that a certain man was much displeased because an other man called him sheepshead. We saw Fidus Cornelius Na●oes son in law stand weeping in the Senate house, because Corbul● had called him piled Ostrich. Against other reproaches wounding both his manners and life, he carried always a ●etl●d countenance; but upon this so impertinent a jest, he could not abstain from teare●; so great is the infirmity of our minds when reason is absent: for example, we are offended, if any man sergeant our speech, our gate, or any imperfection either in our body, or in our tongue: as if they should wax more notorious by an other man's imitation, than our own action. There are some that cannot endure to be called old, grey head, or other such names, whereunto many are desirous to attain. Othersome have been displeased, if they have been called poor; but he truly calleth himself poor that concealeth his poverty. The true means to cut off all those scoffers and jesters is, if thou thyself prevent them, and object against thyself, all that which they could speak against thee. Whosoever laugheth at himself, first cutteth off other men's ocations to laugh at him. It is said that Vatinius who was a man borne to be laughed at, and hated was of himself a pleasant and talkative Companion. This man jested much at his own gouty feet, and his swollen chaps; so escaped he the derision of his enemies, and especially the bitter jests of Cicero, who were in number far more than the sicknesses that had seized him: if Vatinius a shameless fellow could do this, by means of his bitter speeches, who had learned impudence by his continual jesting, why cannot he do it, who by honest occupations of the mind, and exercises of wisdom, hath attained to virtue? Add hereunto, that it is a kind of pleasure to pull from an outrageous man the pleasures which he taketh in speaking or doing evil. These men are accustomed to say; Wretch that I am, I think he understood not? so is the fruit of contumely in the sense and indignation of him that suffereth. Moreover, he will one day be met withal, and some one will light upon him that shall revenge thine injury. CHAP. XVIII. AMongst all other vices, The end of inconsiderate mockers, they see a mote in their neighbour's eye● but will not spy a beam in their own. wherewith Caius Caligula was replenished, it is reported of him that he was a great mocker, who daily had a fling at other men's faults, where himself was a bountiful subject of laughter: For his countenance was pale and deformed, betokening his melancholy fury, his eyes sunk and buried under his old and beetle brows, his head bore in divers places, a tuft of curled and thick hair about his neck, his legs small, his feet plat and unmeasurably broad: but I should never make an end, if I should specify every particular, wherein he reproached his fathers and grandfathers, and in general all sorts of men. I will only relate those which were the cause of his destruction. Amongst his especial friends, was Valerius Asiaticus, a man of a fierce mind, who could scarcely digest those contumelies that were offered to a stranger. To this man did he object at a banquet, and afterwards with a loud voice in an open assembly, the motions and fashions of his wife, at such time as he accompanied and lay with her. Good gods that the husband should hear this, and the Prince should know it, and that liberty of speech was so unbridled, that he should discover, (I say not to one that had been Consul, I say not to his friend, but) to her own husband the adulteries of his wife, and how his lusts were satisfied. Chaereas the Tribune of his Soldiers had no ready speech, See Suetonius and Livy; in the life of Caligula. and hadst thou not known him by his deeds, thou wouldst have suspected him to be an effeminate fellow. To this man when he came to fetch the watch word at Caius hands, he sometimes gave him the name of Venus, sometimes of Priapus, reproaching in one or other sort this warlike man, who made profession of arms, that he was effeminate, and that it was he to whom the name appertained to be painted, socked and decked with bracelets: he therefore enforced him to use his weapon, jest he should be often enforced to fetch his Watchword from him: he was the first amongst the conspirators that lifted up his hand; he it was that cut his neck half off at one stroke; and afterwards he received divers other stabs and strokes at their hands, who revenged their public or private injuries: but he whom Caligula lest suspected, was the first that showed himself a man, and yet the same Caius who took all thinger for injuries and outrages, could himself endure nothing, though here most desirous to offer all: he was angry with Herenius Macro, because he had saluted him by the name of Caius; and he caused a Centurion of the first Legion to be severely punished, because he named him Caligula; yet was he usually so called, because he was borne in the Camp, and was wont to be called the infant of the Legions: in brief, the Soldiers knew him not by any name so well, as by that: notwithstanding in the end he took this word for a reproach and outrage: Imply that the true revenge belongeth to God, and patience by his example to a wise man. let this therefore be for our comfort, that although our frailty omitteth revenge, yet will there be some one who will revenge us on an audacious, proud and injurious enemy; which vices are never consummated in one man, or in one contumely: Let us consider their examples, whose patience we praise, as that of Socrates, who took in good part the taunts and reproofs which the Poets and Players published against him, and laughed no less than when his wife Xanthippe powered foul water on his head: but Iphicr●tes being reproved because his mother was a Barbarian, and a Thracian, answered, that the mother of the gods was borne on the mount of Ida. CHAP. XIX. To avoid strife, is a remedy against trouble, and there is no better wisdom then to be prepared and constant against all incumbrancer. We are not to f●ll to brawls or debates hereupon, let us return ourselves far from these, and neglect those errors which the imprudenter sort commit: for none but imprudent men will commit the same: both honours and public injuries are to be esteemed alike, neither let us grieve at the one, or rejoice at the other: otherwise we shall omit many necessary things through the apprehension or distaste of contumelies; neither shall we execute either public or private offices, not not these that are most necessary, whilst effeminate ear troubleth us, for fear we should hear something against our minds, and sometimes being displeased with mighty men by our intemperate liberty, we should discover this affection: but it is no liberty to suffer nothing; we are deceived: this is liberty, when we oppose a resolute mind against injuries; when a man ge●teth a habitude that breadeth all pleasure, estranging from himself those things which are without us, for fear, jest being afraid of the laughters and disgraces of the world, we drown not our life in a continual disquiet: for what man is he that cannot injury an other, if every man may: but a Wiseman & he that is a follower of wisdom will use an other remedy: for to those that are imperfect, and who as yet conform themselves to the judgement of the people, we aught to propose that they are to live amongst injuries and outrages: All things are light unto those that expect them: the more greater a man is, the more generous, renowned and rich, the more aught he to show himself confident and courageous, not forgetting this, that the bravest Soldiers are set in the foremost ranks; let him endure opprobrious words, ignominies and other disgraces as the cries of his enemies, as arrows shot from a far, and stones that rattle about the Helmet, without wounding; and let him sustain injuries, neither dejected nor moved from this place, as strokes inflicted on his armour, or infixed in his breast: although thou be oppressed, and the enemy press thee nearly. It is a base thing to give place, maintain that place which nature hath assigned thee: Askest thou me what this place is? that of a man's. The Wiseman hath an expedient contrary thereunto: for you are in the conflict, he hath gotten the victory: resist not your own good, and till such time as you have attained the truth, nourish this hope in your hearts; assure yourselves boldly of some better thing, press forward to attain it with hope and honest desire; it is for the profit and advantage of the whole world, that there is some one invincible, that there is some one, over whom fortune hath no power. The End of the Book of the Constancy of a wise man. OF THE SHORTNESS OF LIFE, WRITTEN BY LUCIUS ANNAEUS SENECA TO PAULINUS. The Argument of JUSTUS LIPSIUS. THe time wherein this Book was written is uncertain (except it were after CAIUS government;) but for the goodness thereof it is not to be doubted. O subject of an excellent and profitable Argument. The Argument is, that our Life is not short, but that we make it short, either by not using it, or by abusing it, or vainly using it: this deduceth he thus: First, we are bondslaves to vices, wherein we consume and lose our years: Secondly, we are unprofitably busied in trivial matters, and such as we call offices: Thirdly, we sin either in opinion or presumption, and this maketh that life short which we think to be long; we despise things present, we dispose the future, as though we had them in great and assured abundance: and for the most part we are entangled with vain or foreign pleasures, and lose our lives as it were in sport: such as this until the tenth Chapter; thence divideth he time into three parts, into that which is past, into the present, and into the future, and teacheth us how evilly and foolishly we behave ourselves in every one of them: he inveigheth against fruitless occupations, against delights, against excess, against idle retirements, and superfluous study of knowledge. Hence he discourseth pertinently; and would to God he might either allure or change the learning lovers of this time. That only that time is well spent, which is employed in the study of wisdom, whereby our life is truly lengthened: the common sort think otherways, for they estimate the same by fortune, and according to her smiles, so think they that our life is shortened or lengthened: In prosperity they wish for death, in adversity they fear it. In the end he exhorteth PAULINUS, and what he saith to him, let every man apply to himself, and grow maturely wise, and retire himself into the haven of life, which is an honest repose. This vow I, thus will I endeavour. CHAP. I THe greater part of men (good friend Paulinus) complaineth of the hard dealing of nature with us, who hath brought us forth to live so short a while, and yet of the time allotted us, that the moments should so suddenly and swiftly run away, as we see they do: insomuch as besides some few amongst us, the rest are then most commonly bereft of life, when indeed they begin but newly even then to live; nor doth the populous or foolish people only lament this evil (so general as it is counted) but even many famous men have likewise thought and lamented in like manner this our misfortune; whence springeth that especial complaint of the greatest amongst Physicians, that our life is short, and their art very long: where hence also Aristotle takes occasion to quarrel; (although it scarce beseem so wise a man as he so to do) with dame Nature, who (saith he) hath allotted some beasts, some five, some ten hundred years, and man who is created to so many weighty purposes, hath a term of life prefixed him so much shorter as we see: whereas indeed we have no scantness or scarcity of life, but we rather lose much of our life; for long enough and large enough is life allowed us, were it spent in greatest matters, or were it all spent in good matters; but when we have by riot and negligence once lost it, when it is once spent and gone, and we cannot show any good we spent it in, at length need driving us to make an end thereof; we see that now it is spent, which we did not feel to spend, before in deed it was very well nigh wholly spent: so that we had not given us so short a life, as we will make it, but such we made it as it is; nor had we given us so little life, but so prodigal and lavish we are. Even as a Princes ample Patrimony, if it come in Hucksters hands, goeth away in a moment, which if it were the hundredth part thereof, and were well husbanded, would yet by good usage, increase rather than prove but scarce, even so our age if it be well employed, will prove very fair and long enough. CHAP. II. WHy then complain we of nature, she hath dealt well with us, and thy life, if thou know how in good things well to spend it, shall appear long enough. One is wholly possessed with ●●satiable avarice, another is as busy as a Bee in labours, every ●●● nethlesse and superfluous: a third drinks out his days, a fourth is idle, a fifth lives gaping after preferments, which yet are in the will of another to bestow; a sixth, is led even round about the world, by a desire to buy and cell, with hope to gain; and some there are that continually have their minds on warfare, never minding either the perils of other men, or regarding their own, as some there are also that wilfully enthrall themselves to such Potentates, as scarcely ever give them any thanks for so doing, but delight yet in their folly, many likewise spend their days in affecting others fortune, & detesting of their own; and divers men do nothing but delight themselves with changeable, unconstant, never pleasing fantasies, still attempting new devices, as also some like nothing, wherein to spend their time, but consuming in their idleness, do nothing but still accuse their fate and fortune: so that true I found the best saying which the Poet ever writ by him as an Oracle: A little part of our life it is we live; for indeed the whole course of man's age, is not life but time rather, in which almost hourly new vices so assail us, as we neither can recover ourselves, nor so much as lift our eyes to see what is decent and truth in things we think of, but if once we begin to take footing, new desires anew assail us, and keep us down: not, they cannot so much as recall themselves to mind, but if happily they be quiet, yet as in the sea after a storm is fully passed, yet remaineth there a wallowing, and continual rolling, so beat they still up and down, nor have they perfect rest from their desires. And here perhaps ye think I speak of such men only, whose fancies all men gaze at, and talk of too, but look on them, whose felicity all men most marvel at, and you shall see, that even these men are cloyed with their good fortune: of which sort many account wealth a burden, many having also a goodly gift of eloquence and utterance, spend themselves in delight to hear themselves speak: and many wear away, even surfeiting with self pleasing delights and pleasures: and how many I pray you know you that have scarce any time almost to breath for continual suitors to them? go but over them all from the lowest to the highest, he sues, he helps, he is in danger, he defendeth him, and another judgeth him; every one, to be short, spends himself upon others: and inquire of these men's living, whose names and persons all the world talks of and knows, and you shall see them distinguished by these particulars: he is wholly at the devotion of such a one, another altogether depends of him: and none of them all is his own man, or intends his own business. And here I find a fond complaint made by some men, they mislike forsooth the coins of their superiors, who are not often at leisure, when they would sue or do their duties to them; and dareth any man complain of the pride of another, who himself is never at leisure to be sued of himself? The great man be he never so proud, yet sometimes at the length he gives the access; he gives the audience at some time, he calls thee at last, and thou canst vouchsafe to look into, nor give hearing to thyself. CHAP. III. NOr think thou any man any whit beholding to thee for these thy courtesies, for in doing them thou didst not mean so much to save another, as thou wast not willing, or at leisure rather to save thyself: and if all the wits that ever were renowned for any thing would intent this one point; yet can they not all of them sufficiently wonder at the blindness of man's mind in this one false joy folly: We suffer not our lands to be usurped of another, and be the controversy about never so little a quantity, or circumstance of our possessions, we take up stones, and betake us straightways to armour, and yet we suffer other to usurp of our life, yea we put such in possession, as are like to be Lords and Rulers of it: ye see no man willing to part with his money, but with good conditions to another; and yet with how many I pray you do we all part stakes, and make dividends of our life, even many times for nothing? every one is a niggard to part with his Patrimony, and yet most lavish be we when we come to loss of time, wherein only a may honestly show himself a nipcrust. And therefore let us here a while talk with any one of all these Elders● we see you are as old, as a man almost may be, you are onwards on a hundred years, or rather more than so, do but call your years to a reckoning, and say in sadness, how much time your creditors, your she friends, the City matters and other suitors to you have spent thereof? your suits about wiving, breaking your head to frame your servant; your desire to pleasure friends in every corner of the town: how much pain have these things put you to? then add what sickness yourself have been procurer of, as also what time hasty and unadvised anger hath possessed you, even in things frivolous; yea what time hath passed you to no fruit nor purpose, and you shall see you have not lived so many years as you make reckoning of: call to mind when you were resolute what to do in any thing, and how many days you ever passed as you determined, then what fruit you reaped of days so spent? what have you now to show as the fruit thereof? nay, how many have stolen pieces of your life, whilst yourself did not consider or perceive the want thereof, how much of it have false joys, needless griefs, greedy, covetous, pleasant company misspent I pray you? and than count how little of your own life is left to your ●elfe, and you shall find you die before you are ready to departed the world. CHAP. FOUR WHat is then the reason forsooth you live, as if you had a warrant to live for ever? you reck not how little time you live to yourself? you count not how much time you spend, while you spend as it were of a full and over running reckoning; when as happily that same day spent in another man's pleasure, or to his use, may chance be to your last; you fear all things as men mortal, yet you long for all things as immortal. You shall hear some men say, were I fifty, I would betake me to my beads, were I threescore, I would meddle no more with worldly matters? yet they have at all no warrant of longer life than the present moment: for who can give the assurance that thou shalt do, even just as thou determinest? shamest thou not to make reckoning how to lead thy life to come, & to point such time for amendment, which almost can serve for nothing? how late is it to begin to live then when thou must leave to live? or how fond forgetfulness of mortality is it to delay amendment to thy fiftieth year of age, & to make account that then thou wilt begin to live, when few men use to aspire to such an age. Ye shall often hear great mighty men give out speeches in praise of rest, of leisure, and quietness, they wished it, they prefer it before all their wealth; yea they wish they might with safety come down from that high type of their authority, and intent the same; for be all things never in such quiet from abroad, yet fortune falleth even in itself, and decayeth as all other things in this mortality. CHAP. V GReat Augustus whom the Gods did more for then ever else for any man, ceased not to pray for rest and exemption out of common causes; all his speech still came to this end, if he once might come to quietness, yea all his labours he did sauce with this false but pleasant comfort, he would one day surely live to himself, and in one Epistle which he wrote unto the Senate, (wherein he protested that his rest and quiet private life should do him more good and credit also, than his life already led in renown and glory) I find these words inserted. But I know it were more credit for me so to do, then to say so; howbeit such desire I ha●e thereto, as because I cannot in deed perform it, some pleasure yet I thought to reap, by talking only of so pleasant a matter. So great a thing was rest in his conceit, as the same because he could not indeed attain unto; yet in word he thought to joy in it, and he that saw even all things depend of him, being able indeed to make happy or infortunate whomsoever, or whensoever he pleased, took great pleasure to remember the day and time, when he should do of his own greatness, and become his own man: he had tried what sweat and swink his estate (which all men deemed to be so good and glittering, did cost him to maintain it: and how much privy heart-burning, and heart aching to it, daily harboured, being forced to make war first with the Citizens of Rome, then with his fellow officers, lastly with his kindred, shedding blood by sea and land in Macedonia, Sicilia, Egypt, Syria and Asia, coursed almost throughout all Countries, yea and when he had thus glutted himself in a manner with Roman slaughter, he was forced to turn himself against foreign nations: And being likely to quiet some troubles in the Alps, having vanquished other enemies that disturbed this his peaceable and settled Empire, while he set forward to enlarge the same beyond Rhenus, Euphrates and Danubius, at home even in the City, Murena, Cepio, Lepidus, and the Egn●tij● prepared arms against him: yea, and having scarcely fully escaped these their attempts, his daughter julia, and many noble young gentlemen (knit in league by reason of their too much familiarity with that lose lewd Lady) began to be terrible unto the Father, who in their opinion lived somewhat too long: after whom also fulvia caused her husband Anthony to take weapon against him, no history showeth why. All which sores when he had cut away, with the parties also in which they were, yet s●ill there rose new, not unlike a body too full of humours, whereof always some one part or other breaketh out continually into a sickness: wherefore he wished to live in rest, the only hope and thought whereof, was the only ease of all his labours, and this one thing was the daily prayer and desire of him, who was able otherwise to make every man master of his desires beside himself. Marcus Cicero long time tossed up and down between Catiline and Clodius, betwixt Pompey and Crassus, who were his open enemies, the rest his doubtful and uncertain friends, whilst he wrestled with the common wealth, and laboured to hold it up, that now was running more and more to ruin, was at length overborne and forced to yield to the burden of it, being neither quiet in prosperity, nor patiented in the contrary: this M. Cicero, how often not without cause also doth he detest that his office borne as Consul, which till then at first, he never ceased to commend without end, which in truth he did not without cause extol, when he spoke most of it. What doleful speeches f●l●e● he into in one Epistle to Atticus, upon the news that Pompey the father was vanquished, when his son the younger Pompey rent his fathers quailed quarrel in the parts of Spain? Ask you, quoth he, what I make here, I keep myself to my Tuscul●ne, now at length half become mine own man: adding also other things in the foresaid letter, wherein both he bewaileth his time forespent, he complaineth of the present, and despaireth of any good in the time to c●me: he calleth himself now half his own, where in truth no Wise man ever could use so base and slavish a term, who will never be so little as half his own, but always will be whole his own, his own entire, fr●e from others beck and board, his own to use with little reckoning, what others accounted thereof; for what needeth he regard what others say, who treadeth fortune under foot, as every wise man either doth or should do. CHAP. VI livius Dr●sus, one of the ancestors of Livia, Augustus his Empress, a hot spirited, and a very vehement fiery humoured man, having put new common wealths in the people's head, and stirred a new the old tumults of the two brethren, the Gracchis being manned almost with all the power that Italy could make, having not yet well weighed the end of things, which now he could not accomplish to his desire; nor had he yet the liberty to leave in the midst, he fell in detestation of his own unquiet state from the day of his birth till then, and is said to have uttered these very words: I am only he I think that never yet had leave to play, not not when I was a boy: for indeed being under age, and coming but as children did into the Senate with his father, he presumed to speak to judge in the behalf of divers men, and laid his credit on the matter in so vehement a sort, that it was said, many judgements were given wholly as it pleased him. Whether would not so young an aspiring humour, if it had continued, for well a man may conjecture, so soon ripe a stirring head must needs grow in time to the great hurt, public or private, some where or other, and therefore too too late he made complaint, he had never yet leave to play, who was of a child so troublous, and importunate to the State where he lived, as he was. Some make question if he did not kill himself or no: for a wound he had in his groin, which was his death: what time though some men doubted, whether he had slain himself or no, yet all men thought it high time for him so to be dispatched. It were needless here to reckon more of this same humour, who being in the eye of other men most fortunate and h●ppy, notwithstanding gave true testimony against themselves, in great hatred and mislike of all that ever they had done; but with these complaints of theirs, they did neither altar others, nor amend themselves: for the words sometime broke from them, to the sense I have said: yet their desires kept on the old unconstant course, and were no changelings, which sort of life assuredly might it possibly continued a thousand year or more, yet will it seem in the end to have been but very small, and of no continuance, and all these seu●rall conceits, what age or great account of time will they not consume? Surely these few years allotted us, albeit nature think them long, & reason amplify the course of them, yet must it needs seem quickly gone, for we take no hold of them, we stay them not, nor lay we hands on them, being things more quick in riddance then any thing else in all the world: yea, we suffer them to pass, as if they were scarce worth the ●ooking after, or else were easy to be recovered; so that in conclusion, all men do confess, the busied man can never do any thing well: he cannot learn to live to himself, nor to be freed from the unprofitable cares of this world; for his mind being in a manner, as we see it is, possessed with such unprofitable labours, it is not apt for any good thing, but despiseth it, as the stomach doth mislike with meat that is already overladen. And yet better can he learn any other thing almost in all the world, then intent to learn to li●e; which is almost the hardest knowledge that you can devise. CHAP. VII. OTher Arts have their professors enough in every corner; which arts some boys have learned so perfectly and well, as they could teach them for a need. To live a man must learn even all his life long: & that which happily you will rather wonder at, all our life we may learn in the end how to die. And of so many great men as despised all lets & stops, despising riches, Offices and all voluptuousness, doing nothing all their life long, but learning still to live; yet divers were there amongst them, that departed this mortality, confessing they had not then as yet come to the knowledge: so far off are these our busy brains from attaining thereunto. So that trust me, very wise is he, and a man above the common case and capacity of men he must needs be assuredly, that spends amiss no jot of all his days; and therefore longest is his life, who spends all his life, be it much or be it little, in his own affairs, and hath neither misspent with folly, nor lost by idleness any hour thereof, and much less hath intended any other men or matters, than himself and his, deeming nothing in this world worth exchanging of his leisure for it; which his leisure he did spare as a thing most precious. And to this man I say his life was long enough, whereas on the contrary part, those men may well complain of scarcity, who spend much time in matters popular, to their fruit none at all, or very little, and yet they understand not their own loss. Oftentimes you shall hear great men (whom good fortune is a burden to) midsert their rout of suitors, causes, actions and other miseries (which great port makes notwithstanding to seem felicities) cry o●t, I cannot be suffered to live to myself? All these men that seek thy help to do them pleasure, draw thee from thyself. That defendant, how many days did he bereave thee off? and how many days that other standing to be Consul; as also that old Gentlewoman, who hath troubled thee with the proving so many of her husband's Wills? As also that old Gentleman, whom thou visitest in his sickness, which he doth yet but counterfeit, to set greedy minds on edge, to long for that he leaveth: and that great friends of thine, who yet recks not otherwise of such friends as thou art, then only to be credited by thy courting and attending him. And having cast thy days in this manner of account, see how few days and how foolish a remainder of them comes to thy share. He that now hath got the Office he was long a suitor for, is by and by contented to be rid of it, and saith, O when will this gear come to an end? Another sues to the Senate, that he may be at cost to provide Plays for the people, and was wondrous joyful then when leave was given him, than so to spend his money; and yet shortly after he crieth, O when shall I be rid of them? A third, whom every Client seeks to retain in counsel, who fills the bar when he cometh, and leaves every Court empty at his return, saith, O when will this term be at an end? Thus every man sets life at nought, whiles he desireth things future, and is glutted with the present; but he that turneth every moment to some good purpose, that disposeth of everyday, as he would of all his life, this man doth neither fear nor wish for to morrow: for what is there wherein any hour can breed him new delight? He knows that all is vanity: he hath had his wishes his belly full; for the rest let fortune do as herself shall please; his rest, his stock is safe. This man may have his days enlarged I confess, but less they shall not be, nor indeed enlarged otherwise, then more meat may be set before him who is now already filled and can eat no more. CHAP. VIII. ANd therefore never say, This man hath lived long: his white head, his wrinkled face imports the same; for whether he lived long or no thou knowest not: but long indeed I confess, thou s●est that he hath been. For how canst thou say that he hath sailed much, whom a cruel tempest takes immediately, as soon as he is out of the havens mouth, & after much hurly burly, much traversing his way, and beating up and down, it brings him even the selfsame way back to the haven that even now he went out of? This man hath not much sailed, but much hath he been beaten. And here I often marvel much, when I see some men so earnestly desire rest and respite, the men that they desire it of being both so easy to be entreated, and so unable to hinder it or keep them from it: the thing in whose respect they wish for rest and leisure so greatly as they do, doth much concern them, I mean both the requester and the granter: the thing itself is Time, and yet they wish f●r it so coldly, or rather so indifferently, as if it were a thing of no value at all; so little do they weigh the thing which yet indeed is most precious. And indeed this one thing greatly deceives them, because time is not subject to their senses, nor is it easy by eye to judge thereof; and therefore no man accounts more of it then of a very base matter, or rather a thing worthy no man's money. Every newyears tied our Romans use to receive gifts and presents of mighty men, in respect whereof they bind themselves to dance attendance on the givers, to bestow their labour, their pain and diligence at another's devotion all the year after; no man valuing the time he must bestow: for the same they use and abuse many times so lavishly, as if indeed it cost them nothing. But if the meanest man amongst them should chance to be sick, if de●th come nearer than they were ware of, see what suit strait they make to the Physician: or if they fear the punishment of death by law, see if they do not offer gladly all the wealth they are worth, to redeem their life, so divers and so different be their desirest And if it were as easy to say what years each man hath in future time to live, as it is easy to tell you how many he hath lived already: how would some men tremble that should see so few years remaining; and how chary would they be in bestowing them? And yet notwithstanding contrariwise, it is an easy matter to order that we see is certain and more cause have we to be chary of that, which we know not how soon it will be plenty. Nor are we yet to think they know not what a jewel this time is which we speak of: for their common words of courtesy to their best friends, are these; I would go, I would ride, I would spend a month to pleasure thee: & indeed so they do for other men, though they perceive it not, or rather they lose so much of their own, without either turning it to their friend's behoof, or perceiving the loss thereof in themselves; which makes them take the loss in better part, because they do not feel it. Howbeit no man will restore thee thy time again. Thy days shall s●ill go on as they have done hitherto, nor canst thou ever either recall time spent, or 'cause it for time present to cease to spend: not, thy days shall make no more noise than yet they have done; nor shall they give more warning of their swiftness now then ever. Time shall slide and still say nothing as it hath done always. It is not like the prorogation of our days, and of an Office, neither Prince nor people can give it thee the second time, but even as it begun from the first moment, so shall it still continued. Ye shall take up Inn at no place, how then? forsooth thou art occupied and thy life hasts away, and death shall come even then when thou lest dreamest of it; and wilt thou, or have thou no will to it, thou must yet needs intent it. CHAP. IX. CAn any mortal man, be he never so wise and politic, tell us how we may more thoroughly intent ourselves then yet we do? or prescribe us how to live hereafter more our own then yet we are? Nay, themselves with loss of life are long occupied in telling how themselves will live, and (God wots) long they be about their own conceits; and indeed the greatest loss of our life is delay, which wears away the first day, bereaving us of present time whilst it promiseth us things future. Nor is there any greater impediment why we live not out of hand then expectation, which hangeth always on to morrow: so thou losest this day and determinest what shall become of that which fortune is wholly Lady of, while it passeth and slippeth from thee that thou art Lord of. What hopest thou, what gapest thou for? All that is to come is uncertain, and therefore live out of hand: for the greatest Poet that ever was● as it were by inspiration, gives thee wholesome council, Our happiest days do pass from us poor mortal men First, and before the rest. And therefore why delayest thou? Why stayest thou? Life flieth if thou lay not hands upon it; and if thou do lay hands upon it, yet nevertheless it flieth; and therefore strive thou always with the swiftness of time, and be as swift in usage and turning it to profit, as thou wouldst be quick to draw water out of a River that thou knewest would n●t continued in his running. And in this, well saith the Poet, he calleth them not happy years, but happy days, thereby hitting us in the teeth with our infinite conceit of time to come. Why dost thou in security and in such dispatch of time so leisurely dream of months and years, yea, and draw thy years also (to please thy fancy withal) so long in such a number? He talketh with thee of days, and of days also now fleeting. Nor is it doubt, but as he saith, each most happy day leaves us first mortal men, who are daily more and more busied each day than other, whom age breaks in upon, not having yet put off our childish affections, to the which we come unready and unarmed for it, for we have naught ready for it, but it lights upon us unawares, before we dreamt of it, nor did we feel it coming day by day as we should, but it fares with us like those men whom a tale or some pleasant matter read, or other meditation deceiveth in their journey, so that they know & see they are come to their journeys end, before they thought that half their way was spent thitherward, even so this daily quick race of our life, which as well we pass on sleep, as we do awake, it shows not itself to us, whiles we be occupied, but in the end when it is gone. CHAP. X. ANd that I said, if I would follow by piecemeal as I might; I could find great reason why to prove the busied man's life shortest as I say. Fabianus was wont to say (who was none of these great formal talkative Philosophers, but one of those form former aged, true and plain Philosophers) We should fight against affections, not by slight but by might, not by easy & gentle venues, but with all the ●orce we can make. We should strive to beaten down their senseless Army, for touching would not help the matter, they must be strongly set on: yet to show these men their error, I will not only inveigh at them in bitter manner, but I will strive plainly and sensibly to teach them this their folly. All our life is divided into three parts, that is, that was, and that is to come, that we do God knows is short, that we shall do is doubtful, that we have done is out of doubt: for in this la●t indeed, dame fortune hath lost her force, nor can it now be pur in the power of any thing to make undone; & yet this time the busied man hath wholly lost; for he hath no leave to look back, or if once he have leisure, yet small pleasure takes he to record a thing past, which he hath such reason to repent him of: for little lust he needs must have to call to mind time misspent, which he dares not now unfold again, for fear the faults, which at the time under colour of delight he was content to commit, by new handling become more manifest, & show themselves in their kind; and indeed no man doth willingly strain himself to look backward but such an one as doth all things under guard, and in awe of his own conscience, which is never deceived. He that hath in many things desired with ambition, despised with disdain, conquered with insolency, cousined with subtlety, scraped to him with covetousness, misspent by prodigality, this man must needs be much afraid to recall himself to memory. And yet this recapitulation of time past and spent, is the time already shrived, already past all chance, and fear of change, free from fortunes counterbuffs, out of danger either of penury, of fear or sickness; this cannot be distempered, nor taken from us, but remaineth our perpetual and impregnable possession: days are present never more than one and one, and they by moments also: but of time past many months, many years at your commandment, are ready priest at a beck; they are content you look on them, you handle them, and hold them, which the busied man is never well at leisure to perform: none but the quiet careless man can fetch a vagary leisurely throughout all parts of his life; the busied mind is (in a manner) ringde and yokte for routing; he cannot bow nor bend, nor intent to look back, and such men's lives sink into a bottomless pit or gulf: but even as it doth not profit thee to have powered to thy behoof never so much in quantity of any thing whatsoever, never so good in quality, if thou have not wherein to hold it and preserve it: so little booteth it thee, how long time thou hast to live, if thou hast not wherein to hold it, or bestow it; but lettest time flit away through thy fancy shaken, chinked and tottered desires. Now the present time is short, and so short, that some men think it in a manner nothing, for it is ever flitting: it runneth, it huddles forward, and it ceaseth (in a manner) before it come, nor doth it otherwise make stay, than the world or the stars, whose never resting rolling, never stands in one place long: and yet this only present time belongs to the busied man, which itself is yet so short as it cannot have hands laid on it, & yet it amongst so many matters slips away ere we are ware of it. CHAP. XI. AT a word, wilt thou see how little while they live: no more but see how desirous they be still to live yet longer? old laid up, aged Syers, yet cease not still to beg one year, yet more and more: yea their conceit still runneth, they are younger than they seem for; they feed themselves with leasing, and such a pleasure they take to bely their age, as if their destiny and death would come so much the later for their false belying it; and let any weakness give them but never so little a warning of their mortalities; how fearfully they die, not as if they did departed, but as if will they, nill they, they were pulled out by the ears, than they cry; what fools were we that took no pleasure in life, than they vow, they will live at hearts ease, than they see how in vain they sought for that they could not enjoy: then they acknowledge all their labour was to small effect: but they that live to themselves in several, tending to no man's business beside, what lets us to accounted their lives large enough? none of it is lost or misspent, here and there in other matters none of it is hazarded at fortunes command: naught is lost by negligence, naught is given away by largesse to other men's uses, naught is lost as superfluous, but every jot or moment of it is counted good revenue: and therefore life thus spent, be it never so little, is enough, nor will a wise man fear at any time without fear to die. But here you ask me whom I call the busied man? think not I mean only such as either are attended on by great troops of suitors, with great pomp and countenance, or with some show of base and servile nature, wait all day upon others, who for duties sake are called abroad to attend at others doors, or such as do wait all the week long upon the owtred, to gain a penny at that unseemly sale. Not, some men's best leisure even at home in their gardens of sport and pleasure, even a bed, or where else a man may be said to be at rest and leisure; yet is it all consumed (as I said) with business, yea themselves are a trouble unto themselves, whose life I call not leasureable, or full of leisure, but an idle kind of business rather. CHAP. XII. CAllest thou him at quiet, who with great care seeks in all corners for the metal that was made at the burning of Corinth? and spends the more part of his time in searching out amongst rusty copper, to see if he can light on any of it? or anoints his servants whom he keeps to get prizes at wrestling? or is surveying either his sheep or his land, or other revenues? or sayest thou, he is at leisure, that every day spends an hour or two in the Barber's shop, cutting every day down again that grew the night before? devising upon every hair he hath, whether it be better to cut it, or let it grow? chase like a young Emperor, if the Barber were but never so little negligent, or less curious, because he thought he had a man of discretion in hand to cut, who are strait ways in great rage, if never so little of their lovelocks be nipped away? or if every knot thereof fall not round in a ring? of which sort of curious fools, some had rather see disorder in the common wealth they live in, then in their hair? & had rather see their locks kept fair, then regard their own health? and care more to be accounted a neat nice fellow, then to have the voice for honesty? dost thou say that this man is at rest and leisure? so wholly busied and occupied between the comb & the glass? or that he is so, that spends his time in making, hearing, & learning songs, forcing his voice, (which of nature is best and easiest so to be kept when it is full and plain) into a kind of warbling or relishing against nature? whose singers are ever going, as if they still were tinning, or striking time in a song: who be they used in a matter of never so great importance, yea, sometimes sad and sorrowful, yet are ever and anon resounding some piece of a song or other? these men (say I) have not leisure, but are busied with a needles & thriftless labour, whose time of feasting, I count not time of pleasure or vacation; I see them still so careful how their Plate and their services, and their servants may in decent manner become the feast, where hence they seek the name of fine neat fellows, & so curiously they regard this fond humour of their own, as they neither eat nor drink in quiet for it. Nor accounted I them their own men, who all day long jog up and down from this friend to that in their coaches and wagons, and will not miss an hour of their daily gaddings in them, but have their servants to advertise them, it is now time to bathe, to swim, to sup; yea so much they give themselves over unto this idle vain, that of themselves they know not, or will seem to be ignorant when themselves are an hungered? CHAP. XIII. IT were long to run over these fellows one by one, whose lives have been spent either at Tables, or at Ball, or in basting themselves against the sun; I cannot call them leasurable, whose pleasures put them to such pain and business. As for them that spend their days in unprofitable studies, no man doubts, but that with much a do, they do nothing, of which sort there are many now amongst us Romans. It was the Grecians old disease to beaten their brains in finding out how many Rowers Ulysses ship had? whether Ilias or Odyssea were foremost written? or whether one man writ them both? and many such like questions, which whether you keep the knowledge of them to yourself or no, they neither greatly benefit your conscience to keep them, nor seem you betterscholler to know them, but rather somewhat busier or more curious than others. And even this vain desire to learn things needles possesseth now the Romans also. When I was last in Rome, I heard a learned man reckon up, what things each Roman Captain had first been author of; Duilius first did win in fight by sea: Curius Dentatus first did lead Elephants in triumph; and these things though they tend not to true glory in deed, yet they belong in some sort to matters politic. Such knowledge will not profit much; yet doth it lead us forward in a sort with a petty pleasant discoursing vanity. Grant we also them leave to search what man ●irst persuaded the Romans to go to sea. One Claudius forsooth it was, whom they therefore called Caudex, because any building much of boards, was then called in Latin Caudex, and books of Record, are also at this day called Codices, and boats or ●rayers that carry any thing up and down the Tiber, are and have been ever since named Caudicariae. Be it also not amiss to know, that Valerius corvinus was the first that wan Messana, and thereupon had the name of Messana, added in reward of his prowess, which by little alteration of a letter or two is now called Messala; the original whereof every man is not acquainted with. Bear we also with him, that searcheth how L. Silvius first let Lions lose to fight in our Roman Circus or parish Garden, what time K. Bocchus sent him dart-flingers to kill them lose, or as our Foresters now speak to hunt them of force, where before time they were always presented tied. Let us not likewise inquire, if it were to the purpose, that Pompey caused those (who were condemned) to fight in the same Park with eighteen Elephants. This principal person in Rome (who amongst the ancient Chieftains of war is renowned by reason of his bounty, and singular mildness in manners) hath supposed it would be a memorable spectacle to 'cause me to die after some new fashion. It is a little matter to make them fight, and to be wounded in divers places, he must have them crushed under the insupportable weight of these great and huge creatures: it had been better to have buried such a history, for fear jest afterward some other great Lord hearing the recital thereof, should conceive a liking to practise the like inhuman and barbarous action. O how much doth great ptosperity overspread our understanding with darkness! Pompey reputed himself equal with the gods, at such time as he exposed so many troops of poor men to savage beasts, that were brought from foreign countries, & when he caused a mortal fight to be performed between creatures so different, shedding much blood in the presence of the Roman people; when as he himself an on after was to be reduced to that necessity to shed others: but he himself also (deceived by the disloyalty of the council of Egypt) was stabbed by one that had served under him & then understood that at last how vain that surname of Great was, which was attributed unto him by others. CHAP. XIIII. But to return unto my purpose, & to show in other recitals the superfluous diligence of others, the same discourse above mentioned, reporteth that Metellus having conquered the Carthaginians in their quarrels for Sicilia, was the only man that ever led 120. Elephant's captives before his chariot: he told also, how Sylla was the last Roman that enlarged the common or voided ground without the walls of Rome (which was not suffered to be done amongst our ancestors for any conquest or land gotten in any Country, but only in Italy, though Sulla's conquests, were all of them out of Italy we know, which point was yet more worth the knowledge, then how the hill aventinus was without the compass of this ground, I speak of without the walls; for one of these two reasons, either for that the people severed themselves from the Senate into this hill, when the Senators would have made a law, that no Patritius or Senator's child should mar●ic with him or her that was not so, or for that the vultures, (whose flight Romulus observed, when he built this City) did not compass in this hill with the other six. Many more curious points did this man declare, which if he did not invent, yet did he little better; for grant all these nice points to be written in good sooth, yet I pray you what amisses do any of them mend? whose desires do they minish? or who by them is made either more courageous, or juster, or more liberal? mine old friend Fabianus was wont to doubt, whether it were better be ignorant, or to know such vanities. But I take them to be leasurable, that study divine wisdom, which no time present can consume, nor no time to come diminish, and wholly exercise themselves in celestial contemplation; for such men do not only use their own time well, but they also add thereto the ages spent before they were borne, and enjoy them also as their own, yea all the famous Recorders of most sacred opinions, were after a sort, as it seemeth even borne for them, and in a manner prepared the way for them how to live the better. Which worthy writers bring us with much ●ase and little labour to most worthy matters brought by them out of darkness into light, yea they keep us not from things done or said in any age ere we were borne, they admit us unto all things, yea if we lust by the greatness of an heroical mind to pass the narrow bounds of man's weak reach, we have time enough to do so if we list ourselves. Why then leave we not this brittle transitory time of life, and why betake we us not wholly (at lest in mind and cogitation to these infinite and everlasting matters, which we have in common with better natures. These men that run continually courting and waiting always upon great men, troubling others & themselves in their so doing, when they have gone a madding, and dan●d attendance at all men's doors, not leaving any great man unwaited on, when they have done their days labour in saluting them, how many I pray you can they have visited of so infinite & busy a number of great men in Rome? Among which great mighty ones, how many are there, whom for because, that either they were a sleep, or otherwise occupied, or not at leisure to intent them, they could not therefore be admitted to speak with all? how many are there, who after that they have long been waited for, come out, and suddenly look upon them, and are gone again? nay; how many are there that shun to take their way through such troops, as come to wait upon them to the hall or Senate? and rather take som● backe-wayes through some secret by-corner, and leave them all, as if it were not much more unseemly, and worse manners of the twain in this sort, rather to cozen them by avoiding them when they were once admitted then absolutely to keep them out before they came; and yet how many are there that having scarcely slept out their yesterdays surfeit; yet break their sleep poor souls themselves to wait till it please another to rise, like forsooth for their pains to be saluted in some reckless or proud sort, by their names of the great men, aft●● he hath had the same a thousand times put into his head by some prompter or other: but indeed if we will needs dance attendance with fruit, I tell you they wait wisely that daily court Zeno, Pythagoras, Democritus, and the rest the pillars of good learning; that endeavour to make Aristotle, and Theophrastus well known unto them. None of these but will be always at leisure to intent thee: none but will dismiss thee a man happier for thyself, and more in love with him for his company, than thou wast at thy first coming. They will not let thee go● empty, whensoever thou wilt go, come at midnight or at midday, any man may speak with them. None of these will force thee to die before thy time, as great Princes do of their most faithful servants, but every one will instruct thee how to die; none of these will spend or take away any ●ot of thy days, but are all rather ready to bestow their time on thee; thou needest not fear what thou sayest in their company; yea not enemy of thine ●an suspect th●● for being often with them. CHAP. XV. OF these thou mayest obtain whatsoever thou wilt; nor will they be in the fault if thou take not of them as much as thou art able: O how happy is that old man that hath spent all his days in the service of them! he is sure of secret friends with whom he may consult in great things or small, whose counsel he may ask every hour at his pleasure, from whom truth he shall hear without upbraiding, praise without flattery, and whom well he may imitate without note of apishness. We say commonly we could not choose of whom we would be borne; but of such we came as our fortune was we should come: but in this case yet we may choose of whom we will be borne. These worthy wits and writers have their stock and families; choose of which thou wilt be, and thou shalt be not only of his name, but his successor also for his wealth and livelihood, which is also commonly the more ample, among the more it is divided: these will lead thee to eternity, and will lift thee up so high, as whence no man living shall be able to remove thee. And this is only the way to stretch out thy mortality, yea, to change it into immortality if any there be. Honours and other monuments, what ever either ambition hath by Law established, or cost hath built, do quickly perish. Time wears out all things, yea, and soon weareth those things which it hath made hallowed; only wisdom cannot be hurt nor impaired any way. No time present can consume it, nor time to come diminish it, the longer it lasteth the more it is still regarded; for envy toucheth only things near in memory and more absolutely do we reverence things farther off. And so we see the wiseman's life is large enough, he is not enclosed as others are, but is only freed from the laws, that otherwise mankind is straightened withal: yea, all time doth yield unto him, as it yieldeth we confess to the gods themselves. Time is past: this consideration doth him good. Time is come: this he useth. Time will come: he preventeth it; and thus comparing time with time, makes his life very long, whereas their life is very short, who forget the time past● neglect that is present, and ●eare the time to come: which when it once is come, too late poor●●●en they find, they were all very busy in doing nothing. CHAP. XVI. Neither art thou to think that by this argument it is approved that they lead a long life, because sometimes they call upon death. imprudency vexeth them with uncertain affections, and such as assault and encounter thos● which they fear: they therefore oftentimes wish for death, because they fear it; neither is that an argument likewise whereby thou shouldest be persuaded that they should live long● because the day seemeth oftentimes long unto them, because whilst the appointed hour of supper time cometh they complain that the hours steal on slowly. For if at any time occupations fail them, they storm because they are left without business and idle: neither know they how they may dispose or enlarge the same. They therefore intent some occupation, and all the time that is between, is grievous unto them, in such sort undoubtedly as when a day is proclaimed wherein the sword-players are to skirmish, or when as any appointed time of any other, either spectacle or pleasure is expected, they long and labour to outstrip the hours. The delay of all that which they hope for is long unto them. But that time which they love is short and headlong, and becometh likewise more short by their fault, for they fly from one delight to another, and cannot settle themselves upon one sort of pleasure. The days are not long unto them, but displeasant and tedious. Contrariwise, how short think they the nights to be, which they loose in embracing their harlots and drunkenness? From thence grew the fury of those Poets, who fed and flattered men's errors with fables, who feigned that jupiter being bewitched with the pleasure of his adulterous embraces, redoubled the night: What other thing is it then to animate wickedness to make the gods the authors of them, and to give an excusable licence to an infirmity by the example of divinity? But can these men find the nights other then very short, that they buy at so high a price? They loose the day in expectation of the night, and the night through the fear of the day. Their pleasures are accompanied with fears, buried with divers disquiet perturbations; their greatest joy is drowned in careful thought. How long shall this continued? Because of this passion Kings have bewailed their power; neither did the greatness of their fortune delight them, but the end that was to ensue terrified them. When that most insolent Persian King spread his army along the fields, whose number he could not tell, and scarcely could he tell what quantity of ground would well contain it; it is said he wept, considering that within one hundred years there should not one of all that number be left alive: but he himself that wept was even the man that hastened all their deaths, as indeed afterwards proved, when as what by Land, what by Sea, what in sight, and what in flight, every mother's son almost, very shortly after miscarried, whom he feared should not live an hundred years. CHAP. XVII. Moreover, their joys are full of fears, they build them not on sure ground, but by the same vanity they rise, by the same they fall. And what will you think of those their times, which in their own confession are unhappy, if these whereof they vaunt themselves, and in which they take themselves to be more than men, be scarcely perfect? Every highest type of happiness is full of fear; nor may we well in truth less build on any fortune then that which is happiest. One free City needeth another to maintain it, and having once that we desired, we are forced strait ways to desire anew, to have wherewith to maintain the former state: for every thing that fortune giveth is uncertain; and the higher always that felicity is, the nearer ever is it to a downfall and ruin. And no man can take pleasure in the state he knoweth assuredly shall shortly fall; and therefore most unhappy, not only short is their life who with much ado procure that which with much more labour they must possess, with much trouble compassing the thing they desire, but with much more care continuing the thing once gotten; all which while no care is had of time, of precious time, that neither shall nor can be recovered again. Old business breeds new business, one hope bringeth forth another, this high desire makes way for an higher than it to follow it, and so no end is sought of the miseries we are in, though every day we change the matter which procureth miseries. Our own preferments prove even burdens to us; others honours have cost us time to procure them for them: nor have we so soon left to sue for ourselves, but immediately we are suitors in the same case for others. We will plead no more as Counsellors as it were to day; to morrow we are admitted to the Bench as judges; the third day happily called to the council-table. Marius is no sooner dismissed out of war, but at home he is in suit for the Consulship. Quintius is dismissed of his Dictatorship to day, not long after he is called from the Ploughs thereto again. Young Scipio scarce fit for such a charge, is sent against the Carthaginians as it were to day; he conquereth Hannibal and Antiochus, is made Consul and getteth his brother to be made next after him, and so from dignity to dignity: and if himself be not the hindrance, in time he shall be dignified no less than jupiter, yea, and after that by his industry Rome was delivered from the fear of Hannibal, and he returned home to his wife and children, he was straightways occupied in civil factions and suits for offices: and rather than he would satisfy himself with ordinary preferments, he chose wilfully to go into exile and was proud thereof; as if forsooth when happy and fortunate business began to fail him, he would rather busy himself in unfortunate proceed then it should be said he wanted business; so far we are from enjoying the leisure and pleasure which yet we every day desire and wish for. CHAP. XVIII. WHy then, good friend Paulinus, exempt thyself from this common error that possesseth the world; and now thou hast been busied more than any of thine equals in age or honour, betake thyself at length into a haven of quiet, call to mind what storms thou hast endured, what tempests, partly for private matters, and oftentimes for public affairs thou hast entangled thyself withal: thy virtue hath been tried sufficiently in troublesome unquiet matters: try what it can do in peace, at home in quiet. Thou hast spent the greater, or at lest the better of thine age in public business, in causes common to thy wife and children, turn some part thereof to thine own use, to thine own behoof. I wish thee not to betake thee to an idle, or unlearned, or unprofitable a vacation, nor would I have thee to spend the residue of thy worthy nature, in sleep or other unseemly common people's pastime, this I count not rest or quietness. Thou shalt find many greater matters than those that yet thou hast been conversant in, to bestow thy repose and leisure in. Thou hast kept the accounts of the Roman Storehouses, which is as much almost as the accounts in a manner of all the world; the same I say thou hast kept with such abstinence as if they had not belonged to thee, with such diligence as if they had been thine own revenues, and yet with such integrity as if thou knewest well it were the wealth of the City and State of Rome, and thou to answer for every halfpenny: and in this thine office thou hast won the love of all men, wherein other men could hardly avoid much hatred; and yet trust me, it is a wiser part to be able to give a good account of thine own life and living, then of all the corn in the country. Recall therefore this worthy mind of thine, fit I know for greatest matters; recall it yet from this honourable, yet scarce a happy service to show thyself at home a while, & remember this was the final and most principal end of thy creation and first being, that in the end thou shouldest be Surveyor of the City's corn, thou must propose a more private, but yet a higher and better calling: nor will there want any frugal and painful men to supply thine office; so far fit are slow and unwieldy jades, or young and untamed Colts to bear great burdens, than the trampling and stirring Steed, whose life and activity no man durst ever charge with a lumpish burden. Besides this, bethink thyself how much care attendeth thee whilst thou undergoest so great a charge. Thou hast to deal with the bellies of men. A people that endureth hunger is not subject unto reason, neither is mitigated by equity, nor pacified by any prayers. It is not long time since that under the Emperor Caligula, although now displeased (if dead men have any sense) to be dead in a few days, and to have left the Roman people alive, that there was not found sufficient victuals in the City for seven or eight days: and whilst this Prince made bridges of boats, and sported himself with the means and forces of the Empire, the most dreadful of all other evils, that is to say, famine besieged Rome. His imitation of a furious and foreign King, and unhappily puffed up with pride well may cost the overthrow and famine of his country, and that which followeth famine the ruin of all things. What mind then had they and care, who had the charge to provide corn for the common store. They prepared themselves to receive the strokes of swords, to be stoned, burned, and to meet with Caligula; yet dissembled they very carefully the cure of this evil, that was hidden in the entrails of the City; for there are some infirmities whereunto we aught to apply remedies, without discovery of the sickness, as contrariwise divers men are dead, because they knew they were sick. CHAP. XIX. REtire thyself into these havens more calm, more assured, and more great: thinkest thou that to give order, that the corn be more closed up in the storehouses good and clean without being spoiled by the malice and negligence of the Porters, in such sort that wet neither seize or overheat it, and consequently, that it return to his measure and weight, is a thing of as great importance, as when thou approachest the celestial mysteries, and when thou comest to inquire what the nature of the Gods is, there will their condition, their form, the estate of thy soul, and the places where nature shall lodge us after our decease, what it is that sustaineth the most weightiest of all the works of nature in the centre of the world, and suspendeth the lighter things above, and carrieth fire up on high, and exciteth the stars in their courses? In brief, all the rest full of great miracles: will thou forsaking the earth, rouse thy mind and consideration to these things, now, and so long as thy blood is warm, and vigour strong? thou must aspire to that which is the best. An ardent love of praiseworthy sciences, the practice of virtue, the forgetfulness of passions, the science to live and die well, a deep repast discharged from all worldly affairs, attend thee in such a manner of life. True it is, that the condition of all those that are entangled with worldly affairs is miserable: but yet more miserable is the estate of those men who are not busied in their affairs, but sleep, walk and eat according to other men's appetites, and are constrained to love and hate those things that are most free of all others: if such men would know how short these men's lives are, let them consider how much they rebate of their own: you envy not those whom you see attain unto charges, and grow in reputation amongst the people. Such advancements are got with the expense of life, and to obtain the credit that a man may count the year of his name, they use all the years of their life. Some other there are that being desirous to attain the highest degree of honour, after they have traveled long therein, are dead in the midst of their way: and others, which having attained the same by infinite and evil practices, have been seized with this distasteful apprehension, that they have traveled much to build them a tomb, and make themselves spoken of after their death: some also conceiving new hopes in their old years, as if they had been in their prime, have lost their hearts, and perished in the midst of their unquiet and unjust attempts and endeavours. CHAP. XX. BAse is the man, who being already old, hath sought to grow in credit amongst the foolish common people, & is dead in spending himself to plead for mere strangers that would set him on work: as abject is he, that being rather weary of life, then of travel, is fallen amidst the affairs which he hath embraced, and because he that having death at his door, tosseth his papers and affairs to the great contentment of his heir, who long time expected for such a prey, I cannot bury in silence one example that cometh to my memory: T●ranius was an old man of exact diligence, who altar the ninetieth year of his age, being discharged of his office of commissary of victuals by the Emperor Claudius, got him into his bed, commanded all his servants to muster about him, and to bewail him as if he were dead: the family lamented the repose of their old master, and continued this sorrow until such time as he was restored to his office. Is there so great a pleasure then to die bnsied? there are many that resemble this Turanius, they desire to travel even at that time when they can no more, they combat against the feebleness of their bodies, and think not their age troublesome, except it be because it commandeth them to live in repose. When a Soldier is fifty years old, ●he law constraineth him not any more to bear Arms: a Senator having attained to threescore years, is no more bound to attend the Senate; 〈◊〉 more hardly obtain leave to repose themselves at their own hands 〈◊〉 from ●he Law. In the mean while whilst they assail others, and are assails themselves, whilst one breaketh an others rest, whilst every one tormenteth himself, life slippeth away without profit, with our pleasure, or any content of the mind, there is no man that represent●th death unto himself, there is no man that extendeth not his hopes far o●f. Some likewise there are that dispose of these things which are after life, as of their proud Sepulchers, of inscriptions; and dedicacy of their buildings, of sports, combats, and other solemnities of their ambitious funerals: but undoubtedly these men's obsequies should be solemnised with torches and Tapers, as if they had lived very little. The End of the Book of the shortness of Life. OF COMFORT, ADDRESSED BY LUCIUS ANNAEUS SENE●A TO polybius. The Argument of JUSTUS LIPSIUS. THis book was written during the time of his exile at such time as he was dejected both in mind and body (we must confess it, and the writing testifieth it) about the third year of his banishment: for he openly maketh mention of the first entrance into Britain, which was about that time: As touching polybius he was one of the most powerful free men that belonged to CLAVDIVS, and received that title by reason of his studies, for he was learned in the Greek and Latin tongues, and may we gather honest apparently by the praises which SENECA loadeth him with; he comforteth him in the death of his brother, and the whole disposition of the Book is hidden, because both the beginning and divers things else are missing: In that which is extant, this is his order: he denieth that we should grieve at the death of one man, because the world itself and whatsoever is in it is condemned by that law: likewise because the grief is vain, and without fruit. Thirdly, that we are borne to afflictions, and that we aught to fashion ourselves thereunto. Fourthly, he calleth to witness, the will of the dead, and showeth his desire not to live. Fifthly, that in constancy and example he aught to exceed his other brothers, because he was a worthy person, and all men's eyes were fixed on him. Sixthly, he wisheth him to take comfort from his studies which he always loved. This and such like until the 31. Chapter. From thence forward he intermixeth the example of those who have endured the like courageously; amongst these (not without wild flattery) he produceth CAESAR'S example, whom he wonderfully praiseth, and in conclusion once again sendeth POLYBIV● to his book and studies, as a remedy of his grief: we cannot deny but this was SENECAES' writing: I think not to the intent he meant it should be published, but according to his present fortune abjectly, and too humbly written to a slave (alas) adorned with how many praises? I am ashamed, I am ashamed, whosoever published this, was an enemy to SENECA, and his glory. OUT OF T●E 〈◊〉 CHAP. IF thou compare our bodies with them, they are strong, if thou reduce them to the condition of nature that destroyeth all things, and recalleth them thither from whence she made them, they are frail; for what can mortal hands make immo●●all? Those seven miracles, and whatsoever else more wonderful than these, the ambition of succeeding years have builded, shall be seen leveled with the ground; the end of things are varied, and whatsoever hath had a beginning shall have an end: Some maintain that the wicked shall perish, and if thou think it lawful to believe, so much then shall a day come that shall dissipate the same, and drown the whole universe (which containeth all whatsoever is divine and human) into their ●ormer confusion and darkness: now then let him lament that list, by reason of the death of so many persous that have been, let him deplore the destruction of Carthage, Numantium and Corinth, or whatsoeu●r places were notorious, either in their flourishing or fall, when as this likewise as evidently appeareth unto him, that even that which hath nothing whereupon to fall, must perish; let him go and complain himself, that the Destinies (which must one day attempt and execute so great a mischief) have not spared him likewise. CHAP. XXI. Secon●●y ●here is nothing that be●alleth us, that hath not befallen others. WHat man is he of so proud and insolent arrogancy, that in this necessity of nature that revoketh all things to the same end, will have himself and his exempted out of the rank of all others, and discharge some house from that ruin which shall devour the whole world. It is therefore a great comfort for a man to bethink himself that the same hath happened unto him, which all others have suffered before him, Neither do our sorrows profit those whom we bewail nor our se●ues. and all that follow him must endure, and therefore in my judgement nature hath made that most common which is most grievous, to the end that the equality thereof might in some sort leni●ie the cruelty of the fate. This likewise will yield thee no little comfort, if thou think that thy sorrow will neither profit him whom thou bewailest, nor thyself; for thou wouldst not have that long that is unprofitable: For if sorrow would profit us any thing; I refuse not to intermix the remainder of those tears that my adverse ●ortune hath left me with thine; yea more likewise will I find out some remnant of remorse, that may flow from mine eyes that are dried up by so many tears which I have spent by reason of the misfortunes of my house: if that may return thee any profit, why ceasest thou? let us complain: I will take the cause in hand, and make it mine own. O fortune that in all men's judgement art most unjust, until this present it was supposed that thou sparedst this worthy man, who by thy favour had attained such credit, that his felicity (which is a thing both rare and less heard of) was not envy by any man; behold thou hast impressed a sorrow in him more greater than he could receive, but in the loss of the Emperor, & when thou hadst attempted and sought into him every ways, thou couldst not find any fit means to assail him but this: A probable 〈…〉 Senacaes 〈…〉 we 〈…〉 the ●●gh●st minds. for what other injury couldst thou have done him? what; take away his money? never was he a slave vn●o it, and now also as far as in him lieth, he casteth it from him; and in this his so great felicity and means of enriching himself, he seeketh no greater fruit thereby then the contempt thereof. What take away his friends? Thou knewest he was so well beloved, that he might easily substitute others in their places that were lost; for of all those great Lords whom I have known in the emperors house, this man alone in my judgement was such a one that although it were expedient for all men to entertain his friendship, yet their affection and desire to be in his favour, was far more great than the assistance they pretended to reap by his countenance. What deprive him of his honour? but that is so settled in him, that thou hast no power to shake it. What, rob him of his health? thou knowest that his mind was so well grounded in liberal sciences (wherein he is not only bred up but borne) that all infirmities of the body whatsoever cannot abash him. What, take away his life? how little hadst thou hurt him? the excellency of his mind had promised him a life of longer continuance● he hath carefully endeavoured himself to eternize the better part of him, and to warrantize himself from death, by the excellent and learned works that he hath composed. As long as learning shall be any ways honoured, as long as the vigour of the latin tongue, and the grace of the Greek shall have credit amongst great men: so long shall this man live amongst the men of most reputation, whose sufficiency and worth he hath either equalled, or (if his modesty refuse this testimony) hath very nearly imitated. CHAP. XXII. THou hast therefore bethought thee of this one means, whereby thou mightest harm him most; 4 Some complaints against our estate, seem in some sort to be able to lessen our grie●e. for the better a man is, the more oftener is he accustomed to thy assaults, who art displeased without election, and dreadful amidst thy greatest benefits. Was it so great a matter for thee to warrantize this man from affliction, whom thy favour in some sort seemed to have sufficiently defenced, and not according to thy usual custom to have light upon him rashly? but if thou wilt let us add to these complaints the gentle nature of thy brother, ravished out of this world in the prime of his youth; he deseured to have thee to his brother, and thou undoubtedly art most worthy to lament such a brother as he was: all men give an equal testimony of him, he is bewailed to thy honour, and praised for his own desert, there was nothing in him which thou wouldst not willingly acknowledge. For thine own part thou wouldst have showed thyself good to an other brother, who might have been less good, but thy piety having found an answerable subject in this man, hath expressed itself more freely. Although his means were great, yet never offended he any man, neither threatened he any man with thee who wert his brother: he was form according to the example of thy modesty, considering what honour it was unto him to be so nearly allied unto thee, and of what importance that was, so likewise knew he how to manage such a charge. O cruel destinies, enemies to all virtue; thy brother was taken out of this world before he knew his own felicity; I am not displeased or angry more than I should be, for there is nothing so difficult when a man is extremely vexed, as to find out words that are answerable to his sorrow: yet again, if this will yield us any remedy we will lament? Where one thoughts thou unjust and injurious fortune? why hast thou so suddenly repent thyself of thy favourable dealing? what cruelty was this to break in amidst brothers, and by so bloody a rapine to lesson such a company as lived in the greatest peace of the world? why wouldst thou trouble and diminish without cause a house so well furnished with virtuous young men? amongst whom, there was no one that degenerated. By this reckoning perfect innocency prevaileth nothing, ancient temperance is unprofitable, a sovereign honour (accompanied with unspeakable modesty, and entire, and pure love towards good letters, and an upright conscience) shall be unfruitful. Polybius mo●rneth, and being admonished in one brother, what he is to fear of the rest, is even afraid of those very comforts which should lenifle his sorrow. Polybius mourneth and is sorrowful, although he be in great favour with the Emperor: undoubtedly therefore, O malignant fortune, thou hast made choice of this means, to show that no man, not not Caesar himself can warrantize a man from thy fury. CHAP. XXIII. 5 W●e aught not to grieve and torment our se●ues for that which is firm unavoidable, & immutable. We may accuse the Destinies longer, but we cannot change them, they continued obstinate and inexorable; no man can move them either with upbraids, or tears, or persuasions: they acquit no man of any thing, they pardon nothing: let us therefore spare our tears, because they are unprofitable: for sooner will sorrow lodge us with him then return him unto us; since she tormenteth us, & comforteth us not, let us shake her off in good time, and let us retire our minds from vain solaces, and from a bitter desire of sorrow: for except reason restrain our tears, fortune will not. Go to, turn thyself on every side, and consider all men in this world: there is in every place an ample and continual cause of tears; one man is called to his daily labour, by a laborious poverty, an other tormented with insatiable ambition, an other feareth those riches he hath wished for, and is sick of his own desires, this man is afflicted with care, that man with labour, this man is tired with a troop of suitors that besiege his doors, this man is sorry that he hath children, that man because he hath lost them: we shall sooner want tears then cause of sorrow. Considerest thou not what life it is that nature hath presented us with, since she would that tears should be the first presages of our condition in this world? This is our beginning whereunto all the course of our years have relation: thus live we, and therefore we aught to keep a measure in this thing, which we aught to do so often: and then considering how many fatal accidents attend us, if wholly we cannot give over our tears; at leastwise we aught to reserve some part of them for time to come. 6 They that we lament for sorrow not themselves, nor are sorry for us; neither take pleasure in our lamentatio●s. There is nothing wherein we aught to be more sparing then this whereof we have so frequent use. Moreover thou shalt be very much comforted, if thou thinkest that thy brother, for whom thou afflictest thyself in this sort, taketh less pleasure in that thou dost then any man thou canst name: he will not, or he knoweth not that thou art thus tormented: It is therefore an unprofitable labour to grieve for him, for if he feeleth nothing, it is superfluous, and if he feeleth, he taketh no pleasure therein. CHAP. XXIIII. BOldly dare I say, that there is no man in the whole world that is delighted in thy tears. What then? thinkest thou that thy brother is worse affectioned towards thee then any other man? 7 They condemn not our affection, but they would not have us torment our s●lues. that he should desire thy affliction, that he should withdraw thee from thy businesses, that is, from thy studies, and from Caesar? this is far unlikely; for he hath loved thee as his brother● honoured thee as his parent, and respected thee as his superior; he would thou shouldest remember him, but not torment thyself for him; what availeth it thee therefore to consume thyself with sorrow, which if the dead have any sense, thy brother desireth it should be finished: for an other brother whose inclination might seem uncertain, I should put all these things in doubt, and I should say, thy brother desireth that thou shouldst be tortured with incessant tears; he is unworthy of this affection, and if he would not, then give over thy unprofitable grief. Neither should an impious brother be so bewailed, neither would a pious be so lamented. But in this whose piety is so well approved, thou art to resolve thyself that nothing can be more grievous unto him, then if this his death be distasteful unto thee: if it vex thee any ways, if it troubleth and spendeth thine eyes unworthy of so great misery, with causeless showers of complaint. But nothing shall withdraw thy piety so much from unprofitable tears as if thou think that thou oughtest to be an example to thy brethren, The eighth. We aught to be much advised of confidence and patience to those that survive. whereby they may be instructed to sustain these injuries of fortune with constancy. That now art thou to do which great Captains do in desperate dangers or uncertain, who purposely feign a merry demeasure, and cloak their discontents with a pleasant countenance, for fear jest their Soldiers should be discouraged by discovering their governors discontent. Show thou a countenance that is contrary to thy thought, and if thou canst purge thyself of all sorrow, at leastwise hide and contain it inwardly, jest it appear, and endeavour thyself that thy brothers may imitate thee, who will think that honest whatsoever they see thee do, and will assume their courage according to the temper of thy countenance. Thou must both solace and comfort them; but thou canst notwithstand their sorrow, if thou make a wanton of thine own. CHAP. XXV. THis thing likewise may restrain thee from sorrowing extremely, if so be thou inform thyself, The nin●h, The more eminent our vocation is, the less occasion have we to make our neighbours believe that we ●aue lost our courage, and that we are unworthy to act that which is committed to our charge. that none of those things which thou dost can remain hidden. The common consent of all men hath made thee great, maintain that. Thou art environed with a troop of men that come to comfort thee, who carefully consider thy thought, and diligently observe whether it be fortified against grief beside, not only if thou know how to use prosperity discreetly; or if thou canst endure adversity manfully: they observe thine eyes. All things are more free unto those whose passions may be covered. As touching thyself thou canst not hide thyself; fortune hath placed thee in all men's ●ies. Every man shall know how thou hast carried thyself in this conflict; whether upon the first assault thou gavest over thy weapons, or if thou hast stood confidently in the battle. Heretofore the favour of the Emperor, and thine own valour have made thee rise to great estate, and therefore all bore and vulgar infirmity ill befitteth thee. But there is nothing so wild and so base, then for a man to suffer himself to be devoured in sorrow. In the same grief it is not lawful for thee to behave thyself so as thy other brothers. The opinion which is conceived of thy studies and manners, permitteth thee not many things● men require many things at thy hands, and expect much, if thou wouldst have had all things lawful for thee, thou shouldest not have drawn all men's eyes upon thee. But now so much art thou to perform as thou hast promised all men, who praise and applaud the endeavours of thy wit, who, whereas they have no need of thy fortune, yet have need of thy wit. These are the watchmen of thy mind. Thou canst therefore do nothing that is unworthy the profession of a perfect and learned man, but if divers men will repent themselves, because they have admired thee. Thou must not weep immoderately, and although thou art not to lose a part of the day in sleep, nor in seeking thy repose, forsake the bulk of affairs, and go and trifle it in the Country, not undertake with a sprightly conceit a long voyage to recreate thy body, being wearied with continual travel of thy weighty charge, nor to lose thyself in divers pastimes in the theatres, neither to spend the hours of the day according as it best liketh thee. CHAP. XXVI. 〈…〉 He that is in authority must not soil himself with abjection of mind for a great man's example doth much harm on a sudden than he can remedy all his life time. THere are many things which are unlawful for thee, which are permissible in men of base condition, and such as live in obscurity. A great dignity and prosperity is a great servitude. It is not lawful for thee to do any thing according to thine own mind. Thou must give audience to a thousand persons, read an infinite of petitions; thou must be accosted by a numberless number of suitors, posting from every part of the world. Thou hadst need of a governed mind to dispatch readily and suddenly the affairs of the greatest Prince in all the word. I say it is not lawful for thee to weep, because thou art to hear divers men that weep; and to the end that their tears may be profitable unto them that are in danger to obtain the mercy of most mild Caesar; thine are to be dried up. Yet behold what will comfort thee greatly, and prove a singular remedy for thee: Eloquence spent in vain and palpable flattery. cast thine eyes upon Caesar, when thou wouldst disburden thyself of sorrows. Consider what a charge his favour hath imposed upon thee, how much industry thou owest him, and then shalt thou understand, that thou art no more to be humbled by these crosses, than he (if a man may give any credit to fables) who beareth the whole world on his shoulders. For this cause divers things are not lawful for the Emperor, who may do all that which he pleaseth. His vigilancy conserveth the houses of all men in particular: his travel giveth them repose, his industry maketh them live at ease, and in delight. His occupation furnisheth them with time to disport themselves in. Since that time that Caesar dedicated himself to the world, and ravished himself from himself, and as the Planets which incessantly run their courses, he cannot repose, neither dispatch any thing of his own affairs. So in the like sort, the same necessity is enjoined thee, thou art neither to respect thine own profit, nor affect thy studies. The eleventh, We must consider as well those goods that remain with us, as those at leastwise which we have least. As long as Caesar is Lord of the world, thou canst not addict thyself to pleasure, or grief, nor to any thing else, thou art wholly Caesar's, Add hereunto that having always made the world believe that thou lovest Caesar better then thine own soul, it is not lawful for thee as long as he liveth to complain of thy fortune. He being in safety, all they that appertain unto thee are in security; thou hast lost nothing, thine eyes must not only be dried but be joyful. In him thou hast all things, and he to thee is as much as all. I will tell thee without impeachment of thy prudence and piety, that thou hast little respect of his greatness, that as long as thy body is in good health, thou givest way to any thy sorrow whatsoever. But I will show thee another remedy which is not so strong as the precedent, yet is it more familiar, if at any time thou retire thyself into thy house, then wilt thou have some cause to suspect thy sorrow, for as long as thou shalt behold Caesar's Godhead, sorrow will find no access unto thee, Caesar will possess whatsoever is in thee, when thou departest from him, then as if occasion were given, sorrow will find out thy solitude, and will creep by little and little into thy soul that desireth repose. Thou art not therefore to intermit any time of study, The twelfth, Study lenifieth sorrow. then will sciences and good letters which thou hast so long and faithfully loved, requited thy endeavour, and avowing thee for their patron and affectionate servant, will take thee into their safeguard. Than Homer and Virgil (who have so much obliged all men unto them, as thou hast made them obliged, having given order to make them known to more men, than they themselves have written verses) shall long time make abode with thee. All the time thou shalt commit and give them to keep, shall be assured. Employ thyself then in couching, in writing the deeds of the Emperor thy Master, to the end that in all ages the Roman people may celebrated his memory, for he it is that will furnish thee with matter, and give thee example to digest and set down his actions. CHAP. XXVII. I Dare not induce and persuade thee so far according to thy accustomed elegancy to set down the fables of AEsope, The thirteenth, If we ha●● the means to exercise our minds in high and worthy thoughts, it will be sure & expedient to pacify our griefs. a work as yet unattempted by our Roman wits: for it is a hard matter for a mind so vehemently dejected as thine is, so quickly to undertake this more pleasing and pleasant studies, yet shalt thou know that thy mind will be fortified, and recover himself, if he may give over these graver studies, and employ himself in those that are more delightful and free: for in the graver, the austerity of things which he shall entreat upon, will draw the same, although it be sick and at debate in itself, but in those that shall breed delight, thy spirit shall take no pleasure, but at such time as it shall be settled and quieted in itself. Thou onghtest therefore to exercise thyself in matters of importance, and then to temper thy mind with more pleasing studies. This likewise will comfort thee very much, if oftentimes thou debate in this sort with thyself. The fourteenth, We aught not to lament those that are dead in regard of ourselves, for this were to love ourselves, nor for their sakes, for as touching their bodies th●y have no sense, and as● touching their souls, if they have been virtuous, they are in repose. Whether am I sorrowful in respect of myself, or in regard of him that is deceased? if for the love of myself, it is in vain that I persuade myself, that I am a good brother, and the grief which beginneth is excusable, because it is honest, and estranged from piety in this, because it hath regard to profit. But there is nothing that worse beseemeth a good man then to have a will to consider, how much he hath either won or lost by the death of his brother. If I complain me for the love of him, I must needs approve it by one of these two succeeding considerations, that is to say, that either the dead have a feeling or no feeling. If they have no sense, my brother hath escaped all the incommodities of life, and is restored unto that place wherein he was before he was borne, and being void of all evil, he neither feareth nor desireth, nor suffereth any thing. What madness is this in me, that I never give over grieving for him who shall never be aggrieved? if the dead have any sense, the soul of my brother being as it were discharged out of a long prison, is now in freedom and full liberty, she searcheth and beholdeth with content the works of Nature, she discovereth them from a high place wherein she sees all human things, & nearly approacheth the divine: in search whereof she was so long time vainly tormented. Why therefore afflict I myself with the loss of him who either is blessed, or is no body. To bewail him that is blessed, it is envy to lament him that is no more; is madness. CHAP. XXVIII. OR art thou displeased hereat, because in thy judgement thy brother is deprived of great goods which followed and attended him? The fifteenth, They are delivered from the miseries and misfortunes of this life. When thou shalt bethink thyself that there are many things which he hath left, consider that there are more things which he feareth not. Anger shall not vex him, sickness shall not afflict him, suspicion shall not provoke him, gnawing and hateful envy that is always an enemy to other men's proceed, shall not attend him, fe●●e shall not press him, inconstant fortune that now taketh from one to give it to another, shall torment him no more: If thou calculate well, thy brother hath gotten more than he hath lost. But he shall no more enjoy his riches, neither his own honour, or the countenance he hath had by thee; he neither shall receive or do pleasures any more. Thinkest thou him miserable, because he hath left these things, or happy because he desireth them no more? Believe me he is more blessed that hath no need of fortune, than he that is much troubled in entertaining her. The vanity of riches. All these goods which delight us by reason of their fair but fallacious appearance, as money, estates, credit, and other such like which corrupt covetous and ambitious men's minds, are possessed with pain, and beheld with envy; they oppress those that are adorned with them, and threaten more than they profit. They are slippery and uncertain, they are never firmly possessed, for although a man were not in doubt of that which is to come, Great fortune, great care. yet so it is that the maintenance of a great prosperity is accompanied with many cares, if thou wilt give credit to those who more inwardly examine the truth, all our life is but a punishment. Being cast into this so deep and troubled a sea, tormented with continual ebbs and floats, that now raiseth us up with sudden increases, and strait forsaketh us with greater losses, and continually tossing us, we never remain in a settled place, we live in suspense and incertainety, who are beaten one against another, and sometimes we are shipwrecked, but always fearful. Sailing in this so stormy sea, and exposed to all tempests, we find no haven but in death. Envy not thy brother therefore, he is at rest, now at length he is free, now at length he is secure, now at length he is eternal. The sixteenth, They that we call dead are living, and the living are dead. He hath left the Emperor and all his race, thyself and all his brothers behind him. Before that fortune turned her favourable face from him, he forsook her even then when she stood unto him, and heaped favours upon him with a plentiful hand. But now he enjoyeth an open and freer heaven from an humble low Tabernacle, he hath attained so conspicuous a place, whatsoever it be that received those blessed souls that are delivered out of these earthly bonds into his blessed bosom, that now he freely wandereth and beholdeth all the goods of nature with exceeding pleasure. Thou art deceived, thy brother hath not lost the light, but hath attained a more securer. It is a way that we must all walk. Why complain we of destiny? he hath not left us, but gone before us. CHAP. XXIX. Believe it, there is a great happiness in dying happy, The seventeenth, He that dieth in prosperity hath no doubt advantage. nothing is assured, not not for the length of one day, only human affairs being so obscure and confused, as they be who will undertake to resolve whether thy brother's death had wrought him envy, The eighteenth, We have long time envied those whom death redemandeth at our hands. or whether it hath procured him good? Besides this, there is an other consideration, which is to comfort thee, for thou oughtest to think that in losing such a brother, thou hast received no injury, but that thou hast been greatly favoured, because that so long time it hath been in thy power, to envy and make use of his piety. Unreasonable is that man that hath not given his benefactor that credit to dispose of that he giveth according to his best liking. and that man is covetous, that in stead of calling that gain which a man giveth him, complaineth that he hath lost that which he hath restored. Ungrateful is he that saith, that injury is the end of pleasure. And foolish is he that thinketh there is no fruit but in things present, that contenteth not himself with those things that are past, esteeming those things for certain goods which appear not any more, because he aught not to be afraid that they are lost. Too much scantleth he his ways, who thinketh that he enjoyeth nothing but those things that he hath and seethe, and esteemeth them as much as nothing which he hath had, and hath no more, ●or all pleasures abandon others very suddenly, it is a thing that slippeth away, that passeth, and is taken from us almost before it cometh; we must therefore beflect our thoughts upon the time that is past, and recall to memory, and oftentimes ruminate on all that which hath ever given us pleasure. The remembrance of delights and contentments is more assured and endureth longer time, than the presence of them: remember this therefore amongst thy greatest goods, that thou hast had a good brother: think not how long time he might as yet have lived with thee, but how long time he hath remained with thee. Nature gave him both to thyself, The nineteenth, We aught not to be grieved to repay that to God which he hath lent us, & appertain to him, it sufficeth he craveth his own without interest. and the rest of thy brothers, not as a thing proper unto you, but she hath lent him you, and when she thought good she hath redemanded him, not satisfying thy will herein, but her own arrest. If a man should be angry for paying a debt for which he allowed no interest, should he not be thought a most wicked fellow? Nature hath given thy brother life, and thyself likewise, and afterwards using her own right, she hath redemanded her debt from him, she thought fit to challenge. She is not in fault (whose condition was very well known; but we aught to accuse the covetousness of mortal men, who sometimes either forget what nature is, and never remember themselves of their condition, except it be then, when they are brought in memory thereof. Rejoice therefore that thou hast had so good a brother, The twentieth, It is a thing decreed that all men must die, & therefore our friend cannot be exempted no more than others. and take in good part the use thou hast had of him, although it were shorter than thou couldst have wished it. Think that it was most pleasing to thee that thou hadst, and human that which thou hast lost. It is an unreasonable matter to be sorrowful, because thou hast so small a time enjoyed thy brother, and not to be glad that thou hast once enjoyed his presence. But he died sayest thou at such time as I left thought of it. Every one suffereth himself to be deceived by his sleight belief, and when we love a thing, we will not forget that it is subject unto death. But nature hath protested that she will exempt no man from this necessity, which is imposed upon all men. We see daily both our acquaintance and strangers carried to their graves, yet think we upon an other matter, and call it a sudden accident, which during our whole life time hath been told us that it should come to pass. This is not therefore the iniquity of the Fates, but the depravedness of man's mind, who is displeased because he must departed from that abroad, which was only lent him for a time. CHAP. XXX. An example what we aught to do. HOw far more juster was he, who receiving tidings of ●he death of his son, uttered a worthy speech correspondent and answerable to his worthy mind● I knew when I begat him that h●e should die. Wonder thou not that such a man begat such a son that could die courageously. The death of his son was no novelty to him: The twenty one, We aught not to fear that which must necessarily happen, although it be in divers sor●●. For what wonder is this for a man to die, whose whole life is naught else but a journey unto death. I knew when I begat him that he should die: and afterwards he annexed a thing of a greater note, prudence and constancy; I brought him up to this end. So are we all whosoever enters into life, is destinated to death. Let all of us therefore content ourselves with that which is given us, and restore it again when we are required. Let our minds be always addressed, and never fear that which must needs fall out; nor expect that always which is uncertain. Shall I call to remembrance in this place, the great Chieftains in war, their children, and divers persons honoured by divers Consulates and triumphs, who are dead by the hands of inexorable Destiny? wholeKingdoms with their Kings, whole peoples and nations have ended their course. All men, nay more, all things tend unto their end. Although that in regard of the particular they are different. One is taken away, and dieth in the midst of his rece, another in the entry, another in his extreme old age, being now wearied and desirous to departed, is scarcely permitted to die. The times of death are different, yet all of us tend to the same place. I know not whether it be more foolish to be ignorant of the law of mortality, or more impudence to refuse the same. The twenty two, The good books that are written either by ourselves or others, may com●ort us greatly, as also gravity in● years or reputations, and occupationr, which we aught carefully to observe. But I pray thee take some time to overlook these things, which with great travel of thy mind thou hast worthily celebrated; namely the Poems of Homer and Virgil, which thou hast so readily and cunningly continued in proof, that although the quantity & composition of the virtue, appear no more, yet the grace of the same remaineth. For thou hast in such sort turned them from Greek into Latin, and from Latin into Greek, that thou hast attained all those perfections that are requisite in him, that translateth from one tongue into an other. There is no one book in all those writings that furnisheth thee not with a great number of examples of the unconstancy of man's life, of uncertain accidents and casualties, that succeed and flow from divers courses. Consider with what Majesty of speech thou hast presented these things, at such time as thou art ashamed to lose thy courage so seen, and to descend so low after thou hast spoken so high. Demeasure not thyself like him that of late admired thy writings, and asked how it was possible that so feeble a spirit as thine was could conceive so great and so solid things; but rather cast thine eyes aside from these afflictions that torment thee, and turn them toward so many excellent consolations, in regarding thy brothers so virtuous, thy wife and thy son. Fortune hath parted stakes with thee, in taking away thy brother, and leaving thee all the rest in security and safety. CHAP. XXXI. DIshonour not thyself so much, The twenty three Aten ●●ght to con●id●r the goods that remain with 〈◊〉 to oppose against them those that are redemanded from us. as to give the whole world occasion to believe that one sorrow hath more power over thee, than these so many solaces. Behold thy brothers, thy wife, and thy son wounded with the same sorrow that thou art, without having any means to help thee, nay contrary thou s●●st, that they expect thou shouldest secure them. And therefore the less spiri●● and knowledge they have, the more needful is it, that thou resist this evil that concerneth you all. And it is in some sort a kind of comfort to demand a man's sorrow amongst many, and because many partake with thee in thine, there should be very little remainder for thyself. I will not cease to represent unto thee the Emperor Cl●●dius, as long as he shall govern the world, and make it known that the Empire is far better maintained by benefits then by arms, thou needest not fear that thou shouldst feel any cross: thou hast sufficient security, and a consolation in him alone. Raise and rouse thyself, and as often as tears begin to dry thine eyes, fix them so often upon Caesar, and by beholding so great and ●o excellent a power, thine eyes shall be dried; his brightness will so ravish them that they cannot admire any other thing but himself, and will keep them fixed upon himself. He it is whom thou beholdest day and night, and from whom thy heart is never estranged, & whose admiration must devour thee? This is he that can assist thee against fortune● and I doubt not ●ince he is a Prince so courteous, and so well affected towards all his servants, but that he hath already applied divers remedies to thy wounds, and ministered divers medicines to thy pains, for fear they should increase. And what? although he had done none of all these, doth not the only presence and remembrance of him comfort & animate thee greatly? Vouchsafe all you gods and goddesses to give him a long and happy life: let him exceed Augustus' bo●h in actions and years, and so long as he shall live in this world, let him be exempted from beholding the death of any of his. Let his dominion of long continuance be adotned with all justice. Let the Emperor leave his son for their Lord, and receive him as an associate to his Father, before they accept him as a successor. Let the time run slowly, and only during the life of our children's children, wherein his subjects shall rank him amongst the number of the gods. CHAP. XXXII. TOuch him nor O Fortune, Seneca●● 〈◊〉 and secret insinuatio●s. neither employ thy forces against him, but in as much as thou art profitable, suffer him to heal mankind too long traveled with sickness and misery, permit him to restore and re-establish all that which the fury of his Predecessor hath shaken. Let this star ever shine that hath enlightened the world that was plunged in obscurity, and devoured in darkness. Let him pacify Almany, give entry unto England, triumph both for his own, and his Father's victories. His clemency the chief of all his virtues, promiseth me that I shall be one of the beholders; for he hath not so humbled me, but he may exalt me, what say I humbled? he hath not only relieved, but he hath sustained me at such time as fortune had dejected me, and when as I was headlong cast down to the ground, he hath courteously and mercifully raised me by his divine hand. He interceded to the Senate in my behalf, and hath not only given me life, but required it likewise; let him determine in what sort he would have my cause estimated, either his iusti●e shall find it good, or his clemency shall make it whatsoever befall me, be it that he knoweth, or that he would that I should be innocent, it shall be● always a benefit of his towards me; Meanwhile the greatest comfort that I have in my miseries, is to see his mercy spread over all the world, which when it hath digged out many after the ruin of so many years, and out of that very angle wherein I am buried, and brought them to light, I fear not, nay more I trust, that he will not leave me alone desolate. But he best knoweth the time wherein he aught to comfort and relieve every man, for mine own part, I will endeavour to the uttermost, that he may not be ashamed to secure me. How happy is thy clemency O Caesar which hath caused those that are banished to live in greater assurance under thy government, than Princes did under Caligula? The banished fear not, they expect not hourly for a Hangman to come and dispatch them, neither are they abashed when they see the ships approach, as by thy favour there is some measure in their adversity, so hope they for a more prosperous condition, and they content themselves in some sort in the exile, because it so pleaseth thee. Thou must know that the flushings of thy lightning are not to be feared, but darted of set purpose, when those that are attainted therewith reverence it. CHAP. XXXIII. To comfort with more effect he induce●h Caesar to persuade Polybius. THis price therefore, who is the public solace of all men, hath or else I am deceived already recreated thy mind, and hath applied greater remedies to this thy so great wound: He hath already confirmed thee every ways, and with an exquisite memory hath related unto thee all the examples which are proper to induce thee to moderate thy grief, and by his ordinary eloquence hath discovered unto thee all the precepts of Philosophy. A man therefore cannot found out any who is more fitting to speak unto thee than he is. His words will be of greater weight than mine, and shall be so much reverenced as so many Oracles, which by thy divine authority shall crush all the forces of thy sorrows. The twenty four. The examples of greater men that have been afflicted should confirm our resolution. Suppose therefore that he speaketh unto thee after this manner. Fortune hath not only made choice of thee to examplifie her cruelty upon. There neither is nor was any house in this whole world without some lament. I will overslip common exampless which although they are less, yet are they wonderful. I will reduce thee to our Annals and public Chronicles. Seest thou all these images, which have filled Caesar's imperial hate● there is not one of them that is not touched with some calamity of his parents or friends, every one of these men who by their virtue shall astonish the ages to come● have been aggrieved at the death of those that touched them near, or have been wi●h great sorrow lamented by their friends after their death. What need I recount unto thee Scipio of Africa, who during the time of his banishment was resolved of his brother's death. This brother that had delivered his brother out of prison, could not warrant him from death. All men saw how impatiently Scipio suffered the injury that was done unto his brother whom he loved so much: for the same day that he delivered his brother from the hands of the Sergeant: he presented himself as a private man before the Tribune of the people, to obtain favour. Meanwhile he endured the death of his brother, with no less courage than he had showed in preserving his life. Shall I reckon up unto thee AEmitianus Scipio; who almost at one time saw his father's triumph, and the obsequies of his two brethren? yet notwithstanding although he were very young, and but as yet an Infaut, he endured this sudden ruin of his family as constantly falling under the triumph of his father; as such a parsonage as he should do, who was borne to that end, that Rome should not be without a Scipio, nor Carthage without ruin. ●HAP. XXXIIII. SHall I tell thee of the amity of the two Luculli that was dissolved by death? Other exampless Shall I reckon unto thee the Pompey's whom cruel fortune permitted not to perish under one ruin? Sextus Pompèy overlived his sister, by whose decease the firm bonds of the Roman Empire, and the peace thereof were broken. He overlived his brother likewise, whom fortune had raised to this end, that his overthrow might not be less than the ruin of his father; yet after this fall of his, he proved both sufficient to digest this sorrow, and to maintain a war. Infinite are the examples on every side of brethren that have died one after another, and I say on the contrary part, that scarcely shalt thou find two brothers that have lived so long as them both. But I will content myself with the example of those of our house: supposing that no man will be so devoid of reason and judgement, who understanding that fortune hath taken pleasure to make Emperors weep, will complain that she hath driven others to sorrow. Augustus' lost his dearest sister Octavia, neither did Nature take from him the necessity of mourning, to whom she had destinated heaven contrariwise, this Prince afflicted with all sorts of death of those that touched him nearest lost besides her his sister's son, who should have been his heir. And left I should enter into a particular account of his sorrows, he lost his son in laws, his children, his Nephews, and no man amongst all moral men, had more feeling that he was a man than he did, whilst he lived amongst men; yet notwithstanding his heart, the most peaceable that a man might imagine, digested so many bitter griefs, and so made himself victorious not only over foreign nations, but also of his passions. Caius Caesar the Nephew of mine uncle by the mother's side, even upon the entrance of his youthly years, lost his brother Lucius most dear unto him, a Prince as young as himself, during the preparation of the Parthian war, and received a greater wound in mind then that was which afterwards offenced his body, yet endured he both the one and the other, both piously and stoutly. The Emperor mine uncle by the father's side, saw his younger brother, and my father die in his arms, at such time as he was ready to enter the heart of Almaigne, and he subdued the most savage nations of the world, and made them subject to the Roman Empire; yet kept he a measure in his sorrow, and gave order that others should contain themselves, reducing the Army not only aggrieved but desolate, and astonished, and who generally demanded the body of their general Drusus to the Roman custom and manner in mourning, judging this that he was obliged not only to observe the rules of military profession, but a measure in bewailing the dead. He could not repress other men's tears, except first of all he had restrained his own. CHAP. XXXV. See Plutarch in this man's life and behold a true pattern of inconstant fortune. Mark Anthony my Grandfather inferior to none but him, by whom he was overcome, establishing the Roman Estate, and being one of the triumvirate, raised above all men, and (except his two companions) seeing all things under his feet, heard news that his brother was slain. O insolent Fortune, what pleasure takest thou in procuring men's miseries. At that time when Mark Anthony had the power of life and death amongst the Roman Citizens, his own brother was commanded to death; yet endured he this so hateful a wound with the same magnanimity of mind, wherewith he had endured all other adversities, and his mourning was of this nature, that he solemnised his brother's funerals, with the bloody massacre of twenty Legions. But to lay apart all other examples, and to the end that I may suppress in myself other men's losses, Fortune hath assailed me twice in the death of my brothers, and I have twice found this in myself, that I might be hurt but not confounded: I lost my brother Germanicus, whom how entirely I loved, he may perfectly understand, who thinketh how much pious brothers love their brothers; yet so governed I my affection, that I neither omitted any thing that might be required at a good brother's hand, neither did aught that might be reprehended in a Prince. Think therefore that the parent of the commonweal relateth these examples unto thee, and showeth thee how nothing is sacred or unattainted by Fortune, who out of these houses durst lead our funerals from whence she was to receive her goods. The twenty five, If death spareth not the greater, why should she spare the small. Let no man therefore wonder, if Fortune behaveth herself cruelly or unjustly: for can she acknowledge any equity towards private houses, or any modesty, whose implacable cruelty hath usurped upon the gods? Let us exclaim against her not only in private but in public, yet will she not be changed, her ears are deafened against all prayers and complaints. This was Fortune in human affairs, and this will she be; there is nothing that she dare not attempt, nothing that she leaveth untouched: she will forcibly enter through all things, and according to her accustomed manner, without making any difficulty to bear the dead into those houses, whereinto men enter by Temples, and to hung those doors with black, which before times were adorned with laurel. CHAP. XXXVI. The twenty sixth If the great ones of this world bear their losses patiently, the lesser should follow their example. THis one thing ler us obtain at her hands by vows and public prayers, except as yet she hath not resolved to confounded all human race.) That if with a favourable aspect she continued as yet, behold the Roman name, that she will be pleased to reserve unto herself and to all men, this Prince who was raised to re-establish the decaying world: let her learn clemency of him, and by the miledest Prince of all others be instructed what mercy is. So then thou oughtest to considet all those of whom before time I have made mention, either already received into heaven, or very nearly approach the same, and patiently endure fortune, who stretcheth her hand to thee also, wherewith she attempteth those likewise by name, by whom we are accustomed to swear. It behoveth thee to follow their constancy, and to sustain & surmount misfortunes, and as much as may be lawful for a man to follow the steps of the gods. Although that in other things there is a great difference betwixt men, by reason, that some are more highly raised than others; yet is virtue planted in the midst o● all men and disdaineth not any man, provided that he think himself worthy of her. Be careful to follow those who having any occasion to be displeased, because they are closed in, and visited so nearly, notwithstanding have thought that fortune offered them no outrage in equalling them with other men, but that it was the law of mortality, and thus were they neither vexed nor grieved, neither have they showed any faint and effeminate hearts in such like accidents: for not to feel a man's evils is the part of a beast, and not to endure them, is not the part of a man, yet can I not (after I have overrun all the Caesars from whom Fortune hath taken their brothers & sisters) overslippe this man whom we ate to draw out of the number of the rest) whom Nature hath produced and brought to light, to the general disgrace and destruction of all mankind, by whom the Common weal was utterly overthrown, and reduced again by the clemency of our merciful Prince. This Caligula that neither knew to grieve or rejoice accordiug as it beseemed his dignity, when his sister Drusilla was dead, Twenty seventh, The inconstant fury of Caligula in the death of his sister, aught to teach wise men how to temper and govern their sorrows, except they would have their minds rep●●ted unbridled. retired himself out of the sight and conversation of all his Citizens, neither was he present at his sister's obsequies, neither honoured he her according to her dignity, but retired himself into his Albarium? yet relieved he the sorrow of these so hapless funerals, by hearing pleas, and other such like occupations. What shame was this for the Roman Empire? The sport of a Roman Prince that bewailed his sister, was to solace himself at dice. The same Caius with furious inconstancy, sometimes suffering his beard and hair to grow long, sometimes coursing along all the coasts of Italy and Sicily, not following the ordinary ways, and never certainly assured whether he would have his sister bewailed or deified: for at the same time when he reared Temples and honours to her, he punished them by most cruel torments, who sufficiently bewailed not her death: for no less intemperate showed he himself in sustaining the shock of these afflictions. as he was immeasurably proud in his prosperities, for he swollen above human measure. far be this example from every Roman Citizen, either to attenuate his sorrow by untimely sports, or provoke them in soiling himself with odious and base uncleanness, or to delight in other men's evils, and not in human solace. Yet see thou that thou change nothing of thy accustomed carriage, because thou hast resolved to love those studies, which most fitly extol a man to felicity, and most easily lessen his calamity, and they are those that are the greatest ornaments and solaces of mankind. CHAP. XXXVII. Twenty eighth. A special consolation to Polybius, declaring that virtuous studi●s nordes the greatest sorrow's. NOw therefore drown thyself more deeply in thy studies: now environ them about thee as the fortresses and bulwarks of thy mind, neither let sorrow found any entrance in any part of thee: Publish likewise thy brother's memory in some one monument of thy writings, for this is the only work amidst all human offices, which no tempests may hurt, no age consume: the rest that consist in gathering and laying stones in marble monuments, or earthly tombs that are raised to a great height, will not continued long, for they themselves will be consumed. The monuments of the mind are immortal; bestow these on thy brother, enshrine him in these. Thou shalt always eternize him better by thy lasting wit, then by bewailing him with fruitless sorrow. As touching that which concerneth fortune, although that for the present a man may not pled her cause before thee (for all that which she hath given us are hateful unto us for this very cause, that she hath taken somewhat from us) yet then will we speak of it when time hath made thee a more equal judge in her hehalfe, for then mayest thou re-enter into favour with her: for she hath provided many things whereby she may amend this injury, for many things will she now give, whereby she may redeem the same: to conclude thou receivedst that at her hands which she hath taken from thee, Use not thy wit therefore against thyself, Against those that condemn sorrow, and what measure we aught to observe therein, neither accompany thou thy sorrow. Well I wots that thine eloquence can approve those things to be great, which are but small. Again, it can lessen great things, and bury them in obscurity, but let her reserve her forces to some other purpose, and now let her employ them wholly in comforting thee. But beware that this thing likewise be not unprofitable for thee; for nature exacteth somewhat at our hands, an● vanity striveth to shorten it: yet never will I entreat thee to give over sorrow wholly. I know there are some men more obstinate and inflexible then prudent and courageous, who maintain that a Wiseman should not b●e touched with sorrow. But these men seem to have never tasted of such like disasters, otherwise Fortune had driven their proud wisdom from them, and had compelled th●m though against their wills to confess the truth. Reason hath done enough, if she restrain the excess of sorrow, but to have it wholly rooted out, no man aught either to hope or desire it. Let him rather observe this measure, it neither falleth into impiety or folly, and contain us in that habit which becometh a quiet and no disturbed mind. Let our tears flow, let them be stayed: let our sighs be drawn from the bottom of our hearts; yet let them have an end. So govern thy mind that thou mayest approve thyself to Wisemen, and to thy brothers. Labour to deserve that thou mayest often time's remember thy brother, to the end thou mayest magnify him in thy words, and that by a continual thought and remembrance thou mayest represent him unto thee. Whereunto thou mayest finally attain, if thou make his memory pleasant unto thee, and not lamentable. For it is natural for the mind to fly always from that whereto she returneth with sorrow. Think upon his modesty, think thou of his readiness in his business, his diligence in executing them, his faithfulness in his promises. Let other men know, and do thou thyself remember all his deeds and words. Consider what he hath been and what can be hoped that he shall be: For what cannot a man promise for such a brother. This Discourse have I addressed unto thee in the be●t sort I may, having my spirit almost spent and dulled with sorrow, which if it be scarce answerable to thy expectation, or seem to be too weak to medicine thy sorrow, bethink thyself how hardly Latin words flow from him, whose ears are tired with the rude and unpolished language of the Barbarians. The End of the Book of Comfort. OF CONSOLATION, WRITTEN BY LUCIUS ANNAEUS SENECA TO MARCIA. The Argument of JUSTUS LIPSIUS. MARCIA agracious and rich Matron, as it appeareth the daughter of AULUS CREMUTIUS CORDUS, a man famous both for his studies and writings, had a son who died in his full years, for he was a husband, a father, and a Priest, and already three years were past as appeareth in the end of the first Chapter, since he died. I therefore gather that this book was published about the beginning of CLAUDIANUS time, and not before. For it is scarce probable that this METELLUS (for such was his name) was raised to honour in TIBERIUS time. Under ●ATVS therefore, who out of some other acts of TIBERIUS, and namely permitted 〈◊〉 CRE●VTIVS writings to be read: which likewise is touched in the first Chapter and therefore this consolation could not be published before, especially the grief being 〈◊〉, and after three years space. Nay to him that well considereth the same, 〈…〉 may be supposed to be written under CLAVDIVS, and after his exile● It matters not much. Touching the Book, it is one of his best, although it be not void of feminine flattery. There are two parts thereof. In the former he praiseth her, and both by his own and other men's examples comforteth her until the 〈◊〉 Chapter; in the latter he descendeth to reasons, and first he allegeth the common ●●ason that sorrow profiteth nothing. Than that is unnatural, and rather is grounded on tenderness, and inconsideration, because we foresee not that th●se things which may be done, are futurely to succeed. And again, he produceth the examples of men and women. Than passeth he over to the estate and condition of those that are borne, to whom death is annexed, until the nineteenth Chapter. Than offereth he this Dilemma: That neither the mother nor he are 〈◊〉 Of the mother, in short, she is gracious, and only vexed by opinion. Of the son diversly, he is in quiet: and delivery both from casualties and vices. What if he had been inclined to those in so corrupt a City? that he was therefore taken away in good time, and at last the Father CREMATIUS is in person provided, comforting and animating his daughter, and inciting her with a constant speech to regard and behold celestial and divine things. CHAP. I EXcept I knew Marcia that thou wert so far estranged from womanish infirmity of mind, Seneca in this place intending to comfort Marcia in the death of her son, proposeth two things in this Preface. The one the greatness of her courage in the death of her father. The other the good sh●e did unto the Romans by producing his ●●stories, which testify that she patiently endured such a loss. as from other vices, and that every man observeth thy manners, as it were some ancient pattern of virtue. I durst not undertake to encounter with thy sorrow, whereunto men are too willingly inclined & subject: neither had I conceived any hope in a time so unreasonable, before a judge so partial, in a crime so hateful, that I could effect this, that thou shouldest complain of thy fortune: but the approved constancy of thy mind and thy virtue confirmed by many trials, have animated me, and made me confident. It is not unknown in what sort thou didst behave thyself in the person of thy Father, whom thou lovedst no less than thou didst thy children, except in this that thou didst not desire that he should not overlive thee, yet know I not whether thou didst wish it me or no. For a great piety permitteth itself some thing, which are not answerable to good and laudable manners of life. Thou hinderest as many as lay in thy power the death of Aulus Crenutius Cordus thy father. But when he had discovered unto thee, that he had but one means to escape from servitude, wherein he was detained by the vassals of Sejanus, thou favouredst not his counsels, but suffered'st thyself to be overcome, and secretly powredst forth tears, thou deuouredst thy sorrow, yet couldst not conceal it with a merry countenance: and this in the age wherein it was great piety to do nothing impiously. But as soon as the revolution of time presented thee any occasion, thou broughtest him to light for the general good of all men) the testimonies of thy father's wisdom, who was put to death, and exemptedst him from the grave by publishing and communicating those his books unto the world, which that worthy man had written with his own blood. Worthily hast thou deserved of the Roman studies, for the greater part of them was consumed by fire; worthily of posterity, to whom the incorrupted truth of former occurrents shall be testified to the glory of that great man thy father, who wrote them; worthily at his hands, whose memory shall flourish and live as long as men are desirous to know the Roman affairs, as long as there shall be any who will reflect & read th● acts of antiquity, as long as there is any that would know what a brave Roman, who seeing the yoke of Sejanus upon his neck, and his feet treading on the heads of every man, hath bravely discharged himself of that servitude, and showed that both in understanding, soul, and hand he was a free man. Truly the common weal had suffered a great loss, if thou hadst not brought this worthy person to light, who was buried in oblivion, to let us see two worthy parts in him, to wit, his eloquence and liberty: he is read, he flourisheth, he is entertained in men's hands and hearts, he feareth no injury of time. But the heinous crimes of those bloody butchers, who deserve memory for nothing but their murders, He excuseth the vehemency, he is resolved to use considering the vigour of Mar●●as mind, the time past since her afflictions, and the contempt of those consolations that have been ministered unto her. shall be obscured. This greatness of thy mind, for bad me to look back unto thy Sex, for bad me to behold thy countenance, which the continual sorrows of so many years as it once clouded, it so now covereth it: But consider that I intent not to surprise thee, neither think thou that I will smeale away thy passions. I have refreshed the memory of thine ancient evils: And wilt thou know that this wound also is curable? I have showed thee the cicatrice of as great a wound. Let other men therefore dally and flatter with thy sorrows, I am resolved to combat with thy grief, and if thou wilt hear a truth, I will dry up the current of those tears that have wearied and wasted thine eyes, which rather now flow by custom then any desire or cause, which may be done if thou favour those remedies which I present thee: if not, I will do it against thy will, although thou retainest and entertainest thy grief, which thou hast reserved to continued in thy sons place. But what end shall there be? All things are attempted in vain. Thy friends are wearied with talking with thee, thy Allies and other great personages know no more what to speak unto thee, thy deaff-eares entertain no solace, although a man relate unto thee that which thou hast learned, and the goodly means and demeasnesse that thy father left thee. These are words that stand thee in no use, but for the time they are a speaking. The natural remedy of time likewise, which appeaseth the greatest sorrows, hath lost his power in thee alone. Three years are already past, and yet the vehemence of this thy passion is no ways moderated, thy sorrow reneweth and fortifieth itself daily by course of time it hath gotten possession; yea, and is grown to that height, that thou reputest it a shameful thing to dismiss it and give it over. Even as all vices get possession and pre-eminence in the heart, except they be oppressed, even then when they appear. So likewise these perplexities and miseries, enraged against themselves, do feed themselves at last by their own acerbitie● and sorrow becometh a depraved pleasure of the unhappy mind. I could have wished therefore that I could have ministered a medicine to this sorrow in the beginning, a sleight remedy had been sufficient to extinguish the fury of this passion upon the first approach. Where now since the griefs are inveterate, the remedies aught to be more vehement. For those wounds are easily cured which are but newly inflicted; then are they ●eared, s●arched, and endure the touching; yea, they are hardly healed when they are putrefied, and that time hath brought them to an inveterate ulcer. I can not now to please thee, handle thy rebellious wound gently, I must press out the poison, and cleanse it with sharp medicines. CHAP. II. Entering into the matter, he begins to ●o●fort her by 〈◊〉 Fi●●l of Octavia which made her s●lf● 〈◊〉, 〈…〉. I Know that all those men, who will admonish any man, begin with precepts and end in examples; yet must I altar this course. For some are to be handled in one sort, some other in an other. Some there are that will be persuaded by reason, to some we must oppose the names and authority of great persons to stay their minds, that are astonished at the lustre of things. I will set before thine eyes two famous examples of thy Sex and of our time; Of one woman that gave herself over to grief, of an other that having had no less loss but far greater damage, yet suffered not her sorrow to reign long time over her, but suddenly settled and pacified her mind. Octavia and ●iuia, the one the sister, the other the wife of Augustus. Lost each of them a Son, having both of them hope that one day they should have been Emperors. Octavia's Son was called Marcellus, on whom his Uncle and his wives father began to build themselves, in committing to his hands the affairs of the Empire, a young man of sharp understanding, of a great mind, modest and marvelously continent, and considering his years and fortunes, very laborious, enemy of delights, and ready to undergo all that which his uncle would lay upon him, or (if I may so speak it) build on his back: Neither failed he in his choice, for this young man was sufficiently enabled to undertake all sorts of burdens. His mother seeing him dead, ceased not all her life time to mourn and weep, neither would she admit any consolation, nor likewise suffer any by any means to dissuade her from her pensive thoughts. But intending this one thing, and wholly fixing her mind thereupon, such was she all her life time as she was at his funeral. I say not that she durst not rise, but that she refused to be raised, judging it no less than a second orbity to surcease her weeping. She would have no Image of her dearest Son, neither would she listen to any that made mention of him, she hated all mothers, and was most mad against Livia, because that felicity that was promised her Son, seemed to be translated to hers. All her pleasure was to live in darkness and solitude, she no ways thought on her brother, rejecting those Verses that were composed, and those honours which famous men had invented, in memory of Marcellus. In brief, she shut up her ears from all comfort, she retired herself from all solemn Offices, and hating that too much resplendent fortune of her brother's greatness, she hide herself, and if I may so speak it, buried herself alive. Although her own children, and their children's children came flocking about her, yet would she not give over her mourning rob, offering outrage in this respect to all those that were her Allies, because she thought herself alone when they remained in safety. CHAP. III. LIVIA had lost her son Drusus, who should have been Emperor, and was at that time a great Captain. ●. Livia contrariwise disgesteth the death of her son wisely and patiently whereby she was esteemed He had already entered very far into Germany, and fixed his Ensigns there, where it was scarcely known that there were any Romans. In this expedition he died a Conqueror, and during his sickness his very enemies gave him great honour, not daring to promise' themselves that good which was expedient for them: To this death which he endured for the Commonweal, there was joined a multitude of Roman Citizens, of peoples that were Allies, and of all Italy (who had conducted his body thorough the Cities, and Provinces which were peopled by the Romans, who had made great moan for him) as far as Rome, as if Drusus had entered the same in triumph. His mother, that for a long way had followed his body, and being extremely grieved, by reason that as many Piles as she saw flaming thorough out all Italy, so many times seemed she to behold her dead Son, had not the means to enjoy his last kisses, nor hear his sweet and latest words, yet incontinently when the obsequies were performed, and that she had closed him in his Tomb; she buried her sorrow with him, without aggrieving herself more than either her gravity, or Augustus' greatness, or the equity of the cause required. Mean while she ceased not to publish her sons praises in every place, to represent him unto herself both privately and publicly; to speak most willingly of him, and take pleasure in those that recounted his praises, when as no man could make mention of any other, but incontinently the remembrance of Drusus made her perceive: Choose therefore which of these examples thou thinkest most probable; if thou wilt follow the first, thou cuttest thyself of from the number of the living, thou wilt teach both thine own and other men's children, and wanting him, thou wilt make all mother's afraid that meet with thee. Thou shalt disclaim thine honest and lawful pleasures, as ill beseeming thy condition, and shall require naught else but to be sequestered from company: in brief, thou shalt loathe thine own life, because it endeth not as quickly as thou desirest. Besides, which is a thing estranged, and unworthy thy mind, which hath a far contrary reputation, thou wilt make it known that thou wilt not live, and that thou canst not die. But if thou fashion thyself according to the example of this great woman, which is more mild and moderate, thou shalt not vail bonnet under thy sorrow, neither macerate thyself in afflicting thyself so much: for what folly is this (poor woman as thou art) to drown thyself in sorrow, and to increase thy miseries? maintain in this accident the virtue, and moderation which thou hast approved in all the rest of thy former life; for if there be any conveniency in sorrow, when thou hast always the name of this young man (most worthy of rest) in thy heart and in thy mouth, thou thyself shalt place him in a happy abode; if he appear before thee merry and joyful as he did during his li●e. CHAP. FOUR The th●●d, So●●ow should not be extreme, or perpetual. NEither will I persuade thee by more forcible precepts, command thee to endure human accidents with a mind more than human, that upon the very day of the funeral thou shouldest dry up the tears of a mother. I will do thee justice. The question is between us, whether thy grief aught to be great or perpetual: I assure myself that the example of Livia, whom thou hast inwardly both known and honoured will please thee more than the other. She calls thee to counsel her. She in the first favour (whom as miseries are most impatient and furious) gave an ear to the counsels and comforts of the Philosopher, Areus that attended her husband; and confessed that it yieldeth her much more comfort than the Roman people, whom she would not digest by her sorrow, more than Augustus who was troubled, who had lost one of the stays of his Empire (nor was to be dejected by the sorrow of any of his) more than Tiberius his son, who effected this then, that in that biter & displeasing funerals to all nations, A pro●fe hereof by a 〈◊〉 wh●ch Areus 〈◊〉 to ●a●a●io, Seneca p●odu●e●h ●●re to the end he may persuade Ma●cia more powerfully. found nothing missing but the number of one. This as I think, was the induction of that discourse which he used in regard of this woman, that was so settled in her opinions. Hitherto lived, and as nearly as I could conceive, in as much as I was an inward Counsellor to Augustus thy husband, (who not only knew thy public sayings and actions, but also the secret motions of thy mind, thou hast carefully endured that no man should find any thing that might give him cause of exception: Neither haste thou observed this only in affairs of importance, but in the smallest things thou hast taken care, jest thou shouldest do any thing that might be afraid of report, which freely consumeth the actions of the greatest in this world. Neither think I that there is any thing that is more worthy those that are in high place, then to pardon many things, and to require pardon of nothing. Thou are therefore to observe in this thing thine accustomed manner, not to limit any thing whatsoever, that thou wouldst have done less or otherwise. CHAP. V AFter this, I desire and entreat thee, that thou show not thyself froward and intractable to thy friends. The forth. We must accustom our selves in time to yield a w●ll●●g care, to those that speak of them● whose decease we h●ue bewailed in bitte●●eares. For thou art not to be ignorant, that all these know not how to behave themselves, whether they shall speak any thing before thee of Drusus, or nothing, jest either the oblivion of so noble a young man should do him injury, or his memory and mention wrong thee, when we are drawn apart, and are assembled together; we magnify his deeds and speeches as much as in us lieth, and he deserveth, but in thy presence we make no mention whatsoever: you are therefore deprived of a great pleasure, which is the praises of thy son. When I assure myself thou wouldst eternize, if thou hadst the means, although it cost thee thy life. Suffer therefore, nay more, command men to speak of him, and yield thine care to the name and memory of thy son, think it no irksome thing (as other men do) who in such cases interpret all things to the worst that is spoken to them; if a man propose thee some consolations; thou inclinest now to the other side, and forgetting all the goods thou hast received, thou regardest the worse face of fortune, wherewith she most affrighted thee. In stead of casting thine eyes on the conversation of thy son, upon his pleasant and gracious entertainment, upon his childish and wanton flatteries, upon the advancement of his studies, thou securest to be enchaned to this last appearance of life, and as if it were not monstrous enough of itself, thou heapest up together whatsoever may be possible. Long not I beseech thee after so unmeasurable a glory, which may make thee being miserable, amongst miserable. CHAP. VI Think likewise that it is an act of a generous mind to carry a great appearance in prosperity, The fifth's In adversity only w●e are to make proole of the constancy of our mind. when as life exhausteth her course with a full fail. For a peaceable sea and a favourable wind approve not the sufficiency of a Pilot. There must some storm encounter us that may approve the mind. And therefore discourage not thyself, but contrariwise stand firm in thy place, and endure every burden that is laid upon thee, being only affrighted with the first assault: there is nothing that so much confoundeth fortune, as a resolute mind. After this he showed her her son in safety, he showed her her Nephews, to recompense the loss of her son. At that time Marcia thy affairs were in ●and, Areus sat by thee, and comforted thee under another name. But think Marcia that death hath taken from thee more than ever was taken from any mother (I will not flatter thee, or lessen thy loss) if tears may conquer the destiny, let us unite our tears, let us spend every day in sorrow, let the sleeples night consume itself in sadness, let our hands violate our torn breasts, and let our nails imprint our sorrow in our faces, The sixth, Since that sorrow is unprofitable, because death is not moved thereby, we aught to refrain sorrow. let discontent exercise and extend itself in all sorts of cruelty. But if the dead are recalled by no tears, if Fate be immovable, and everlastingly fixed, no misery is changed, and death possesseth whatsoever he hath taken away; let sorrows cease because it is unprofitable. For which cause let us govern ourselves, neither permit this passion to transport us beyond measure. It is a shame for a Master of a ship to suffer his helm to be beaten out of his hands by the billow, to neglect his Sails that are shattered in the wind, and leave his ship to the mercy of a tempest, but he even in shipwreck is to be commended, who holdeth his helm in his hand, though the seas swallow and sink him. CHAP. VII. The seventh, We must keep a measure in sorrow. But yet there is a natural inclination in us to bewail those whom we love, who denies it as long as it is moderate? for there is a necessity that presseth us, and retireth, and astonisheth the most constant hearts, not only at such time as our friends die, but also when in this life by divers occasions they are separated from us. But that which opinion addeth, is more than Nature commandeth. Consider how unbridled the desires of bruit beasts are, Nature teacheth it not. and yet they are short. Cows for a day or two low after the Bull, neither doth the wanton and wandering course of Mares last long. Wild beasts after they have scented the foot of their young ones, and have searched them sometimes amidst the forest, when they return back again to their empty dens, in a few days surcease their rage. Birds with great chattering fly about their empty ne●ts, but in an instant they are appeased, and keep their accustomed flight. There is no creature that so long time bewaileth the want of his young ones as man, who accompanieth his own grief, and is not only touched with the sense thereof, but also with the conclusion; he hath taken with himself to torment himself thus and so long time. The eighth, I● is the proper●y of ●●w●rdes ●nd degenerate p●●s●ns to torment themselves much. And to the end thou mayest know, that it is an unnatural thing to be broken with sorrows; first one and the same loss is more hurtful to women than men, to barbarians then civil men, to the ignorant than the learned. But those that have received their forces from nature keep the same tenure in all things. That which is divers, is not natural: Fire at all times will burn the Inhabitants of all Cities, as well men as women. Iron will show itself in every body that it hath power to cut upon. Why? by reason that nature which doth nothing in vain hath given them this property. One man feeleth poverty, pain, loss of children in one kind, and that man in another kind as custom teacheth him, and as a feeble opinion of fearing of those things that are terrible, maketh him either impatient or constant. CHAP. VIII. Again that which is natural decreaseth not by delay, but time consumeth sorrow. Be she never so rebellious, be she never so continual, The ninth, We must suffer time to extinguish sorrow. be she never so obstinate against remedies, yet time which is the most effectual means to mitigate fury, will weaken it. True it is Marcia, that as yet thou art very much afflicted, ●nd it seemeth that thy ●orrow (not so v●hement a● at first, but settled and obstinate) hath contracted a callosity, and is wholly heardned. Yet will time draw this from thee by little and little, as oftentimes as thou sh●lt exercise thyself in other things, thy mind shall find some relief. Now thou hast a guard over thyself: b●t there is a great difference whether thou permittest or commandest thyself to mourn. How far more beseeming is it for thine honest and venerable manner of life to give an end to thy sorrow, then to expect that it should end of itself? neither oughtest thou to attend the day wherein sorrow should abandon thee against thy william. But begin thou first to give him passport. CHAP. IX. WHence grow we therefore so obstinate in our complaints, if this that is done, The tenth, The common condition of all mankind should m●ke us resolute otherwise afflictions would very hardly be digested. be not by the commandment of nature. It is because we think that evil shall never encounter us, except then when we feel the same: but as if we had a letter of exemption, and that we were entered into a way more plain than other men; the sinister accidents of our neighbours cannot teach us that our danger is as great as theirs. We see so many dead bodies pass before our doors, and so many mourners that attend them with bitter tears, but in stead of thinking our death, we shape out in our thought a man's garment for our young children, we run to the wars, and already husband the inheritance and succession of our fathers. We see so many rich men suddenly become poor; yet never sinketh it into our hearts, that our riches may as easily slip out of our hands, as these did from them. Our fall therefore must be the greater, because we feel not that we are subject to slip, but then when we are fallen and brought unto the lowest. Those things that are long time foreseen, assault us more leasurly. Wilt thou know how thou art exposed to all strokes, and that those weapons that have wounded thee, have be●ne enforced against thee? Suppose that being disarmed, thou mountest upon some wall, or some place well defenced by the enemy, hard to be s●aled, and that thou expectest to be rescued, The ele●enth, Afflictions that a●e for seen are sl●ght. suddenly wounded, that tho● makest a certain account that those arrows, those stones, those darts that fly in th● air ar● aimed at thee, when thou shalt see that they fall on one side, or behind thy back, then mayest thou cry; O fortune thou shalt not deceive me, neither shalt thou surprise me, either secure or negligent. I know thy designs, thou wouldst have strucken me, but hast wounded another. But what man is he that ever considered his goods as if they should perish? who is he amongst us that durst be so bold, as to think on his exile, his poverty or sorrow? who is he, that if he be admonished to think upon his parent's security, refuseth it not as a direful and ominous presage, and that prayeth not that this mishap may sooner fall upon the head of his enemy, The tw●lfth, That which may befall any man may also be fortune us. When it is come, let us endure it. or of that his untimely Counsellor and admonisher? I thought not that this should come to pass, Thinkest thou that which thou knowest is incident unto many, and that thou seest befall other men, cannot happen to thee: I hard an excellent verse and worthy Publius; That which be fortunes one may fall to many. This man hath lost his children, and thou mayest loose thine. That man i● condemned, and thine innocency is under the stroke. This error deceiveth us; this maketh us effeminate, whilst we suffer those things which we never foresee that we could secure. He taketh away the power of present evils, who forseeth the future. CHAP. X. ALL these accessaries Marcia that shine about us as children, honours; riches, large palaces, and people that expect at our door to salute and attend us, The thirteenth, Al● our goods are gruen us to be restored again at God's pleasure l●t us no● be aggrieved that he redemand them. a worthy, noble and fair wife, and other such goods as depend on the inconstancy of mutable fortune, are but foreign and hired ornaments, which are not given but lent us to deck the Theatre wherein the Scene of our life is acted, and which aught to be returned to those to whom they appertain. Some of these must be brought home the first day, others the next day; few shall persever, and continued to the end. We are not therefore to esteem them, as if they were our own, they are but lent us. The use of them is ours, according as it pleaseth him to whom they appertain. We aught to have in a readiness those things which were given us for a certain time, that when they be called for, they may be restored without grudging. Wicked is that debtor that slandereth and iniureth his creditor; so than we aught to love those in such sort, who are issued from us, and whom according to the law of nature we desire to leave in this world after us, and do not amiss to wish that we may die before them, as if we had no promise that they should survive us or continued with us. Ofttimes the manner is to be admonished to love them as transitory things, yea as such as are already parting from us, and let us possess all that which fortune hath given us, as a thing that must vanish in an instant: take your pleasure of your children, and let them have the fruition of yonr selves, and without delay enjoy all that pleasure you affect. Let no man build upon to morrows content, I have given you too long, delay nothing of that hour in which we are. We are to make haste, death attendeth at our backs, and all this number that attendeth us shall be scattered in a moment. In less than a watchword, The fourteenth, It is God's ordinance that hath limited our life which we ●●ll departed withal, when it pleaseth him. all these secreties shall be dispersed. All things are vanished from us miserable men; you have not the spirit to live in following life; if thou complainest the death of thy son, the fault is in the time wherein he was borne, for at that time was he destinated to die. He was given thee upon that condition, and as soon as he came out of thy womb, he ran after this arrest. We are under the rigorous & unconquered power of fortune, and endure our good or evil according to her pleasure: she afflicteth, outrageth and tormenteth our bodies; some burneth she with fire, either to ruin them, or to heal them: some shall she cast into the sea, where after they have struggled with the waves in stead of casting them on the shore of the sand, she shall cast them into the belly of some great fish. Othersome there are that she shall detain long time betwixt life & death, having tired them by divers sorts of sicknesses; and likewise tied them to an unconstant and lascivious mistress, that maketh no account of her slaves, but sometimes tormenteth and striketh them, sometimes flattereth and rewardeth them. What need we complain of the parts of our life. The whole is lamentable; new incommodities shall urge thee before thou hast satisfied the old: you aught therefore to moderate yourselves in those things, especially, which you impatiently suffer, applying one part of your thoughts to the apprehension of evils, an other to the sense of them. CHAP. XI. But whence cometh it that thou thus forgettest thine own estate, The fifteenth, Since we are mortal, let us not think it strange or evil if that which is begotten by us, be subject to death. The description of the miseries of life. and the condition of the whole world. Thou art borne mortal, and hast brought forth mortal children; thou has● a body inclined to corruption and distraction, having been beaten with so many accidents and sicknesses; didst thou hope in so frail and weak a matter that thou cravedst some thing solid and eternal. Thy son is departed, that is, he hath finished his course, to which end they that are more happy than thy son do flock and hasten. All these that wrangle at the Palace, that fill the theatres, that pray in the Temp●●s, march th●ther but in a different place. Even those things which you reverences and those things which you despise, one death shall make equally The same is commanded thee by the inscription of the Oracle of Ap●llo● Know thyself ● What is ma●● a broken vessel, a thing more frail than may be imagined; there need● no great tempest to break thee, wheresoever thou art cast thou art shattered. What is man? a weak, frail, and naked body disarmed by nature, that ne●deth an others help, abandoned to all the outrages of fortu●● in the greatest vigour of his age, exposed for a pray to wild beasts● subject to be spoiled by the next that meeteth him, framed of those things that have no firmity or continuance, fair in appearance, and in outward lineament, but neither able to endure either cold, heat or travel. Tending through his one and idleness, to consume himself, fearing that which nourisheth him, because that sometimes the want thereof grieveth him, and sometimes the abundance bursteth him. Careful and suspicious of his security, his soul but borrowed and loathing his abode, a sudden noise and unexpected, and dreadful t●●●h of the ●ar● will drive her from him, and always his nourishment corrupt●●h and humbleth him. Do we remember that death which is necessary to all m●n, striketh at one man? was not this building raised to th●●nd to be ruined? His odours, savours, lassitudes, watchings, humours, meats and other things, without which he could not live, are the occasion of his death. On what side soever he turneth himself, he incontinently espieth the marks of his infirmity. Every air is not good for him, the change of waters, an unaccustomed breath of wind, and other light and hurtful causes make him 〈◊〉 that he is sickly, rotten, broken, and that he began his life with tears: Mean while● what troubles doth this caitiff creature cause? how many thoughts ham●ereth he in his head being forgetful of his own condition? His thoughts wander upon immortalities and eternities, he disposeth of the affairs of his third and fourth generation, and whilst he thus swelteth after these long apprehensions, death lays hold on him, and that which we call age is but a small revolution of years. CHAP. XII. TEll me O Marcia, if thy sorrow have any ground or reason in it, whether it respecteth thine incommodities or these of thy son? Whether art thou moved in the loss of thy Son, Sixteenth. Whether it be that those that are deceased, have been in joy little or long time, with us their condition i● such that we have no occasion to bewail them. because thou hast received no pleasures by him, or for that thou mightest have enjoyed greater if he had lived longer? If thou say that thou hast received none, thou wilt make thy loss more tolerable. For men less complain, the miss of those things that have given them neither joy not pleasure. And if thou confess that thy Son hath highly contented thee, thou art not to complain, because he is taken from thee, but to give thanks for that thou hast enjoyed. Thou hast likewise reaped great fruit of thy labours in his very education, except happily they, who carefully nourish young whelps and birds, and such like frivolous delights of the mind, conceive some pleasure in the sought touch and wanton fawning of mute beasts, and that education itself is not the fruit of education, to those that nourish their children. Although therefore his industry hath profited thee nothing, neither his diligence hath preserved thee, that his prudence hath not employed itself to do thee good, yet that which thou hast had and loved is the fruit of thy labour. But it might either have been longer or greater? Yet art thou dealt better with all, then if it had not happened at all; for if choice may be given, whether it be better to be happy for a small time or never, it were better for us to enjoy those goods which must quietly pass from us, then to have none at all. Hadst thou rather have had an unthrift, who had nothing good in him, but the title and name of a Son, or this thy Son who was of so good a nature? The young man was quickly prudent, quickly pious, quickly a husband, suddenly a father, quickly a magistrate or officer, The Seventeenth, The more excellent the goods we have are, the more willing should we be to restore them because the divine providence is not accustomed to allow us a long possessio of that, which from the beginning he hath perfected. and suddenly a Priest; In brief, all good things appeared suddenly in him. Scarcely doth long and great goods befall any man. There is no felicity that endureth long, and attaineth his period, but that which increased by little and little. The immortal gods intending to give thee a Son for a little time, did presently give thee him, such as he might have proved by continuance. Neither canst thou say this, that thou only art chosen by the gods to enjoy thy Son a little while. Cast thine eyes every way amongst thy acquaintance and strangers, thou shalt every where meet with greater. Great Captains and Princes have tasted hereof. The Poets have not exempted the gods themselves, and I think they have thus made men belieue● that the gods were dejected, that they might pacify and lesson the sorrow we conceive in the loss of our nearest friends. pry I say into every place and thou shalt name me: no house so miserable that shall not find solace considering another that is far more afflicted and miserable. Assuredly I have not so ill an opinion of thy manners that I would think that thou wilt more easily endure thy cross, if I should reckon up unto thee a great number of mourners. A troup of miserable men, is an envious kind of solace, yet some will I reckon up unto thee, not to the end thou shouldest know, that this is wont to happen unto men, for it is a ridiculous thing to collect the examples of mortality: The eighteenth Other men's afflictions should teach us to digest our enemy. but to the end that thou mayst know that there were many who have lessened their adversities by bearing them patiently. I will begin with a most happy man, Lucius Scylla lost his son, neither did this casualty weaken his malice or his extreme rigour both towards enemies & his citizens, neither was it the cause why he might not seem to usurp that surname securlie which he took upon him after the loss of his son, neither afraid of the hatred of men on whose miseries his over fruitful felicities consisted● neither of the gods displeasure, whose crime it was that Scylla was so happy. But what Scylla was, let us leave amongst those things that are uncertain, yet will his enemies confess that he took upon him arms happily and gave them over discreetly. And in regard of that whereof we now speak, it appeareth that it is no great evil which attainteth and attaineth those that ar● most happy. And no less let Greece admire that father, who during the time of his sacrifice receiving tidings of his sons death, only commanded the musician to hold his peace, and took the crown from his head, and afterwards duly finished the rest of the sacrifice. CHAP. XIII. THis did Puluillus the chief bishop, Other examples of Zenopho● and Puluillus. who at that time as he held the post, and dedicated the Capitol, received tidings of his son's death, and yet without making show of that was told unto him, he pronounced the solemn hymme of the pontifical consecration, without interrupting the same with any sighs, and hearing the name of his son, he caused jupiter to be propitious and favourable to the city & common weal. Wouldst thou think that this sorrow which upon the first day, and the chiefest assault could not draw the father from the public altars and solemn dedication, should ever have ceased? undoubtedly Puluillus was worthy of a memorable dedication, worthy of a high priesthood, who desisted not from worshipping the gods; not not when they were displeased: yet the same man as soon as he came home, and had satisfied his grief with tears, and powered forth some lamentations, and having fulfilled those offices which were accustomably due unto the dead, returned to the Capitol with a merry countenance. Paulus AEmilius about that time of his so renowned, triumph, wherein he led before his chariot the king Perseus as his prisoner, and given two of his sons to be adopted into another family, saw the two others buried, whom he had reserved to himself? what were these two thinkest thou, when as Scipio was one of these that was given to be adopted? yet the Roman people beheld Paulus chariot void & yet he unmoved, yet declaimed he, and gave thanks unto the Gods, because they had granted him his wish. For he had besought them often times, that if for so great a victory some greater incomoditie might befall him, it might rather redound to his private, than the public damage. Seest thou with how great a mind he bore it? he gave them thanks for the death of his children. Can such a change move any man more? he had lost in one instant his solaces and his stays, and yet Perseus had not that credit to see Paulus AEmilius sad or distressed. CHAP. XIIII. The four●teenth, Examples of Lucius ●ibulus. WHy should I lead thee thorough so innumerable examples of great men, and complain their wretchedness? as if it be not a harder matter to find out happy men? what house is it that hath continually stood at one stay in all respects? wherein there hath not happened some disaster and perturbation? Consider the years one after another, and mark those that have been Consuls, and if thou will Lucius Bibulus, and C●ius Caesar, and thou shalt see betwixt these two companions that were mortal enemies, one and the same fortune. Lucius Bibulus a man more honest than stout, had two of his sons slain at one time. They were both of them a scorn to an Egyptian soldier; so that the Father had more occasion to bewail the indignity they had received at his hands, than the loss of his children; yet Bibulus that during the whole time of his Consulate, had kept house by reason of the evil carriages of his fellow Consul, receiving tidings of this accident, came abroad and performed his wont and public offices. What could he do less then bestow one day on his two sons? so quickly ended he his sorrow for his children, who had bewailed the Consulate a whole year. Caius Caesar when he had overrun the whole Country of England, and could not contain his felicity within the Ocean, had tidings that his daughter was dead, that by her loss drew the public peace into danger: he had represented before his eyes his son in law, Cnaius Pompey, who could not endure that any other should be reputed or held more great in Rome then him●elfe, and who would have opposed himself against all those which pretended to be advanced, although it were not to his disadvantages yet notwithstanding all this, Caesar which three days executed that charge which was committed unto him in being General, and overcame his sorrow so soon as he was wont to overcome all other things. CHAP. XV. WHy should I relate unto thee the funerals of the other Caesars, I will only tell thee this, The sixth example of Augustus. that in my judgement fortune having so rudely assailed them, hath given by this meane● a profitable instruction to the whole world; for she maketh them see that the children of the gods, and such as should engender gods, have not their own fortune in their hands as they have other men's. Di●●s Augus●us having lost his children and nephews; in brief the whole Progeny of the Caesars supported his desolate house by adoption; yet endured he these losses as temperately as if he had been already deified, and as if some one had done him injury, if he should have come and complained of the Deities. Tiberius Caesar both had lost him whom he begat, and him whom he had adopted, yet notwithstanding he himself pronounced the funeral Oration, in praise of his son in the public place of declamations, and constantly stood in the sight of the dead body, and had but a vail between them to conceal the body from the sight of the high Bishop. Although the Roman people wept, he changed not his countenance, and made S●ianus know who stood fast by him, that he was armed with patience to endure the loss of his children. Seest thou not this great number of men of note, enriched with so many gifts of the mind, and so many honours both public and particular, whom death (that devoureth all things) spareth not? nay further, this tempest extendeth itself over the whole world; and without election destroyeth all things, and maketh them as her own. Command every man to give a reason, and thou shalt find that no man hath entered into this world but to forsake it. CHAP. XVI. I Know what thou wilt say. Thou hast forgotten that thou comfortest a woman, To satisfy marcia's ob●●ction, that these are the examp●es of m●n, he induceth Lucretia. and only tellest us of the examples of men: but who dare maintain that nature hath showed herself partial in women's be half, and hath restrained their virtues. Believe me they have the same vigour and free faculty of mind, as men have to apprehended that which is honest, and if they accustom themselves, they endure both labour and sorrow as equally as they do. Good gods in what City speak we this? In that where Lucretia and Brutus delivered the Romans from the captivity of Kings: we must acknowledge our liberty to proceed from Brutus; and we are indebted to Lucretia for Brutus. In that wh●re we have eternised Caelia the virgin in the number of the most valiant of her time, by reason of her undaunted boldness, when in despite of the enemy she swum over Tiber. Her statue on horseback, planted in the midst of that famous and sacred street, reproacheth our young men that are mounted in their Coaches, and enter in that sort into that City, wherein we have made presents of horses unto women: but if thou wilt have me set thee down an example of women that have endured the death of their friends constantly, I will not beg it from door to door, I will produce out of our family the two cornelia's. The first was Scipio's daughter, and mother to the Gracchis. She had twelve children that all of them died before her. As touching ten of them, whom Rome neither apperceived living or dead, if I may so speak it, the loss might in some sort be borne. But in respect of those her two sons Tiberius Gracchus and Gnaius, (whom though men admit not for peaceable men, yet must they acknowledge them for honourable Personages) she saw them slain and unburied. And when as some one in comforting her called her poor and desolate mother: Never (saith she) will I call myself unhappy who have bred the Grac●hi. The other Cornelia lost Livius Drusus her son a young. Gentleman, The nineteenth, He answereth a new complaint of Ma●● as, and showeth h●r what occasion she hath ●o comfort herself, considering these comforts that are le●t behind, and this is it that we aught to consider in 〈◊〉 afflictions, t●●t God oftentimes leaveth i● many helps, w●en he might take away all. well borne of great hope, and one that followed the example of the Gracchis, who having le●t some suits of great importance unperfect, which concerned the commonweal, was slain in his own house, and no man knew who did the deed● yet Cornelia endured the bloody and unrevenged death of her son, that she herself presumed to be so bold, as to publish certain Edicts in way of consolation to the people. Now Martia shalt thou become friends with fortune again, if thou consider that she hath darted the like arrows against thee, as she did against the Scipios their mother's three children, and Caesar's themselves. Life is replenished and broken with divers accidents, which have no long repose, and almost no truce. Thou hast had four children Marcia: but they say that there is no arrow that falleth in vain that is shot against a troop of the enemy. Is it so great a wonder that so great a company could not be overpassed without envy or loss? But in this was Fortune more unjust, because she not only took away thy children, but made choice of them, yet say thou not that he is wronged that hath his equal part and portion with his Lord. Fortune hath left thee two daughters and their children, and of all these she hath only borne away thy son, whom thou so much bewailest, having forgotten the other that was dead before him. Thou hast by this son two daughrers who resemble their father, if thou bring them up and nourish them against thy heart, they are two mighty burdens; contrariwise if thou take pleasure in them, they will be great comforts unto thee. To this end brought he them thee, that seeing these daughters they should refresh the memory of thy son, and not of thy sorrow. The husbandman when he sees his trees overturned, which either the wind hath rend up by the root, or the violent tempest hath broken by a violent wherry, nourisheth the rest of their scions, and presently setteth the seeds of those plants he hath lost, and in a moment (for time is as violent and headlong in increases, as she is in losses) they spring more flourishing than those that were lost. Substitute now these daughters of Metillius in his stead, and fill up the void place. Relieve thou our sorrow with a double solace. Truly this is the nature of mortal men, that nothing is more pleasing than that which is lost, we are more partial to those that are left, and more desirous of those that are taken from us. But if thou wilt estimate how much fortune spared then, evee then when she was angry with thee, thou shalt know that thou hast more than comforts, witness so many Nephews and two daughters. CHAP. XVII. SAy this likewise Marcia, it would move me, if fortune should respect every one according to his behaviour Good men should never be seconded by misfortunes; The twentieth, The condition of our life aught to invite us to constancy. but now I see without any difference, and after the same manner, that both good and bad are indifferently distressed: yet is it a grievous matter to loose a young man whom thou hast brought up, and that now would be both an help and ornament to his father and mother. Who denies that it is a grievous matter? yet is it human. To this wert thou borne, that thou shouldest loose, that thou shouldest die, that thou shouldest hope, that thou shouldest fear, that thou shouldest disquiet both thyself and others, that thou shouldest fear & wish death, and that which is worst of all, that thou shouldest never know in what estate thou wert. If a man should say to him that would embark and sail to Siracusa: Before thou set sail, consider all the commodities and incommodities of thy voyage, then enter thou the ship. These are the things that thou mayest wonder at. First of all thou shalt see Sicily divided from Italy by a little arm of the sea, whereas in times past they were of one continent. The sea in that place maketh sudden insults; Under an excellent description of a voyage by sea in ● Sicily he showeth to what goods and evils our lives are allotted, to the end in prosperity to prepare us to adversity. Dividing Italy frem Sicily. Than shalt thou see (for thou must overpass swiftly that dangerous ingate of the sea) that gulf of Charybdis so renowned amongst the Poets, which as long as it is free from the southern winds is peaceable and calm; but if any wind breath from that place, she swalloweth ships in her deep and devouring billows. Thou shalt likewise see the fountain of Arethusa, so celebrated amongst the Poets, wonderfully clear and pure in the bottom and bubbling up water that is very cold, whether thou drawest it from the spring, or where she stealeth from under the earth, when she looseth herself, and passeth under the sea without intermixing itself losing her sweetness amidst the salt water. Afterwards thou shalt arrive in the securest haven that Nature ever made, or that human industry hath accommodated for the security of ships, so assured and calm that the fury of most greatest tempests cannot any ways afflict or increase the same. Thou shalt see the place where the Athenian Navy was discomfited, when so many thousand men were lost, and locked up in that renowned prison, so immeasurably high and builded of hewn stone. After this the great City of Syracuse, and her towered walls of greater extent than are the Confines of divers Cities, and no day without Sunshine. But after you have seen all these commodities● on the other side, there presenteth itself a most hot and unwholesome Summer time, which corrupteth the benefits that the Winter had caused. There shalt thou found the Tyrant Dionysius sworn enemy of liberty, justice, and laws; desirous of government, and domination, and of life also. After his banishment; some he will burn, othersome he will beat, these upon a flight occasion he will command to be beheaded, to satisfy his lusts; he shall make use both of male and females and amongst the loathsome troops and attendants of kingly intemperance, it shall be a small matter at one time to commit pollution both ways. Thou hast heard what may invite thee, and what may withdraw thee; therefore either sail onward or stay behind. If after this relation any man should say that he would enter Siracusa: can he justly complain against any man but himself, who should not have fallen unto these miseries, except willingly and wittingly he had sought them out? Thus speaketh Nature to us all. I deceive no man, thou if thou bearest children mayst have them fair, mayst have them deformed, and if happily thou bring forth many, one of them may as well be a Protector of his Country, as an other a Traitor. Think not that they shall mount to that high dignity, that no man dare speak evil of thee for fear of them. But propose this to thyself, that they may be so dissolute and licentious ●that every one will curse them. Nothing hindereth them to acquit themselves of that devotion which they own unto thee● neither are they forbidden to praise thee, Act dispose thyself, as if thou wouldst lay them on the Beer, either children, young men or old men; for years concern this matter nothing at all: because there is no funeral, that is not accompanied with sorrow, and attended by the parents. If after these conditions, which have been proposed, thou buriest thy children, thou canst in no sort complain against the gods who have promised thee nothing. CHAP. XVIII. An application of that he hath spoken of the voyage to Syracusan NOw therefore let us apply and compare all the course of our life according to this example; I have told thee since thou art determined to visit Siracusa, what thing may please thee, and what offend thee, & suppose that now when thou art to enter life I come and give thee this counsel. Thou art to enter a City, that is common both to gods and men, comprehending all things, obliged to certain eternal and irrevocable laws; where the celestial bodies perform their course without repose or lassitude. There shalt thou see innumerable stars, and wonder to see one Planet that enlighteneth all things; the sun that by his daily course divideth the spaces of day and night, equally distinguishing the year into Winter and Summer. There shalt thou see the nocturnal succession of the Moon borrow her milder and remisser heat from her brother's beams; sometimes hidden, and strait again overlooking the whole earth with a full face, admirable in her increases and decreases, being no one day the same, but altered continually. Thou shalt see the fiery Planets observing different courses, and shining oppositely the one against the other in their Spheres: on their so sudden courses depend the destinies of nations, great and lesser effects do follow, according to the benignity or malignity of their aspects. Thou wilt admire to behold the clouds that are gathered, the reins that fall, the obliqne flashes of lightning, and the thunder in the air; when tho● shalt cast thine eyes upon the earth that are already glutted with the sight of celestial wonders; thou shalt be entertained with an other form of things and wonderful in an other kind. On this side the extent of spacious Planets that the eye cannot apprehended them, on that side the tops of mountains envying the clouds, charged with snow the downfall of rivers, the floods issuing from one and the same source, running from east to west, the forests nodding their bows upon the tops of the highest mountains, so many woods with the beasts that inhabit them, and such variety of melodious birds. After these the divers situation of Cities, the nations separated the one from the other by the difficulty of passages, the one retiring themselves to the mountains, the other spared themselves along the rivers sides, lakes, valleys, and marshes: the harvest forwarded by the husbandman's hand: the trees fruitful without assistance of man, the gentle fleating of breaks and of the lawns, the pleasant gulfs, the commodious havens, so many Isles dispersed in the Ocean, which by their situation distinguish the seas. I speak not of pearls or precious stones, nor of gold that runneth amidst the sands of the most violent rivers, nor of those fires that are enkindled both in the earth and in the seas, nor of the Ocean, which is the bond of Nations which separateth them with a triple strait, having otherways her perpetual flux and reflux. When his billows are laid, and steal along without any agitation of the winds, thou shalt see terrible ●ishes, and of incredible greatness: others more heavy which swim along under the conduct of others, some very swift, and more sudden in their turnings then a vessel with many Oars, others breathing out water to the great dangers of those that are Passengers. Thou shalt observe on these Seas certain Vessels that go to seek out new found Lands, thou shalt see that human boldness would know and discover all things and thou thyself be a looker and the greatest Adventurer in the voyage thou shalt learn & teach with some tending to the commodity, other some to the ornament and others to the government of this life. But on the otherside in this city there shall be a thousand plagues of body and soul, wars, thefts, imprisonings, shipwrecks, heat, could, terrible changes of the air, and cruel punishment of our bodies and of those whom we love most; but finally death which thou knowest whether it shall be sweet and easy or accompanied with tortures and grievous punishments. Deliberate with thyself, and balance carefully which of these two thou wilt entertain, if thou hast part of those goods that are mentioned before, thou must issue likewise thorough the midst of those miseries. Thou wilt answer that thou wilt live and why not? nay rather I think that thou pretendest not to approach such a thing whereof thou canst not endure that any one should pull any portion from thee! Live therefore as it becometh thee, no man sayst thou hath demanded our advice. Our parents have consulted about us, who whereas they knew the condition of life very well, have brought us up unto that end. CHAP. XIX. But to return to consolations, we must first of all see what the infirmity is whereunto we aught to apply a remedy. Secondly in what manner. The One and twentieth, They that are deceased are not absent, neither have abandoned us, but have gone before us, and we shall suddenly follow after them. He that mourneth is moved with the loss of him whom he loved, and this appeareth tolerable in itself. For we bewail not those who during their life time are and aught to be absent from us, although we be deprived of their presence and the aid they might yield us. It is therefore opinion that tormenteth us, and all affliction is as much to be prised as we have rated it at. The remedy is in our own hands. We judge that our friends, parents, and near kinsfolk are absent, and we deceive ourselves? we have dismissed them; nay more we have sent than before with a purpose to follow them. The two and● twentieth, Often times it is better for us to be alon● then in company. This likewise moveth him that mourneth; I shall want one to defend me, & protect me from contempt. To use a scarce probable but yet a true comfort. In our city want of children getteth us more grace than it taketh from us. And so much hath solitude enabled old age that was wont to destroy it; that some feign hatred of their children, some forswear them, and willingly make themselves desolate, I know what thou wilt say, my detriments move me not, The three and twentieth, Since those that are dead were created to die, we should not weep for them. for he is unworthy of solace that taketh it heavily that his son is departed from him, as if he had lost a slave, and that considereth in his son any other thing than his own person. What therefore moveth thee Marcia? whether art thou aggrieved because thy son is dead? or for that he lived not long? If because he is dead, thou shouldst have been always in grief, for thou knowest always that he should die. The four and twentieth, Death is the end of miseries, But this must be so understood that it is intended only in respect of the body and till the time assigned wherein the world shall have an end. Think this that the dead are afflicted with no evils, those things that make hell terrible unto us, are but fables, we know that the dead are not enfoulded in darkness, that they are not in prison. We believe not those floods flaming with fire, neither the lake of forgetfulness, nor the judgement seat, neither that there are any guilty in that so large liberty, neither likewise that there are tyrants. These are poetical, and thus have they tormented us with vain terrors. Death is both the solution and end of all sorrow, beyond which our evils pass not that reposeth us in that tranquility wherein we lay before we were borne. If a man will be sorrowful for those that are dead, let him have compassion likewise on those that are unborn. Death is neither good nor evil. For that may be either good or evil which is any thing, but that which of itself is nothing, and reduceth all things to nothing, betrayeth us to no fortune. For those things that are good and evil have relation to some matter. Fortune cannot detain that, which nature hath dismissed, neither can he be a miserable man that is no man. Thy son is exempted from those bands wherein he was in bondage. He is entertained by a great and eternal peace, he is not afflicted with the fear of poverty, the care of riches, the provocations of lust attainting the mind by pleasures, he is not touched with the envy of another man's felicity, neither are his modest ears beaten with any slanders, he beehouldeth neither public nor private slaughters, he taketh not care for that which is to come, neither dependeth he on events which tend and incline always from evil to worse. At last he is stayed in such a place, from whence nothing may drive him away, and where nothing affrighteth him. CHAP. XX. The ●i●e and twentieth, He prosecuteth his discourse wherein he proveth more particularly the commodities of death. O How ignorant are men of their miseries, who praise not death which is the best invention of nature, which whether it include felicity, or reap calamity, or terminateth satiety or lassitude of old age, or carries away youth in his flower whilst better things are hoped for, or cutteth off childhood before he undergo dangerous courses; The end of all, the remedy of many, the wish of divers men, deserving better of no men, then of those to whom she came before she was called. She dismisseth the slave in despite of his Lord, she unchaineth prisoners, shakes off the fetters of those men whom tyrants hold captive. She showeth banished men that have always their hearts and eyes fixed upon their country, that it is a small matter amongst whom they are laid and buried. She when as fortune hath divided common goods unequally. And hath given to two brothers different things, maketh them equal. She it is that hath never done any thing according to another man's liking, she it is in which no man hath felt his humility, ●he it is that hath obeyed no man, she it is Marcia whom thy father desired. She it is I say that bringeth it to pass that to be borne is no punishment, that causeth me not to lose my courage when I am threatened by infinite accidents that maketh me preserve my mind entire and master of himself; I know where I must arrive; I see on this side gibbets of divers fashions, some hanging their heads downward towards the earth, some thrust thorough with stakes, some having their arms stretched out upon the gallows. I see cords, strappadoes, and tortures for every member of the body, yea likewise I see death. On the otherside, I perceive furious enemies, and proud citizens, but here likewise see I death. The six and twenti●th, One death dis●hargeth us of ●a●y sorrow's. It is no hard matter to serve, when as at such time as a man cannot endure his master, he may attane his liberty by stepping one foot forward, against the injuries of life I have the benefit of death. Think how much good a fit and commodius death affordeth us, and what evils have befallen many by living too long If Pompey that honour and support of our common weal had died at Naples, undoubtedly a man might have said, Behold the prince of the Roman people is deported. But now the adjection of a little more time made him fall from the height of his dignity. He saw his legions slain before his face, and what miserable remainders were these of that battle, where the Senators led the army to their end, that their General might be saved? For anon after he saw the Egyptian murderer, and presented his so venerable body to a soldier that slew him. And had his life been saved, he had repent himself. For what a shame had it been that a King should have given Pompey his life? If Marcus Cicero had died then, when he delivered himself from that massacre, which Catili●e pretended to execute upon him and Rome, that Commonweal that was defended by him, had called him her protector and safeguard. Afterwards had he followed his daughter, then might his death have been esteemed happy, he had not seen those threatening swords that were brandished over the heads of his Citizens, nor the goods of those that were murdered, given to the murderers, in such sort that riches were cause of their deaths, who possessed them, he had not understood that those goods that were taken from Consuls were sold at outcries; nor of the murders, nor of the spoils which were recompensed out of the public treasure, nor of the wars and rapines of three as bloody as Catiline. Had the sea swallowed up Cato when he returned from Cyprus, with those goods which the King had bequeathed by his will to the Roman people, or had he perished with all that silver which he brought with him, which was afterwards employed in the maintenance of civil war, had he not died happily? Surely he had carried away this honour with him, that no man had or durst do any fault in Cato's presence. But now the adjection of a few years constrained this man, who was borne to maintain both his own, and the public liberty to fly from Caesar, and to follow Pompey. The seven and twentie●h, That no man dieth too soon. Not evil therefore hath untimely death brought to Metillius. Nay more, he is thereby exempted from all evils; yet died he too soon and too young. First presuppose that he liveth yet, and consider how little time is allotted man, in regard of the years of his life. And what is this? We are placed in this world for a moment of time, and shall in less than an instant dislodge from the same: and having entered thereunto upon this condition, we have always our eye fixed on that place whither we must tend: I speak of our years which fleet away with an incredible swiftness. Examine how many years, Cities have stood, and thou shalt see how little while they have lasted, yea even those that most glory in their antiquity. All human things are frail, and scarce occupy any place in this vast extent of infinite time. We say that all this earth, with the people thereof, these Cities, rivers, and that sea which encloseth them, is but a point in respect of the universe. Our life is less than a point, if it be compared with all that time which is past, and is to come, which hath far greater extent than the world, considering that time so oftentimes turneth and measureth himself in this so great enclosure of the same. What availeth it us then, to extend that which being brought to his full extent, will be almost as much as nothing? In one kind we have lived enough, and long enough, if it sufficeth us. And if thou livest as long as I can desire, and that therein old age be extended so far as thou mayest make reckoning of ninety or of an hundred years: yet if thou wilt fix thy thought upon all the time of eternity, there will be little difference betwixt the shortest and the longest life: if considering how many years every one hath lived, The eight and twentieth, No man dieth before his time, because he hath lived as muc● as he aught. if thou compare them with those wherein he hath not lived. Again, he died not untimely, for he lived as long as he should have lived: for there was no overplus of time wherein he should have lived longer. The age of old men is not alike, no more is that of beasts. Some creatures are a weary of life after fourteen years, and this is their longest age, which to a man is but the first. Each one hath a different faculty of living. There is no man dieth too soon, who was not to live longer than he lived. Every man's time is prefixed, it shall always continued where it was settled; neither shall either diligence or care advance him farther: he knoweth that he breaketh his brains, and looseth his labour that pretendeth the contrary. Thy son hath run his race, and hath attained to the prefixed end of his life. Thou art not therefore to load thyself in this sort. He might have lived longer. His life was not interrupted, and fortune never crossed the course of his years. Every one is paid that which is promised him: the destiny's are carried according to their proper vehemency: they neither lengthen or shorten the time: in vain are they besought or solicited. Every one shall have as much as the first day of his life hath assigned him. From that time he began to see the light, he hath entered the way of death, and approached: destiny those years that were added to his youth were s●olne away from life: The nine and twen●●●th, ●e are all in error, there is no man more estranged ●rom 〈◊〉 th●n another. we are all in this error, that we think that none but old and aged men are near unto death, whereas infancy, youth, and every other age leads us thereunto. The Fates ply their business, they steal from us the apprehension of our death; and to the end she may more easily steal upon us, she masketh herself under the name of life. Childhood carrieth away infancy, youth ravisheth childhood, and old age youth: but if thou calculate well these decreases, they are as many decreases and losses. CHAP. XXI. Th● thirtie●h, It is ●●ly Go● th●t k●ew●●h wh●n it i●●●pedi●n●●or v●●o leau● our li●●s. THou complainest Martia, that thy son lived not so long as he might, but how knowest thou whether it were expedient for him to live longer, or mo●e profitable for him that he died thus? What man canst thou find at this day, whose affairs are so firm and well assured, that he hath no cause to fear that which is to come? Human affairs steal and slip away. Neither is there any part of our life more declining and incertain, then that which pleaseth us most. And therefore the most happy aught to wish for death; because amidst this inconstancy and confusion of things, nothing is certain but that which is past. Who could assure thee that this fair body of thy son, and the marvelous care that he had of his honour, maintained in the midst of so many eyes of a City, founded and confounded with dissolutions and excess, could in such sort warrant himself from sickness, that until old age his beauty and seemliness should have remained untouched? CHAP. XXII. Th● one ●nd 〈◊〉, Not ●an know●th his destiny, 〈◊〉 ●he 〈◊〉 adui●●d cannot fore●●e th●t which is t● come to pass●; we aught not therefore to bew●●●e ●hose that d●● in youth. PRopose unto thyself a thousand infirmities of the soule● for many excellent spirits have not maintained unto their old age, that hope that we had conceived of them in th●ir youth; but oftentimes they have degenerated. In their latter days therefore consequently, and to their greater shame, they have addicted themselves to palliardise, which hath made them soil the fair beginnings of their life. Or being plunged in drunkenness and gourmandise, their principal care hath been to know what they should eat or drink. Add hereunto the burnings, the ruins, shipwrecks, the operation of Surgeons, who cut off their members, pull out their brains, thrust their hands into their entrails, and heal their privy parts, not without excessive pain: after these, banishment, for thy son was no honester man than was Rutillius: and prison, sure he hath not been a wiser man than Socrates: and with the stab of a Poinard that was voluntarily buried in his breast, sure he was not more virtuous than Cato. In considering these things thou shalt find that they are happy whom nature hath retired in good time into a place of security, considering that in the end they could not receive any other reward of their life, than that or some such like. There is nothing so deceitful as man's life, nothing so tray●●rous. No man would have accepted life except it had been given at unawares: and therefore it is a great happiness not to be born, and another happiness that death is near to shorten that life, A 〈…〉 of Cromutius Co●dus constancy and death, yet let men temper their judgement: there is a law about Stoical when that must reform these resolutions. and put us in that estate wherein we were before we lived. Call to thy remembrance those wretched times, wherein S●ianus made a present to Atrius Sec●●dus his Client of the confiscation of thy father's goods● which he took from him by reason of some confident speeches he had uttered: for thy father could not hold his peace, se●ing that men intended not only to make us subject to S●ianus, but that by degrees he mounted to the sovereign authority. It was decreed that a statue should be raised for him in Pompei● Theatre, which the Emperor caused to be re-edified because it had been burned. Cardus exclaimed, That then the Theatre was wholly ruinated. And what heart would not have burst, seeing S●ianus sit upon Pompey's Cinders, and a wicked soldier installed in the place of a great Captain? Notwithstanding the sta●u● was reared with a subscription. On the other side those Mastiffs that this cursed S●ianus nourished with human blood, to the end that they should be private to himself, and enraged against all others, began to bark on every side against thy father, who thought not of them. What should he do●? To maintain himself in life, it behoved him to humble himself before S●ianus; to die, to have licence from thee his daughter. But it was impossible for him to pacific S●i●●●s, and his daughter less; yet at the last Cordus resolved with himself to deceive his daughter. Having therefore taken his bath, the more easily to deceive her, he retired himself into his chamber, as if he intended to take some re●ection before his supper; and having dispatched his servants and pages about some business, he cast some morsels of meat out of the window, to the end it might be thought that he had eaten. Afterwards, as if he had sufficiently nourished himself in his chamber, he abstained from his supper, continuing the same course the second and third day: upon the fourth day the infirmity of his body discovered what he meant. Embracing thee therefore he said, My dearest daughter, I have concealed nothing from thee during my whole life, but this, I am entered the way of death, and have almost attained the half: thou neither shouldest, nor canst recall me back again. After he had spoken this, he commanded the lights to be carried away, and retired himself into an obscure place. This act of his being discovered, every one was glad that the prey was taken out of the throats of those greedy Wolves. His accusers by S●ianus incitation, presented themselves before the siege of the Consuls, complaining that Cordus was a dying, to the end to obtain permission to withdraw him from that whereunto they had compelled him; so much were they aggrieved that Cordus should escape their fingers. The question was upon a matter of great importance, whether those that were adjudged to die should be hindered from procuring their death. Whilst this matter was in debating, and the accusers go and come, Cordus was delivered from their claws. Seest thou not, Marcia, how unexpectedly the revolutions of wretched times do steal upon us? Dost thou weep because one of thine must needs die? Thou seest how hard a thing it was for him to get this privilege. CHAP. XXIII. The two and thirtieth, Our bodies are the prisons of our souls, which conceive great content to get their recourse to heaven. BEsides this, that every future thing is uncertain, and the way to the worse is more assured: it is easier for us to ascend to heaven, whereas our minds are quickly dismissed from human conversation. For they have gathered less dross and ordure, and being delivered, before which were confused and overwhelmed with the meditation of earthly things, they are more light to fly back again to their original; and more easily overpass all that which may hinder them. For never did great wits take pleasure to remain in their earthly prisons, they are glad to forsake them, and break thorough them: these so strict limits are displeasing to them, being accustomed to raise themselves above the heavens, and to contemn from above all human and base things. Thence is it that Plato crieth, That a wise man's mind is wholly intended upon death, that this he willeth, this he meditateth, that he is always possessed with this desire, when he beholdeth exterior things. What thoughtest thou, Marcia, when thou sawest a young man replenished with aged wisdom, a mind triumphing over all pleasures, reform, devoid of vice● rich without avarice, raised to honour without ambition, desirous to have pleasures without dissolution to keep him long time? What soever hath attained his perfection hasteth to his end. Perfect virtue retireth itself and vanisheth from our eyes: neither do the fruits expect their Autumn, that are ripe in Summer. The fire the more it shineth, the sooner is it extinguished, and that lasteth longest which being mixed with a moist matter and hard to kindle, and smothered in smoke, shineth thorough the smother. For that which nourisheth it, as it were by constraint, is the cause it continueth more long time. So good spirits, the more famous they are, the shorter they live. For whereas there is no place of increase, there decrease is the nearer. Fabianus said, and our predecessors also have seen it, that there was an infant at Rome, as great as an absolute man, but he lived not long, and every one that had judgement was of opinion that he should die shortly. For he could not increase so much in years, as he had attained by his stature. So maturity is a token of imminent overthrow, and the end aproacheth where increases are consummed. CHAP. XXIIII. Begin to estimate him by his virtues, The three and thirtieth, He that hath lived virtuously, aught not to be bewailed in his departure out of this world, where the longer he had stayed, the more might he have been corrupted. and not by his years. He hath lived enough, he was left a pupil, and until the fourteenth year of his age he was under the government of Tutors, but always under his mother's custody: when he had a house of his own, yet would he not leave thine. Being a young man, both in stature, beauty, and other strength of the body, borne to be a soldier, he refused warfare, because he would not leave thee desolate. Consider Marcia, how many mothers there be in divers houses, that see their children very little. Think you that those mothers, whose sons follow the wars, loose in respect of them whole years, and live solitarily? then shalt thou know that there is much time remaining thee, in which thou hast lost nothing. Thy son never departed out of thy sight, he framed his studies in thy presence, showing himself of a most excellent spirit, but it was accompanied with a modest fear, the which hath buried many perfections in divers men. He was one of the goodliest Gentlemen that a man might behold, yet behaved he himself with so great temperance and modesty, that amidst so great a troup of men-corrupting women, he gave no occasion of suspicion: and whereas some of their impudence had attempted so far as to tempt him, he blushed and was angry with himself, because he had pleased. This holiness in his manners was the cause, that so young as he was, he was thought worthy to be entertained amongst the number of those that intermeddled with those things that appertained to religion, and that by the aid and assistance of his mother. In contemplation of these his virtues so behave thyself, as if he were more conversant with thee now then ever. Now hath he nothing to withdraw him, he shall never put thee in care, or 'cause thee to sorrow, and all the grief thou hast conceived for so good a son is finished: the rest being exempted from casualties, are full of pleasures, if thou knowest how to make use of thy son, and if thou knowest that which hath been most precious in him, thou hast but lost the Image and resemblance of him, although it resembled him not rightly. For he is eternal, and for the present in better estate than ever, despoiled of foreign encumbrances, and at his full liberty. These bones that thou seest wreathed about with nerves, this skin that covered us, this countenance, and these ministering hands, and those other members that enclose us, are the bonds and fetters of the soul which is dejected, obscured, infected, and hindered from knowing the truth of those things that appertain unto her, and distracted with error. She hath a grievous combat with this flesh, to the end she may not be made captive and slave unto it. She extendeth and raiseth herself to the place from whence she was sent: there is her eternal repose, where in stead of troubles and confusions of this world, she shall see nothing but that is clear and pure. CHAP. XXV. THou hast no cause therefore to run unto thy sons sepulchre. The four and thirtieth, The body is not the man but the soul, which leaveth nothing of herself upon the earth. There lie his bones and ashes, the worse part of him, and most troublesome unto him, and are no more parts of him then his raiment and other covertures of his body. He is fled away wholly, and is departed wholly out of this world, without leaving any thing of himself upon the earth: and afterwards having made a little pause above us, to cleanse him from those spots that were remaining in him, and to shake o●f the rust of this corruptible life, he hath been carried to far higher places, where he converseth with the happier souls, and hath been entertained by that holy company of Scipios, Cato's, and others that have contemned this life, and now enjoy a full liberty by the benefit of death. There Martia thy father embraceth his nephew (although that there all be parents) joyful to see him enlightened with a great brightness, and teacheth him the courses of the neighbouring Stars, not by conjecture, but as one that is truly expert, and leadeth him willingly into the secrets of Nature. And as he that showeth the singularities of an unknown City, is an agreeable guest to that stranger that hath not seen them: so is this domestical interpreter welcome to his nephew, that examineth the causes of celestial things, and taketh delight to pry into the secrets of earth. The five and thirtieth, We aught not lament those, that with out comparison are more happy out of the world, th● in the world. For he hath a singular contentment to behold from on high that which he hath left. Behave thyself therefore in such sort, O Marcia, as if thou wert in the presence of thy father and thy son, now such as thou knowest them, but without comparison more excellent and highly raised. Be ashamed to estimate them, so as if they were in some abject and contemptible estate, bewail not them who are happy, and who have attained through ●ree and spacious fields to the place of eternity. They are not hindered by intercourse of seas, neither by high mountains, nor by deep valleys, nor by the dangerous straits and quicksands of the sea. Their way is easy every where, they may change, and end them easily, the one teach the other, and are intermixed with the Stars. CHAP. XXVI. For conclusion and confirmation of all that whi●h is past● before ●e induceth marcia's father to discover the joys of th●se that are dead, and too Stoically speaketh he of the end of ●he world. ●augh at the absurdities, pity his ignorance, embrace the best. Think then, O Marcia, that thy father (who before time had credit with thee, as thou hadst with thy son) addressing himself unto thee, from the celestial tower speaketh thus. But not with that thought wherewith he deplored the civil wars, and caused them ever to be detested, who made up the rolls of those who were proscribed, but with a sense as far more clear, as he is more highly raised. Daughter, why so long time remainest thou in discomfort? Why art thou so long time blinded in the ignorance of the truth? to think that thy son hath been hardly dealt withal, in that being weary of this life, he hath retired himself amongst his ancestors. Knowest thou not with what storms Fortune disturbeth all things? how little favour she showeth, except to those, who have not in any sort frequented with her. Shall I recount unto thee by name those Kings that should have been most happy, if death had more maturely taken them from their instant evils? or those Roman Captains, who wanted nothing of their greatnesses, if somewhat had been diminished of their years? or those noble and famous persons, who have yielded their necks, and expected the stroke of their soldiers swords? Behold thy father and thy grandfather. The one fell into a murderers' hand, that took away his life. I offered myself to no other men's hands, and forbearing my meat, made it known, with how great a mind I had written. Why is he so long time lamented in our house, who died most happily? We are altogether united together, and see that you that are alive are environed with profound darkness. There is nothing amongst you that is to be wished for, nothing excellent or worthy: but all things are humble, heavy, and incertain: neither see you but a little parcel of our light. Shall I tell thee that ●eere are no wars, nor battles fought by land or sea, that Parricides are neither imagined nor thought upon here, that our Courts are not con●used with plea●, bu● that our days are perpetual, that nothing is done in obscurity, that our minds are simple, our hearts open, our lives laid open to every one, and that all ages and events are manifest? I took delight to collect together all the adventures of a whole age, in a corner and remote place of the world, and such act●ons as were attempted by a few. Now may I see so many ages, the course and carriage of so many years, and whatsoever time is past. Hear may I behold those Kingdoms that are rising, and those that ●all to ruin, the overturn of mighty Cities, and new courses of the seas. For if it may yield thee any comfort to understand the secrets of common destiny. I tell thee, that nothing that standeth shall continued steadfast: age shall destroy and carry away all things with it, and shall play her part not only amongst men (for how slight a portion are they of Fortune's power?) but also in places, countries, and parts of the world. So many mountains shall she suppress, and enforce others in another place: she shall sup up the seas, and turn rivers; and breaking of the commerce of Nations, shall dissolve the society of mankind. In other places she shall devour Cities with horrible yawning of the Earth, and shake them with Earthquakes: shee● shall 'cause pestilent exhalations to arise from the earth, and shall cover the inhabited countries with deluges of water, killing every creature, drowning the whole world, and with vast fires shall terrify and burn all mortal men. And when the time shall come, that the world shall cease, to the end it may be renewed again: these things shall beat and break one another, and all things set on fire● all that which now shineth by an artificial brightness, Stoical conclusions, praise God that hath given thee a better light. shall be consumed by one and the same fire. We also that are blessed souls and partakers of eternity, when it shall seem good unto God to warp these things once again, when all things shall be confounded; then we who are but a small part of this great ruin, shall return into our ancient elements. O Marcia, how happy is thy son, who already knoweth all these things. The End of the Book of Comfort. OF CONSOLATION, WRITTEN BY LUCIUS ANNAEUS SENECA TO HIS MOTHER HELVIA. The Argument of JUSTUS LIPSIUS. THis Book was written during the time of his exile, which was about the first year of CLAVDIVS reign (in the year since the City was builded DCCXCIIII.) by the suggestion of impure MES●ALINE. This public Harlot objected against him, that he had committed adultery with JULIA GERMANICUS daughter, and charged SENECA therewith. Of this have we spoken in his Life. Now therefore being banished into Corsica, he comforteth his mother, and showeth her how he bruiseth his misfortune constantly, and that she should do no less. He wrote it not presently upon the beginning of his exile, which the Preface testifieth, but the last of the first years, or the beginning of the second. But this wrote he now, when he was in the vigour and maturity of his judgement, being somewhat more than forty years old. And therefore his writing is answerable, full of confidency and eloquence. Perfect in style and structure, and more orderly disposed then all the rest. I dare say it carrieth away the Palm from all other books. He maketh two heads of this his Consolation. Thou must neither be sorry ●or my sake, nor for thine own. Not for my sake, for none of those which the common sort repute for evils, as Change of place, Povertie, Ignominy, Contempt, are evils, and thus orderly proveth he till the fourteenth Chapter. Neither must thou be sorry for thine own sake, for there are two things that may afflict thee, either because thou hast loct some help and comfort by me, or because thou canst not endure my want. The first belongeth not to thee, because thou art not ambitious, neither ever didst boast of the grace and power of thy children. Neither aught the other, because thou wert always constant above thy sex. Thou hast suffered many miseries, endure this. Employ thyself in the study of wisdom which will further thee. Turn thyself to my brothers, and of thy nephews by them and me, thou art not alone, nor leadest a solitary life. This will both serve and delight thee. Turn thyself likewise to my sister, which will prove both a comfort and example unto thee. And he concludeth his Book with her praises. CHAP. I I Have already oftentimes undertaken this resolution (most dearest mother) to comfort thee, He proposeth divers reasons why he deferred to com●ort his mother. and oftentimes have I contained myself. Many considerations moved me thereunto. First, I supposed that I should despoil thee of all sorrow, i● being unable as yet to suppress thy tears, I should in the mean space wipe them away. Secondly, I assured myself that I should have more authority to excite thee, if first of all I had conformed and confirmed myself. Furthermore, I was afraid that if I had not mastered Fortune, she would have trodden under foot some of those whom I most loved. I therefore endeavour howsoever, in laying my hand on mine own wound, to creep forward and bind up yours: notwithstanding there were some things on the contrary side that crossed this my resolution. I knew well that it behoved me not at the first to encounter with thy sorrow, when it was most vehement, for fear jest my consolations should incense and afflict thee the more. For in infirmities and sicknesses, likewise there is nothing more pernicious, then untimely remedies. I expected therefore, whilst thy sorrow had weakened and disheartened itself, to the end, that being mitigated and confirmed, by delay to sustain remedies, it might suffer itself to be comforted and cured. Moreover, after I had turned over all the monuments of those happy wits which they had composed to pacify and moderate sorrow, I found not any example of such a man who had comforted his friends, when as he himself was bewailed by them. So then I remained perplexed in this new accident, and was afraid jest my endeavour, in stead of proving a consolation, should become a renewing and cause of further grief. Besides this, had not that man need of new words, not borrowed from vulgar and ordinary discourse, that lifting his head from the Beer, should undertake to comfort his friends? But it cannot otherwise be, but that the greatness of a grief that exceedeth all measure, should utterly deface the ornament and choice of words, when as oft-time it stoppeth and cloaseth the mouth. Yet howsoever I will endeavour, not in respect of the confidency I conceiu● in mine own wit, but because I may serve for a most assured consolation, because I propose it myself. My hope is, that since thou wouldst vouchsafe me any thing that I should require, that thou wouldst do me this favour (although that all sorrow is rebellious) to suffer me to prefix some limits to thy discontent. CHAP. II. The sum of his discourse is, that since his mother hath approved herself courageous and a conqueror in other afflictions, she should not give place to this. BEhold how much I usurp upon thine indulgence. I doubt not but I shall be as powerful with thee as thy grief, which notwithstanding is a passion that wonderfully mastereth the afflicted; neither will I suddenly attempt to charge him, I will first defend his cause, I will discover all things whereby he is provoked, and cut up those things that are already cured. Some man will say, What kind of consolation is this, to revive long buried evils, and to discover unto the understanding all his adversities, that can scarcely endure the presence of one only? But let this man think that those afflictions that are so cross and pernicious, as they surmount their remedies, are oftentimes cured by their contraries. And therefore will I present sorrow with all her own attendants, and will not make a palliative cure, but I will ●eare and scarify: what shall I get by it? That thy invincible spirit that hath overmastered so many miseries may be ashamed to shrink at one wound in a body that hath so oftentimes been cicatrized. Let them therefore weep and mourn longer, whose delicate minds have been weakened by long felicity, and are quickly dejected upon the motion of the slightest miseries, but let them who have spent their whole years in calamity, endure the most grievous assaults, with a confident and unmovable constancy. This one good hath continual infelicity in it, that finally she hardeneth those whom she tormenteth ordinarily. Fortune hath not given thee any intermission, but hath exercised thee in most grievous sorrows, nay, she hath not spared thee on the very day of thy birth. Thou didst lose thy mother as soon as thou wert borne, nay, even in thy very entrance into the world, and as soon as thou wert● as it were, abandoned to this life. Thou wert brought up under thy stepdame, whom thou by all obsequiousness and piety (as much as could be expected from a natural daughter) compelledst to be thy mother; yet none there is that hath not paid dearly to find out a good stepdame. When thou expectedst the arrival of thine uncle by the mother side, a man both virtuous and valiant, thou didst lose him. And jest that fortune should make thy misfortune more slight by delay, a month after thou buriedst thy dearest spouse, by whom thou hadst three sons. In the height of thy sorrow these mournful tidings were brought thee, even then when thy children were absent, as if all thy miseries had been reserved till that time, to the end that thy sorrow might have no means of relief or refuge. I pass over so many dangers, so many affrights that incessantly assaulted thee, and which thou hast endured. Into the same lap wherein before time thou hast dandled thy three little Nephews, thou hast afterward entertained their dead bones. Twenty days after thou hadst solemnised the obsequies of my son, who died enfolded in thine arms, and attended by thy loving kisses, thou heardest the news that I was banished. Thou wert as yet unexercised to bewail the living. CHAP. III. I Confess that this later wound is one of the most grievous that thou hast ever felt, That although this accident be grievous, yet Heluias' constancy so much approved before both can and may resist that. and that it hath not only scratched of the skin, but hath pierced into the depth of thy breast and entrails. But even as young Soldiers bemoan themselves overmuch for a slight wound, and are as fearful of the physicians hand as the Surgeon's razor, where contrariwise they that are old Soldiers, although they are thrust thorough, do patiently and without groaning suffer their arms and legs to be cut off, as if their bodies were not their own: so must thou now present thyself with a great courage to entertain thy cure. Remove from thyself these lamentations, these shrill shrieks and other immoderate howl of disconsolate women. For in vain hast thou suffered so many miseries, if tho● hast not yet learned to be miserable. What thinkest thou that I deal too fearfully with thee? I have taken none of thine evils from thee, but have heaped them up and laid them before thee. I have done this resolutely, for I am resolved to overcome thy grief, not to circumscribe it. CHAP. FOUR I Shall first of all get the upper hand as I think, Senecaes' in●ent in this Treatise which ●e distinguisheth into two principal points. if I shall approve unto thee that I suffer nothing, in respect whereof I might be called wretched, and much less make other men wretched whom I touch. Secondly, if I shall pass over unto thee and approve that thine accident which dependeth on mine is not grievous. This first will I undertake, which thy piette will be content to give care to, that I have no evil: and if I cannot approve this unto thee, I will make it manifest, that these things wherewith thou thinkest me to be oppressed, are not intolerable. But if this may not be believed, yet will I please myself the more, because I shall be happy amongst those things which are wont to make others miserable. Thou art not to credit others in that which concerneth me, I myself tell thee to the end thou mayest not be deluded by ill grounded reports, that I am not miserable; nay, I say further to secure thee more, that I cannot be miserable. CHAP. V WE are first borne under a good condition, He entereth into the consideration of the former point, which concerneth himself, and showeth that he is not miserable. First, nature hath taught us to be contented with a little. except we forsake the same. Nature hath so disposed things, that to live well, we have no need of great necessaries: every man may make himself blessed. These external things are but slight matters, and have no great effect either in prosperity or in adversity, neither do the one of these raise a wiseman, neither doth the other depress him. For he hath always endeavoured that his greatest goods should consist in himself, and the compliment of his contents should be resident in his heart. What then? say I that I am a wise man? no: for if I could freely speak it, I would not only deny that I was miserable, but contrariwise I would maintain it boldly, that I was the most fortunate of all men, and would repute myself to be most nearly lodged by the Gods. For the present, which is sufficient, to mitigate all my miseries I have wholly dedicated myself to wisemen, and being scarce able enough to assure and counsel myself, I have retired myself into another man's Camp, that is to say, amongst those who easily both defence themselves and their own fortunes. They have commanded me always to stand addressed, as if I were enjoined to stand Sentinel, and to foresee all the assaults and attempts of fortune long before they assail me. To them is fortune tedious whom she assaileth suddenly, and easily repulse they her, who continually expect her. The enemies charge most instantly defeateth those whom they suddenly set upon: but they that before the battle have prepared themselves for a future war, being well arranged and in a readiness, do easily sustain the first assault, Secondly, nothing h●th befallen him that he hath not fore●ee●e, because he never give credit to w●r●d●y prosperity. which commonly is the most dangerous. I never gave credit to fortune, although she seemed to claim a truce at my hands: and as touching all those things which with a liberal hand she hath bestowed upon me, such as are silver, honours, and great credit, I have put them in that place where she may fetch them, without either my discontent or prejudice. There was a great distance betwixt her and me, and therefore hath she carried them away from me, and not pulled them out of my ●ands. No man hath adversity overthrown, but him whom prosperity hath deceived. They that have loved her presents as if they had been perpetual and properly theirs, who would have themselves respected by reason of the trifles; discomfort themselves incontinently, when these false and frail delights abandon their ●eeble and childish understandings, Thir●ly, the goods of this world are not truly goods, and the evils are but apparently evil. who know not what true pleasure is. But he that is not puffed up with prosperity, neither restrained by adversity, hath an invincible heart at all times, and an approved constancy in either fortune; for he knoweth well in his felicity, that he can make head against mishap. I have therefore always had this opinion in those things which all men wish for, that there is no true goodness in them; nay more, I have always found that they were vain and outwardly smoothed with a deceivable gloss, but inwardly having nothing that is answerable to their exterior resemblance. For in those things which we call evils I found nothing so terrible and hard as the common opinion threateneth. The word itself by a certain persuasion and consent, is nowadays more distasteful unto the ears, and afflicteth those that hear the same, as if it were some heavy and execrable thing, for so will the people have it: but men of wisdom do for the most part disannul the ordinances of the people. CHAP. VI He disput●th plentifully of banishment, and proveth that th●re is no e●●ll therein, ●nd tha● those evils wh●ch accompany the ●●me should not be called evils. Leaving apart therefore the judgement of divers men, which is extinguished by the first appearances of things: howsoever they be believed, let us consider what banishment is. It is the change of place. It may be thought that we seem to lessen the same, and that we take from it all that is worst in it. This change of place is accompanied with the incommodities of poverty, of ignominy, and contempt: against these hereafter I will combat. In the mean while I will first of all have this looked into, which incommodity this change of place breedeth. It is an intoll●rable thing to be deprived of a man's country. Behold this multitude which may hardly be contained within so many thousand houses of this City, the greatest part of this troop wanteth their country; they are retired hither from their Hamlets, Colonies, and all the quarters of the world. Some are drawn hither by ambition, othersome by the necessity of public offices, some by Embassages enjoined them, other some are invited for riot sake, that hunteth after the opportunity of riches, and a ●it place wherein to exercise their dissolutions; othersome are drawn with a desire of liberal studies; others with a delight to haunt the theatres; som● to visit their friends, others to make proof of their industry, having gotten an ample means to make show of their virtue; some have brought their beauty to set it out to sale, oth●rsom their eloquence. All sorts of men resort hither, where both virtues and vices are highly prized. Command and cite every one of these in person, and ask of every of these whence he is; thou shalt see that for the most part of them they have forsaken their country, to come and devil in this spacious City, which notwithstanding is but a City, and not their own. Again, departed from this Rome, which may be called a common country of all men, and oversee other Cities, and there is none of these wherein thou shalt not find a greater part of foreign multitude But leave thou these countries, and all those who for the pleasant situation of the place, are drawn to inhabit there, and go into the deserts and desolate Isles, as those of Cithnon, Serephium, Giare, and Corsica. Thou shalt not find any place of banishment, but that some one remaineth there for his pleasure. What place may a man find more naked and craggy on every side, than this mountainous Isle which I inhabit? Is there any soil more barren? Are any people more savage? Is any situation of place more unwholesome, or are more displeasing and intemperate? Yet are there more strangers devil here then those that are natural, borne in that country. So little therefore is the change of place grievous unto men, that this Isle hath withdrawn some from their own country. I find some that will say that there is a certain natural desire in men's minds to change their seats, and to transfer their houses. For man hath a movable and unsettled mind given him, he is never Master of himself, he is confused, he intrudeth his thoughts into all known and unknown things, still stirring and never quiet, and best contented with the novelty of things; which thou wilt not wonder at, if thou consider his first original. The mind is not composed of a terrestrial and weighty matter, it is a parcel of the celestial spirit. But the nature of celestial things is always to be in motion; he flieth and is carried away with a most swift course. Behold the Planets that enlighten the world, Whence it cometh that men are so mutable. there is none of them that standeth still, but they incessantly turn, and daily change their places. Although they whirl about with the heavens, yet have they their contrary motion. The Sun runneth thorough all the signs of the zodiac, his motion is perpetual, neither remaineth he at any time in one point. All things turn and pass without stay; and as the law and settled ordinance of nature hath determined, they are carried from one place to another: when as the celestial bodies shall within certain spaces of months and years, shape their course in their spheres, they shall renew the same. Go therefore now and make thyself believe that human understanding composed of the same seeds that divine things are, ever patiently endures a passage and change from place to place, since that God himself taketh pleasure in a continual and sudden motion, and maintaineth himself thereby. But withdraw thine eyes from these celestial things, and behold these terrestrial and base things. Thou shalt see Nations and people change their seat: what mean these Cities, peopled with Grecians, even in the very midst of barbarous Nations? What means this Macedonian language amongst the Indians and Persians'? Scythia and all that tract of fierce and unconquered nations show us the Cities of Achaia, built upon the shores of the Pontic sea. The continual cold and the strange and inflexible natures of those Nations more united than their air, could not hinder the Grecians from planting their Colonies there. There is a company of the Athenians in Asia, the city of Miletum hath peopled seventy five Cities in divers places: All that side of Italy that bordereth upon the lower sea, was the greater Greece. The Tuscans issued from Asia, the Tirians planted themselves in Africa, the Africans in Spain, the Greeks' the France, and the French in Greece. The Perinean mountains forbade not the Germans ●o pass onward, human levity led them by unhanted and unknown ways. They drew with them their children, their wives, and their parents laden with age. Some of these being wearied with long travel, chose not their habitation by judgement, but by reason of their weariness made choice of that they next met withal. Some maintained their possession by force of Arms; some in seeking out unknown Countries perished by sea; some planted their pavilions there where necessity commanded them; neither had they all of them the same cause of seeking out, and leaving their Country. Some of these after the ruin of their Cities, escaped from the fury of their enemies, have by force made themselves Lords of other Cities, and have driven out the right owners. other some have been dispersed by civil wars, othersome when their Cities were over peopled, were mustered and sent away to other places, as superfluous. Some Nations have been driven out of their habitations by the plague, or by often earthquakes, or by some insupportible incommodities of the territory: and othersome have been alured by the bruit that ran, that such or such a Country was far more pleasant and fruitful than their own. Some others have forsaken their houses for divers occasions. This then is evident that no one hath remained in the place where he was borne, and that human kind ceaseth not to run hither and thither. There is daily some change in this so great a world. Hear some men lay the foundation of new Cities, there ariseth a new Nation, and the name of the old is lost, and is made and becometh more great than any other. But what are all these transmigrations of peoples but pub●ke banishment. CHAP. VII. WHy lead I thee in so great a Windelesse? What need I specify unto thee Athenor that builded Milan? He proveth the change of place by these that first founded and peopled the Empire of Rome. or evander that Planted the Kingdom of the Ar●adians upon the banks of Tiber? What should I tell thee of Diomedes, and so many others, who both victorious and vanquished, have been scattered by the Trojan war into so divers Countries? Behold the founder of the Roman Empire, who being an Exile, a fugitive, gathering together some few scattered soldiers with him after the lack of Troy, constrained by necessity, and to warrant himself from the hands of his victorious enemies, searched out foreign Countries and arrived in Italy. After all this, how many people hath he sent in Colonies thorough out the Countries of the whole world? Wheresoever the Roman is Conqueror there dwelleth he. To this change of places every one willingly subscribed his name, and the oldest forsaking their altars and fires, willingly accompanied those that sought out other Countries beyond the Seas. CHAP. VIII. THe matter requireth not much example, A second proole by the inhabitants of the Isle whereinto he was banished. I will only add that which I know to be ordinary, the Isle where I am hath changed the inhabitants divers times. But we aught not to insist upon those histories which antiquity hath buried. The Greeks' themselves, who at this time inhabit Marsilles, had before time made their abode in this Isle. No man knoweth who drove them thence, whether it were the air which is unpleasant, or the fear they had of Italy, which is the Mistress of the world, which is more neighbour to the Isle, or because there is dangerous landing at it. That the natural fierceness of Islanders was not the cause it appeareth, because these Greeks' went and intermixed themselves with the French, a cruel nation, and who at that time knew no civility: A none after these of the Coast of Genes came hither, the Spaniards likewise, which appeareth by their resemblance in manners, and the behaviour both of the one and the other; for their head attire is the same, and their shoes, such as the bordering Spaniard use; they retain likewise some words of their language, having forgot their mother tongue by reason of the conversation they have had with the Greeks' and Genoese. After these Marcius caused a Colony of Roman Citizens to be sent thither, and Scylla an other. See here how oftentimes one barren, The third in all the estates of the world. Privileges which exile cannot take from us. cragged and mountainous Conntry hath changed inhabitants. In brief, thou shalt not find one Angle of the earth that a man may say it was manured by the homebred Countrymen of that place. All are mixed, transported and translated from one quarter to another. One people hath succeeded an other. One Nation hath desired to devil there which an other hath dispeopled. That other have been driven from that place whence they expulsed others. So hath it pleased the Destinies, that nothing should always remain firm and continued in one place. Varro the most learned man amongst the Romans, thinketh this a sufficient remedy, that wheresoever we become, we accounted it the same world. Marcus Brutus thinketh this sufficient for those that are banished to carry their virtues with them. If any one thinketh that these two expediments considered apart, have little power to comfort a banished man; he will confess that these two together may do very much. For that which we have lost, deserveth it to be called any thing? Two the most excellent privileges, A doubtful opinion of Seneca, as touching the Deity, and his ordinary Paradox, tying, the first cause which i● God to secondary causes, read here with advice. that is to say, common nature, and our proper virtue will follow us in eu●ry place wheresoever we fix our foot. Believe whosoever hath created this univers, whether it be that Almighty God, whether it be incorporal reason, that Workmaster of great things, whether it be a demi spirit, equally extended and spread amidst all great and small Creatures, whether it be Destiny, and this immutable succession of things enchained the one within the other: such a one hath caused that no things (except they be things most abject and of little worth) are not out of our power. All that which is good in man, is not subject to human power and violence, which neither can give it, or take it away. Nature hath created this world which is the greatest and fairest thing that a man may see, But as touching the soul that contemplateth and admireth the world, whereof she is the most excellentest part, she is proper unto us, she is perpetual and shall continued so long with us, as we continued ●et us go forward therefore willingly and confidently, whethersoever our fortune leadeth us; let us march forward with a confident pace. CHAP. IX. another notable consideration in exile is, that the whole world is a man's country LEt us travel over what countries soever we will, and we shall find no Country in this world that is not accessible by a man. On what soever side we address our eyes towards heaven; these things that are divine are separated from those that are human by equal distance: so then provided that mine eyes be not hindered from beholding the heavens, as long as it shall be lawful for me to behold the Sun and Moon, and to consider nearly the other celestial bodies, their rise, settings and distances: Search out the causes why the one have more swifter motions than the other; behold so many shining stars by night, the one fixed, the other shaping a short course, and retiring into their Spheres, some appearing suddenly, others blemishing the eye with their spacious clearness, as if they would fall; others flying with a long tract, and great light. As long as I shall behold these things, and exercise myself amidst these celestial troops, as much as is lawful for a mortal man, and if I have always my mind lifted up on high in contemplation of those things that concern the same, what care I upon what ground I tread? But this land wherein thou livest is not fertile, neither beareth it shadowy trees it is not watered by the currents of great and navigable rivers, it bringeth forth nothing that other Countries might seek after; scarcely is it able to sustain the inhabitants: not precious stone is cut here, no veins of gold or silver are digged out of it. Base is that mind that taketh pleasure in terrestrial things; to those things must he be addressed which every way appear equally, and every where shine equally, and this is he to think, that the goods of this world through the false opinion that men have conceived of their firmity, do but obscure and hinder the true goods. The more they enlarge the walks and porches of their houses, the more high they raise their turrets, the more larger they extend their streets, the more deeper they dig their caves and summer retreats, the more higher they raise the roofs and ●eelings of their dining Chambers, the more they hide the heavens from themselves. An accident hath driven thee into a certain Country, where in ●●eade of a Palace thou hast but a little cabin, truly thou hast but a weak mind, and such as i● comforted with base delights, if therefore thou endure this patiently, because thou knowest Romulus his cottage. Rather say thus, whatsoever the house be, it is big enough to entertain virtues. Than will it be more fair than all the Temples when justice shall be scene there, when continency, when prudence, piety, the means how to discharge himself of his duty, and the knowledge of divine and human things. No place is too strait that entertaineth this troop of so great virtues, no banishment is grievous, wherein a man may march in such company● Brutus in that book which he wrote of virtue, saith; That he saw Marcellus that was ba●ished into Mitilene, and as far as human nature permitted, living most blessedly, never more desirous of the knowledge of good letters then at that time: he therefore added, that he in departing from him, rather thought that he went into banishment, who was to return back again without him, then that he left him an exile. O far more happy Marcellus at that time when he approved his banishment to Brutus, then when he justified his Consulat to the people of Rome. How great a man was he, who brought to pass that, that man should seem abanished man in his own judgement, in departing from him that was an exile. The same Brutus saith, that C●s●r passing along by Mitele●e, would not only enter into the same, because he● could not endure to behold a deformed man. The Senate by mutual supplication obtained Marcellus re●ocation, so pensiu● and sad were they, that a man would have said at that time, that every one of them had Brutus soul, and besought not for Marcellus but for themselves, for fear least being without him, it should prove a true banishment, yet more attained he that day when Brutus was sorry to leave him an exile, and Caesar to see him: for by this means he had a testimony from them both. Brutus was sorry to return without Marcellus, Caesar was ashamed; dost thou doubt that this so worthy a man did not encourage himself to endure his banishment with a quiet mind in these or such like words? It is no misery for thee that, thou wantest thy Country: so hast thou informed thyself with good letters, Notable considerations to pacific the fury of exile, worthily set down under the person of, Marcellus. that thou knowest that every place is a Wiseman's Country. And what shall we say of him that hath banished thee? hath he not been out of his Country for the space of ten whole years? Undoubtedly it was to the end to increase the Roman Empire, yet was he absent so long. And now behold Africa draweth him unto her, being replenished with the alarms of a threatening war. Spain recalleth him that repaireth the broken and dispersed troops of Pompey, perfidious Egypt calls him forth, and in conclusion the whole world which is intent upon this occasion of the shaken Empire. Wh●ther shall he march first, against what party shall he first oppose himself. His victory shall drive him thorough all the countries in the world. Let all Nation's reverence and serve him, as for thyself finish thy days with this content, that tho● art much esteemed by Brutus. Constantly therefore did Marcellus endure his exile, neither did the change of place any ways change his mind, although he were pressed with poverty, wherein there is no evil, as that man knoweth very well, when avarice and dissolution (which overturn all things,) have not as yet overturned his understanding. For how little is it, that is necessary for a man's entertainment? hath a virtuous man need of this or that? For mine own part I find that I am dispossessed of many encumbrances, and not of my goods. The desires of those things whereof the body standeth in need are short, he demandeth no more but a covering to defence him against the cold, and mea●e and drink to extinguish his hunger and thirst. All that a man desireth beside these, serveth but to entertain excess, and hath no true use. It is not necessary to ●ound all depths, nor to murder so many beasts to fill the belly, nor to go and fish for Oysters in foreign and unknown seas: The Gods and Goddesses may destroy those men, whose dissolution hath exceeded the bounds of the Roman Empire so much envied. They will have the fowl of their ambitious Kitchens taken and brought from beyond the ●loud Phasis, which is in the further part of Asia, and are not ashamed to sand for their dainties from the Parthians: from whom as yet we have not demanded recompense for the wrongs they have done us. They bring from all places that which they know is proper to enkindle these glutton's appetites: that which these decayed stomachs will hardly digest, being glutted with too many dainties, is brought from the farthest Ocean: they vomit to the end they may eat, they eat to the end they may vomit: they take not time to digest those dainty morsels which they search through the whole world. If a man despise these delicacies, what wrong doth he to poverty? if a man desire them, poverty likewise profiteth him. Some there are that are not healed but against their wills, and if a poor man being deprived of these dainties, ceaseth not to wish for them, yet undoubtedly when he cannot● he is like to him that will not. Catus Caesar whom Nature as I think brought into this world to show what great vices might do in a great and worldly prosperity, spent at one only supper the sum of two hundredth and fifty thousand crowns, and being herein assisted by the wits of his best belly-gods, yet scarcely found he how he might consume in that one repast all the revenue of three Provinces. O miserable men whose palates are not pleased but with precious dainties, which are made precious, not by reason of their excellent savour or any sweetness they yield the taste, but by reason of their rarity and cunning in dressing. Otherwise if they would awaken themselves never so little what need they so many arts to entertain their bellies? what need they such traffics, such desolation of woods, such fishing of Seas and Rivers? Nature hath furnished in all places sufficient meat for our bodies. But these Countries and places like blind men they pass over, and travel through all Nations, and sail all Seas, and when as they may satisfy their hunger with a little, they provoke the same with much. CHAP. X. IT pleaseth me to ask: Why rig you and launch you your ships? Why arm you your hands both against wild beasts and men? A continuation of his invective against intemperance. why run you hither and thither so tumultuously? why heap you riches upon riches? will you not think how little your bodies are? Is it not a desperate fury and extreme folly when as thou canst hold so little, to desire so much? Although therefore you increase your rents, and enlarge the bounds of your lands, yet shall you never make your bodi●s greater. When your traffic hath been prosperous, your warfare hath brought home rich spoils, when all the dainties you have sought for from all places are gathered together: where will you bestow all this provision? why heap you up so many things? The frugality and prosperity of the ancient Romans. undoubtedly your ancestors whose virtues at this time sustain your vices were unhappy, who prepared their meat with their own hands, whose bed was the earth, whose houses as yet shined not with gold, whose temples as yet shined not with precious stones. In these days they swore religiously by Gods made of earth, and those that had sworn by such Images returned to the enemy with resolution to die, to the end they would not violate their plighted Faith. By this account less blessedly lived our Dictator who gave audience to the Ambassadors of the Samnites, at such time as he dressed his homely victuals by the fire with his own hands. Yea such hands as had already oftentimes defeated the Enemy, and put the clown of Laurel in the lap of I●piter Capitoline. Better than Apicius lived in our memory, who in the same City out of which sometimes Philosophers were commanded to departed, as if corrupters of youth, made profession of the science of gourmandise, and infected the whole age with his discipline, whose death it shall not be amiss to consider and know. After he had gathered together into his Kitchen the sum of two millions and a half in gold, after he had in his particular banquets consumed all the presents that were given him by Princes, and the great revenue of the Capitol, finding himself very much in debt, he began at that time to consider in what estate his affairs stood, and finding that there remained as yet the sum of two hundredth and fifty thousand crowns, supposing that it was too little, and that he should be in danger to die for hunger, he killed himself by poison. How great was his dissolution that thought himself poor having two hundredth and fifty thousand crowns? Go now and think that the measure in money and not in mind, is pertinent to the matter. CHAP. XI. APICIUS made small reckoning of two hundredth and fifty thousand crowns, Having sufficiently detested intemperance, he proveth again that every Country hath enough in itself to nourish him that inhabiteth the same. The desire of worldly goods is insatiable. and that which other men desire with wishes, he drove away by poison. But to a man of so depraved a mind, that last potion was the most holsommest. Than eat he and drunk he poison, when as he was not only delighted with immeasurable banquets, but gloried therein: when he bragged of his vices, when as he had drawn the whole City into admiration of his riot, when as he had incited the youth (who of themselves are apt enough to follow evil examples) to follow and imitate him. This is the end of those men who keep no measure in the use of worldly goods, which notwithstanding have their bounds, but abuse and follow evil customs, that hath no limit or rule but his unbridled wil Covetousness thinketh no thing enough, nature is sufficed with a very little. Is poverty than no incommodity to those that are banished? none; for there is no exile so miserable that is not fertile enough to nourish one man. Should not a banished man covet a gown or a lodging? if he desireth them only for use, he shall neither want house or clothing: for the body is covered with as little as it is nourished. Nature hath made every thing easy which she knew necessary for a man. If he wish for a fur gown of purple embroidered with gold, composed of divers colours, and after a rich fashion, he is poor by his own default, and not by the rigour of adversity. Restore unto such a man all that he hath lost, yet shalt thou do nothing for him, because he shall want more of that which he desireth thee, a banished man wanteth of all that which he hath had. If he coveteth a Cubberd garnished with vessel of gold, silver cups of great price, because that long ago they were laboured by cunning workmen's hands, medals made precious by a few men's madness, and a troop of Servants so great that the house (which otherways is spacious) is unable to contain them; a goodly stable furnished with many fat and gallant Horses, marbels, and other stones of price, brought from all the corners of the World. Let a man gather up together as many of these things as he can, yet will they never satisfy an unsatiable mind: no more than all the water in the world is not sufficient to quench his thirst, that desireth to drink not to satisfy his necessity, but to extinguish the heat proceeding from the inflammation of his entrails. For this is no thirst but a sickness: neither happeneth this only in money, but in meat also. This is the nature of every desire that proceedeth from error, not from want: all whatsoever thou shalt heap up will but serve to inflame him, not to satisfy him. He than that containeth himself within a natural measure will have no sense of poverty, Mediocrity on the contrary side is always, and every where content. but he that exceedeth this mediocrity in midst of his greatest riches shall always find that poverty attendeth him. The most solitary and barren places suffice those that content themselves with necessary things but they that desire superfluity have never enough although they had whole Kingdoms. It is the mind that maketh men rich, he it is that accompanieth them in exile and in the desert, where finding sufficient to maintain his body he hath goods in abundance, and enjoyeth them contentedly. Money appertaineth nothing to the mind, no more than all those things which untrained minds, and too much addicted to their bodies so much affect, Why virtuous men cannot love the goods of this world. concern the immortal Gods. Precious stones, gold, silver, great tables well garnished are but earthly burdens, which a sincere mind, and such as is no● forgetful of his nature cannot love, because it is always light, and will mount as high as heaven as soon as he findeth the gate open; in the mean while, and in as much as these bonds of the body, and mass of the flesh which invironeth the same will permit, upon the wings of a sudden and swift thought he visiteth and raiseth celestial things. And therefore a freeman that is allied to the gods, as great as this world, or time, can never be banished: for his thought circleth the heavens, and examineth both time past and that which is to come. This frail body, the fetters and gives of the soul, is tossed hither and thither, punishments, thefts, and sicknesses are exercised upon it. As for the mind, it is sacred and eternal, and hands cannot be laid upon it. CHAP. XII. The fourth fruit of exile and poverty is, that it hath no care or torment of mind, and contrariwise, the rich a●e poor for the most part of their lives. Neither think thou that to lessen the incommodities of poverty (which no man feeleth to be grievous except he that supposeth it) that I use only the precepts of Philosophy: first, consider how great the number of poor men is, whom notwithstanding thou shalt not see more pensive or careful than the rich; contrariwise, I dare almost avow it, that they are more joyful, because their minds are less distracted by affairs. Let us overpass the poor, and come unto the rich: In the greatest part of their life resemble they not poor men? If men would travail they scantle their burdens, and truss up their packs, and as often as necessity requireth them to make more haste, they overgo the troop of their companions. They that follow the wars, for the most part carry none of their necessaries with them, because that military discipline permitteth them not to carry much luggage. Besides this condition of time, and incommodity of places, which equalleth them with the poor; sometimes they are so glutted with their riches, that some days they will content themselves to sup upon the grass, and will command their vessels of gold and silver away, and content themselves to be served in platters and vessels of earth: mad and unadvised they always fear that which they covet sometimes. What cloud of error, and what ignorance of truth shadoweth these men, which avoid that which they imitate to yield them pleasure? For mine own part, as often as I consider the life of our ancestors, I blush and dare not use the solace that poverty giveth me, because that dissolution hath gotten so great a head in this time, that at this day banished men have a greater viaticum, and more commodities then great Prince's patrimony and revenues came to in times past. divers examples of the temperance of our ancestors. See Titus Livius in his second book and eighteenth chapter: Valerius Maximus in his fourth book and fourth Chapter. It is well known that Homer had but one servant, Plato three, and that Zeno the author of that severe and manly wisdom of the Stoics had none at all. If any one will therefore say that they lived miserably, will not he think himself a caitiff & miserable, by reason of this his false opinion? Menenius Agrippa, who made a peace betwixt the Senate and the Roman people, that were ready to assail one another, was buried at the common charge. Attilius Regulus after he had overthrown the Carthaginians in Africa, wrote unto the Senate that his husbandman was dead, by reason whereof his lands were unmanured, whereupon the Senate took order as long as Regulus was absent. So much was it to him that he had not a servant, that the Commonweal of Rome became his husbandman. Scipio's daughters were married at the cities charge, because their father had left them nothing. Truly there was great reason why the people of Rome should pay tribute unto Scipi● once, when as they exacted a tribute from Carthage always. How happy were the husbands of these daughters, who had the Roman people for their fathers in law? Thinkest thou them more happy, whose daughters after they had played in the Theatres, had twenty thousand crowns to their marriage, than Scipio was, who from the Senate their Tutor, have received some small sum of money for their dowry? What man is he that dare disdain poverty, that hath so worthy examples? Would a banished man complain that he wanted this or that, when as Scipio had no money to marry his daughters? Regulus was without a husbandman, Menenius had need of friends to pay for his funerals; and considering that all that which was wanting to those worthy men, hath been more plentifully ministered unto them than they had need; so than such Patrons not only make poverty secure, but also gracious. CHAP. XIII. TO this it may be answered, An objection, that ignominy annexed with poverty is a thing very odious Why so artificially discoursest thou on these things, which considered apart may be maintained, but if they be compared cannot? Change of place is tolerable if thou only change thy place: poverty is tolerable, if ignominy be taken from it, the which always is wont to oppress men's minds. To him who would terrify me with a troop of evils, thus would I answer; If thou have force enough against every part of fortune; the like mayest thou have against all. When virtue hath once hardened the mind she maketh him invincible. If avarice dismiss thee, which is the most violent plague of mankind, ambition will never leave thee at rest. His opinion 〈◊〉 touching death, proceeding from the ignorance of the fall of the first man. If thou beholdest thy last hour, not as a punishment, but as a law of nature, into that breast whence thou hast driven the fear of death, there is no fear of any thing that dare enter. If thou thinkest that the honest desires of marriage, was not allotted man to feed his lust, but to increase his family. He that is not violated with this secret mischief infixed in his bowels, every other desire will overpass and touch him not. Reason not only overturneth vices one after another, but all of them together: she fighteth at once, and overcometh the enemy at one stroke. Thinkest thou that a wiseman that is grounded in virtue, and estranged from vulgar opinions is shaken by ignominy? Death is more ignominious than one simple ignominy; yet Socrates with the same countenance and resolution entered the prison, wherewith he in times pastalone brought the thirti● tyrant's into order, and took the ignominy from the place by his entry: Examples to confirm hi● answer. for that could not seem to be a prison wherein Socrates was lodged. What man is he so brutish, that will say or think that Marcus Cato was disgraced, at such time as he demanded the Praetorship, and afterwards the Consulate? It was a disgrace both to the Praetor and Consulate who were honoured by Cato. No man can be despised by another man, except he first be contemned by himself. An humble and abject mind becometh subject to this contumely; but whosoever encourageth himself against these terrible accidents, and overcometh those evils wherewith other hearts are overturned, reputeth his afflictions to be his ornaments. When we are thus affected, that nothing moveth more admiration in us then to see a man courageous in his miseries. Aristides was sent by the Athenians, and commanded to be put to death, who made all those hung down their head● and mourn that saw him in that estate, not as if they had executed a just man, but justice herself; yet was there one amongst them that spit in his face: this might he have taken heavily, because he knew that no man that had modesty would have done it, yet wiped he his face, & smilingly beheld the Magistrates, and said thus, Admonish this man, that hereafter he open not his mouth so uncleanely. This were enough to humble outrage itself. I know that some will reply, that nothing is so hardly dis-jested as contempt, and that death seemeth more pleasing than the same. To these I answer, that oftentimes exile is exempted from these incommodities. If a man of note fall upon the ground, yet is he always the same, and as great; neither is contemned any more, than when as the ruin● of sacred Temples are troad upon, which as well both the religious as the standers by do adore. Thou canst not therefore find any want of thy son that is taken from thee, whom during his abode with thee, thou never thoughtest to appertain unto thee. CHAP. XIIII. He now cometh to the second point of his discourse, the scope whereof, is, that H●luia in regard of herself, hath not any occasion to torment herself for the absence of her son, and that for two principal causes. SInce, most dear mother, thou hast not any occasion in respect of me to afflict thyself thus continually, there must be therefore some particular considerations that press thee thus. But these are two; for either thou tormentest thyself because thou thinkest that thou hast lost some stay, or because thou canst not endure the sorrow thou sustainest. I will slightly touch the first consideration; for I know that thy heart loveth nothing in thy children but themselves. Let those mothers, who by their indiscretion breed much discontent in their children that are grown in credit, consider what they do. Being unable to execute public charges, they show themselves ambitious by their children's they embezzill and spend their revenues, and by their babbles break their heads who are constrained to give ear unto them. But for thine own part thou hast greatly rejoiced at the goods that have befallen thy children, which thou hast never had a part of. Thou hast always restrained our liberality, when thou hast had no power of thine own: thou being but the daughter of a family, hast not forborn to bestow thy favours plentifully upon thy children that were rich: thou hast administered the goods that our father left us, as if they had been thine own, and hast been as sparing of them as if thou hadst had them to restore them to some strangers: thou hast spared our credit as if thou hadst been to employ such a one that were no ways allied unto thee: our estates and honours were but a charge and pleasure to thee, and thou never didst respect us to enrich thyself: thou canst not therefore want thy son that is taken from thee, who in his safety never thoughtest that he appertained unto thee. CHAP. XV. ALL my consolation must be aimed to withstand that, To remedy his mother's sorrow, the better he specifieth the parties, and applieth divers remedies. whence the true force of thy motherly sorrow doth arise. I want the embraces of my dear child, I cannot see him, I cannot devise with him. Where is he, by whose sight I redeemed my sorrow, to whom I communicated all my discontents? Where are his discourses, wherewith I could not satisfy myself? Where are his studies, which I entertained more willingly than a woman, more familiarly than a mother? Where is this meeting, wherein the son showed himself joyful to behold his mother? Thou wilt add hereunto the very places where I was wont to reverence thee, to drink and eat with thee: the place likewise, whereas we met the last time, which cannot but have great efficacy to afflict the mind. For this likewise did Fortune most cruelly complot against thee, because that when thou wert secure, and fearedst no such matter, she dared to assault thee three days before I was strucken. We had before times been fitly separated by distance of places, and our absence during some years, had as it were, disposed thee to this affliction: thou camest back again unto me, not to enjoy any pleasure or contentment by thy son, but to the end thou mightest not loose the good to converse and communicate with him. Hadst thou been separated from him long time before, this assault had not so much vexed thee, because the distance of time might have assuaged thy sorrows: if thou hadst not been severed from him, thou hadst endured thy loss more contentedly, because thou hadst enjoyed this last fruit to be yet two days in thy son's company. But cruel destiny hath carried the matter in such sort, that thou foundest me not at Rome at such time as I was banished, and arrivedst there incontinently afterwards, to receive the more grief, because I was then upon departure. But the more furious these assaults are; the more oughtest thou to call thy better resolved virtue to assist thee, and to fight more confidently with thine enemy, which is sufficiently known unto thee, and that heretofore hath been divers times defeated by thee. This blood of thy present affliction, is not the first that thou hast lost, thy precedent wounds, as yet unhealed, have been renewed again. CHAP. XVI. THou oughtest not to allege in thine excuse, He confirmeth her by the consideration of other women's infirmities. that thou art a woman, which is almost permitted to weep her fill, and yet aught there to be some measure. And therefore our Ancestors allowed them ten months space to bewail their husbands, and in limiting in this sort by their public ordinance this obstinate sadness of women, they pretended not to hinder their tears, but to bring them to some end. For it is a foolish and unbridled affection in any one to torment himself incessantly, for the death of another whom he loveth. As contrariwise not to be moved, is to be reputed to have a heart both obdurate and inhuman. The best mean that we can observe betwixt piety and reason, is to feel some remorse, and afterwards to extinguish the same. There is no reason thou shouldest build upon certain women, that having once begun to entertain sorrow, never give it over till death hath made an end of them. Thou hast known divers, that having lost their sons, have never afterwards put off their mourning garments. The constancy that thou hast always showed heretofore, requireth somewhat more at thy hands. Such a one as in times past hath approved it to all men, that she was delivered from all feminine imperfections, cannot allege for her excuse, that she is a woman. Impudicitie, one of the most greatest evils that reign in our time, hath not entangled thee amongst divers others: pearls and precious stones have not tempted thee, riches, which are esteemed the greatest good in this world, have not bewitched thine eyes, the dangerous examples wherewith the wickeder sort seduce the best have not distracted thee, thou that hast been well brought up in a Noble and well ordered Family, art not ashamed to have been fetile, and the mother of divers children: as if thou wert upbraided thereby that thou art old. Never hast thou according to the custom of divers other women, which desire nothing more than to be reputed beautiful, hidden thy grossness, as if it had been an unfitting burden, neither haste thou made away the fruit of thy womb, which thou thoughtest thou hadst received. Thou hast never painted thyself, nor taken any pleasure to wear such garments as might discover thy naked skin. Modesty is the only ornament which thou hast esteemed to be most fitting, most seemly, and such as cannot be indemnified by age. So then thou canst not to the end thou mayest obtain licence to weep; pretend the name of a woman, because thy virtues have separated thee from that rank. So far oughtest thou to be estranged from the tears of this sex, as thou art from their imperfections. Women likewise themselves will not permit thee to censure and submit thyself to thy sorrow: but having suffered thee to weep a little, and as much as need requireth, they will make thee rise up, especially if thou wilt behold those women, who for their excellent virtues, have been numbered amongst the most famous men. He animateth her by worthy examples. Fortune reduced Cornelia, the mother of twelve children, to that pass, that she had only two remaining: if thou wouldst count those she had buried, they were ten, if thou wilt estimate them she had lost, the Gracchis, yet expressly forbade she those that wept about her, and cursed that unhappy advise to accuse Fortune in any sort, which had given her the Gracchis to her sons. By this woman should he be bred, who said unto a certain person that declamed before the people: Speakest thou evil of my mother that bore me? But the mother's speech, in my judgement, is more courageous. The son made high reckoning of the birth of the Gracchis, the mother of their deaths. Rutillia followed her son Cotta into exile, and her love towards him was so entire, that she had rather endure exile then his want; neither returned she back again into her Country, before she returned with her son. After his return, and at such time as her son was ra●sed to the greatest honours: she bore his death as constantly as she had followed him courageously; and no man could ever mark that she let one tear fall from he● eyes after he was interred. She made proof of her virtue at such time as she was banished, and of her wisdom, when death drew him out of this world● Nothing hindered her from showing herself charitable, and nothing detained her in a sottish and superfluous sorrow. My desire is that thou shouldest be numbered amongst such women, Afterwards he counseleth her to conquer, and not to disguise her passions. and because thou hast always imitated their life, be thou continually most studious and careful to follow their example, and to repress and suppress thy sorrow. I know that the matter is not in our power, and that there is no passion that will be moderated, and especially not that which proceedeth from griefs for it is fierce and rebellious against all remedy yet will we in the mean time that it master and swallow up sorrows, and yet notwithstanding permit we tears to stream along a counterfeit and concealed countenance: we will endeavour to exercise the mind in sports, or in seeing the Sword-players skirmish; but amidst all these spectacles that shall detain the same, we are content that a light touch of grief shall shake the same. It is far better to overcome the passion then to abuse it: for sorrow withdrawn by the pleasures of this world, or beguiled by occupations relieveth himself, and by the means of repose gathereth more greater forces, and blemisheth afterwards more confidently. But the mind that giveth place to reason, attaineth a perpetual repose. But I will not teach thee th●se remedies which I know divers other shave used, namely that thou shouldest pass the time in some long voyage, or that thou shouldest sport thyself in places of pleasure, or tha●●hou shouldest employ many days in carefully overlooking how thy affairs are carried, and to order thy revenue, or in short that thou shouldest entangle thyself always in so me new affairs. All these things profit for a short moment, and are not remedies, but delays of sorrow. For mine own part I had rathe● thou shouldest cease then deceive thy grief. I will therefore lead thee thither whether all they aught to have recourse, A principal remedy in foolish and unbridled passions to have recourse to Philosophy, whereunto he exhorteth his mother. who fly from fortune, that is to Philosophy, which wil● heal thy wound, & pluck out all sorrow from thy mind. Though hitherto thou ●ast never addicted thyself thereunto, yet now must thou do it; but thou ha●● not studied all the liberal sciences, tho● hast only tasted so much as the ancient severity of my father permitted thee. I could have wished that my Father (one of the best men in the world) had been less addicted to the fashions of ●ur ancestors, and that he would ●aue permitted the● seriously to be instructed in Philosophy, and not slightly: now then shouldest thou not have need to prepare a remedy against Fortune, but thou shouldest be exercised therein. As for these that use good letters, not for wisdom falle, but rather for ostentation and pride, for their cause he suffered thee the less to follow thy studies, but by reason of the pregnant wit thou hast apprehended more in a little ti●e than could be expected. The foundations of all sciences are laid in thee. Return now unto these, and they will make thee secure these will comfort the●, these will delight thee, these if they enter thy mind in good earnest; Particular remedies. He requireth her to consider ●er other children that continued with her, and describeth the benefits and pleasures she enjoyeth by their presence. never shall sorrow or sollitude● not the vain sorrow of superfluous affliction enter in●o thy heart any more, thy breast shall lie open to none of these, for already is it shut up against all other vices. These are the most assured remees, and such as can only deliver thee from fortune. But whilst thou hast attained that part which studies promise, thou hast need of ●orne supports and s●aies, and therefore in the mean while will I show thee thy comforts. Behold my brothers who being in security it is unlawful for thee to accuse fortune, thou hast in both to delight thyself for their several virtues, the one by his industry hath arraigned honours, the other hath contemned them wisely: content thyself in the one of thy sons dignity, and the others quiet, note the piety of them both. I know the inward affections of my brethren, the one in this respect affecteth dignity, that he may be an ornement unto thee, the other hath retired himself to a peaceable and quiet life, only to attend thee. Fortune hath disposed thy children well; both for thy succour, and for thy delight; thou mayest be defended by the dignity of the one, and envy the others retirement. They will contend in offices towards thee, and the desire of one shall be supplied by the piety of them both. I dare boldly promise' thee, thou shalt want nothing but the number● From these behold my Nephews likewise, Marcus that pretty wanton lad, at whose sight all sorrow must be banished, there is nothing so great, nothing so newly impressed in any man's breast, which he by his wanton dalliance will not lenefie, whose tears will not his pleasures suppress? whose mind except it be wholly contracted by care, will not his merry and witty jests ma●e joyful? Who will not be drawn to delight by beholding his wantonnesse● who though wholly fixed and devoured in thoughts, would not be delighted by his pretty prattle, and so pleasing that never wearieth any man? I beseech the Gods to grant him long life amongst us. Let all the wearied cruelty o● the Fates be spit and spent upon me, let all my mother should grieve for, be transferred to me, or what afflicts my grandmother, afflict me. So the rest may flourish in their accustomed estate, I shall not complain of mine own solitude and condition. Let me only be the expiation of the family, that here after shall live in repose. Keep in thy lap my No●●tilla that shall shortly make thee a great Grandmother with that affection I appropriated and made her mine own, that having lost me, she might seem to be an Orphan, although I am now living. Love her I pray thee for my sake: Fortune of late hath taken her father from her, thy piety may effect this that she shall only have cause to bewail the death of her mother, and yet notwithstanding shall have no sense of this loss. Now fashion ●er mind, and then her manners. Precepts take best hold when they are imprinted in tender years. Let her accustom herself to your speeches, le● her conform herself according to thy manners, thou shalt give her much, although thou give her nothing but thy example. This so solemn an endeavour will serve for a remedy, nothing can divert a mind that is piously sorrowful, but either reason or honest occupation. I should number thy Father likewise amongst thy great comforts, Secondly● her Father. but that he is absent: but now bethink thyself by thine own affection what concerneth him, and thou shalt understand how far juster a thing it is that thou art reserved for him, then bestowed upon me. As often as immoderate force of sorrow shall invade thee, and shall command thee to follow him, think upon thy father; in giving him so many Nephews and nephews children, thou hast brought to pass that thou art not alone. Meanwhile thou enjoyest this honour, that thou hast happily finished the course of thy life, and as long as he liveth, it is unlawful for thee to complain that thou livest. CHAP. XVII. Thirdly, her sisters whose virtues and constancy she● commendeth. YEt had I almost concealed thy greatest solace, thy sister that hath always been so faithful unto thee, in whose bosom thou hast familiarly discharged all thy sorrowes● and who hath showed towards us all an affection of a mother● thou hast mingled thy tears with hers, and thou first breathedst in her mouth● She always followeth thine affections, and yet in my behalf she grieveth not ●o much for thee. By her h●nds was I brought into this City, by her pious and motherly nursing, I recovered after a lo●g and dangerous sickness, she employed her credit to make me Quaestor. And whereas she blushed if any one should have spoken to her, or saluted her with a louder voice, she was not ashamed to go and speak with divers several men in my behalf, neither could her retired course of life, neither her modesty (in so great petulancy of Country women) neither her quiet, neither her secret and inclined manners, aiming at nothing more than ●●pose, detain her from showing herself ambitious in my behalves. This dear mother is a solace whereby thou must be comforted● as much as in thee lieth join thyself to her, and tie thyself to her s●ric● embraces. They that are in sorrow are wont to fly those things which most they love, and to se●ke a liberty for their sorrow: but see that thou both retire thyself, and whatsoever thou thinkest unto her, whether thou wilt keep this habit, or lay it aside, with her thou shalt find, either a companion, or an end of thy sorrow. But if I be not deceived in the wisdom of this most perfect woman, she will not suffer thee to consume thyself in fruitless lament, and will propose thee her own example, whereof I myself was a witness. Having been married young, she lost her husband, and our uncle upon the sea, yet in the mean while, & at the same time she endured her sorrow and fear, and afterwards escaping from the storm she solemnised his funerals. O how many worthy actions of women are buried in obscurity, if this woman had lived in the time of our ancestors, who with a pure affection honoured their virtues; how many brave spirits should have enforced themselves to extol a woman, The Heroic virtues of Heluias' sister. who without any apprehension of her weakness, neither feared winds, neither le●ted by waves, exposed herself to all hazards to bury her husband's and thinking of his obsequies, had not any thought at all of her own? The Poets have ennobled Alcestis, that hazarded her life to ransom her husband from death. But this is more, to search with the expense of her own life a Tomb for her husband● the greater is the love that redeemeth by eminent danger that which seemeth to be little. Furthermore, is not this a thing worthy of admiration that during the space of sixteen years, in which her husband was governor of Egypt, she was never seen in the stre●t, neither suffered she any of that Province to enter her house; she demanded nothing at her husband's hands, neither suffered any other to entreat aught else at her hands: by reason whereof this Province so talkative and ingenuous to defame their governors, wherein divers having carried themselves honestly, have notwithstanding been accused of evil conversation, reverenced thy sister as the only example of sanctity, and enforcing their own natures which is to take pleasure in jesting whatsoever become of it, carefully contained their tongs, and although they hoped not ever to have had such a Governess, yet wished she the like daily. It was much for her to make herself known in Egypt in sixteen years space, but it was far more to conceal her● self so long. I recount not these things to the end to rip up the praises of this woman, for to represent them so briefly, is to diminish them; but to the end that thou mayest understand that she is a woman of a great mind: whom neither ambition, nor avarice (the companions and plagues of all human greatness) could overcome, neither the apprehension of death, affrighted so much (although she saw the ship disarmed and ready to sink) but that holding her● dead husband embraced in her arms, For conclusion, and for his last consolation, h●e saith that Heluia ●a●h no occasion to be sad, because her son enjoyeth a singular contentment ●n mind in his exile. she sought out, not the means to escape, but how she might bury his body. The like resolution oughtest thou to show, and retire thy mind from sorrow, and behave thyself so that men may not think that thou repentest this that thou hast brought me into this world, but because it is needful when as thou hast done all things● yet that they should now and then reflect upon me, neither that any of thy children should be more frequent in thy memory, not because they are less dear unto thee, but because it is a natural thing to lay thy hands more often on that which is aggrieved. Behold what thou oughtest to think that I am: I am joyful and merry, as if all my affairs were in the best estate of the world, and so they be, because my mind being discharged of all cares, employeth itself in those actions that are proper unto it, and sometimes delighteth himself in more pleasing studies, and sometimes being greedy to discover the truth, disposeth and causeth himself to consider both mine own nature, and the disposition of the whole world. First he taketh a review of all Countries, and searcheth out their situations. Afterwards he considereth the sea that circleth them round about, and the ebbs and floats of the same; then regardeth he all that which is marvelous, and dreadful in the heavens and earth, that is to say, this great space, wherein the noise resoundeth of so many thunders, of so many lightnings of contrary winds, of overflow of waters, of snows and hail. And having traveled through these low places, he ascendeth more high to enjoy the sight of more divine things, and remembering himself of eternity, he examineth all that which either hath been, or shall be in all ages. The End of the Book of Consolation. OF NATURAL questions, WRITTEN BY LUCIUS ANNAEUS SENECA, DEDICATED TO LUCILLIUS. The first Book. The Argument of JUSTUS LIPSIUS. He handleth that part of natural Philosophy in these books, which is called 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, that is the discourse of Meteors, because for the most part it entreateth of sublime matters, and those things that are betwixt heaven and earth; yet entreateth he of the motion of the earth, as also of floods and waters; but in this respect, because they have their beginning or cause from spirit or air, and in the regard thereof have some relation to sublime nature likewise. These books are both excellent and learned; I will not say more better, yet more plentiful than ARISTOTLE'S are upon this argument, and such as he wrote when he was very old, about that time when he wrote his Epistles. They are therefore fitly annexed in this place. This appeareth by divers places, where he maketh mention of his old age, where he speaketh of CAIUS BALBILLUS, who was Perfect of Egypt under NERO, but most manifestly in the beginning of his sixth book, where he speaketh of that earthquake which shook Campania, when as VIRGINIUS and MEMMIUS were Consuls. And these were some two years before SENECAES' death. THE PREFACE. AS much difference as there is (most virtuous lucilius) betwixt Philosophy and other Arts, The difference betwixt Philosophy and other sciences, and betwixt that which is natural and the other that is moral. so much suppose I that there is between that part of Philosophy that concerneth men, as the other that concerneth the gods. This is more high and courageous; it giveth itself a larger scope, and not content with that which she discovereth by the eyes, suspecteth that there is somewhat more greater and and more fairer, which Nature hath locked from our sight. In brief, there is as much difference betwixt the one and the other, as between God and man. The one teacheth what is to be done upon earth, the other what is done in heaven. The one discusseth our errors, and ministereth us light, whereby we may discern the doubtful things in this life: the other raiseth us above that gulf of obscurity wherein we were confounded, and having redeemed us from thence, bringeth us thither where thi● brightness shineth. Verily I then praise and give thanks unto nature when I behold her, not by this means which is public, but when as I have entered her secrets. When I learn what the matter of the world, is who is the author and conserver thereof, what God is, whether he be wholly intended in the contemplation of himself, or whether sometimes he have ear of us, whether he do any thing daily, of whether he hath done it at once, whether he be a part of the world, or the world, whether it be in his power to ordain something to day, and to derogate somewhat from fatal destiny, whether it should be a divination of his majesty, and confession of his error, to have made things that should be subject to change: for it is necessary since that nothing can please him that is not perfectly good, that those things which please him should be always the same; and yet for all this is be no less free and powerful, for he is necessity himself. If I were not admitted to the knowledge of these things, there was no necessity why I should be borne: for what cause had I why I should be glad that I am numbered and placed amongst the living? What to swallow down and dis-jest meat and drink? what to glut this frail and decaying body that must perish, except it be interchangeably nourished? or to live a slave to infirmity, or to fear death, whereunto we are all of us borne? It thou take away from life this inestimable good, it is not so much worth as to be swear or laboured for. O how contemptible a thing is man except he raise himself above human things! Happy is contemplation if it be rightly governed. This is wrath and other passions of mind. As long as we struggle with affections, what do we that deserveth praise? Although we get the upper hand, yet overcome we but monsters. What cause have we to boast of ourselves because we are unlike the worst men of the world? I see not why he should take pleasure in himself that is stronger than a sick man. There is great difference betwixt strength and good health. Thou hast escaped from the vices of the mind; thou art no hypocrite, nor flatterer, nor double, nor soiled with varice, which denieth herself that, which she hath taken from all men, nor grounded in dissolution, which spendeth his goods and money basely, and getteth them likewise most villeinously; neither travailed with ambition, which will not lead thee to dignity but by indignities. Thou hast as yet gotten nothing, thou hast escaped many men's hands, but not thine own. For that virtue which we affect is magnificent, not because it is a blessed thing of itself to have wanted evil, but because it freeth the mind, and prepareth it to the knowledge of heavenly things, and maketh it worthy to come and accompany God. Than enjoyeth the mind the consummate and complete good of human condition, when as (treading all evil underfoot) he flieth to heaven and nestleth in the secret bosom of nature. Than taketh he delight in wandering amidst the stars, to laugh at the pavements of the rich, and to deride the earth with all her gold, not only that I mean which she hath delivered out and given to make money of, but that also which she keepeth close hiddem, to content the avarice of prosperity. He cannot contemn the porches, nor the house beams that are burnished with ivory, nor the groves planted upon the tops of houses, nor the rivers drawn and conveyed thorough chambers before he hath circled the whole world, and beholding the globe thereof from above, small and for the most part covered with the Sea, and in that place where it discovereth itself, hugely desert, and either burnt or frozen, without saying to himself: What a virtuous man's thought is that envieth the fruit● of virtue. Is this that point that is divided amongst so many Nations by fire and sword? O how ridiculous are the bounds of mortal men? Let not the Dane pass beyond the ri●er of I●●●r let Strimo include the Thracians, let Euphrates bound the Parthians, Danubia separate the Samaritans and the Romans, let Rhine border Germany, the Pyr●nean mountains raise their heads betwixt France and Spain; let the desolate vastness of lands divide Egypt from the Ethiopians. If we should give human understanding unto Aunts, would not they likewise divide a little Molehill of earth into Provinces? Whe● as thou hast raised thyself to those things that are truly great, as often as thou shalt see whole armies marching with displayed engines, and as if there were some great matter in hand, the horsemen now scouting and discovering before, now slancking the battle, thou mayest freely say, The blacker Squadron trotteth through the Plains. All this is but a business of Aunts that labour in a Molehill. What difference is betwixt them and us, The affairs of the world are trifles. except it be in the measure of their little bodies? It is but a point wherein you sail, wherein you go on warfare, wherein you dispose Kingdoms, yea, and a very little one if a man consider the Ocean; that begi●teth it on every side. A worthy description of vanity. Above these there are spacious extent●, into the possession whereof the mind is admitted. If he bring with him a very little of the body, if he be cleansed from all ordure, and being expedite and light, and contented with a little, he hath shined in these lowe● parts. When he attaineth these, he is nourished, he increaseth, and being as it were delivered from bondage, returneth to his original. And this argument hath he of his divinity, The argument of divinity, is to contemplate divine things. that he is delighted in divine things● not as strange unto him, but as his owne● He securely beholdeth the rising and setting of the ●laners, and the different courses of so accordant creatures. He diligently observeth where every 〈◊〉 beginneth to rise, and lend her fist light to the world, where her Zenith is, what wa● she shapeth her course, and how far she descendeth● Like a curious observer he examineth and debateth on every point; why should ●e not on straightness of his former house; for how far is it betwixt the utter most shores of Spain and the Indieses? It is sailed in a few days if the wind be in the Poop, and prosperous. But that celestial Region furnishe● a way for thirty years space to th● swiftest Planet, that never stayeth bu● runneth on his course with equal swiftness. Thereat length learneth he ●h●t which he hat● long time s●●gh●. There beginneth he to know God: what is God? The mind of the Universe. What is God? And 〈…〉 and all that thou seest 〈◊〉: so at length h● attaineth his greatness, than which 〈◊〉 greatest thing 〈…〉 alone be all and holdeth his work both without and within 〈…〉 difference than is ther● betwixt the 〈◊〉 of God and Ours? Our 〈◊〉 part i● the mind in him no part is without the minds 〈…〉 while men are so dullas to esteem that 〈…〉 which hath nothing like 〈◊〉 it beauty, in disposition or in 〈…〉 chance; so that it findeth itself 〈…〉 loud ●empests, and other such 〈…〉 is this ●olly only pregnant among 〈…〉 Philosophy likewise h●ue 〈…〉 think that they have a mind 〈…〉 every thing, both his own and others: but that this universe wherein likewise we are, is voided of counsel, and either is transported with a certain temerity, or by Nature, that knoweth not what she doth. How profitable is it, thinkest thou, The supernatural Philosophy of the Stoics. to know these things, and to prefix limits unto Science? To know how much God can, whether he formeth his own matter, or useth that which is given him, whether the Idea was before the matter, or the matter the Idea. If God maketh all that which he willeth, or if in divers things there faileth him somewhat to work upon, or if divers things are kindly form by their great workmaster, not because his art causeth, but because the matter wherein he is exercised, The use of this discourse. is not oftentimes conformable to his workmanship. To examine these things, to learn these things, to search the secrets of these things: is not this to exceed his mortality, and to be translated into a estate? What sayest thou will these things profit thee, if they further me in nothing else, of this I rest assured, that all things are too little. But of this hereafter. CHAP. 1. But now let us come to our intended purpose. Hear that which Philosophy teacheth, Of the Meteors of ●●re. as touching those fires that the air driveth overthwartly. It is a sign that they are driven by great force, because they are carried sidelong, and by a violent swiftness. It appeareth that they go not, but that they are forced. And of these fires there are divers forms. Lib. 1. Meteors of fire. Aristotle calleth a certain kind of these Goats. If thou askest me why, thou must first of all give me a reason, why they are called young Kids. But if we be agreed upon the name, as it is expedient, let none of us examine one another, what this or that man saith. They were called Goats, by reason they had some resemblance of little ●eard● hanging on them. It shall be better to examine what the thing is, then to wonder at it, why Aristotle called a globe of fire that is in the air a Goat. Such was that which appeared as great as the body of the Moon, when Paulus AEmilius made war against Perseus. And we ourselves have oftentimes seen a flame in form as great as a pillar, which notwithstanding in the very course thereof was scattered. About the time that Caesar Augustus died, w●e saw the like Meteor, and prodigy: we saw the like, when Scianus was adjudged to death; Whether extraordinary Meteors are foretokens of things to come. neither was Germanitus death unaccompanied with the like presage. Thou wilt say unto me, Art thou then so badly taught, as to think that the gods sand some predictions of death, and that there is any thing so great on the earth, that the heavens should foresee the end? We shall find another time for this matter: mean while we will see if all things be deduced by a certain order, and the one so enfolded in the other, that that which goeth before, is either the cause of those things that follow; or the sign. We will see whether the gods have care of human affairs, or whether the order of things discovereth by certain marks, that which aught to be done. Mean while, I think that these fires are assembled by a vehement agitation of the air, when as the inclination thereof hath extended itself towards one part, and hath not given place, but sought within himself. From this encounter and entershocke of the air arise these pillar●, these globed, these flashings. But when the air assembleth more mildly and remaineth shut, there issue divors impressions of fire far lesser, and these crinite and bearded comets have their original, than the fires that are less thick mark out their way, which appeareth not very much, which they extend in the heaven, in such sort as there passed not a night, wherein a man may not see such impressions in the ●ir●, because there needeth no great agitation to created them. To speak in a word, these impressions have the same considerations, as lightnings, yet are they caused which less force. Even as clouds being but indifferently broken one upon another, cause flashes, and being impelled with greater force, breed lightnings. Aristotle yieldeth this reason. The globe of the earth exhaleth divers vapours, some moist, and some dry, some cold, and some other hot, and fit to be inflamed: neither is it to be wondered at, that so many different vapours issue from the earth, since in the heavens there appear divers colours, but some more fierce, as the fiery redness of the dog-star, some more remiss, as that of Mars; some none at all, as that of jupiter, but a pure and clear shining. It must therefore needs be, that in this so great abundance of exhalations, that mount from the earth into the air, there must some aliments of fire be raised to the clouds, that might fall on fire by reason of their entershock, but also by the assistance of the beams of the Son. For with as likewise we see that straws that are besprinkled with brimstone, draw unto them fire that is distant from them? It is likely therefore to be true, this matter gathered together within the clouds, is as easily kindled, and that the fires are great or little, according as the vapours have been feeble or strong. For this were a foolish things to imagine that the stars fall, or that they rise and mount again, or that any thing is taken away or separated from them: because if this were so, by little and little there should be no more stars, they should fail. For there is no night whatsoever, during which a man ●●●th not divers stars, that seem to shoot forward or backward. But contrariwise, every one of them is found in his accustomed place, and every one co●●●●●● in their proportion. It followeth therefore, that these fires are engendre●●●●●rneath these stars, & continued not long time, because they neither have foundation nor certain place. Why therefore likewise are they not transferred, by day? What if I say that the stars are not by day, because they appear not? Even as these remain hidden, and obscured by the light of the Sun, so the Me●oors of fire run in the air, as well by day as by night, but the brightness of the day hindereth our eyes from beholding them. Notwithstanding, sometimes the matter whereof they are composed is so abundant and bright, that they are manifestly discovered even in the daytime. In our age we have oftentimes seen divers fires in the daytime, the one gliding from the East to the West, the other from the West to the East. The Mariners think it to be a sign of a tempest, when as many stars shoot● but if there be a sign of winds, it is there where the winds are, that is, in the air, which is in the midst between the Moon and the Earth. In a vehement tempest there appear certain fires or stars that sit in upon the sails, and at that time those that are in danger do● suppose that they are assisted by the godheads of Gastor and Pollux. The fires called Castor and Pollux. These were jupiters' s●nnes by Leda, who for their great valour and counning by sea were reputed gods. And their cause of better hope is, because already the tempest seemeth to be allayed and the winds calmed. Sometimes these fires are carried, sometimes are settled. When as Gilippus traveled towards Syracu●a, he saw a Star that settled itself upon his lance. In the Roman Camp, in some men's judgement, there appeared certain darts, as if set on fire by reason of fire of the air that fell on them, which oftentimes after the manner of lightnings, are wont to blast both men and tree●. But if they descend with a lesser force, Of falling fires. yet slip they down and settle themselves without doing any hurt, or inflicting any wound. Some of these break thorough the clouds, some other in fair weather, if the air be fit to enkindle. For sometimes it thundereth in fair weather, upon the same cause as it doth in close and troubled air, which is by reason of the collision of the air within itself, which although it be clearer and drier, yet can meet together, and make some bodies that are like unto clouds, Of thunders. which by incountrie sound and make a noise: sometimes therefore there are divers pillars made, and sometimes shields, and images of vast fire, when as the like, but greater cause falleth upon such matter. CHAP. II. Of the circles and crowns that appear about the Sun and Moon. Albert. lib. Meteor●log. tract. 4. cap. 8. LEt us now see whence that light is made that environeth the Planets. It is reported that upon the same day that Augustus returned from Apollonia and entered Rome, there was seen a certain circle of divers colours about the Sun, after the manner of a Rainbow. The Grecians call this Hal●, and we may properly call it a Crown. I will endeavour to express whence the cause hereof is. When as a stone is cast into a Fish-poole, we see that the water maketh divers circles, whereof the first is small, the second more great, the others consequently g●●●●er, until the force of the stroke be vanished, and that the water be settled as it was before. Let us suppose that some such matter is done in the air, which becoming more thick may receive an impression, by the means of the brightness of the Sun, or of the Moon, or of some Star, the which enforcing itself against the Sun, constraineth it to retire, and to fall in circles. For humidity and air, and all that which taketh form by reverberation, is impelled into the habitude of that thing that impelleth the same. But all light is round, by means whereof it must needs be, that the air beaten back by this brightness, must show itself in the same form. And therefore it is that these shining circles are by the Grecians called Areae, because that the places that are ordained to thr●sh corn in, are round for the most part. But we think not that these, either Area, or Crowns, are caused near unto the Moon, or the Sun, or other celestial bodies, for they are few of them, although they seem to begird and crown them. In what region of the air. This impression is made not far off from the earth, but our eyes being deceived by their ordinary imbecility, thinketh that it is placed just about the star. But no such thing may be done near unto the Sun or the stars, because the aetherial region is thin and transparent. It is in gross and thick bodies, that such impressions are accustomed to be made, neither can they take footing in subtle and thin bodies. We see I know not what such like as these impressions about our lamps in the stove, by reason of the obscurity. They are made for the most part at such time as the Southern wind bloweth, In what time. when as the sky is covered and obscured. Sometime by little and little they are dispersed and vanish, sometimes they break in some part, and from thence the Sailors expect the wind where the flame first appeareth. For if it fail to the Northward, a Northerly wind will follow, if to the Westward, a Westerly, which is an Argument that in that part of the Heavens these crowns are made, where ordinarily the winds are engendered: But the higher Region of the air hath none of these circles, because the Winds are lodged under it. To these Arguments add this likewise, that a crown is never gathered there, but where the air is settled and still. Otherwise it is never seen. For the air that is settled may be pushed, extended, and moulded into some form, but that which is agitated cannot receive impression of the light, for it is not form, neither re●isteth, because every first part and portion thereof is scattered and hath no stays And therefore never shall we see any Planet whatsoever crowned, except when the air is thick, and calm; by means whereof it is capable to conserve the line which in appearance begirteth his round brightness; and not without cause. For call again to thy remembrance the example I proposed thee a little before. The stone that is cast into a fish-pool or a lake or any settled water, maketh innumerable circles, and this it doth not in a River. Why? Because the water that flieth thus quickly, giveth not any leisure or means to the stone to form any figure. The same therefore falleth out in the air: for that which is settled may receive any impression, but that which fleeteth and runneth away swiftly, is incapable of form, and disperseth every ●●gure that would approach it if it stayed. These circles being scattered by little and little, and as it were confounded in themselves, express the stillness, repose, and tranquility of the air, and if they scatter but on one side the wind cometh from thence: if they be opened in divers places some storm will follow. How this cometh to pass, it may be understood by those things which I have declared already. For if the whole face of the circle vanish, it appeareth that the air is moderate, and consequently still and peaceable: if it be cut off but on one side, we see that the air is shaken on that side that in opened, and that from the same the wind will blow. But when it is dispersed in every part, it is a sign that it is assailed divers ways, and that the air stirreth itself from one side to an other. By means whereof it appeareth that a storm is at hand, and that there will be some combat of the winds by reason of this inconstancy of the air, that whirleth and turneth itself thus from all parts. These crowns for the most part appear about the Moon in the night time, and are noted about the other stars, but seldom by day: so that some of the Grecians have denied that they are at all, whereas Histories reprove and confute them. But the caus● of this rarity is this in that the light of the Sun is more strong, and the air itself being agitated by the same, and being hot is less thick. But the power of the Moon is more feeble, and therefore is it more easily sustained by the air that invironeth the same, and because that the other celestial fires being feeble cannot by their beams break or scatter the air, thence cometh it that these impressions are made at that time without any let, for they pierce and plant themselves very easily in a solid matter, and that scattereth not as it doth by day. The air likewise aught not be so thick, that it exclude and drive away from him the brightness that is lent him, neither so thin and attenuate that it giveth not any means to the beams that beaten upon it to stay with him. This temperature properly falleth out by night, when as the stars reflect upon the same by their brightness, not violent or forcible, the air gathereth together and formeth these circles, because it is more thicker than in the day time. CHAP. III. Of the R●●ne-bow; the cause and form thereof, and why it appeareth not by night. COntrariwise, the Rainbow is never made by night, except very seldom, because the Moon hath not so much force to traverse and colour the clouds as the sun hath. For thus make they the form of the discoloured Rainbow: Because some parts in the clouds are more swelling, othersome more submiss, some thicker then that the sun beams may be able to pierce them; othersome so thin that they pass quite thorough them. This inequality mixeth together this shadow and this brightness, and maketh this wonderful variety in the Rainbow. There is another reason given of this Rainbow; We see that when a Pipe is broken in any place, that the water bubbleth forth by a little crack: and if the sun beateth obliquely upon this water, it representeth the divers colours of the Rainbow. The same shalt thou see fall out, if at any time thou wilt observe a fuller, Examples to express this. when as he hath lightly filled his mouth with water, and besprinkleth his cloth that is stretched on the Tenters. In this air besprinkled with water there appeareth divers colours, such as we see in the Ark. Doubt thou not but the cause hereof is in the humour: for the Rainbow is never seen except it be in rainy weather. But let us examine how it is made: Some say that there are certain drops of water, How the Rainbow is caused. beaten back by the sun and the clouds, so thick as the brightness cannot pierce them, in such sort that from these drops there proceedeth a shining, and from the thick clouds a shadow; by means whereof, and by this encounter the Rainbow is made; one part whereof, which receiveth the sun, is shining, the other that repulseth the same, and hath made a shadow of itself to the neighbouring clouds, is more obscure. Others there are that are not of this opinion. For this might seem true, if the Rainbow had but only two colours, This opinion is examined. and it consisted of light and shadow. But we although that colours infinite Shine in this Arch, yet natheless there light Is so conjoined, as it deceives the sight, Because their meetings are not known aright: For th●t which toucheth is the same unite, And yet the brinks are party coloured quite. We see in it I know not what yellowness, redness, green, blue, and other colours, Of the colours of the Arch. drawn after the manner of subtle lines, as the Poet saith, that whether they be different colours thou canst not know, except thou confer those of the one side with those of the other; for their conjunction and assemblance blemisheth and dazzleth the eyes: and therein is showed the admirable work of Nature, because that that which began with things that were alike, endeth in different. To what purpose therefore serve these two colours of light and shadow, whereas a reason is to be yielded of innumerable sorts. Some think that the Rainbow is made thus: they say that in that part where it raineth, every drop of the falling rain is a several mirror that representeth the sun, then that this great and infinite number of images long, large, and hollow, come and join and mix themselves together; so that the Rainbow is an assembly of divers mirrors or representations of the same. To prove this, behold what they allege: If in a fair and clear day you set a thousand Basins in the Sun, all of them severally represent his countenance. Put me a drop of water upon every leaf of a tree, each one of these drops will have in itself the resemblance of the Sun; but contrariwise a great standing pool representeth but one Sun. Why? Because all this limited plainness that hath his brinks, cannot be but one mirror: but if thou makest partitions, and distinguishest by divers walls a huge and mighty Fish-poole, so many images shalt thou have of the Sun as there are several lakes. Leave that Fish-poole entire and one as it was, thou shal● observe but one sun. It is no great matter whether the drop of water be small, or the Fish-poole narrow; if it hath brims it is a mirror of the sun. So then these infinite drops of water, carried by the rain that falleth, are as many mirrors, and have as many faces of the sun. These appear confused to him that looketh against them, and seethe not their distances, because the space suffereth him not to distinguish the same. Furthermore, in stead of so many faces there appeareth but one confused and composed of all. The opinion of Aristotle as touching the colours in the Ark. Aristotle is of the same opinion: From all that (saith he) that is light and thin, the sight repealeth unto itself his beams, but there is nothing lighter than air or water; and therefore the radiations of our eyes return from the thick air back again unto us. But if the sight be feeble and infirm, it faileth upon the lest shock that the air yieldeth it. Some are troubled with this infirmity, that they themselves seem to meet themselves, and every where they behold their own image. Why? Because the weakness of their sight cannot penetrate the air that is nearest them, but stayeth short; so that whatsoever the fogs effect in others, every air worketh in these. Every air how thin soever it be, hath power enough to repulse a weak sight; yet more easily may a thick air reflect back again unto us our sight, because it cannot be pierced, but stayeth the beams of our eyes, and repelleth them back again from whence they came. So then, since there are divers drops of water, they are as many mirrors; but by reason of their smallness they represent only the colour, and not the form of the sun. Moreover, when as one and the same colour is impressed in the infinity of drops, that fall without intermission, it beginneth to be a face, not of many different images, Of the divers colours in the Ark. but of one that is long and continued. How cometh it to pass (saith some one) that thou tellest me that there is so many thousand of images here, where I see not one? And since the sun is all of one colour, why are these images thus divers coloured? To answer thee hereunto, and to other such objections, I must tell thee that there is nothing more incertain than our sight, not only in those things which she is hindered from seeing exactly, by reason of this diversity of colours, but also in those things which she discovereth hard at hand. A Waterman's Oat being plunged into a little clear water, seemeth either broken or crooked, although it be strait. Apples seem greater to those that look upon them thorough a glass. The pillars in long Galleries seem to be joined together, although there be a distance betwixt every one of them. Return again to the sun itself, he whom reason approveth to be greater than the whole world, our eye hath so contracted, that some wise men contend that it hath but a foot of Diameter. We know that he runneth with a swiftness surpassing all swiftness, yet none of us perceiveth any motion; neither would we believe that he had kept on his course except it were apparent that he moveth. There is none of us that can observe the course of the heavens, turning with a headlong and incredible swiftness, in such sort, that in the twinkling of an eye he causeth in divers clymat● of th● world both day and night; why then wonder'st thou that our eyes cannot discern the droppe● of ●ater, or that the difference of these s●all images vanish from thy sight that is so far distant? No man can doubt bu● that the Rainbow is an image of the Sun, conceived in a moist and hollow cloud. The reason is, because the Rainbow is always opposite against the Sun, either higher or lower, according as the Sun setteth or riseth, but by a contrary motion. For when the Sun setteth, Why the Rainbow appeareth opposite against the Sun. the Rainbow is more high● and if he riseth above the Horizon, the Rainbow is more low. Oftentimes such a cloud appeareth on the side of the Sunne● which maketh nor a Rainbow, because it draweth not an image by a right reflection. But this variety is made for no other cause, but for that a part of the colour is in the Sun, and ●n other part in the cloud itself: Why there are divers colour's in it. but this humidity formeth and draweth now blue lines, sometimes green, other whiles purple, and sometimes dim and fiery; in brief, two sorts of colours, ●the one lively, the other pale, are th●se that cause all this diversity, for so purple issueth not in the same sort from the shell, A comparison from purple. but it importeth much how long time it hath remained extinct, what suck it hath drawn either subtle or thick, or if it hath received tincture one time only it is not therefore to be wondered at, considering ●hat the Sun and the cloud are two things, that is to say, the body and the mirror, if a man see so many different colours which may arise or fall in divers sorts: for of one kind is the hea● that proceedeth from a fierce light, an other that proc●edeth from a brightness not so shining and sparkling. To search out other causes, it were extravagant, considering that we have not any ground that may sustain our discourse, except we should build upon conjectures, which have no end. Here than it appeareth that there are two causes of the Rainbow, the Sun and the Cloud, Two causes of the Rainbow. for the Rainbow is never made in fair weather, neither then when it is so close weather, that the Sun appeareth not, so than it is made of both, without either of which it cannot be. CHAP. FOUR A confirmation of that which hath been taken from the Ark, is form by opposition against the Sun, by the comparison of Artemido●us. L●● v● add to that which is abo●e●●ide, another proof no less evident. The image and representation which is made by reason of the mirror, never appeareth except the mirror be opposed in su●h sort, that a man may see ●h● same in one place, and the thing that it represented in an other tha● is opposite. There are certain reasons alleged by the Geometrician which persuade not, but enforce; neither hath any man cause to doubt, but that the Ark is an image of the Sun, which is badly expressed by reason of the d●f●●t and figure of the mirrors But l●t us 〈◊〉 in ●he mean time to produce other proofs. Amongst other arguments why the Ark is caused th●s● I put this, that it is suddenly made, and v●nish●th also as suddenly. But there is nothing more readily represented then an image in a glass, for the mirror doth nothing but only represent the object. B●ri●n●s Artem●dorus addeth, what kind of ●●oude it sho●●●● he which repre●se●teth such an image of the Sun, if thou● makest saith 〈◊〉 hollow mirror, that is as it were the half of a Bowl, if thou standest upright behind this halfe● a●l ●hese that are near unto thee shall appeare●● 〈…〉 eyes more 〈◊〉 vn●to thee then the mirror. The same saith he falls our when we behold a round and hollow cloud on one side of us, that the image of the Sun which is severed from the Sun, is more turned towards us; the yellow colour therefore cometh from the Sun, the blue proceedeth from the cloud, the other colours grow by a mixture of them both. CHAP. V AGainst these things, these succeeding Arguments are aimed. There are two opinions of mirrors; An objection against the comparison precedent. for some are of opinion that the resemblances are seen in these, that is the figures of our bodies, sent forth and separated from our bodies: some say that the images are not in the mirror, but that the bodies themselves are beheld; the sight of the eye being retorted and reflected, and returned again into itself. Now it appertaineth nothing to the matter, how we see, whatsoever we behold, but how the like image should be represented by the looking glass. What is so unlike as the Sun and the Rainbow, wherein neither the Centre, nor the figure, neither the greatness appeareth? for the Rainbow is longer and more ample, and in the brighter part thereof more read than the Sun, but in the other colours divers. Again, when thou wilt compare a mirror with the air, thou must give me the same levity of body, and the same eqnality, and the same brightness. But there are no clouds that have the similitude of a looking glass, we oftentimes pass through them, and yet see not ourselves in them. They that climb up to the tops of hills, behold the clouds, and yet see not their image in the same. Every drop is a several mirror. I grant it, but this I deny, that a cloud consisteth of drops. For she hath some things whereof she may created such drops, not herself, neither hath a cloud any water in it, but the matter of future water. I will likewise grant thee that there are innumerable droppe● in clouds, that yield some resemblance, yet all of them yield not one and the same, but every one hath his apart. Again, unite thou mirrors together, they will represent more than one face; for every one will retain in himself the similitude of that he representeth. There are many mirrors that are composed of divers small pieces, to which if thou presentest but one man, yet there appeareth a multitude, every part expressing and representing his own face. These though conjoined and placed together, do not withstanding reserve unto themselves their images apart, and of one, they make a multitude, yet confounded they not that multitude, but distinguish it into several faces. But the Rainbow is made all at once, and hath but one only face. What then? Is not the water that issueth from a broken pipe, or is squirted or spit out of the mouth, wont to have some such like colours as we see in the Rainbow. 'tis true: but not for the same cause, as thou thinkest, because that every drop of water ●eceiueth the image of the Sun: for these drops fall too soon to be able to receive any form. They must needly stay to represent the same which they imitate. What is then done? They contract the colour and not the image of the Sun. Otherwise as Nero Caesar said most learnedly; Fair Venus Dove, bending her neck aside, In party coloured plumes, doth show her pride: And as often as the Peacock turneth his head never so little, her party coloured plumes shine and sparkle: shall we therefore say, that these feathers are Mirrors, who upon every inclination of the head, present new colours; as much correspondence have the clouds with mirrors as those birds I told you, and the Chameleons and other kind of Creatures, who of themselves change their colours, as often as either wrath or desire of generation maketh them spread a humour which giveth a new tincture to the skin, or that they receive this colour by reverberation of the light according as it beateth upon them directly, or obliquely. What resemblance is there betwixt mirrors and clouds? mirrors are not transparent, but thick and of one piece, and matter: contrariwise brightness traverseth the clouds, which are thin, composed of confused matter, by means whereof they cannot remain long times tied together, but the one of them destroyeth the other. Besides, we see a part of the heaven that is read, when the Sun riseth, and sometimes we see clouds that are coloured like fire. What letteth then but as they receive this colour by the arrival and encounter with the Sun, so also they should draw divers colours, although they have not the same efficacy as a mirror hath? Thou saidst not long since, (will some man say) that the Rainbow is always made by the opposition of the Sun, because a mirror could not represent a face, if it were not set opposite against the Sun. Herein, saith he, we are aggrieed. For even as we aught to set before the mirror the thing whose Image we would have the glass to represent: so is it needful that the Sun beams should beat directly upon the cloods, and that they should be near him to contract colour. This is their allegation, who would pretend that a cloud is coloured. Posidonius and they that think that a cloud is as a mirror, answer thus. If there were any colour in the Rainbow it would continued, and it should be seen the more manifestly, the more nearer we were unto it: But now the image of the Arch appeareth best when it is furthest of, the more it neereth us, the sooner it dieth. I cannot give way to this contradiction, when as I approve the sentence. Why? I will tell you; because the cloud is coloured, but so that the colour thereof appeareth not every ways; for the cloud itself appeareth not every where; for no man seethe the cloud wherein he is. What wonder then is it, that the colour thereof is not seen unto him, by whom she herself is not seen? yet although she be not seen, she is; and consequently she hath colour. So it is not an argument of a false colour, because that in drawing near unto the same, she ceaseth to appear the same as she was before, for the like falleth out in the clouds themselves, which are not therefore false, because they are not seen. Furthermore, when it is told thee, that the cloud is streaked with the Sun, it is not intended that this colour was mixed as in a hard, firm, and permanent body, but as in a fluid and flitting mass, which receiveth neither form nor colour but for a very little while. The better and deeper tincture the Tyrian scarlet is, the higher must you hold the same, to the end that the lusire thereof may show the better, Sen●caes opinion touching the ●●sh●●n of the Ar●h. yet looseth not in being near us his perfect colour, but that tincture it hath, howsoever it be discovered, showeth itself. Of that opinion am I that Posidonius was, that the Arch is made when as the cloud is form after the manner of a mirror, hollow and round, like the half of a bowl. This cannot be approved by the assistance of the Geometricians, who by invincible reasons prove that the cloud is an image of the Sun, and yet resembleth him not; as likewise mirrors are not answerable wholly unto the truth of things. There are some thou wouldst be afraid to look upon, so deformed maketh it their face to appear that behold the same, by representing their similitude quite contrary. Others of them are such, that in beholding them, will make thee think thyself some worthy man, because that both thine arms, and the other members of thy body will seem to be more greater and mighty than they are. Some of them represent a true similitude of the face; others half the face; some there are that lessen and turn it upwards. What is it therefore to wonder at, if the sun be imperfectly represented in a cloud, as well as in these artificial mirrors? CHAP. VI AMongst other reasons, this shall be one, that the Arch never showeth more greater than the half of a Circle, The Prognostiques touching the Rainbow. and that the less it is, the higher the Sun is. The mighty Arch doth drink. As our Virgil saith, at such time as the rain is ready to fall, but the Prognostiques of the Arch are divers according to his situations. If it appeareth in the south, it bringeth with it much rain, because that by their abundance they could not be surmounted by the sun. Contrariwise, if it appeareth in the west, there will follow but a dew and some little rain; and if it be in the east, it is a sign of fair weather. But if the Arch be the image of the sun, Why it appeareth greater than the Sun. whence cometh it that the Arch appeareth to be more great than the sun? because the nature of some mirror is such, that it showeth things to be more greater than they were presented unto it, and will make the body appear of more prodigious bigness: contrariwise, there are some that make things seem far lesser than they be. Tell me why the face showeth round in a square mirror? happily thou mayest say, that it is thence whence this divers colour proceedeth; but I cannot tell thee whence this form cometh, except in thy hand thou hast some pattern whereupon it is form: But he hath no other than that of the sun, from whence thou must needily confess that the Arch borroweth his colour, Of the colour. and consequently his form. Finally, we are agreed, that these colours which we see in the Heavens proceed from the sun: but our difference is, because thou maintainest that it is a colour, and I say that it seemeth to be a colour, whether it be the one or the other, thou canst not tell me why this colour vanisheth suddenly, whereas all other lights are extinguished by little and little. This apparition and disparrition of the Rainbow maketh for me: A proof that the comparison between the Rainbow and the mirror is proper. for it is the nature and property of a mirror not to show things in parts, but wholly and at once. Every Image is made and unmade equally. To represent the same or not represent the same, there needeth no more to show it, or to take it away. There is no proper substance or body in the cloud; it is but a fiction and resemblance without the thing. Wilt thou know that it is thus? the Rainbow will vanish if thou hide the Sun. I tell thee if thou oppose (I say) another Cloud unto the Sun, the variety of the Rainbow will vanish; yet is the Sun somewhat greater than the Arch. I have already answered, that there are some mirrors which multiply the whole body which is presented unto them: whereunto I add that all things seem more great, if they be beheld thorough the water. Letters, although they be but small and obscure, appear more greater and clearer, when they are read thorough a viol filled with water. Apples seem more fairer than they be, if they swim in a glass. Examples showing how the Rainbow seemeth more greater than the Sun. Behold the Stars thorough a cloud, and thou wilt judge them more great, because our eye slippeth in the humidity, and cannot faithfully apprehended that which it would. This appeareth clearly, if thou fillest a glass with water, and castest into it some ring, for although the ring remaineth in the bottom, yet the resemblance thereof appeareth in the top of the water. All that which a man seethe thorough the water, is far greater than the thing itself. What wonder is it then, if in a moist cloud the image of the sun appeareth more greater than natural. There are two reasons hereof: because in the cloud there is somewhat that is like unto glass, which can shine: the other that hath somewhat of water, which although not form, yet the nature thereof appeareth, and finally, of a cloud we see that there cometh rain. CHAP. VII. Of the triangles of glass that represent the ●olours in the Rainbow, and the difference betwixt them and it. BEcause (sayest thou) thou hast made mention of a glass, even from the same will I produce an argument against thyself. Men are accustomed to make certain rods of glass very narrow, wherein there ar● divers angles, and knots or points. If these be showed athwart the Sun, they represent the same colours of the Rainbow, so that thou seest that in it there is not the image of the Sun, but an imitation of his colour by reverberation. In this thine argument there are many things that make for me. First, this glass aught to be thin, and as it were a mirror to reflect the Sun. Afterwards it appeareth, that in stead of a right colour, it maketh a representation of a false colour, such as the neck of pigeons in turning themselves doth, and changeth divers colours. The same is in a mirror wherein no man perceiveth any colour, but an appearance of strange colours. This only remaineth to be resolved, why a man seethe not the Image and representation of the Sun in these rods? They are not capable to express the same well, the matter is polished and disposed thereunto, by means whereof they enforce themselves to represent the Sun; but it is impossible, because both their form and fashion repugneth the same. If they were made and fashioned with convenient proportion, they would represent as many suns, as many insectures as they had: but because their divisions are confused, they have not so great brightness as a mirror, they only begin to make representations of the sun, and finish them not, and for that they are near, they confounded all these representations and images together, whence the appearance of colour proceedeth. CHAP. VIII. But why doth not the Rainbow, Why the Arthur is but hal●●● circle. in stead of this great and half circle it maketh, become wholly round? Some think thus, that the sun being far more higher than the clouds, beateth not, but upon the upper part, whence it followeth that the inferior i● not attainted with light. Entertaining the sun therefore but in one part, they likewise represent but a part of the sun, and this part is never more great than the half. This reason hath no great waight● Why? because tha● although the sun inclineth towards the higher part, yet beateth he upon the whole cloud. He hath coloured it then: why not? since it is his custom to dart his beams, and to penetrate thorough every thickness. Moreover, they contradict their own intent; for if the sun be above, and for this cause reflecteth only on the higher part of the clouds, never will the Ark descend unto the earth; but we see that it extendeth itself even unto the ground● Furthermore, the Arch is always opposite against the sun, neither appertaineth it any thing to the matter, whether it be above or beneath the same, because that every place that is opposite against the sun, cannot but be beaten with the beame● thereof. Again, sometimes a Westerly sun causeth a Rain●bow, when a● he reflecteth upon the clouds beneath; and is nearest to the earth, which a● that time hath but his half circle, although the clouds receive the sun, when he tendeth to his declination. The Stoics that would have th● light appear in the cloud, as a fire doth in the mirror, say, that the cloud is hollow, and as it were a half bowl, which cannot make an entire globe, because it is only a part thereof. I approve their intention, but not their argument. For if in the cavity of a mirror, all the face of the opposite orb is expressed, then in an half orb there is no cause why the whole globe may not be beheld, and if we have said heretofore that a man seethe entire circles of the same colours as the Rainbow, environing the Sun and the Moon: whence cometh it in the mean space, that these circles are entirely whole, and the Rainbow is never but half a circle? Again, why do hollow clouds, and such as are not flat and round, receive and entertain the sun? Aristotle saith, That after the Equinoctial in Autumn the Rainbow is made every hour of the day, but that in Summer it is never seen, but upon sunrise, or sunset. The cause is evident. First, because about noonested the sun is so strong that he disperseth the clouds, by means whereof he cannot impress his image in them. But in the morning and evening he hath lest force, and therefore the clouds may sustain and repulse him. Moreover, whereas he is not accustomed to form the Arch, except at such time as he is opposite to those clouds where he causeth the same; when the days are shorter, than is he always obliqne. Therefore in every part of the day, yea even at midday there are certain clouds, that he may oppositely beat upon. But in Summer time he is carried above our heads, by means whereof, at noonday he beholdeth the earth so directly, that there is not any cloud that can be opposed against him, for at that time they are all under him. CHAP. IX. NOw must I speak of rods or windgales, which are no less coloured and divers than the Rainbow, Of rods that are imperfect arks. which notwithstanding cease not to foretell rain, we need not stand long upon this matter, for such rods or windgales are no other things, but unperfect Rainbows. For these have a discoloured face, yet have they nothing crooked in them. For they appear for the most part near unto the sun in a moist cloud, that beginneth but to spread, so that they have the same colour that the Rainbow hath, but not the form, because the form of the clouds, when they extend themselves, is different also. CHAP. X. THe like variety is in Crowns, but in this they differ, because Crowns are made every where wheresoever the sun is, the Rainbow is not made, but in opposition against the sun, the rods but near unto the sun. I can likewise this way deliver a difference of all; if thou dividest a crown, it is a Rainbow, if thou straighten it, it is a rod? In all of them there is a multiplicity of colours, of blue, read, and yellow. Only the rods are nearest to the sun, the Rainbows all of them are either solare, or lunare, crowns are made about all the planets. CHAP. XI. THere appeareth likewise another sort of rods, when as small, scattered, and long beams address themselves together, Of Parelies. and stream from out some straits of the clouds. These ●re foretokens of vehement rains. But what shall I say here? What name shall I give unto these rods? Are they the Images of the sun? The Historians call them Suns, and writ that two of them appeared, and sometimes three: the Grecians call them Parelia, because they are ordinarily seen near unto the sun, or because they resemble the sun somewhat, for they imitate not the whole, but his image and figure. Otherwise they have no heat or vigour whatsoever, they are dull and imperfect. What name then shall we give them? Shall I do as Virgil did, who in the beginning doubted of the name, and afterwards gave that whereof he doubted. What shall I call thee Rhetica divine, Contend not therefore with Palernian wine. There is nothing that can hinder us from calling them by the name of Parelia. These are images of the sun in a thick and neighbouring cloud, in the form of a mirror. Some say that they are round clouds, shining, and like unto the sun. For they follow him, remaining always with him, as long as they dure in equal distance from him: no man is afraid to behold the image of the sun in any fountain or still water, but the face hereof may appear as well above as beneath, provided that he find proper matter to represent the same face. CHAP● XII. AS often times as we would discover whether there were an ●clipse of the sun or no: Of the eclipses of the Sun, and how they are discovered. We fill certain basons with oil or pitch, because a thick humour is not troubled so easily, and therefore retaineth the images that are offered unto it. But the images and representations cannot appear, except it be in that which is liquid and still. At that time are we wont to mark, how the Moon opposed her sel●e against the Sun, how s●e hideth him, being greater than herself, by the opposition of her body, now in part, if it happen that their encounter be but obliqne, sometimes she obscureth him, being right under him. This is called an entire defection and eclipse, during which we see the Stars, and the brightness of the day is lost, that is to say, at such time as the Sun hath the Moon right under him. Even as therefore upon the earth we may behold the image of them both; so may a man see them in the air, when as it is so still and fair, as the face of the Sun is imprinted therein, which other clouds receive likewise, but let slip, if either they are too movable, or too rare, or too sullen. For the movable scatter him, the rare and clear let him slip, the thick and darksome feel him not, no more then on the earth spotted mirrors represent a perfect form unto us. CHAP. XIII. AFter the same manner likewise two Parelie are wont to be made. Of double Parelies. For what letteth it, but that there may be as many as there are clouds that are fit to represent the image of the Sun? Some are of that opinion, that as often as they see two such representations, that they judge the one to be of the Sun, the other of the image if self. For amongst us likewise, when as divers mirrors are disposed so, that the one is in the sight of the other, all of them are filled, but yet there is but one image of the thing; the other are the resemblances of that image. For it is no matter what the thing is, which is showed in a mirror, because it representeth all that which is set before it. So there likewise in the air, if any casualty dispose the clouds, so as they behold one another: the one cloud will represent the Sun itself, and the other represent the image of the Sun. But such clouds as these aught to be thick, light, shining, and entirely of the nature of the Sun; and therefore all these representations are white, and resemble the Crescent of the Moon, because their brightness proceedeth from an obliqne reverberation of the sun. For if the cloud be beneath the sun, and nearer unto him, she is dissipated by him, and being set far off, of him, she cannot sufficiently entertain his beams, to make show of an impression, as mirrors represent not our faces which are far off from them, because the sight of our eye hath not recourse unto us back again. Furthermore, the Parelie or Suns betoken rain (for I will use the Historiographers name) especially if they show towards the Southward, where the clouds are especially gathered: when such impressions as these begird the sun on every side, if we believe Aratus, it foretokeneth a Tempest. CHAP. XIIII. Of other divers sorts of fiery Meteors. IT is time now to consider those other fires, which have divers appearances, sometimes there shineth a star, sometimes the heaven is as it were inflamed, sometimes there are fixed and inherent fires, sometimes they stay not in one place. There are many kinds of these seen; sometimes there are fires that outwardly are begirt with a crown, and inwardly flame. Sometimes the heavens gather together, in such sort as if they seemed to be some round trench. There are some that are called Pithyae, when as the greatness of a gross and round fire, like unto a town runneth in the heavens, or else burneth itself to nothing in one place. Furthermore there are * Casma is when much vapour is inflamed in a watery cloud, or one that is very thin. Chasmata, when as sometimes a space of the heavens openeth itself, and gaping wide seemeth as it were in the secret thereof to show a burning flame: and all these Meteors are of different colours, some of intended redness, some of a slighter and fainter flame, some of a clearer and whiter light, some sparkling, and some equally yellow, without eruptions or radiations: we see therefore The longest tract of stars grow white behind. These shoot and fly like stars, and seem to shoot out long trains of fire, by reason of their immeasurable swiftness, when as our eye cannot discern their passing by, but wheresoever they ran, believed that all that part was on fire. For such is the swiftness of their motion, that we cannot apprehended their distances, but only see their ends. We see better the place where the body of a fiery star presenteth itself, than the way that it holdeth. He therefore design●th all his course, as it were with a continual fire, because the slowness of our ●ight followeth not the moments of his race, but seethe at once both from what place it issued, and whether it attaineth; which falleth out in lightning; for the ●ire thereof seemeth long unto us, because he overslippeth his space in the twinkling of an eye, and all that circuit encountereth with our eyes, whereby it is discharged; yet is it not an extended body, that it may occupy all the space of the way whereby it cometh: for things so long and extenuated have no force to give a violent assault. Whence this lightning and darting of them proceedeth. How therefore do these fires issue? When the fire is enkindled by the collision of the air, it is violently pushed downward by the wind; and yet is it not always caused by wind or by collision. Sometimes it is bred by reason of some opportunity of the air; because that in this higher region there are divers things that are dry, hot, and terrestrial amongst which it is bred, and the matter that feedeth it faileth very suddenly, and therefore is it violently carried and vanished away. But why is it that his colour is divers? what importeth it, what that is which is enkindled, and how vehement it is, Their signification. whereby it is set on fire? But this fall of this fire signifieth wind, from that part from whence it breaketh forth. CHAP. XV. THou askest me likewise how those lightnings are engendered which the Grecians call Sela, How lightnings are made. in divers sorts as it is reported. It may be that the force of the wind breedeth them, or the heat of the highest heaven may produce them: for when as the elementary fire is spread every where, sometimes it embraceth inferior things if they be disposed to take fire. The motion of the stars may by his course enkindle this fire, and transmit it to inferior bodies. What then? Can it not be that the air repulseth that virtue which it hath from fire, as far as the ethereal region, whence afterward there followeth a lightning or enkindling of a star, or some such like darting fire? Of these lightnings, some fall directly downwards, resembling shooting stars, some remain in a certain place, and shoot forth so much light as may disperse darkness, and represent the day, until such time as having consumed their nutriture, they first of all become obscure, and afterwards after the manner of a flame that is extinguished in itself by continual diminution they are reduced to nothing. Of these some appear in the clouds, some above the clouds, when as the thick air hath drawn that fire as high as the stars, which it had long time nourished and entertained near unto the earth. Some of these ●uffer no delay, but run here and there, and are extinguished in that place where they first appeared. These are truly called lightnings, because their appearance is short and of small continuance. Neither fall they without some mischief; for oftentimes they do as much mischief as tempestuous fire-breaks. By these have we seen the tops of houses strooken, which the Gaecians call Astropoplecta. Continued lightnings or Comets, and their divers sorts But these continued lightnings which have their fire more strong, and which follow the motion of the heaven, or that have a particular tract, are called Comets, according to the opinion of the Stoics, whereof I am to entreat. There are divers sorts of these; some bearded, some like Torches or Lamps, some are called Cyparissiae, and others whose fire is scattered and long in their breaking forth. Some doubt whether they aught to put in the rank of these Comets those beams and tombs of fire that are seldom seen. For they have need of much matter, and conglobation of fire, considering that sometimes their body is so great that it surpasseth the thickness and roundness of the rising sun. Amongst them thou mayest place these fires which are oftentimes mentioned in histories and whereof sometimes the brightness is so heigh that such fiery bodies seem to be placed amongst the stars, otherwhiles it is so low that it seemeth to be the burning of some houses, that are far from the place where we are. In the time of the Emperor Tiberius the horse men galloped to secure the inhabitants of Ostia, supposing that their City was set on fire; but it was a heat of the heavens, and a brightness of fire, thick & foggy, which had shined for a great part of the night. Of these no man doubteth but that they have a flame which they show, and their substance is certain. Whether the Rainbow and Crown●● be but appearances. The question is of the former, I mean of the Rainbow & crown, whether they deceive the sight and are but counterfeit, or whether they have truly that in them which appeareth. Our opinion is, that neither the Rainbow or Crowns have any certain body. For in esteem that there is not any thing but fallacious in mirrors, which do but represent a body subsisting without them; otherwise it would remain therein, and could not be hidden or defaced by any other Image, neither should a man in one instant see so many infinite forms both appear and vanish in one and the same mirror. What is it then? They are Images and vain representations of true bodies, nay which is more, there are some artificial mirrors found, which may make some things appear far contrary to that they are; for, as I said; there are some mirrors that make their faces seem crooked that look into the same, and some there are that make their show infinitely more huge, and exceeding human habit, and the measure of our bodies. CHAP. XVI. A monster of intemperancy: a shame of Rome the villeinous Hostius. IN this place I will tell thee a story, to the end thou mayest understand that lust forgetteth not any instrument to provoke his desire, but is diligent and ingenuous to excite his own fury. There was a man called Hostius so uncleanely and villeinous, that he was not ashamed to make show of his securrilitie and filthiness in the public Theatre. This rich and covetous wretch was owner of two millions and five hundredth thousand crowns; yet Diws Caesar after that his slaves had murdered him, judged that he was unworthy that any man should revenge his death, & yet notwithstanding would he not declare that he was justly slain. He was not only impure in respect of one sex, but he surfeited in his lust both towards men and women, & made certain mirrors of that fashion, whereof I late made mention, that showed the images of men far greater than they were, wherein one finger exceeded the arm in measure, length, and thickness. These did he dispose in such sort that when he endured the company of men, he saw in the mirror all the execrable motions of him he had admitted, enjoying by this means a false greatness of their members, as if it had been true. In all baths he made his choice, and chose him men by the open measure of their length, yet notwithstanding delighted he his insatiable lusts with feigned appearances also. Go now and say that Looking-glasses were invented for uncleanness sake. It is shameful to be spoken what this monster (worthy to be torn with his own teeth) both spoke and did; when as on every side mirrors were opposed against him, to the end he might be a beholder of his own heinous villeinies. And those things which a secret conscience would suppress, and such as any one being accused thereof, would be ashamed to confess: these thrust he not only into his mouth, Modest ●i●s blush & Ch●isti●n ears abhor th●se relations: shameless; read i● with shame, for such like actions, O can the●e be such? br●●de confusion ●or ●uer. but into his eyes. But undoubtedly heinous sins are afraid to behold themselves. The most desperatest villains, and they that are disposed to all dishonour, feel that the tenderness of shame easily seizeth their eyes. But this man, as it were a trifle to suffer things unheard of, and unknown in his own person, hath made them come before his sight, and was not only contented to see the greatness of his sin, but thought good to plant about himself his mirrors, whereby he divided, and disposed his villeinies. And because he could not so diligently observe and see, at such time as he was seized upon, and his head hidden, and his body tied to the shameful part of some villeinous buggerer, he represented his monstrous action to himself by resemblances: he saw in his mirrors the surquedry of his mouth, he beheld the men whom he received upon all the parts of his body. Sometimes dividing himself betwixt a man and a woman, and abandoning his person to suffer both ways, he beheld those villeinies which a man durst not either imagine or name. What hath this impure caitiff left himself to do in the darkness? He feared not the day, and durst show himself those monstruous embracements, and approve them unto himself. What? dost thou think that he would not be painted in that habit? There is some modesty in those that are prostitute and harlots, and they cover in some sort those bodies of theirs, which are the objects of public disgrace, whereby their unhappy patience may lie hidden, so that in some sort the very brothel-house hath modesty in it. But that Monster made a public spectacle of his uncleanness, and showed those things to himself, to cover and hide which no night were dark enough. I, saith he, endure both a man and a woman at once, and notwithstanding in that part also which is left me to some disgrace, I exercise the part of a man. All my members are exercised in pamardice; it is therefore requisite that mine eyes should have their part, and that they should be witnesses and controllers. Even those things which by situation are hidden from the sight of our bodies, are visited by art, lest any man should think that I know not what I do: nature did nothing when she gave a man so feeble instruments to execute his lusts, and when she hath learned bruit beasts a more perfect contentment in their encounters. I will find a means how I may deceive and satisfy my infirmity; whereto should my iniquity serve me; if I should not sin more than nature hath taught me? I will set these kind of mirrors about me, that may present an incredible greatness of forms. If I might have liberty I would make them truly as great, and because I may not, I will feed myself with the similitude; my villainy shall see more than it can conceive, and shall admire at his own patience. O detessable wickedness. This man perchance was killed quickly, and before he saw these things. He deserved to be massacred before his mirror. CHAP. XVII. LEt those Philosophers therefore be now derided who dispute thus of the nature of mirrors, Of the use of mirrors upon the occasion of the former comparison. inquiring whence it cometh that our face showeth thus, and turneth towards us what pretended the nature of things, that after she had given us true bodies, she would likewise that a man should see these images? To what end was is to prepare this matter that was fit to entertain forms? It was not to the end we should pluck our beards by a looking glass, or to polish a man's face, nature hath not allowed dissolution any thing to exercise her folly in: but first of all, Because our eyes are to feeble to behold the sun at hand, to the end that they might comprehend the form of the same, she discovereth it in a more du●ler light. For although we may behold him both at his rising & his setting, yet should we not know his true form in his resplendent brightness, if his face were not showed us more easily to be observed in some pure & polished thing. Secondly, we should not see the eclipses, neither might we know what it is if we did not more easily upon the earth perceive the images both of Sun and Moon. Thirdly, mirrors have been invented to the end that a man might know himself. Of this invention have followed divers benefits, first the knowledge of ourselves, afterwards the resolution of some occurrents. The fair aught to learn herein how to avoid infamy: the foul, to redeem by their virtuous behaviour, the imperfection of their countenance: The young, to remember themselves that being in their flowering years, that it is time for them to learn, and attempts actions of value: The old, to ●●ake off all misse-beseeming actions that are unfitting for their white hairs, and to meditate on death. For this cause nature ministered us the means to see ourselves. A clear fountain, and every bright stone reflecteth our minds. Late did I see myself from of the shore, When seas were calmed and tempest stirred no more. What were these fellows, thinkest thou, that combed themselves by this glass? That age was more simple, the men contented themselves with that which next came to hand, as yet the benefits of Nature were not wrested unto vice, neither was her invention employed and ravished to satisfy dissolution and excess. At the first, as casualty offered the opportunity, so men discovered their faces: but afterwards, when as self-love had insinuated itself amongst mortal men, and made every man believe that he was fair and well pleasing, they oftentimes despised those things, wherein at the first they saw and beheld themselves. But when the world became evil, and began to puzzle themselves in the earth, the use of Iron was first found out, which had not brought with it any incommodity, Whence dissolution grew. had men contented themselves therewith. But other mischiefs began to burgeon out of the earth, which by their lustre began to appear, and please those which otherwise thought not thereupon, so that the one conceived a delight in beholding a goblet, another an instrument made of brass, and fit ●or service, and not to be beheld. Anon after some part of the earth was ordained to this service, although in other respects: silver shined not as yet, but some other matter more brittle and of less value. At that time also when as these old fathers lived temperately, yet cleanly enough, if they had washed away the sweat and dust, which they had gathered by their daily travel in the fleeting stream; it was enough for them to stroke down their hair, and to comb their long beards, and in this time every one served himself, and assisted others. That hair which in times past was usually wont to be scattered by men's hands, was dressed and handled by women, but they that had a fair hair, contented themselves with the natural growth thereof, as we s●e Horses and Lions do. But afterwards, when as dissolution had gotten the better hand of the world, men made mirrors of gold and silver as great as the body, and afterwards garnished them with precious stones, in so much as one of them cost a woman more silver, then in times past would have sufficed to endow the daughters of great Captains, that were married upon the common purse. Thinkest thou that those daughters had a mirror enchased with gold, whereas they were enforced to borrow silver to marry them? O happy poverty, the cause of so worthy a renown. Had they been rich● the Senate had not allotted them their dowry. But whosoever he was that had the Senate for his father in law, understood that he had received a dower, which it was not lawful to restore. At this day the sum of money that was furnished by the Senate for the daughters of Scipio, was not sufficient to buy a glass for the daughters of enfranchised slaves. For dissolution invited by little and little by her riches, is animated to much immodesty: and vices are grown to their full maturity. In brief, by such devices all things have been so confused, that that which we call a woman's cabinet, is an equipage of men, nay I will say less, even soldiers baggage. But now the mirror which was only admitted for ornament sake, is made a necessary instrument to whatsoever vice. The end of the first Book of Natural Questions. OF NATURAL questions, WRITTEN BY LUCIUS ANNAEUS SENECA, DEDICATED TO LUCILLIUS. The second Book. CHAP. I ALl that which a man may draw in question in respect of the Universe, A division of Philosophy into three parts, according to Seneca. is divided into celestial, acriall, or earthly things. The first part examineth the nature of the stars, and the greatness and form of those fires, wherein the world is included: whether the heaven be solid and of a firm and concreate matter, or compact of a subtle and thin substance: whether it driveth or is driven: whether the stars are under it, or fixed in the contexture thereof: how the Sun observeth the annual changes; or whether he observeth an obliqne course, and other such like questions. The second part entreateth of the impressions of the air, and such as converse betwixt heaven and earth. Of this sort are mists, reinss, snows, and thunders that astonish men's minds. In brief, whatsoever the air doth or suffereth, these call we sublime, because th●y are higher than the lowest. The third part sufficiently debateth upon fields● land●, trees, and plants, and (to use the Lawyer's phrase) all that which the earth containeth. Whence cometh it to pass (sayest thou) that thou hast put the question of the motion of the earth in that place, Why be intermixeth the questions of the Meteors. wherein thou art to discourse upon thunder and lightning? Because that the trembling of the earth is caused by the violence of the wind, which is but agitated air, which although it plung itself under the earth, yet aught we not to consider it there, but in that place where nature hath lodged it. I will tell thee a thing that shall be more wonderful, I must entreat of the earth amongst celestial things. Why, sayest thou● Because that when we discuss in this place the properties of the earth, whether she be broad and unequal, or immeasurably extended in length, whether it be compact wholly in the form of a bowl, or assembleth her parts into an Orb, whether she enclose the waters, or the waters have enclosed and covered her, whether she be a sluggish or a senseless creature, or a body full of spirit, but coming f●om another place, and such other like things that properly have a relation or dependence on the earth, and, if a man may so speak it, are placed in the rank of those things that are most base. But in questioning what the situation of the earth is, in what part of the world it hath been settled, how it is opposed against the heaven and the stars, this question exceedeth the precedent, and is more high. CHAP. II. Of the Elements or simple body, whereof one is the air. BEcause I have made mention of those parts, into which all the matter of things created are divided, I must speak some thing in general, and first of all presuppose, that amongst the bodies that are simple, whence proceed those that are composed, some reckon the air. Thou shalt understand what this is, and why I must speak thereof, if I aim my discourse more higher, and if I say, that there is something continued, and wholly one, and some thing contrariwise, consis●ing of divers parts. Continuation is a continual conjunction of parts amongst themselves. Unity is a continuation without intermission, and a touch of two bodies united in themselves. Is it to be doubted that amongst these bodies which both we see and handle, which are either felt or feel, but that there are some compound? These are such by connexion or aceruation, as for example, a rope, corn, or a ship. Again, some not compounded, as a tree or a stone. Therefore thou must needly grant, that amongst those things likewise which are separated from sense, but are apprehended by reason; there is in some of them a unity of bodies. See how I spare thine ears, I could acquit myself, if I would use the Philosopher's terms, and say, unite body's, but since I forgive thee this, see likewise that thou give me thanks. Why so? I● at any time I shall say one, remember thyself that I refer this not unto number, but unto the nature of the body not composed by external help, but by his own unity: by this note, air is one of the simple bodies. Of the parts, and of the matter of the world. CHAP. III. THe world comprehendeth all these things which can fall within our knowledge, of these some are parts, some are left in stead of matter: all nature wanteth matter, even as every art that is Manuel. What this is, I will make it more plain. The hands, the bones, the nerves, the eyes are a part of us, the suck of that meat which we retain, and such as must be distributed into parts, the matter: Again, blood is as it were a part of us, which notwithstanding is a matter also: for it prepareth other things likewise, and notwithstanding it is of the number of these, by whose means the whole body is made. CHAP. FOUR Air so is a part of the world, The air is a necessary part of the world. yea and a necessary part, for this is it that uniteth both heaven and earth, that so separateth the lowest from the highest, that notwithstanding they are joined by it. He separateth them because he is in the midst of ●hem, and uniteth them, because both of them by his means are agreed together. All that which is sent him from the earth, he communicateth with the heavens. Again, he imparteth to terrestrial things, the efficacy of celestial bodies, which so call I a part of the world, as I do beasts and plants, for both these kinds of beasts and plants are a part o● the world, because they have been created as things necessary to perfect the whole, and because the whole cannot consist without them, but one living creature and one plant is as it were a part, for although it should die, yet that which is cut off, is of the whole: but air as I have said cleaveth both to heaven and earth, it is borne both and with the one and the other, but that hath unity, whatsoever is a native part of any thing, for nothing is borne without unity. CHAP. V THe earth is both a part of the world and the matter. The earth is a part also● and the master of the world. I think thou wilt not ask me why it is a part, for as well mayest thou ask me why the heaven is a part, for no more can the universe be without this, then without that; but it is composed of these parts, by means whereof he maintaineth all their stars in their being and vigour, all living creatures and all plants. It is the heaven and earth that ●urnisheth all creatures and the world (that requireth so many things) with all their vigour, that maintain so many celestial bodies in their being, turning so swiftly continually, and so greedily both in their motion, and in their nourishment. In brief, by the means of heaven and earth, all the nature of things r●ceyueth that which is needful for it for his nourishment and conservation. From them likewise hath the world drawn all that which she needeth, as long as he shall endure. I will propose unto thee a little example to make thee comprehend so great a thing: Eggs contain as much humour as is necessary for the being o● that creature which is to be hatched. CHAP. VI THe air is so continuate with the earth, Whereof the air is composed. and so united with it, that as soon as she departeth from her place, he supplieth it● It is a part of the whole world, A refutation of the error of the Epicure, who composeth the air of Atoms. and yet the same, and receiveth whatsoever nutriment the world sendeth him, in which respect we must take it for matter and not for a part. Hence is all inconstancy and tumult, this do some men compose of distant small bodies, as of dust, and departed very much from the tru●h; for never is there an accord of a body that is framed of parts, but by unity when as the parts aught to consent to the intention, and to add strength thereto. But the air if it be divided into Atoms, that is to say into small parts, is scattered. And such things as are scattered, may not be maintained. These things that are swollen and yield not to the stroke, The ●orce of the air expressed by effects. will show thee the intention and force of the air. Thou shalt perceive it in weighty things, which are carried away by the wind for a great space. Thou shalt perceive it by voices, which are either more feeble or stronger, according as the air is moved: for what is a voice, but an intention of the air, to the end it may be heard, form by the repercussion of the tongue? What is every course and motion, are they not the works of agitated air? this is it that giveth force to the nerves, and swiftness to those that run: This it is that when it is vehemently moved and troubled in itself, divers comparisons to confirm th●● refutation. renteth up trees and forests, and bearing up whole houses on high, at last breaketh them in pieces. This it is that increaseth the sea when it is calm & still. Let us come to lesser matters; for what ●ong is there without the intention of the spirit? Cornets and Trumpets, and those that by some pressure yield a greater sound than may be delivered by the voice, do they not enlarge their sounds by the intention of the air? Let us consider the great efficacy of ●eedes so small, as scarcely a man may discern them, if these fall into the clefts of stones, yet do they push forth and wax great in such sort, that they rive and cleave hugh stones in sunder, and dissolve them in a moment, and small and tender roots in their beginning is succession of time scorn and break both stones and rocks: what else is this but an intention of spirit, without which there is nothing strong, and against which nothing may resist? And by this, if by nothing else we may conceive that there is an unity in the air, because our bodies are united in themselves; for what else is it that containeth them but spirit? by what other thing is it that our mind is agitated? What is his motion but an intention? What is intention, but out of unity? what unity except it were in the air? and what other thing produceth fruits and weak seeds, and raiseth flourishing trees, and extendeth their branches, and stretcheth them out on high, than the intention and unity of the spirit. CHAP. VII. That the air is a full body, and not void, neither in whole nor in part. SOme tear and rend the air into small pieces, so as they intermix void with it, and they think it to be an Argument that the air is not a full body, but that it containeth much vacuity in it, because birds have so easy a motion therein, because both small and great may have their passage thorough it: but they are deceived; for the like facility likewise is in the waters, and yet may no man doubt of their unity, which so entertain bodies, that they always join themselves to them. This do the Latins call Circumstance, and the Grecians Perist●sis, which is as well within the air, as in the water: For it environeth every body by which it is impelled. There is no need therefore of any void to intermix therewith. But of this in an other place. CHAP. VIII. But now it is to be gathered that there is a certain vehemency in Nature, Of the agitation and power of the air. and that of great force: for nothing is vehement but by intention, and yet undoubtedly nothing can be intended by any other thing, except it be intended by itself, for we say after the same manner, that nothing can be moved by another, except something were movable of itself. But what is it that may be thought to have more intention of itself then spirit? And who is he that will deny that this is intended, when he seethe the earth, the mountains, houses, and many walls, great Cities with the people, and all the Sea-shores shaken? The swiftness & great extent of the air showeth his intention. The eye presently intendeth his sight through many miles, one voice at one time resoundeth through many Cities, the light creepeth not on by little and little, but in an instant spreadeth itself over all things. CHAP. IX. HOw can the water be intended except it be by the air? Doubtest thou but that that overflow of water that riseth and increaseth, The efficacy of this agitation, and how the air is mixed amidst the earth and waters. from the foundation of the lowest sands and channel, & mounteth to the very top of the Amphitheatre, is without the intention of water? Truly there is no Crane or any other engine that may more mount or drive the water then the spirit. She applieth herself unto it, she is raised, and endeavoureth many things contrary to her nature, and being created to fleet, ascendeth upward when the air possesseth or impelleth her. Those Barks that are over-laden, show they not that it is not the water but the wind that keepeth them from sinking? For the water would give place, neither could it sustain any burdens, except she herself were sustained. A Trencher being cast out from a higher place into a Fish-poole descendeth not, but leapeth back; how, I pray you, except it were by the benefit of spirit? How doth the voice penetrate thick walls, but for this cause, because there is air in solid & massive things, which both receiveth and sendeth back the sound that came from without, not only intending by the spirit those things that are open, but those things likewise which are hidden, and included? which he may easily do, because he is no ways divided, but by those very means whereby he seemeth separated, he gathereth up himself into himself. Plant betwixt him and us thick walls, and mighty and high mountains, this hindereth him from coming to us, but not unto himself, for that is only intercluded whereby we may follow him. He himself passeth thorough that which is divided, and not only spreadeth himself not only thorough the midst, but begirteth it on every side. CHAP. X. Of ●he situation and divers quarter● of the air. THe air passeth and spreadeth itself from the aether●all & cle●re region, as far as the earth, more swift, more subtle, and higher than the earth and waters, yet more thick and wa●ghty than that region, being of himself cold and obscure; hi● light ●nd hea●e are borrowed from another place, yet in every place he is not like himself, for he is changed by his neighbours. The higher part thereof is driest, hottest, and for this cause also the most thinnest, by reason of the vicinity of eternal fires, and those so many motions of s●arres, and the continual revolution of the heavens. That lower part, which is nearest unto the earth is thick and obscure, by reason that it entertaineth the exhalations of the earth. The middle part is more temperate if thou compare it with the higher, and the lower, as much as concerneth dryness and tenuity, but colder than either part; for the higher parts thereof feel the heat of the neighbouring stars: the inferior likewise are warmed, first by the exhalations of the earth, which bring with them very much heat; again by reverberation of the beams of the Sun, which redoubling their heat, as far as they may reflect, do warm him gently: again, by the warm vapour of living creatures, herbs and plants; for none of all these can live without heat. Add hereunto now, not only those fires that are made by hand, and are certain, but such a● are covered by the earth, whereof some have broken forth innumerable, are always burning in obscure and secret places. We may also well say, that being the cause of fertility in so many places they have some heat, for cold is barren, and heat is fit for generation. So then the middle Region of the air being far dis●ant from the higher & lower, remains cold, because the nature of the air is such. CHAP. XI. Why the air is movable and inconstant. BEcause whereas it is thus divided, in the lower part thereof it is for the most part variable, inconstant, and mutable. About the earth it doth very much, it suffereth very much, it agitateth and is agitated, yet all of it is not affected in the same sort, but diversly in divers places, and in his parts as both unquiet and troubled. But the causes of this his inconstancy and change, are in some sort ministered by the earth (whose positions being diversly changed, are of great moment in respect of the temperature of the air) in some sort by the course of the Planets; amongst which thou mayest impute the most to the Sun. The year followeth him● according to his motions, the Winters and Summers are changed. The Moon hath the next power. The rest of the stars likewise no less affect the earth than that air which hath inconstancy upon the earth, & by their contrary and crooked rise and settings now move cold, now showers, and are the causes of other injuries of the earth. Having to speak of thunder, lightning, and fulgurations, it concerned me to make this Preface; for since such imp●essions are caused in the air, it wa● necessary for me to discover the nature thereof, to the end it might more easily appear, what it might either do or suffer. CHAP. XII. THere are three things therefore that happen, Of ●hree ordinary meteors in the 〈◊〉, that is, ●ulgurations, lightnings and thunder. flashing, lightning, and thunder, which are made together, and are not so soon● heard the one as the other. Flashing show the fire that lightning sendeth: the one is, if I may so speak it, as it were a threatening and a thunder without noise. The other is the effect and stroke of the threat. divers opinions as ●●●ching the nature of ●hem. There are some of these wherein all men consent, some wherein men's opinions are different. They accord in this, that all these are made either in the clouds or of the clouds. They likewise confess that they are of fire, or of a hot and dry exhalation. Let us now descend to those things that are in controversy. Some think that fire is in the clouds, some hold that it is made for a time, and that it beginneth not to be, except then when it appeareth● Those that are of this opinion, are not agreed as touching this, from whence this fire proceedeth. For some gather it from the light: other some say that the beams of the Sun, by force of their reverberation and frequent reflection, enkindle the fire. Anaxagoras maintaineth that it distilleth from the aetherial region, and that from this so great heat of the heavens many do fall, which were long time kept and enclosed in the clouds. Aris●otle thinketh that this fire is not gathered long time before, but that it shooteth out at that very instant that it is form: whose opinion is thus, Two parts of the world, earth and water, The sum of Aristotle's opinion. Lib. de co●lo. cap. 3. lie below, and every one of these contributeth to himself something. The earthly vapour is dry and resembleth smoke, whence arise the winds, the thunders, and lightnings. That of the waters is moist, and converteth itself into rains and snows. But when this dry exhalation of the earth that produceth the winds, being thick, cometh to join itself, that are vehemently closed and locked one within another, it breaketh itself. And in this conflict the stroke yieldeth a noise, such as we hear in our ovens, when the flame cracketh, if the fire be made of green wood. And as the wind having some moisture intermixed with him, when as it is assembled and shut in one, bursteth out into a flame. In the same manner, that spirit which, as I said a little before, was expressed by the collision of clouds, and being impacted with others, neither can be broken nor press forth in silence. And different the crack is, by reason of the different dashing together of the clouds, whereof some yield a greater sound, some a lesser. But that force of the expressed spirit is fire, which hath the name of flashing or fulguration enkindled easily, without any force and various; yet see we the fulguration before we hear the sound. Because the sense of the eye is more swifter and exceedeth the ear by far. CHAP. XIII. But that their opinion is false: Whether there be fire reserved in the clouds, or whether it falleth from on ●igh. that contain the fire in clouds, may be gathered by divers reasons. If it falleth from the heavens, why falleth it not daily, whereas so much thereof burneth continually there? Again, they have yielded no reason why the fire which naturally mounteth upward, should flow downwards. For the condition of our fire is otherwise, whose sparkles which have some weight do fall. So then the fire descendeth not, but is precipitated and drawn downwards. No such matter befalleth the elementary fire, which is most pure, and wherein there is nothing that may be depressed, or if any part thereof should fall, the whole is in danger, because that that which is comprehensible may wholly perish. Moreover, if that whose levity daily hindereth him from falling, hold any thing that is weighty secretly hidden in himself, how can he subsist in a place, whence of necessity he aught to fall? What then? Are not some fires wont to be carried into the inferior parts, as these very lightnings the which are now in question? For they go not, but they are carried by Fate. There is some power that depresseth them, which is not in the aetherial region. For nothing in this region is compelled by force, nothing is broken, nothing falleth out extraordinarily. All is governed, there is a repured fire that environeth the world, lodged in the highest extremities of this round machine, the which doth all that fittingly, which is requisite for the entertainment of himself: it cannot move from thence, neither be abased by any other foreign accident, because in the aetherial region there is no place for any incertain body. For those things that are certain and governed strive not. CHAP. XIIII. If the air draw fire from the aetherial region, or if it be inflamed. YOu say (I tell you) when as you yield a reason why certain stars flee from one place unto another, that some parts of the air may draw unto themselves the fire that falleth from the aetherial region, and that by it they are inflamed above. But there is a great difference in this, whether we say that fire falleth from the aetherial region (which Nature permitteth not) or that by reason of the fiery force it enkindleth those things that are beneath, or that it is enkindled here. For the fire falleth not from thence (for that cannot be) but is bred here. We see amongst ourselves, that when as fire scattereth itself abroad, that some Islands that have been long times hot, conceive flame, and take fire of themselves. It is therefore likely to be true, that in the higher region of the air, the which hath this property to draw fire unto itself: that fire is enkindled sometimes by the heat of the aetherial region, which covereth and embraceth it on every side. For it must needs be, that both the lower part of the aetherial region hath somewhat in it that resembleth the air, and that the highest air be not unlike to the lower part of the aetherial region, because that one thing cannot readily pass or join itself with that which is directly contrary thereunto. For these by their neighbourhood by little and little intermix their force in such sort, that thou mayest doubt whether of them both it is. CHAP. XV. The opinions of the Stoics, as touching the inflammations of the air, and the agitation of itself SOme of our Stoics think that the air (when as it is easily changed into fire and water) draweth not from other parts new causes of inflammations, but that in agitating himself, he enkindleth himself, and that then when he scattereth the thick and compact concavity of the clouds, that necessarily in the entershocke of those so vast bodies, there should be form a great noise. But this conflict of clouds (which hardly give place the one unto the other) is of no small force to enkindle a flame, even as in some sort the hand assisteth the Iron to cut, although that cutting be a thing proper unto Iron. CHAP. XVI. WHat difference then is there between fulguration and lightning? The difference between fulguration and lightning. I will tell thee: Fulguration is a fire that is spread at large: Lightning is a fire that is gathered and darted with violence, we are wont in joining both our hands together to take up water, and afterwards in shutting to force it out, as it were, out of a pipe. Suppose such like things to be done there. The straightness of those clouds that are compressed and shut together yield forth the wind that is shut in them, and by this means are they inflamed, and then vomit out fire as it were the stroke of some engine of war. For we see Arbelestres and Scorpions push forth their arrows with some noise. CHAP. XVII. SOme think that the spirit passing through cold and moist maketh a noise. H●w thunders are cau●●d after Anaximenes' opinion. For neither is hot iron extinguished without some sound. But even as if a burning read hot piece thereof be put into water, it is not extinguished without much hissing: So as Anaximenes saith, when as the wind encountereth with the clouds he causeth thunders; and whilst it striveth and wandereth through the resisting and open clouds, in his very flight he enkindleth fire. CHAP. XVIII. ANAXIMANDER referred all things to wind. The opinion of Anaximander hereupon. Thunders, saith he, are the noise of a cloud that is strooken: Why are they unequal? Because the shock itself is unequal. Whence cometh it that it thundereth in fair weather? Because at that time also the wind breaketh through the thick and dry air. But why sometimes doth it not lighten and thunder? because the wind that was over-feeble to make fire, And as touching, thundering and lightning. was strong enough to make a noise: What then is fulguration? It is an agitation of the air, that separating itself and falling out of the clouds discovereth a fire that is feeble and retained. What is lightning? It is the course and out-breaking of a wind more violent and thick. CHAP. XIX. THe opinion of Anaximander is, Anaximanders' opinion. that these impressions are made by some influence of the etherial Region into these of the air. So fire impacted in cold clouds maketh a noise. But when it divideth them, fulguration followeth, and the lesser force of fires, causeth fulguration, the greater, lightning. CHAP. XX. The examination of Diogenes Apolloniates his opinion. DIOGENES APOLLONIATES saith, that some thunders proceed from fire, some are caused by wind. The fire produceth those which he foregoeth and foretelleth: the wind those that yield a clap without lightning. I confess that the one is caused and is without the other sometimes: notwithstanding in such sort, that their power is not separated, but that the one may be produced by the other. For who would deny that the violent wind in stirring up a vehement noise, could not likewise make a fire? And who likewise will not confess this, that the fire may sometimes break the clouds, and yet not enforce his passage, if after he hath traversed some, he is stayed and extinct by a more greater assembly of other clouds. It followeth then that the fire converteth itself into wind, and that it looseth his light and clearness when it burneth and inflameth that upon the earth which she hath followed: add hereunto now, that it must needs be, that the violence of lightning pusheth forth the wind, and sendeth it before him, and draweth it likewise after him when he cleaveth the air by so weighty a stroke● And therefore it is that all things before they feel the stroke of the thunder, tremble being shaken by the assault of the wind which the fire driveth before him. CHAP. XXI. Senecaes' opinion, as touching lightning and thunder, DIsmissing our Masters, for the present, let us begin to speak of ourselves, & from those things that are confessed, let us pass over to those things that are doubtful: but what is that which is confessed? That lightning is a fire, and fulguration likewise, which is naught else but a flame, and should be lightning if it had more force. That it is fire, the heat thereof testifieth, and the effect maketh proole enough: for lightning ofttimes is the cause of mighty fires: woods & parts of City's are burned up by it; yea those that are not strucken, yet are they seen to be blasted, and some are coloured as it were with soot. Furthermore, all things that are strucken with lightning, smell of sulphur. It followeth therefore that lightning and fulguration is fire, and that the one is intermixed with the other, in such ●ort, as fulguration that is not carried as far as the earth, and again, lightning is a fulguration that is carried as far as the earth. It is not a desire I have to speak much that lengtheneth this discourse; but to the end I may prove that these things are of the same semblance, mark and nature. Lightning is somewhat more than fulguration; Let us turn this, Fulguration, is almost as much as lightning. CHAP. XXII. A comparison take● from material fire, and that which is terrestrial, that serveth to express how lightnings and tempests grow. IT being manifest that both of them are fires, let us examine how fire is made amongst us: for it is made in the same sort, as it is above us, and that in two sorts; the one is when it is enforced out of a flint stone; the other is, if it be found out by attrition, as when as two woods are long times rubbed the one against the other: every matter will not yield thee fire, but only that which is proper to produce it, a● the leaves of Laurel, ●u●e, and which the shepherds (perfectly exercised therein) well know. It may therefore be that in the same sort the clouds are strucken, 〈◊〉 beaten one against an other, and thereby yield fire● Let us consider with wh●● force storms rush in upon us, with what violence whirlwinds ●●e tur●ed, whatsoever this storm mee●eth withal, is scattered, spread and ravished, and cast far from the place where it was● what wonder is it therefore if so great a force drive forth the fire, either from an other thing or from himself? for thou seest what heat those bodies may feel that are blasted, burned and ●laine by their passing: by them yet aught we not to esteem that these impressions have as much heat as there is in the stars, whose power is both ma●u●ilous and confessed. CHAP. XXIII. But happily those clouds also that are enforced and driven against other clouds by an agitation of a murmuring wind, If lightning and thunder arise by means of the intershocke of clouds. and that is not overstrong, will engender a fire that will shine without falling; for there nee●eth a less fire in fulguration then in lightning. By those things that are abovesaid, we have gathered to what heat they attain which are rubbed one against ●n other. Since then the ●yre which of his nature is easily changed into fire, by the violence of his forces being converted into fire is broken. It is both credible and likely that the fire which is frail, and will suddenly perish, issueth from a matter that is not solid, wherein it may continued long time. It passeth therefore and stayeth no longer than his way endureth, for it is pushed forth without any matter to maintain and feed itself. CHAP. XXIIII. HOw cometh it then to pass (sayst thou) that where thou sayest, Why the lightning falleth downewards● when as it is the property of it to mount upwards. that this is the nature of fire to mount upwards, yet that the lightning falleth downwards; what is that false which thou hast spoken of fire? for he as well mounteth upwards as he falleth downwards: both of these may be true; for fire by nature mounteth like a Pyramid, and if nothing hindereth it, it ascendeth as water by nature is carried downwards; but if some force be added thereunto to impel it to the contrary, yet returneth she to the place from whence she fell by means of the shower; but the lightning falleth by the same necessity whereby it is driven out. In these fires that falleth, which doth amongst trees, whose tops if they be tender, may be so drawn down that they may touch the earth, but when thou shalt let them go, they will return unto their own place. Thou ar● not therefore to respect the habit of every thing as it is enforced. If thou wilt permit fire to go whether it will, it will mount to heaven, that is, to the place where every light thing should be: but when he meeteth with any thing that may repulse him, or altar his ascent, this i● not natural unto him, but servitude. CHAP. XXV. How fire may issue from water, that is to say, from the clouds. YOu maintain (sayest thou) that clouds encountering vehemently one with an other engender fire, but if they be moist and wet, how then can they engender fire, which in all likelihoods is unfit to have his beginning from a cloud, as from water. CHAP. XXVI. An answer to this question. THat fire that is bred, is not water at the first in the clouds, but thick air, prepared to turn into water, and yet not changed into the same, but now ready and inclined to be changed. Thou art not to think that it is gathered then, but only powered out. It is made and falleth at once: beside, if I should grant, that a cloud is moist, and full of entertained waters, yet is there nothing that hindereth, but that fire may be drawn out of moisture, nay, which thou wilt more wonder at out of humour itself. Some have denied that any thing may be changed into fire, before it were turned into water. A cloud therefore notwithstanding, the water that it containeth, in some part may tender fire, as oftentimes one part of the wood burneth, the other sweateth. Neither do I say that these are not contrary amongst themselves, and that the one destroyeth not the other, but where the fire is more forcible than the water is, the water he obtaineth the mastery. Again, whereas the abundance of humour exceedeth, then is fire without any effect. And therefore green wood burneth not. It importeth therefore how much water there is. For a little resisteth not, neither hindereth the fire. Why not? In the memory of our ancestors, as Possidonius testifieth, A notable example. when as in the AEgean sea there appeared an Island the sea foamed by day, and from the depth thereof there arose a smoke. Afterwards there issued a fire not continual, but shining and sparkling at certain times, after the manner of lightnings, as often as the heat that was beneath overcame the weight that was above. After this, stones turned out of their places, and rocks partly whole which the wind had driven forth before they were wholly burned, partly eaten and turned into the lightness of a Pumnice stone. At last there appeared the top of a mountain, black and almost burned: afterwards there was some what added to the height thereof, and that rock grew to the bigness of an Island. The same happened again in our memory, when Valerius Asiaticus was Consul. Why have I related these things? to the end it might appear, that neither the fire is extinguished when the sea overfloweth it, nor the force thereof is prohibited to issue by the weight of mighty waves. Asclepiodotus, the scholar of Possidonius, reported that the Island was of two hundred miles, where thorough the fire appeared where the waters were broken. And if the immeasurable force of waters ascending from the depth, could not restrain the force of the flames: how much less can it extinguish fire in the air, where the humour is thin, and but like a dew? So that this reason hath no difficulty in it, that may hinder the causes of these fires, which we see never sparkle, except at such time as there is an inclination to rain, for in fair weather commonly we see no lightnings. A fair and clear day feareth none of these, neither the night also, except it be obscured by dark clouds. What then? Doth it not lighten sometimes when as the stars are clear, and the night is calm? Yet art thou to know that clouds are there whence the brightness appeareth, although the mountains hide them from our sight. Add hereunto (which may be) that the moist and low clouds yield fire, by beating one against another, which mounting into the higher parts, are seen in the clearest and purest part of heaven, although they are bred in a black and obscure cloud. CHAP. XXVII. SOme have so distinguished Thunders, Of the diversity of thunders. that they have said that there is one kind of them that make a grievous murmur, such as is wont to forerun an earthquake, when as the winds that are enclosed under the earth do roar and make a noise. I will tell you how these men suppose that this may be done. When as the clouds have locked the wind within themselves, the air that is tossed in the hollow parts thereof, yieldeth a sound like unto roaring, hoarse, unequal, and continuate; and therefore also where the Region of the air is moist, it shutteth up the Thunder from issuing forth; and therefore these kind of thunders are the foretokeners of a shower that is at hand. There is another sort that a man may rather call cracks then Thunder, such as which we are wont to hear when as a bladder is broken over a man's head. Such thunders break forth when as a cloud that is gathered together is dissolved, and sendeth forth that wind wherewith it is distended. This sudden and vehement noise is properly called a crack, which where it bursteth forth, causeth men to fall and sound, and some living to wax stupid and astonished, and wholly beside themselves, whom we call strooken or Apoplectique, whose minds that celestial sound hath driven out of their place. This crack likewise may be caused by this means, that is, when as the air that is enclosed in a hollow cloud, and being extenuated by his motion is scattered abroad, and afterwards striving to have a more larger place, and retained by the cloud that encloseth him, he maketh a noise. What therefore? May it not be likewise, that as in striking one hand upon another we make a loud sound, so the clouds that are thick by beating one against another, should make a great noise, because they are great things that concur? CHAP. XXVIII. We see (saith he) clouds that hem in the mountain tops, Why the clouds thicken above the mountain tops, and yet no thunder followeth. and yet no sound is made; first of all they thunder not at every time they encounter, but then when they are fitly composed to yield a sound: when the back of our hands be beaten together they yield no clap, but one palm being strooken against another, there followeth a sound; yea, and it appertaineth much to the matter whether the hands that are clapped one against another hollow, or flat and extended. Furthermore, the clouds must not only go, but be driven forward by a great and tempestuous force. The mountain likewise doth not cut the cloud, but directeth it, and scattereth that which first cometh to meet with it. Neither doth a bladder likewise, howsoever it let out the wind, always crack: if it be cut in two, it issueth forth without any sense of the care: if you will have it sound it must be broken and not cut. The same say I of the clouds, except they shock together with great violence they cannot make a noise. Add hereunto now that the clouds which are gathered together upon a mountain break not, but are spread abroad into some parts of the mountain, as on the boughs of trees, on bushes, sharp stones, & eminent rocks. Behold how they are dissolved, and if they have any breath in them they let it out in divers sorts, which except it break forth all at once, maketh no noise, whereupon note that the wind that whistleth above a tree thundereth not, but singeth. To make thunder there needeth a great clap that may at one time disperse the whole globe of wind. CHAP. XXIX. Moreover, the air is apt of itself to entertain voices: why not, when as a voice is naught else but a repercussion of the air? How effectual the air is in Thunders, and how. The clouds therefore aught to be severed hollow, and extended. For thou seest that empty vessels sand more than those that are full, and those strings that are wound up more than they that are let slip; so Drums and Cymbals yield a sound, because such instruments repel the air that resisteth them outwardly, and could not sound in the air, except they were hollow. CHAP. XXX. Asclepiodotus opinion confirmed by two rare examples. THere are some of the opinion, amongst whom Asclepiodotus is one, that lightning and thundering may break forth, by reason of the encounter of some bodies. AEtna in times past abounded with much fire, poured forth a mighty multitude of burning sand. The day was covered with dust, and sudden night terrified the people. At that time it is reported that there was much thunder and lightning, which were caused by the concourse of dry bodies, and not of clouds; for it is very likely, that in so great an inflammation of the air there were none. Cambyses in times past sent an Army to the Temple of Ammon, which the sand being scattered by the Southern wind, covered them like flakes of snow, and at length overwhelmed them. And then also it is very likely that there were thunders and lightnings, by the attrition of sands rubbing one against another. This opinion is not repugnant to our purpose; for we have said that the earth breatheth forth bodies of both natures, and that thorough all the Regions of the air there wandereth some dryness and humidity: if therefore any such thing happen, it maketh a cloud more solid and thick, then if it had been covered by a simple wind; and this cloud may be broken, and yield forth a sound. As touching the above named accidents, whether it be that the air hath been filled by such streaming fires, or whether it be by the winds overturning the sands, it must needs be that a cloud must be first form, whence afterward there may issue thunder. But dry things engender clouds as well as moist, and as we have said a cloud is but the thickness of gross and assembled air. CHAP. XXXI. IF thou wilt observe the same, Of the marvelous effects of lightnings. thou shalt find that the effects of Thunder are marvelous; neither is it to be doubted but that there is some extraordinary and divine power intermixed with it. Silver melteth in purses, and yet are they neither rent nor spoiled. The sword is molten and scabbard untouched. The Iron runneth down from the javelin top, and yet the steel unfeared. The wine thickneth and remaineth three days as if it were ice, when the Tun is broken. This likewise mayest thou put amongst those things that are worthy note; That men and other creatures that are strooken with lightning, have their heads turned towards that place from whence it parteth, and that all the tops of those trees that are blasted bend towards the lightning. Furthermore, Serpents and all other venomous beasts lose all their venom if they be touched with lightning. Whence, saith he, know you this? In envenomed bodies no worm breedeth; but those bodies that are strooken with lightning are filled with worms within a few days. CHAP. XXXII. Moreover I say that lightnings presage things that are to come, Lightnings are foretokeners of that which is to come. not ministering only a sign of one or two things, but oftentimes they foretell the whole order of succeeding Fates, yea, and that by evident decrees, and far more manifest than if they were written. But this is the difference betwixt us and the Tuscans, who exactly understand this divination by lightning. We hold opinion, that because the clouds entershock and scatter one another, therefore the lightning bursteth forth. They think that the clouds are rudely driven the one against the other, to this end, that lightning should issue, and be darted on the earth. For whereas they refer all things unto God, they are of this opinion that they signify not because they are made, but that they are made, to the end they should signify; yet are they engendered by one and the same reason, be it that either they aught to signify by a deliberate purpose, or by a consequence: how then signify they except they be sent from God? How? In such sort as birds who take not their flight to meet us, yet in flying either on the right or on the left hand they have presaged somewhat. And these, sayest thou, God moveth. Thou makest him too idle, and a minister of small matters, if in some men he dispose their dreams, in beasts their entrails, yet are these things ordered by divine assistance. But the feathers of birds are not governed by God, neither formeth he the entrails of beasts under the axe. The order of the destinies is expressed unto us by other more certain means, who every where publisheth signs of that which shall come to pass long before they happen, whereof some are familiar unto us, Whether every thing that is s●ene and understood ●ath a signification. the rest are unknown. All whatsoever is done is a sign of something that is to come. Those things that are casual, and incertain without reason, admit not divination. The thing that hath order hath prediction also. Why therefore is this honour given unto the Eagle, that she should presage the matters of greatest importance, or to the Crow, or to a few other birds, and that the chattering of all others hath neither signification or presage? Because there are many things that are not as yet reduced into Art, and other things which a man cannot reduce, because they are too far estranged from our acquaintance. But there is no living creature that foretelleth not somewhat, either by his motion or encounter. All things are not observed, but some things are noted. Divination serveth him that will observe the same. It therefore appertaineth unto him that hath addicted his mind thereunto. Those things which a man respecteth not, may notwithstanding contain some certitude. The Chaldeans in their observations respected nothing else but the influence of five Planets. What thinkest thou? judgest thou that so many thousand stars shine to no purpose? And what is that which deceiveth these Calculators of Nativities, but they subject themselves I know not how to some small number of stars, whereas all they that shine over our heads, have some influence and power over us? It may be that the more nearer Planets do dart their beams more effectually upon us, and that they which have a more swifter motion touch us in one sort, and other living creatures in another. But the fixed stars, and those that for their swift course have an answerable motion to that of the first mover, and seem not to stir, are yet without force and effect in our respects. To speak of these things orderly, we must regard both the one and the other, and know that which is proper both to the one and to the other. But there is no less difficulty to know that which they can, as to doubt whether they have any power or no. CHAP. XXXIII. The knowledge of lightnings hath relation to three considerations. LEt us now return unto lightnings, the power whereof is divided into three considerations, namely, into their signification, their interpretation, and their remedy: the first part respecteth form, the second divination, the third expiation. For we must appease the gods, beseeching them to give us goods, to avert all evils, to maintain their promises, and to remit their threatenings. CHAP. XXXIIII. What power the Tuscans attribute to lightnings in respect of divination. THe Tuscans think that lightnings have a sovereign power; for whatsoever other things do portend, are taken away by the intercourse of lightning. Whatsoever lightning presageth is fixed; neither is it changed by the signification of any other presage. A flash of lightning that portendeth some good, abolisheth all the sinister predictions of the entrails of beasts, and whatsoever the flight of birds shall threaten. All that which lightning denounceth cannot be crossed by the presages of the entrails of beasts or by birds: wherein me thinks they are much deceived. Why? Because there is nothing truer than truth. If birds have foretold that which aught to come to pass, this augury cannot be disannulled by lightning: If it may be; the birds have foretold nothing that shall come to pass. I do not now make a comparison betwixt the bird and lightning, but of two true presages. If both of them foretell that which is to come to pass, they are alike. If therefore the lightning that cometh after abolisheth the judgement of the entrails, and of the augurs, the entrails were badly looked into, and the motion and cry of birds worse observed: for it importeth nothing to know whethe● of these two are more strong and puissant in their nature, or whether of both hath proposed more signs of truth, for the sign in this respect is equal, if thou say that the force of the flame is greater than that of the smoke, thou liest not; but to devour the fire, the flame and smoke are of the same value. Therefore if they say thus, that as often as the entrails of beasts shall presage one thing, and the lightning an other, the authority of the lightning shall be more great, happily I shall be of their opinion: But if they maintain that a flash of lightning disannulleth the truth which those other signs have foretold, and that we aught not to build on any thing but on this flash of lightning: I say they abuse themselves; and the reason is, because it importeth not how many passages there be; It is but one thing that shall come to pass, which if it hath been well comprised in the first prediction and divination, the second will be no prejudice unto it. All comes to one: I therefore say, that it skilleth not, if one thing by means whereof we would inform ourselves be the same, or an other thing, because that whereof we inquire is one and the same. CHAP. XXXV. DEstiny cannot be changed by lightning; Why not? because that lightning is a part of Destiny: Whereto then serve so many expiations and ceremonies; to what purpose is all this, if the Destinies be immutable? Permit me to follow the austere opinion of those who entreat of these things, and maintain that Destinies are no other thing but the solace of a pensive thought. The Destinies maintain their right precisely, there is neither prayer that moveth them, nor misery or favour that altereth them. They observe their irrevocable course, they pass onward in an assured and unaltered order. Even as the water of violent streams neither turneth back, nor stayeth, but every wave is forcibly driven one by an other that beateth at his back: so the order of Destiny is governed by an eternal succession, the decree whereof is, not to change that which hath been ordained and destinated. CHAP. XXXVI. But what meanest thou by this word Destiny, What Destiny is according to th●● Stoics. I think it to be an invincible and immutable necessity of all things and actions: if thou thinkest that this necessity may be pacified by sacrifices or by oblations of the head of a white Lamb, thou knowest no● what divine things are: you likewise say that the resolution of a wise man cannot be changed: how much less that of gods, considering that a wiseman only discovereth for the present that which is good, but all things are present to the divine Essenced yet notwithstanding in this place will I pled their cause, who are of the opinion that a man may remedy lightnings, and affirm that expiations are available sometimes to remove dangers, and sometimes to lessen them, or at leastwise to differre them. CHAP. XXXVII. To what intent serve th●se means, if the doctrine of destiny ●e received. I Will prosecute hereafter that which remaineth to be entreated upon as concerning this matter; mean while we all of us are agreed in this point, that we suppose that vows are profitable, (the force and power of the Fa●e● always reserved:) for some things are in such sort left in suspense by the immortal gods, that they turn unto good, if vows and prayers be made unto the immortal gods, This therefore repugneth not against destiny, but is enclosed in the same. Thou wilt say unto me, this thing shall happen, o● shall not happen; if it must come to pass, if you vow and make your request, yet shall it take effect; if it shall not come to pass, vow and pray as much as you list, it shall not fall out, the consequence of this argument is false, because you have forgot the exception that I have put between both, that is to say: This shall happen provided that a man make vows and prayers. It must necessarily follow that to vow, or not to vow are comprehended within Destiny. CHAP. XXXVIII. THou presupposest that I confess myself vanquished, and that I avow that this is comprehended also in Destiny, that a man should make vows: The means are enclosed in destiny, and are the means to attain unto the end that Destiny ordaineth. so thus they shall be made; It is destinated that such a one shall be an eloquent man, but under this condition, it is destinated that he be instructed in good letters: the same Destiny therefore that addicteth him to study, will 'cause that he shall become wise. another man shall be rich, but so as he traffic upon the seas: but in that order of fate which promiseth him so great a patrimony, this destiny likewise is enclosed, that he shall set sail to the wind, and that by reason thereof without any fear or exception, he shall embark and sail. The same (say I) of expiations. He shall escape dangers, if he hath appeased the fore-threatned wrath of the gods by sacrifice. And this likewise is in Destiny, that he must expiate, and therefore he shall do it. These things have been oftentimes opposed against us, to approve that nothing hath been left in our will, but that all power hath been committed to Destiny. When as this matter shall be handled, I will tell you how there remaineth somewhat in man's will, although the Destiny continueth. But now have I explicated, that which was in question; how if the order of Fate be certain, the expiations and remedies of prodigies prevent the dangers, because these remedies impugn not Destinies, but are comprehended in the law of the same. What then sayest thou, doth the Soothsayer profit me? for although he co●nsell me nothing, yet must I necessarily make this expiation. It sufficeth, because he is a Minister of Destiny: so when as health seemeth to proceed from Fate, yet aught we to thank the Physician, because the benefit of Fate, came unto us by his hands. CHAP. XXXIX. CAECINNA saith, divers sorts of lightnings in regard of their significations, according to the Tuscans and Stoiques. that there are three sorts of lightning, the one of counsel, the other of authority, the third of estate. The first precedeth the act, and cometh after the thought; that is, when the flash of lightning counseleth or discovereth that which the thought deviseth: The second, when as a lightning cometh after a thing is executed, to signify that either good or evil fortune shall succeed, The third, when as lightning happeneth, when men are at rest, without thinking or doing any thing. This sort of lightning menasseth, or promiseth, or admonisheth, by reason whereof Caecinna nameth it momentary: but I know not why it should not be the same with that of counsell● for he that admonisheth giveth counsel, yet hath it some distinction, and therefore is it separated from that of counsel, because this first persuadeth and dissuadeth, but the third containeth but a simple advice, to fly an imminent peril; as when we fear that our neighbours will deceive us, or set fire on our houses, or that our slaves conspire against us. Besides this I see an other distinction: The first concerneth him that thinketh, the other, him that thinketh nothing. Every thing hath his property, we counsel those that deliberate, we admonish those that bethink not themselves. CHAP. XL. FIrst of all the three sorts concern not all lightnings, divers names of lightnings according to their divers effects. but are the significations thereof. For the sorts of lightning are that the one pierceth, the other scattereth, and the other burneth. The lightning that pierceth is subtle and flaming, taking his flight thorough narrow passages, by reason that his flame is so subtle and thin, as nothing more: That which dissipateth is gathered together as it were into a ball, having intermixed in itself the force of a coacted and stormy wind, by means whereof this lightning entereth and issueth ordinarily by one and the same habit: his force that is spread at large pierceth not, but breaketh that which it toucheth: that which burneth hath very much terrestrial vapour in it, and is more fiery than flaming: by means whereof he leaveth great ma●ks of fire behind him, that remain on those things it hath strucken. No lightning falleth without fire, but we properly call that a fiery lightning, that leaveth manifest marks of fire behind it: but this lightning that burneth or blacketh, burneth in three sorts; for either it attainteth and blasteth slightly, or it burneth, or causeth the thing that is struken to fall on fire: the fire is in all this, but there is a difference in the sort and in the means: for all that which is burned was bla●●ed or scorched likewise; but all that which is blasted and scorched is not always burned. It may be that the fire hath given but some light attaint; we know that there are many things that are consumed in the fire without making any flame: for nothing can burn except it be burned. I will add this word more. One thing may be burned, and yet not kindled, and something kindled which is not burned. CHAP. XLI. The effects of those lightnings that black those things which they touch. The Tuscans opinions as touching the falling of lightnings. NOw pass I over to that kind of lightning that blacketh those things it beateth upon, this either discoloureth or coloureth. I will discover the difference of them both. That is discoloured, whose colour is vitiated, not changed: that thing is coloured, whose appearance is otherwise then it was at the first, as blue, or black, or pale: The Tuscians and stoics accord herein, but they differ in this, that the Tuscans say, that jupiter darteth his lightnings, and they give him three different handfuls to cast. The first, say they, admonisheth and is peaceable, and is darted by the good will of jupiter himself. The second likewise is darted from his hand, but by the advice of counsel, whereunto he calleth twelve other gods. This kind of lightning sometimes doth seem good but not without harming those upon whom it is sent. The third also is darted by the same jupiter, but after he hath consulted with the gods, whom they call superiors and enfolded. This spoileth and includeth, and overturneth all that which it meeteth withal in public, and in particular; for fire consumeth whatsoever it meeteth with. CHAP. XLII. IF you observe this well, you shall perceive at the first sight that antiquity erreth herein. The explication of the Tuscans opinions according to senaca's mind. What a folly is it to believe that jupiter darteth lightnings out of the clouds, that sometimes catch hold of statues, pillars and trees, blasting sheep, and other innocent beasts, burning up the altars, and yet sparing sacrilegious persons, and as if he had not sufficient counsel in himself, but that he must call other Gods to assist him? Likewise that these lightnings which he of himself darteth, are presages of joy and peace; and that these lightnings which are darted by the plurality of voices of many of the gods are dangerous: if you ask me my opinion, I think that the Tuscans are besotted to believe that jupiter hath been in suspense, or ill addressed to execute. For I pray you when he hath darted those fires which should fall on innocent beasts, and leave the wicked unpunished: shall we say that he would not use his greatest justice, or that it hath not succeeded according to his mind? what was their intention when they said this? These Wisemen pretending to bridle in the minds of the ignorant, made them believe, that there was an inevitable fear, to the end we should dread a divinity, that is above vs● It was necessary in so great intemperance and corruption of manners, that there should be some power, against which no man should think himself able to prevail. To the end therefore that they who addict not themselves to do well, but for fear of strokes should be affrighted; they established a just judge over their heads with convenient instruments in his hand to chastise them. CHAP. XLIII. But why is that lightning, The continuation of Senecaes' opinion, whereby he laboureth to excuse the opinion of the Tuscans, as touching lightning. which jupiter himself darteth, only peaceable, and the other pernicious? Because a prince (which is signified by the name of jupiter) aught of himself to do good unto his subjects without ever harming them, except his counsel be of a contrary opinion. They that are mounted in authority above other men, learn here, that the lightning is not darted out of heaven upon the earth but by counsel, let them therefore call unto themselves divers, let them weigh their advice, moderate their decrees, and have this thought when they have occasion to smite any thing: jupiter contents not himself with his own private counsel. CHAP. XLIIII. IN this place neither have they been so unadvised, as to think that jupiter changed his lightnings. These are the tricks of Poetical liberty. There is another lightning far more slight, Forged by the CYCLOPSS hands, wherein less fright, Less flame or wrath is put when they are framed, And this the gods their second lightnings named. Such an error entered not into the heads of so great learned men, as to think that jupiter had sometimes more slighter and trifling lightnings. But they intended this to teach Princes that have the charge to dart their lightnings against men's sins, that all crimes deserve not the same punishment, but that some are to be punished with extreme rigour, others suppressed by more sufferable chastisements, others by censures and advertisements. CHAP. XLV. NEither believed they this likewise, Why the Ancients attributed to jupiter certain lightnings of different effects, their opinion likewise as touching jupiter, setting down divers names according to his different effects that jupiter is such a one, as we see in the Capitol, and in other Temples, darting lightnings out of his hand, but they imagine such a jupiter as the Stoics do, who is the keeper and protector of the world, a spirit and mind, which is the workmaster and Lord of this world, to whom all names are agreeable. Wilt thou call him Destiny? Thou shalt not err. On him depend all things, and all the Causes of causes are of him. Wilt thou name him providence? Thou sayest well. For his wisdom it is that provideth for this world, to the end it might be firm and immutable for ever; and that he should continued his course and his effects. Wilt thou call him Nature? Thou shalt not sin; for all things have had their beginning by him, and we live by his spirit. Wilt thou call him the World? Thou shalt not be deceived, because he is all that which thou seest, wholly infused into his parts, and sustaining himself by his virtue. The Hetruricus have been of the same opinion, and therefore said they that jupiter darted his lightnings, by reason that nothing is done without him. CHAP. XLVI. Whether jupiter darteth his lightnings himself. WHy doth jupiter pass by those things that are to be strooken, or strike those which he should not strike? Thou drawest me into a higher discourse, to which I will assign a better place, and a fit time. In the mean while I say this, that jupiter sendeth not down lightning: but that all things are so disposed, that even those things which are not done by him, yet are not done without reason, which is only his: Their force is his permission. For although now jupiter doth them not, yet is he the cause that they were done. He assisteth not all things one after another, but he hath given all things their mark, their efficacy, and their cause. CHAP. XLVII. The Tuscans division as touching lightnings, confuted. NEither allow I their division, for they say that all lightnings are perpetual or finite, or prolonged. The perpetual are those whose signification appertaineth to the whole life, comprehending not only one thing, but a succession of all that should happen from the beginning of life until the end. Such are the lightnings which are made at such time as a man entereth into the possession of his patrimony, or into some new condition of life; or when as a City changeth her government. The finite have a certain day and term assigned. The prolonged are those whose threats may be deferred, but not wholly prevented or extinguished. CHAP. XLVIII. The reason why this division is refuted. WHat the cause is (I will tell you) why I consent not in this division. For that lightning which we call perpetual is finite, for it hath a certain day prefixed as well as the rest. Neither therefore are they finite, because they signify a long time. And that which is prolonged is limited also, for by their own confession, such a menace is certain until such time as a man hath obtained delay. For they aver that private lightnings extend not above ten years, and that public cannot be deferred above thirty: and by this reckoning these likewise are finite, because there is a prefixed time, beyond which they may not be prorogued. The term then of all lightnings and their effects is certain and determinate: for a man cannot comprehend in a certain time a thing that is uncertain. And as touching that which we aught to consider most nearly in lightnings, they speak both generally and confusedly, and they will have us to distribute the effects in sort, as after them the Philosopher Attalus and their scholar hath done, which is that we should regard where, when, to whom, and in what thing the lightning hath fallen, what, and how great it hath been: if I would distribute all these things by parts, what should I do but enter into an infinite number of distinctions. CHAP. XLIX. I Will now set down the names of lightnings, divers attributes of lightning, as ridiculous as their profane Authors, exceeding the bonds of Natural Philosophy. according as Caecinna hath described them, and will discover what my opinion is in these. Some (saith he) are postulatorie, whereby those sacrifices that either are intermitted, or not rightly performed are repeated. Some monitory, whereby we are taught what we are to take heed of. Some pestiferous, which portend death or banishment. Some fallacious, which under an appearance of good, do us harm. They give an unhappy consulate to those that shall undertake the charge, and an heritage, the purchase whereof will breed more loss than profit. Some threatening, that offer evil but in appearance only. Some murdering, which abolish the threats of precedent lightnings. Some Attestata, that accord with the precedent. Some under earthly, which are done in secret. Some overwhelmed, which beaten upon those things which before time were attainted and left. Some royal, that show their effects upon a whole assembly of people, or upon the principal places of a free City, and whose signification threaten some tyrannical invasions into a Commonweal. The Lower, when the earth vomitteth flames of fire. The Hospitals, that by sacrifices draw, or (as they speak it in a more milder term) invite jupiter unto us. But if he be displeased, if then he be invited, he cometh to the great hazard of those that have invited him. The auxiliary which are likewise called Summoned, but that cometh for their good, that have caused it to come. CHAP. L. HOw far more simple was that division, which Attalus, A more moderate distinction of the Philosopher Attalus. a man of great note, and a Philosopher of our sort, used, who had intermixed the discipline of the Tuscan with Graecian subtleties. Amongst lightnings, saith he, some there are that concern us, other some that signify nothing, or if they signify any thing, we know not what it is. As touching those that signify, some of them are joyful, some are adverse, and some neither adverse nor joyful. Of those that are adverse and contrary, these are the kinds: either they portend some unavoidable evils, or such as may be avoided, or such as may be lessened or prolonged. The joyful signify either such as are permanent, or such as have small continuance. Those that are mixed, either have a part of good, or evil, or conuer● the evil into good, or the good into evil. Those are neither fatal nor joyful, which signify unto us some action, whereat we aught neither to be terrified, nor rejoiced: as for example, some long voyage, wherein there is neither fear, nor any thing to be hoped for. CHAP. LIVELY Of those lightnings which have signification, and concerns us. Unto those lightnings I will return which have some signification, which notwithstanding concerneth us nothing, as if in the same year the same lightning that fell before falleth once more. There are lightnings likewise that have no signification in our respect, as those whereof we know nothing, witness the lightnings that fall in the spacious extent of the Ocean, or in the deserts: for they have no signification, and if they have, it cometh not to our knowledge. CHAP. LII. Of the divers effects o● lightning, according to the matter it meeteth with. YEt there remaineth somewhat for me to declare as touching the force of lightnings, which effect not every matter according to the same manner. She breaketh and dissipateth those things most vehemently which are hardest, and sometime passeth by those things that are yielding without any injury: She conflicteth more rudely with stones and Iron, and those things that are hardest, because she is constrained to make her passage thorough them with violence. So then she openeth the passage, sparing that which is tender and hollow, although it seem to be more proper to take fire, because that in finding a passage she showeth herself less violent. Therefore is it, as I have said, that a man findeth silver melted in his purs● because that fire that is the purest and thinnest passeth lightly thorough the pores of the leather: but whatsoever it findeth solid in building she breaketh in pieces as rebellious and resisting against her. But, as I said, it rageth not after one manner, but by the kind of evil that happeneth you may see what it is, and by the effects you shall know what lightning is. Oft-times in the same matter one and the same flash of lightning causeth different effects, as in falling upon a tree it burneth that which is dry in it, pierceth and breaketh that which is hardest, dissipateth the bark, cleaveth the trunk, pulleth up the roots, smoldereth and partcheth the leaves. It congeal●th wine and melteth Iron and brass. CHAP. LIII. A Marvelous thing this is, that the wine which is congealed by lightning, Of the particular efficacy of lightning in wine. and afterwards returneth into his former estate, killeth or maketh those men mad that drink thereof. Bethinking myself of the cause hereof, I say that there is a mortal efficacy in this fire, whereof it is very likely that some spirit remaineth in the wine which hath been congelead and frozen. For this liquid substance could not be congealed without some means. Moreover, if lightning toucheth oil or any fat liquor, it stinketh ever afterwards; whereby it appeareth, that in this ●ire, so subtle and enforced against the order of nature, there is so powerful an efficacy, that it not only killeth that which it toucheth rudely, but also that which it attainteth with the breath thereof. Furthermore, in what place soever the lightning falleth men undoubtedly smell a sent of brimstone, which being weighty by nature, astonisheth those that smell it often. But hereafter we will entreat of this at leisure, and will have (it may be) the means to show how all things have been derived from Philosophy, the mother of Arts, which hath first of all sought out the causes of things, and hath observed the effects, conferring the ends with their beginnings, what principally we aught to observe in the inspection of lightnings. CHAP. liv. I Will now return to Possidonius opinion. Fr●● the consideration of lightnings, be returneth to th●se of thunder. The moister part of the earth and terrestial things being on one side, the drier and lighter part flieth on the other. This serveth for a nutriment to lightnings; that unto rains. All hot and dry exhalations ascending and attaining into the air, cannot keep themselves enclosed in clouds, but break their prisons; whence followeth that which we call thunder. All that likewise which refineth itself in the air, is dried and warmed by the same means. And this likewise, if it be enclosed, seeketh nothing else, but how to escape and break thorough with noise. Sometime it escapeth all at once, whence proceedeth a very great thunder, sometimes by parts, and by little and little. This spirit therefore expresseth these thunders, whilst either it breaketh the cloud●, or flieth by it. But this violent tumbling which the exhalation maketh in a cloud, is a most powerful force to enkindle the same. CHAP. LV. Thunder's are nothing else but a sound of the dry air, What thunder is, and how it is caused. which cannot be done, but when it is either broken, or breaketh. And if the clouds, saith he, be beaten one against another, that nois● is made which is now in question, but not universally, because there is no general conflict, but in certain places only. Soft things yield no sound, except they be strucken against those things that are hard. As a wave of the sea maketh no noise, except it meet with some hard thing that stayeth it. The fire being cast into the water maketh a noise in the quenching. Be it so: All this maketh for me, for the fire at that time maketh not the noi●e, but the air that flieth a thwart, that which extinguisheth the fire: and if I should grant thee that fire doth it, and is extinguished in the cloud, I say that it groweth from the exhalation and the shock. What then (saith he) may not one of these flitting stars fall into a cloud, and be extinguished therein? Let us presuppose that it may, and that it happeneth sometimes. For the present we seek for a natural and continual cause, not for a rare and casual event. Put case that I acknowledge all that to be tru● which thou speakest, that sometimes fires do shine after it hath thundered, resembling shooting and falling stars, yet is not this the cause of thunder, but this happeneth, because it hath thundered. What is fulguration? Clidemus denieth that it is a fire, maintaining this that it is but an appearance: even as by night, after the stroke of the oar we see some brightness. This example is not answerable, for this shining appeareth in the water, that which is made in the air flasheth and issueth forth. CHAP. LVI. The definition of thunder, and whence it is caused. HE●ACLITVS thinketh that fulguration is but an effect of fire, that beginneth to enkindle itself, and a first flame as yet uncertain, that now is extinguished, and then lighted again: these did the Ancients call Fulgetra, that is to say, Fulgurations, but we call them thunders in the plural number, but the Ancients called it thunder, or a sound. This have I found in Cicynna, a man very eloquent, who had had some reputation for his eloquence, except Cicero's shadow had obscured him. The Ancients have used this word, making it shorter by a syllable in the midst, which now we make long. For as we say, Splendere, that is, to shine, we say likewise Fulgere, that is, to lighten: but they were accustomed to pronounce the second syllable short, and to say, Fulgere, to signify the sudden breaking out of light from the clouds. CHAP. LVII. Senecaes' opinion in this point. ASkest thou me what mine opinion is? for until this present I have done nothing but discover other men's opinions: I will tell it thee. Fulguration is made, when as a sudden brightness spreadeth itself at large, which happeneth at such time as the air by subtiliation of the clouds is converted into fire, finding no fodder to raise it more higher. I think thou wilt not wonder, if either motion extenuate the air, or extenuation endkindle it. In this sort a bullet of lead violently shot out of a piece, mollifieth and melteth itself, and the shock of the air serveth it in stead of fire. And therefore it is for the most part that lightnings are made during the Summer time, because the season is ordinarily hot, and fire is caused more easily by the attrition of hot things. Fulguration and lightning are caused after the same manner, the one shineth, the other is darted. But that hath a lighter force, and less nutriment. And to let you know mine opinion in a word, lightning is but an intended fulguration. What, as therefore a hot and smoky vapour mounteth from the earth into the air, and hath sometimes whirled itself amongst the clouds, it finally issueth forth with violence; if it b● feeble, then followeth fulguration. But when as fulgurations have more matter, and burn more violently, they are converted into lightnings, and fall unto the earth. CHAP. LVIII. Why the lightning appeareth at once, and is not extended from high to low, in the form of a column of fire. SOme there are that think that the lightning mounteth again, some others say that it stayeth after it hath consumed that which nourisheth it, and that the stroke is enfeebled. But why doth lightning appear all at once, and extendeth not itself from high to low, in the form of a pillar of ●ire? Because she is wonderful light, and of a swift motion, so that at one time she breaketh thorough the clouds, inflameth the air, and then when her motion ceaseth, the flame is extinguished. For the course of the exhalation is not continual, so as the fire may extend it self, but when as by violence he is enkindled the more, he taketh his carrier to escape. Being at liberty, and the combat finished: for the same cause sometimes it extendeth itself as far as the earth: sometimes it is dissolved, if any the lest resistance do press it. Why falleth thi● fire obliquely? By reason that it is composed of the air, which is obliqne and crooked, and because that nature draweth the fire on high, and violence forceth it downward, it beginneth to be crooked. Sometimes nature and force encounter, as it were, equally, in so much as the fire mounteth and is drawn downwards. Why for the most part are the tops of mountains stricken? Because they are opposed against the clouds, and the fire falling from the heavens, must needs pass by them. CHAP. LIX. I Understand now what long since thou hast desired, Of the true vs● of this part of natural Philosophy which entreateth o● lightnings, consisting on th● contempt of death, whereof he entreateth amply, and showeth that we aught as little to ●eare lightning, as any other accidents that endanger life. Constancy maketh worldly casualty nothings and what thou demandest. I had rather (sayest thou) not know lightnings, then fear them. Learn therefore, of whom thou wilt, how they are made. For mine own part, I take more pleasure to know how I may not fear them, than how I may define them. I will follow thee whither thou callest me. For in all things, and in all speeches, we aught to intermix somewhat that is wholesome and profitable. When as we ●ound into the secrets of Nature, when as we entreat of divine things the mind must be freed from all passions, and settled likewise in some sort. The most learned men, (and they that are continually exercised in this study) have great need to do: not only to save our heads from those strokes which are on every side aimed against us. But to the end we may suffer them constantly and patiently. Invincible we may be; unassaulted we cannot be; although that in the mean while there is some hope that we may be unshaken. How sayest thou? Contemn thou death, and all those things that lead unto death, whether they be wars, or shipwrecks, or biting of wild beasts, or weight of rains, tumbling down with a sudden fall: Can they do any more than divide the body and soul? no diligence can prevail against these things, no felicity tame them, no power avoid them, Fortune disposeth divers things diversly, but death adiourneth all persons indifferently; whether the gods be either pleased or displeased, we must die. And since there is no hope to escape, let us gather the greater courage. Those creatures that are most cowardly, whom Nature hath framed unto flight, endeavour wit● their weak bodies to work forth a passage, when as none appeareth. There is no enemy more dangerous than he, who hemmed in on every side, grows desperate and resolute: for necessity maketh us always more violent than valour doth. He that despaireth of his life, performeth the noblest exploits, O that this Pagans' thought were our nobler Christian's meditation, they would not then so proudly ●uer, look the poor, who are one with them in the grave, and like to be greater than they in heaven. or at leastwise such as may equal the actions of the most resolute. Think that we have been (for indeed so we are) betrayed and delivered unto death. This is true (my lucilius) we are all of us reserved to death. For how long time, thinkest thou, shall all this people, that thou seest, endure? Nature will adjourn and bury this in a little time: we need not to dispute of the thing, but of the day; only we must come thither, either sooner or later. What then? thinkest thou not that he is more fearful than fear, more foolish than ●olly itself, that maketh long pursuits, and entreateth some delay of his death? Wouldst thou not judge him a recreant (that being condemned to loose his head amongst divers others, and already within the executioners hands, that would only entreat this favour, that he might be beheaded the last? Thus do we: we accounted it a great matter to die latest. All of us are condemned, and most justly condemned to a capital punishment. For (which is greatest comfort to those that are to suffer the most extremities) all men's cause is one. If the Magistrate had pronounced a sentence against us, every one should see us march forward and submit ourselves unto the Hangman. What matter is it, whether by commandment, or of our own accord we march unto death? O how little sense hast thou, and how small consideration of thy frailty, if thou fearest death when it thundereth? Doth thy life return again by thy fear? Shalt thou live if the lightning touch thee not? The sword will hit thee, the stone will strike thee, the fever will shake thee. Lightning is not the greatest, but the fairest of thy dangers. But truly thou should be badly dealt withal, if that infinite celerity should prevent the sense of thy d●ath, if thy death should afterwards be expiated with sacrifice. If thou also at such time as thou yieldest up the ghost, art a sign not of a vain, but of some great thing. Truly it is a great injury for thee to be burned with lightning. But thou fearest when the heaven thundereth, thou quakest when the clouds break, and expirest as often as brightness appeareth. What then? Thinkest thou it to be a matter more honest, to die for fear, then upon lightning? Lift up thy head, than I pray thee, more boldly against the menaces of heaven, and when the world shall be all on fire, think thou that thou hast nothing to loose in so general and famous a death. If thou thinkest that this confusion of clouds, this discord of tempests, this conflict in the air is prepared against thee, and that this great collection of fires conspireth thy ruin: comfort thyself likewise by this thought, that thy death is of some great importance. But thou shalt not have time or place to bethink thee of this, the very casualty itself causeth flare. And amongst the rest, this is one commodity thereof, that it preventeth thine expectation. For never did any man fear lightning, except he that hath escaped it. The End of the second Book of the Natural Questions. OF NATURAL questions, WRITTEN BY LUCIUS ANNAEUS SENECA, DEDICATED TO LUCILLIUS The third Book. Which entreateth upon the waters. THE PREFACE. AS I am not ignorant, Seneca 〈◊〉 this his Preface yieldeth a noble reason why in th●se his retired years he addicteth himself to the serious studies, which is his care he hath to instruct posterity. most virtuous lucilius, that in my retired years I lay the foundations of mighty matter●, so have I resolved with myself to circuit the world, and to discover the causes● and secrets of the same, and afterwards to publish them, and to instruct other● in them. When shall I attain so much? When shall I gather together things so dissevered? When shall I cl●erely conceive those things that are hidden? Old age hangs upon my back, and reproacheth me with my lost time that was spent in vain occupations; so much the more therefore let us press forward, and let labour recompense the losses of a life so ill employed. Let us join night with day. Let us cut off our occupations in worldly affairs, and let the master take no more care of them, let the mind be wholly awakened in itself, and at leastwise in this later time s●ttle himself in contemplation and knowledge of himself: which he shall do if he draw himself to account, and measure every day the shortness of time, he shall recompense by diligent use of the remainder of life, all that which is lost of forme● time. It is a great contentment to the mind, when as being displeased and ashamed of the time that is past, he addicteth himself to the exercises of virtue. It pleaseth me to cry out, and publish this verse of the famous Poet, We lend our haughty minds more prouder wings● And in small time contri●e most mighty things. Thus would I say were I a child, and thus were I a young man● for there is no time that is not scant enough for so mighty things. But now we have retired ourselves to a matter both serious, grave, and almost infinite, and we debate therein on the afternoons. Let us therefore do as they are wont, who set forward on long journeys, who recompense their late rising with speedy footing. Let us make haste, & without excusing ourselves by age, let us manage this price of business, which though I know not whether I may compass, yet am I assured that it is great; my mind increaseth as often as he intendeth and thinks on the greatness of my attempt, and busieth not himself about the time, but upon his deliberation. Some men have spent themselves in dis-jesting & setting down the acts of foreign Kings, and what the people either suffered or attempted together. How much better is it to reform our own infirmities, then to discover other men's unto posterity? How far better is it, to celebrated the works of the gods, than the thefts of Philip, Alexander, & some others? who renowned for overthrowing divers nations, were no less plagues amongst mortal men, than inundations that drown up every plain, or fires which should confounded and burn up the greater part of men and beasts? They writ how Hannibal passed the Alps, in what manner he brought the war into Italy, that was fortified by the victories he had obtained in Spain; how after the ruin of Carthage (his affairs and fortunes growing desperate) he obstinately solicited Kings, offering himself to make war against the Romans, yea, though it were without an army: how he ceased not, being strooken with age, to seek out war in every angle of the world, so well could he be without his country, and so little could he endure to be without an enemy. How far better is it to inquire what is to be done, than what is done, and to teach those that have submitted themselves to fortune, For the one teacheth prevention, the ●ther amongst good men remorse. that she giveth nothing but incertainties, and that all, whatsoever she hath fleeteth away like the wind? For she cannot stay in one place, she taketh pleasure to substitute sorrow in stead of joy, and to confounded them together. Let no man therefore be confident in prosperity, nor diffident in adversity. The affairs of the world have their changes, why art thou proud? Thou knowest not where these things that lift thee thus aloft intent to leave thee: they shall have theirs, but not thine end; why liest thou on the ground? thou art fallen to the lowest, it is now time for thee to stand upright: adversities are changed to the best, desires to the worst. In thinking upon the resolution of things, it is good to cast our eye, not only on particular houses (which a little wind overthroweth) but also on public estates. There are Kingdoms that have raised themselves from very slight beginnings, above those that were their commanders. The ancient Monarchies decayed when they were at their highest: innumerable have those governments been that have been broken by others. At this day as much as ever, God raiseth up some estates, and humbleth others: neither doth he it in a milder sort, but in such manner he disperseth them, that there remaineth no appearance of their re-establishment. We believe these things to be great, because we ourselves are small. Many things have their greatness, not according to their nature, but according to our humility: what think we to be the principal thing in human life? It is not to have covered the back of the Ocean with our ships, nor to have settled our confines on the shores of the read sea, neither for want of ●inding out land to have sought the unknown Isles, in foraging and spoiling the whole world: But it is to have beheld all these things in thought, to have conquered our vices (which is the greatest victory of all others). Innumerable are those men that have had Cities and Nations under their government, but few there are that have been Lords of themselves: How true this is the greatest wise men have testified, the wisest Philosophers, the greatest Kings have confirmed to their disgrace. what is the principal matter? To raise a man's mind above the threats and promises of fortune; to think nothing worthy to be hoped for: for what is there that is worth the wishing for? As oftentimes as thou shalt give over the contemplation of divine things, and have recourse unto human, thou shalt see as little as they do, who forsake the brightness of a clear ●unne, and enter into a thick shadow and darkness. What is the chiefest matter? To be able to endure adversities with a constant mind, to suffer whatsoever it be that happeneth, as if thou wert willing it should happen. For thou should do no less if thou thoughtest that all things were done by God's ordinance. To weep, to complain, and lament, is a kind of revolt. What is the chiefest? A mind that is confirmed and confident against calamities, not only an adversary but a mortal enemy of dissolution, a mind neither greedy of anger, neither flying it, that knoweth how, not to expect but to make fortune, and to march forth against both of these both dreadless and unconfused; a mind that is neither shaken by her tumult, nor blasted with her brightness. What is the chiefest? Not to entertain evil counsels into our minds, to lift clean hands unto heaven, to require no good that should be derived unto thee either by one man's gift, or another man's los●e. To wish that which a man may do without any other man's prejudice, namely for a good conscience. And as touching those other things (which the children of this world prise so much) to respect them (although some misfortune should bear away both house and substance) as things that must issue by that place where they entered. What is the chiefest? To raise the mind far above all casualties, to remember that thou art a man, that whether thou be happy, thou must know that this will not continued long, or unhappy, thou mayest know that thou art not so, except thou think thyself so. Worthy contemplation, O had the light of grace accompanied these lights of nature. What is the chiefest? Above all things to have a free mind: it is not the law of the Quirites, but the liberty of nature that giveth this. But that man is free, that hath discharged himself from himself. To be subject to a man's passions is a continual servitude, from which it is impossible to escape, a slavery that presseth with an equal weight, as well by day as by night, without intermission and without relief. To be slave unto a man's self is the servitude of servitudes; which is easily dismissed if thou desist from importuning thyself in many things, if thou ceasest to have a will to bribe thyself, if thou set before thy eyes thy weakness and age, and say unto thyself, Why am I mad? Why puff● I? Why sweated I? Why change I places? Why haunt I the courts and places of conference? I have neither need of much, nor of long time. Moreover, it shall be good to consider the nature of things: this will first of all cause us to retire ourselves from shameful matters, and afterwards will separate the body very far from the mind, which should be great and sublime. Furthermore those subtle discourses which we have made in ourselves, shall not make us worse in open assemblies. But there is nothing more open than these wholesome counsels, by which we may learn to bridle our vices and furies, which we daily believe, but give over never. CHAP. I Of the original of waters, and their causes. NOw let us enter into the consideration of waters, and examine after what means they are made; either as Ovid saith, Clear was the fountain bubbling from the sand; Daining with silver streams the fruitful land. Or as Virgil saith, Where by nine channels with a r●aring noise, The wrathful sea breaks through the mountain high And drowns the fruitful pastures that are ●ie. Or as I find in my dearest junior. And from Sicilian springs, ELEUS draws his wings. If any reason can discover their course; how so many huge floods fleet along both day and night; How the sea furnisheth them. why the one swell and wax proud through winter waters, other when as the rest are at the lowest, are at their highest. In the mean space let us separate Nilus from the rest, that hath a peculiar & singular nature● we will reserve a day for him, but now we will only entreat of common waters both cold and hot. In which we are to inquire whether they spring so of their own natures, or whether they have other causes. Of the rest likewise we will discourse, which are either famous for their savour, or for any other particular profit: Their divers effects. for some help the eyes, some the nerves, some heal desperate and inveterate sicknesses that are given over by the Physicians. Some there are that heal ulcers, some being drunk, fortify the internal parts, and remedy the infirmities of the lungs and other inward vessels. Some restrain and stop blood: in brief, they are no less different in their use, then in their savour. CHAP. II. ALL waters are either standing, or flow, or are collected, or have divers veins, What their diversity and taste is. some are sweet, some are various in taste, other some harsh or salt, or ●itte for medicine: of which, we say, some are of brimstone, some of iron, and some of allome. Their savour showeth what their property is. They have beside these many other differences, first in respect of touch, being either cold or hot, then in regard of weight, being all either light or heavy. Again, in respect of colour, some there are that are pure, some troubled, blue and shining. Likewise in regard of their effect and wholesomeness, for some are healthsome and profitable, others are deadly, and some there are that convert into stone. Some are subtle and thin, others, thick, fat, and oily; some nourish, some pass by without helping him any ways that drinketh of them, some being drunk cause fecundity. CHAP. III. THe position of the place is the cause why either the water standeth or floweth; Of their situation. it runneth when it passeth by steep and bending places, in the plain it is still and standing: sometimes by a contrary wind it is driven and caused to mount. Sometimes it is gathered together, and runneth not: It is engrossed by the means of showers, and is natural in respect of her source, yet is there no cause to the contrary but that the water may spring and be multiplied in one place. Which we observe in the lake Fucine into which all those waters are derived that fall from the neighbouring mountains: Besides this, great and many hidden waters it containeth, which observe their colour, although the winter floods flow into them. CHAP. FOUR FIrst of all therefore let us inquire, Whence issue so many waters at we see. how the earth be sufficient to continued the course of rivers, from whence there issueth so much water● we wonder that the seas receive not any increase, by reason of so many rivers that discharge themselves into her. And no less wonderful is it, that the earth feeleth no alteration and damage by those so many waters that issue from it. Wha● is it that hath so filled it, that she can discharge so much out of his secret●, to furnish at all times? what reason soever we have delivered of Rivers, the same will we propose as ●ouching brooks and fountains. CHAP. V divers think that the earth receiveth again into her whatsoever waters she hath sent out, If the earth giveth and receiveth the waters. and that the seas increase not hereby, because they convert not that which floweth into them to their use, but deliver it out incontinently: for the sea-water by an unknown way passeth thorough the earth, and discovereth itself again, and then secretly returneth, and is strained, and depraved in his passages, & being beaten by the divers ingat●s, and ●●u●ti●s of the earth, lays aside her saltness, and chan●eth the pravity of her savour, by passage through so many different channels, and at last becometh sweet water. CHAP. VI SOme think that whatsoever rain waters the earth entertaineth, do afterwards fall again into the rivers. If rains be the efficient cause of waters. And to strengthen their opinion, they say, that there are very few rivers in those countries where it seldom raineth. And therefore say they, the deserts of AEthiopia are dry, and that there are few fountains to be found within the heart of Africa, because the nature of the air is extremely hot, and for the most part it is always Summer. These places then that have neither herbs nor trees, but are sandy are very little, or never watered with rains, which if they fall they suddenly drenke up. But contrariwise it is well known that Germany and France and Italy their neighbour abound in springs and rivers, because they have a moist air, and a summer, that is not without rain. CHAP. VII. THou seest that many things may be urged against this opinion: First, The re●utati●● of the former opinion. I who am a very diligent digger of vineyards, affirm this unto thee, that there is no rain so great that wetteth the earth above ten foot deep. All the humidity consumeth itself in the upper crust thereof, and descendeth not to the lower parts: how then can the rain furnish the rivers with water when as it doth but wet the upper part of the earth. The greater part hereof is carried into the sea by the channels of rivers. The earth drinketh up a very little, and keepeth it not, for either she is dry and consumeth that which falleth upon her, or is wet, refusing that which the heaven too lavishly poureth upon her. And therefore rivers increase not upon the first rains, by reason that the dry earth drinketh it all up. Moreover, are there not rivers that issue out of rocks and mountains? What increase should the reinss give them that stream along the rocks, and found not any earth to stay upon? Add hereunto, that in dry places in those pits which are digged two or three hundredth foot deep, there are found sources of living waters in a depth, whether the water cannot penetrate; so that you may know that there is no celestial or reserved humour there but only pure and springing water. This very argument re●uteth the opinion of those that allege that some fountains are s●ene to cast out water on the tops of mountains; whence it appeareth, that waters mount up on high, or that they are produced there, considering that all rainwater falleth downwards. CHAP. VIII. divers think that as in the exterior part of the earth many vast marshes extend themselves, That the waters flow from some hidden places under the earth. besides great and navigable lakes; and as the seas are stretched out thorough the huge spaces of earth, and ●re infused into the valleys, so the interior parts of the earth abound in sweet waters, a●d that they flow no less than the Ocean, and the arms thereof doth with us, nay rather so much the larger, the more the earth stretcheth out on high: and therefore from that deep abundance the rivers proceed and are derived, which why wonder'st thou that the earth feeleth them not when they are taken from her, when as the Ocean hath no sense of them when they are added to them. CHAP. IX. SOme like of this cause: If air being converted to ●ater under earth be the efficient cause of ●ater●● They say that the earth hath some secret cavities in her, and much spirits which necessarily wax cold, being oppressed with a weighty obscurity, at length becoming slow and without motion, and finally changeth itself into water. Even as the change of air is the cause of shadow amongst us, so in the earth the air produceth the water. It cannot long time continued above us, because it is weighty and still. Sometimes it is attenuated by the Sun, sometimes it is dissipated by the winds, by means whereof we see, that there are great spaces between rains. But all that which is under earth, to make the air turn into water is always the same, perpetual obscurity, continual co●d, unexercised thickness, always therefore will these yield causes to fountains and floods: if we agreed that the earth is mutable, yet all that she shall thrust forth is thickened, because it is not conceived by a pure and free air, and consequently is suddenly converted into water. CHAP. X. YOu see now the first causes, Whether water proceed from the earth. how waters are bred under the earth● Add hereunto also if thou wilt, That all is made of all, air of water, water of air, fire of air, air of fire. Why therefore should not earth be made of water, and water of earth? which if it be changeable into anything, may be changed into water, nay most● of all into it. Both of them resemble one an other, both of them are heavy and thick, and are lodged together in the Centre of the world. Earth is made of water, and why should not water be made of earth? But there are great Rivers: But when thou seest how great they are, consider again from how great a thing they come. Again, thou wonder'st that although some float incessantly, and others fly with a marvelous swiftness, yet never have they want of new water. And what wilt thou say, that whereas the winds impel the air, yet notwithstanding it faileth in no part being not carried in a certain channel as Rivers, but turning by a sudden and spacious motion through this vast extent of the heavens? Art thou not amazed to see that there is not one drop of water left, after so many billows that have beaten against the rocks, and shores. There is nothing deficient that returneth into itself. Of the transmutation of one element into an●other. The elements do nothing ●ls● but turn and return. That which the one looseth, the other getteth: And nature examineth her parts as it were in a balance, for fear l●a●t if there were too little on the one side, and too much on the other, the world should fall into ruin. All things are in all things, not only the air passeth into the element of fire, but is never without fire. Take away heat from it, it will frieze, it will grow thick, and hard. The air is changed into water, yet in such sort that before that time it was not without humour. Both air and water are made by earth, yet is she never less without water then without air. And therefore the passage through both the one and the other is more easy, because she is already intermixed with those elements through which she must pass. The earth than hath humidity, and this she expresseth. She hath the air likewise, which is thickened by the shadow of winter's cold, to the intent to produce humidity: She is changeable into humour, and useth her own nature. CHAP. XI. Why Rivers and fountains are dried up sometimes. WHat, therefore sayest thou, if the causes be perpetual whereby Rivers and fountains rise, why are they sometimes dried and sometimes issue from those places where they were not? Ofttimes their passages are intercepted by the trembling and motion of the earth; and ruins cut of these issues, and by restraining the waters enforce them to seek new passages, yea and to enforce their way or else to break forth their way in an other place by reason of some earthquake. It falleth out almost ordinarily amongst us, that the Rivers that have lost their bed first spread themselves, and afterwards having lost their way do that which Theophrastus saith, happened in the Mountain called Corycus, in which, after an earthquake there broke forth divers fountains that were not discovered before. But some think that by divers other intervenient accidents the waters are derived and drawn from their accustomed courses. The time hath been when there was no water to be found in the mountain Hemus, but when as the French men being besieged by Cassander had retired themselves into those parts, and had cut down the woods, there appeared a great quantity of water which the trees had retained for their aliment: which being cut down, that humour that was wont to be consumed in nourishing them began to spread itself. The like, saith he, happened also about Magnesia. But if I may speak without any offence to Theophrastus, this matter is unlikely. For the most part those places that are shadowed are fullest of water, which would not come to pass if the trees dried up the moisture, that have their nourishment so near: but the force of Rivers springeth from beneath and hath far more extent and humour then the roots can contain. Furthermore, the trees that are lopped deserve more humour, not only to maintain their being, but also for their increase. The same man saith that about Arcadia, which was a City in Crete, the Fountains and Lakes dried up, because the City was ruined, and the land ceased to be manured: but after it began to be husbanded, the waters returned again. By reason of this dryness they think that the earth is hardened, and that remaining unmanured, it could not yield forth water. Whence cometh it therefore that we see many fountains in the Deserts and those places that are no ways put in use? In brief, we find that there are many places in divers Countries which have been tilled up by reason of those waters that have been found in them; and that other some have not begun to make show of sources, because they have not been husbanded. For by this shalt thou understand that it is not rainwater that presently deriveth from a fountain those vast floods, that are fit to bear great ships of burden, because that both in winter and summer these floods have their equal course from the beginning unto the ending. Raine may make a torrent, but not a River, that streameth and floateth with an equal tide betwixt his brinks and banks. The rains make not the water, but excite the same. CHAP. XII. LEt us (if it seem good unto thee) examine this matter more nearly, Wha● is t●● true caus● of Rivers. and thou shalt see that thou art far from thy reckoning if thou consider the true original of rivers: undoubtedly it is the abundance of perpetual water, and such as never drieth up, that is the cause of a River. If therefore you ask me how water is made, I will entreat you also to answer me how air or earth is made? if there be four elements a man cannot ask of thee whence water is, for it is the fourth part of nature: why therefore wonder'st thou that so great a portion of Nature may always spread something out of itself; Even as the air which is the fourth part of the world moveth the winds, so the water moveth brooks and rivers: i● the wind be a flowing air, every River is a flowing water. I have given him sufficient force, since I have given him the name of an element: for thou knowest that that which proceedeth from it cannot fail. CHAP. XIII. WAter, as Thales saith, The opinion of Thales as ●ouching water. is the strongest of all the Elements, and in his opinion it is the first, because that all things have been created of water. For we likewise are either of the same opinion, or jump in the conclusion. For we say that it is the fire that occupieth the world, and converteth all things into himself, which vanishing and being gathered into itself, and afterwards being extinct, there remaineth nothing in the nature of things but water, and that in fire the hope of the future world is enclosed: so the fire is the beginning of the world, and water the ending. Dost thou wonder that Rivers may always issue from this Element, which was in stead of all, and out of which all things were? This humour in the disposition of all things was reduced to the fourth, and so placed, that it might suffer both to produce floods, rivers, and fountains. That which followeth is a foolish opinion of Thales, for he saith that the globe of the earth is sustained by water, and carried after the manner of a boat, and fluctuateth in his mobility, and such time as he is said to tremble, it is not therefore to be wondered at● that there is sufficient water to make Rivers, considering that all the world is in water. But hiss away and contemn this old opinion. For thou art not to think that water entereth by certain crevices into this world, and worketh out a pomp. CHAP. XIIII. THe Egyptians made four elements, The opinion of the Egyptians as touching the number of th● elements. and then of every one of them two male and female. They suppose the air to be the male because it is wind, female because it is obscure and still. They call fire masculine, because it burneth with a flame; feminine, because it shineth without hurting by touching. The stronger earth they call male, as for example, stones, and rocks: they assign the name of female, to that which is manuable and fit to be employed. CHAP. XV. How and from whence the waters proceed. WHence is the Sea? From the beginning it was so made, he hath veins whereby he is impelled, and floweth. As the way of the sea is vast and hidden, so is that of the milder waters, which no course of any river whatsoever may dry up. The reason of the forces of the same is hidden. There issueth no more from it then there is superfluity; we approve some of these opinions, but consider beside these, that which ensueth. I consent that the earth is governed by Nature, and that it hath some resemblance with our bodies, wherein there are veins and arteries, the one to contain the blood, the other the spirit. In the earth likewise there are such ways, whereby the water runneth, and others, whereby the wind whirleth, which Nature hath so form according to the resemblance of our bodies, that our Ancestors have called them veins, which are the sources of waters. But as in us, besides the veins, there are divers sorts of humours, either necessary, or superfluous and stinking. The brains for the head, the marrow for the bones, the muscles, the excrements of the eyes, the nerves in the joints to procure a more easy motion: so are there divers sorts of humidity found in the earth. Some being ripened, are hardened as metals, amongst which avarice hath digged up gold and silver. There are others likewise which are changed into stone. In some places the earth and water melt themselves, as we see in Bitumen, a clammy, limie, and pitchy substance, and in others. This is the cause of waters that are bred according to the ordinance of Nature. But as in our bodies, so oftentimes in the earth the humours are corrupted, either a stroke, or some shaking, or the age of the place, or cold, or heat offence Nature: so a sulphurous earth will draw a certain humour, which sometimes will continued long, divers humidities in the earth, as in our bodies. sometimes little. Even as therefore in our● bodies when a vain is opened, the blood floweth so long, until there be no more, or until the orifice of the prick be shut, and hath a cicatrise; or in any other sort the blood be stopped: in such sort in the earth, when the veins of the same are open, the brooks or rivers spread themselves. That only is to be considered how great the orifice is, and how the water is consumed: sometimes it is dried up by some impediment, sometimes it uniteth itself, as it were, in a cicatris●, and followeth that way which she hath made: sometimes this mass of earth, which, as we said, is immutable, ceaseth to convert the humidity into nutriment: sometimes the conduits that are dried are filled again, either in assembling their own forces, or gathering it from others. For oft-times those things that are voided, being set near unto those things that are full, draw the humour from them, which passeth easily into another thing. Oftentimes the earth drieth itself, and afterwards becometh moist. The same falleth out under earth, which happeneth in the clouds, that the earth thickeneth herself, and engendereth an humidity so weighty, that she can no longer contain it. Oftentimes she gathereth a thin and dispersed liquor like unto dew, which is gathered from divers places into one. Those Masters that make fountains, call it the sweat of the earth, because that certain drops are expressed thorough the straightness of the place, or are drawn by cunning. In this place there needeth much humidity for a little source. But as touching the greater rivers, they proceed from very great causes and conceptions, sometimes they flow mildly, if the water hath only carried herself by her own weight: sometimes with vehemency and great noise, if the air be intermixed and push it forth. CHAP. XVI. But why are some fountains for six hours space full, Of the flux and reflux of some fountains, and the increase and decrease of some rivers in certain seasons. and six hours dry. It were but labour lost to name all those rivers which swell for divers months, and are small for certain other. It is not now needful to seek out a reason for every one in particular, since I may yield the same reason for all rivers in general. Even as the quartan ague cometh at an hour, the gou● hath a certain term, and purgation, if nothing hinder it, keepeth his critic day, and female produceth her fruit in a prefixed time: so the waters have their pauses both to ●bbe and flow. But some spaces are less, and therefore more notable, some greater and no less certain. Why should a man wonder hereat, when as thou seest the order of things disposed by degrees, according to assignations. The Winter hath always kept his course. The Summer is warmed in due time. The changes of Autumn and Spring observe their usual customs: both the Solstice and AEquinoctium have reference to their days. Under earth the Laws of Nature are less known unto us, yet are they not less certain. Below, thou seest as much under earth as above. For there are there● most spacious dens, infinite and great retreats, and large spaces between the mountains that are hanged here and there. There are a number of hollows and bottomless pits that have swallowed up whole Cities, and have hidden strange ruins in their depths. These caves are full of air, (for there is nothing voided in the univers) and in spacious and obscure pools, likewise, there breed certain creatures (although confused and deformed) as if engendered in a blind and fat air, and in waters overgrown with mud, divers of which are blind as moles, and Rats, that are bred under ground, who want light, because they have no need thereof. From thence likewise, as Theophrastus thinketh, fishes are drawn forth in some places. CHAP. XVII. THere are many things in this place which come unto thy mind, After some digression he taunteth the unbridled vanity of dissolute men of his time, in respect of their ps●. which a man may term after a merry sort, both incredulous and fabulous, that a man should go and fish with his pick axe, and not with nets and hooks. I expect that some one should go a fishing in the sea. But why may not fishes as well haunt upon the earth, as we traverse the seas? In the end we will change our abode. Dost thou wonder at that which I have spoken? How far more incredible are the works of excess and dissolution, as often as she li●t to falsify and surmount Nature? Fishes swim in the chamber, and under the very table the fish is taken, that is dressed and served in presently to the table. A Barbel newly taken is not delicate enough, if it dieth not in their hands that are invited to din. They are shut up, served in, and showed in pots of glass, at which time men take pleasure in their colour, when they are ready to die, which is changed diversly, when as the fish beginneth to wax weak, and beateth herself to death by little and little. Some they kill in Gar●m, or pickle, and dress them living. Whence are those then that think it impossible that a fish should live under the earth, and be digged out, and not taken? How incredible would this seem unto them, that a fish swims in pickle, and that it was not killed for supper, but in the midst of supper, and made much sport, and fed the eyes before it satisfied the belly. CHAP. XVIII. He continueth hi● reproof against men's excess. LEt us give over this dispute, and suffer me to censure this excess. There is nothing more fair, sayest thou, then to see a Barbel die. At such time as she struggleth ●or life, first there appeareth a redness, and afterwards she is covered all with paleness, which are equally varied, and the face of the colour is uncertain betwixt life and death. O long idleness of sleepy and sluggish dissolution: too late hath she been awakened, too late hath she known, that she was deprived and defrauded of so great a good. Yet fishermen enjoyed this so great and goodly spectacle, having the means to see such a fish dead and sodden for their table. We wondered to see them so dainty, that they would not touch the fish, except it were taken the same day, which as they said, should taste of the sea itself. Therefore were they carried in post, and in every street whole companies made way for rippiers, that puffing and crying out as they ran, to make way. But to what height is excess grown unto? That fish that is caught and killed to day is reputed rotten. I will not trust thee with a matter of so great importance, I will have it brought me alive, and I will see it die. The stomachs o● the belly-gods are seized with this loathing, that they cannot taste a fish, except they have seen it swimming, and dying at their banquets. The more that excess and furious desires of superfluities made them ingenious, the more also did their fury contemning all usual matters, invent daily some new subtlety and magnificence. We have heard it spoken, that in times past, that the Barbel that was taken amongst rocks, and in stony places, was a dainty dish. But now we hear them say that there is nothing more pleasing, then to see a Barbel die. Give me the glasse-bodie into my hands, that I may see it leap and quiver. When it hath been much and long time praised, it is suddenly taken out of that clear fish-pool, than every one as he is cunninger shows his opinion. See how this redness appeareth more tinctured than Vermelion. Behold what veins he discovereth on his sides, you would say his belly were of blood? What clear and blue colour hath he discovered at one time. Now he stretched out himself, and becometh pale and of one colour. But amongst all these devisers, you shall find none of them that will sit by his friend that lies a dying, no man will have the heart to see his father yield up the ghost, although he hath wished his death hearty. Who is he amongst all these gourmands, that followeth a dead man of his family to the fire. He will abandon his parents and friends at the last hour, yet notwithstanding they assemble themselves together to see a dying fish? For in their opinion there is nothing more fair. I cannot choose, but gird at them sometimes, and use some tart and rude terms in respect of these men, who when there is any question of kitchin-worke, are not content with their teeth, throats, and bellies to feed their excess, except they surbet with their eyes. CHAP. XIX. But to return unto my purpose, The difference of waters under the earth. take this for a certain argument, that in the hollow places of the earth, there is a great abundance of hidden waters that breed much corrupt and muddy fish, which if at any time they break forth, bring with them an immeasurable troup of fishes horrible to sight, and filthy and unwholesome in taste; truly at such time as a great quantity of this water is sued out o● the earth in the country of Caria, near to the City of Lorina: all they died whosoever did eat of those fishes that were drawn out of that River which before time was unknown. Pestilent fishes and why. Neither is this to be wondered at; for such fishes as theses because they had been long time shut up, were become great, fat and long, but slimy and fetured in the darkness, and had never seen the light, whence cometh the wholesomenes of all victuals. That fishes may breed in the hollow of the earth, it appeareth because that E●les are taken in hidden places, in troubled waters and pits which yield a meat of hard digestion, by reason of their sluggishness, especially when they are taken in those places where there is so much mud, as they may wholly bury themselves therein: so than the earth hath not only veins of water, which by their current may make rivers, but also floods of great extent, whereof some run always underneath the earth, until such time as they discharge themselves in some gulf, some appear under some lake. And who knoweth not that there are certain pools which appear without bottom? whereto tendeth this? to show that the great rivers have a continual matter to maintain them, whose extremities are not to be touched as they may be in springs & fountains. CHAP. XX. ANd why have waters divers tastes? The causes of the divers savours of waters. for four causes. The first is of ●he earth thorough which the waters are carried. The second, by reason of the agreement and conveniency of the same. The third of air which is transformed into water. The fourth of corruption which happeneth upon divers occasions. These causes give divers savours and properties unto waters. These give the virtue to heal infirmities, these yield a stinking damp and a pestilent vapour, the lightness or heaviness, or too much heat or cold. It importeth also to know whether they pass by the veins of sulphur, nitre or bitume. If they be corrupted by some dangerous minerals, a man cannot drink of them without the hazard of his life. Therefore it is that Ovid saith: The Cicones have such a flood that being drunk doth change, Examples of marvelous waters. Their bowl that do drink to stone, all else to marble strange. This is a medicine, and hath a mud of that nature, that it both agglutinateth and hardeneth that whereupon it is applied. Even as the dust of the territory of Pruzzel if it toucheth this water is turned into stone; so contrariwise this water if it toucheth any thing that is solid, it cleaveth, and is affixed thereunto. Thence is it that such things as are cast into this lake, are forthwith drawn out as hard as stone. The like whereof falleth out in some places of Italy, whether you cast a reed or the leaves of trees into the same, thou shalt draw them out in few days in the form of stone: for the wind encloseth the body on every side, and by little and little taketh hold and hardeneth it. This will seem less wonderful and strange unto thee, if thou observe how these white and sulphurous waters are hardened and congealed about their channels and pipes. Some such cause have these lakes whereof whosoever drinketh as the Poet saith; Grows furious or else falls to Lethargy. It hath the like force that wine hath, but more v●hement: for even as drun●kennesse until it be dried is madness, and by the weight thereof driveth him that is drunk into sleep: so the sulphurous virtue of this water hath some more powerful venom in it by means of the corrupted air, whence followeth either fury or lethargy, the like evil hath the river Lynces●ius. Which who so drinks although his draft be small, Stumbles as if pure wine had made him fall. CHAP. XXI. THey that have looked down into some deep gulses, do die, so sudden is the venom which killeth those birds that do but fly over it, Whence proceedeth these divers effects in waters. such is the air, and such the place from whence this deadly water distilleth. But if the venom of that air and place be less vehement, the evil also is in some sort lenified, it only debilitateth the nerves, and stupifieth them, as it were with drunkenness. Neither do I wonder, that the place and air do infect the waters, and maketh them like unto those regions, by which, and from which they come● The savour of the pasture appeareth in the milk, and the force of the wine is extant in the vinegar; there is nothing that hath not some taste of that from whence it was taken and bred. CHAP. XXII. Of the Ocean created in the beginning of the world. AN other kind there is of water also, that as we think had his beginning with the world, which if it be eternal, so is this likewise, and if it hath any beginning, it likewise hath a beginning with him. Ask you me what this is? It is the Ocean with all those other seas that either flow from it, or wash the borders of it, Some are of opinion that certain rivers, (whose nature cannot be expressed) have had their beginnings with the world, as Ister and Nilus, and other spacious floods, and such as a man cannot reckon in the rank of others, nor drive them from the same source. CHAP. XXIII. THis is therefore the division of waters, Diversity of terrestrial waters. according to some men's opinions. After these there are celestial waters, which the clouds power down from above. Amongst the terrestrial waters, there are some (if I may so speak it) that swim and flow above the earth, othersome there be that are hidden, whereof we have yielded a reason. CHAP. XXIIII. SOme there are that yield divers reasons why certain waters are hot, Why these are hot waters. and others so boiling, that they can be of no use, except they be cooled by the air, or tempered by the mixture of cold water. Empedocles thinketh that the water is hot by those fires which the earth covereth and concealeth in divers places, especially if they run under that soil by which they take their passage. We are wont to make certain Dragons and Serpentines, and divers other fashions of vessels, in which we fasten divers little pipes of thin brass bending downwards, to the end that the water distilling and turning oftentimes before the fire, may get issue in such space of time wherein it may take heat. It therefore entereth cold, and f●oweth out hot. Empedocles is of this opinion, that the same is done under the earth, to whose opinion they condescend whose baths are warmed without fire. A warm air is infused thereunto, which serveth in stead of fire. This running through the pipes warmeth the walls and vessels of the bath, as if fire had been set near unto it. In brief, the cold water is by thi● means changed into hot, neither doth the evaporation draw any savour, because it passeth thorough closed and covered places. Some think that these waters that either pass by or enter these places that are full of sulphur, draw their hea●e by the benefit of ●he matter thorough which they pas●e, which appeareth by their smell and taste; for they yield the quality of the matter which hath warmed them; and lest thou shouldest wonder at this accident, power me but water upon quicklime, and it will burn. CHAP. XXV. divers waters are deadly which neither offend in odour nor in taste. Of venomous & deadly waters. About Novacris in Arcadia there is a river which the inhabitants of the place call Styx which deceiveth strangers, because both in sight, and in smell, it resembleth other●, such as are the poisons of most cunning poisoners, which cannot be discovered but by death: but this water whereof I have spoken a little before corrupteth with incredible swiftness, neither is there any remedy for it, because that as soon as it is drunken, it thickneth and hardeneth as plaster doth in the water, Notable examples. and closeth up the bowels. There is likewise a certain venomous wa●ter, in Thessaly about Tempe, which both wild beasts and all kind of cattle do fly from, which pierceth both iron and brass, such force it hath to mollify those things that are heard. There are no trees that grow about it, nor any herbs but it killeth them. In some Rivers there is a wonderful property. For some of these there are, which being drunk do tincture and die the flocks of sheep, and within a very short space those that wer● black carry white wool; and those that came with white fleeces return with black. The like effects likewise have two Rivers in Beotia, whereof the one is called Melus, that is to say, black by reason of his operation, yet both of these issue from the same lake, though they have different effects. In Macedonia likewise, as Theophrastus saith, Pliny calleth it Ceron in his second book. there is a flood, whitherto they that desire to have white sheep drive their flocks, which the longer they have drunk, the more deeply are they died and turned into white: but if they have need of a brown colour, they have a ready and free Dier, for they drive the same flock to the flood Cerona. I have modern authors that writ that there is a River in Galatia, that blacketh all that which is steeped in it, that in Capadocia there is another that changeth the colour of horses only (and not other beasts) causing their hairs to be spotted with white. It is well known that there some lakes that bear them up, who cannot swim. The cause of such effects. There was in Sicily, and at this day there is in Syria a pond, on the top whereof whole bricks do swim, and although heavy things be cast into the same, yet can they not sink unto the bottom. And the cause hereof is very manifest. Weigh me a thing whatsoever it be, and counterpoise it with water, if the water be more weighty it will bear up the thing that is lighter than itself, and will raise the same above her the more lighter it is, and that which is more weighty will descend. But if the weight of the water, and the thing thou counterpoisest with it be equal, she shall not draw it to the bottom, neither shall it wholly swim above the water, but it shall be carried on even with the water, but shall swim as it were half drowned, and eminent in no part. Thence cometh it that some pieces of timber sometimes float wholly above the water, other some are half within the water, and others sink to the bottom. For when as the weight of the wood and water are equal, and that the one thing yieldeth in no sort to the other that which is more weighty descendeth, and that which is lighter is carried on the top of the water. But we esteem the heavy and light, not according to our own estimate, but in comparison of the thing that should carry and bear up the same. When as therefore the water is heavier than the body of a man or a stone, O● ston●s and other 〈◊〉 things that ●loat above the water. she suffereth not that which is more lighter to sink unto the bottom. Whence it cometh to pass that the stones themselves float upon the water, yea, even those that are hardest & most solid. For there are many Pummices stones & such as are light, whereof certain Islands in Lydia are composed, the which for this cause swim in the Sea, if a man will believe Theophrastus. For mine own part I myself have seen an Island in the lake of Cutilias that floated, The reason of the marvelous Isle of Cutili●s. another in the lake of Vadimona, another in the lake of Station, swimming upon the water. The Island of Cutilias hath trees and herbs growing on it, although the water beareth it up, and is driven hither and thither, not only by a strong wind, but by every gentle gale whatsoever. Neither remaineth it either by day or night in one place, so movable is it upon every breath of wind. There are two causes hereof: the weight of the medicinable water, & consequently more heavy; and the matter of the Isle which is apt to be carried, which hath no solid body, although it nourish trees. For happily the fat humour taketh hold of, and bindeth together the lighter trunks, and those leaves that are scattered in the lake. Therefore although there be some stones in the same, yet shalt thou find them spongy and hollow, such as those are which a thick water collecteth and breedeth about the brinks of some medicinable fountains, which are engendered of the foam that is made by the excrements of the water, that gather themselves together. That thing of necessity must be light, which is made of another thing that is windy and void. There are some secrets whereof a man can yield no reason; There are infinite secrets in nature, whereof a man cannot give a reason. as why the water of Nilus maketh women fruitful, in such sort that it hath opened and disposed to conception the matrice of some women, that hath been closed by long sterility; why likewise some waters in Lycia retain the seed conceived by women, who had their matrice ever open. For mine own part, I number these things amongst those that are undiscreetly and rashly published. Some believe that there are certain waters that breed the scab in men's bodies, or that poured on the skin or drunken, the leprosy, and other white and deformed spots, which vice they ascribe to that water that is gathered of dew. Who would not think that those waters that are turned into crystal are most weighty? yet is it far otherwise; for this falleth out in the lightest waters, which the cold very easily congealeth, by reason that they are no ways thick. But whence this stone is made, it appeareth very plainly by the name which the Grecians give the same, How crystal is made. for they call it 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, as well the transparent stone as the Ice, whereof it is supposed that the crystal is made. For the celestial water, having very little earthly substance in it, when it is grown hard by the continency and vehemency of the longer cold is thickened more and more, until such time as (all air being excluded) it shutteth in itself, and that humour which was is made a stone. CHAP. XXVI. IN summer some floods are increased, as Nilus (whereof we will tender another reason, Why some rivers increase in Summer. in a more convenient place) Theophrastus writeth, that in Pontus there are certain rivers that increase in the summer time, whereof he judgeth that there are three causes; first, because at that time most of all the earth is apt to be changed into winter; next, because there are some huge showers that fall in a more remote place, whose waters streaming along by secret passages, are silently discharged into the same; thirdly, if the entry be beaten with continual winds, and the flood be beaten, and the water mounteth back again, which seemeth to increase because it is not poured out into the Sea; Other divers accidents in Rivers and Fountains. the fourth reason is from the Planets, for these in some months urge more then in other some, and dry up the floods; in other places being farther off, they draw and consume less, in such sort● that that which is lessened in one season is increased in another. There are some floods that manifestly fall into some bottomless pit, and so are swallowed up from our sight: some are consumed by little and little, and after some intermission return again and reassume both their name and course: the cause is manifest, there is some vacuity under the earth. But all water by nature descendeth downward, and is carried into a void place. The Rivers therefore that are received thither make their secret course, but as soon as any thing that is solid meeteth with them, and stayeth them, by working a passage that resisteth them, jest they renew and pursue their former course. So when as Licus is drunk up and drained By yawning earth, at last he mounts again Far from the place where first it was contained, And springs and floats with in another main, And now drunk up, strait with a silent course Sliding along, he spends his floods untamed Amidst the Greekish Ocean, and his source Is in that place proud Erasinus named. The flood Tigris doth the like in the East; it is swallowed up, and after having made a long journey underneath the earth, at last in a far remote place it riseth again undoubtedly the same. Some fountains at a certain time cast out their excrement, as Arethusa in Sicilia doth from five to five years, in Summer during the Olympian games: from thence springs that common report, that the river Alphaeus passeth from Achaia thither, and running under the sea, without discovering herself, or breaking forth until such time as she hath attained the Sicilian shore. Therefore in those days when the Olympic games are solemnised, the excrements of those beasts that are sacrificed, being cast down the stream, found their issue and appear there. This, my dearest lucilius, hast thou expressed in thy Poem: the like hath Virgil done, speaking to the fountain Arethusa; So grant the gods, that whilst thy milder wave The swift Sicanian stream doth undermine, That bitter tasted Doris never have The means to intermix his wave with thine. There is a fountain in Cheronese of Rhodes, that after a great space of time poureth out from her bottom certain ordures, until such time as it is wholly and entirely purified. The like to this do divers other fountains in other places, which vomit out not only their mud and the leaves of trees, but also all other things that are cast thereinto. The like doth the Sea in every place, whose nature is this; to discharge whatsoever carcases or uncleanness it hath in it upon the shores. Some parts of the Sea do the like in some seasons of the year, as about Messina and Milas, at which time she casteth up upon the sands, I know not what excrement, like unto dung, and boileth and ripleth, exhaling a stinking odor; whence the fable riseth, That the horses of the Sun are stabled there. But there are some things whereof it is a hard matter to yield a reason: and as touching this, which is now in question, although some have diligently observed when this purgation is made, The causes of the purgation of these Rivers. yet is there no certainty thereof; so that the nearest cause can hardly be found out but only the general, which is, that all still and enclosed waters purge themselves ordinarily, for excrements cannot stay in those which have a current, that carrieth and ravisheth all things with it. Those that push not to their shores that which is fallen into them, have a stream that is less or more violent. But the Sea draweth from her bottom, and casteth upon her shores the bodies of the dead, the wrecks of ships, and those small things that she receiveth purging herself as well in fair weather as in stormy. CHAP. XXVII. But this place moveth me to demand when the destinated day for the deluge shall come, The description of a deluge that ruinateth the whole world. how the greater part of the earth shall be covered with waters? whether it shall be done by the virtue of the Ocean? whether the water that appeareth shall raise herself against us? whether the violent rains shall fall without intermission, or if the winter having driven away the former shall break the clouds, and power down abundant waters; or if the earth shall more largely extend all her waters, and shall discover new fountains, or whether there shall be divers concurrent causes to one so great a desolation, so as the rains shall fall in great abundance, the Rivers shall exceed their bounds, the Seas forsaking their ordinary limits shall cover the earth, and all waters gathered together, shall run in one company, with a deliberation to extinguish mankind. Thus it is; nothing is difficult unto nature, especially when she pasteth to her end: in the creation and beginning of things she useth her forces sparingly, and dispenseth herself by fallacious increases; but when she intendeth ruin, she suddenly employeth all her forces. How long time is there required from the day of the conception of a child, until the time he forsaketh his mother's womb? with how great labours is he brought up from his cradle? and what care must there be had in breeding and bringing up this little body? But how suddenly and without labour is he brought to nothing? An age buildeth Cities, but an hour destroyeth them. The wood that hath flourished long is made ashes in a moment. All things stand and flourish under a provident care, and are dissolved quickly and suddenly. All that which nature would altar in the estate of things that are created, sufficeth to ruinated mankind. Wh●n as therefore this necessity of time shall come, the destinies move many causes at once, and without a great concussion of the world so great a change cannot be made, as some think, amongst whom is Fabianus. First of all the immeasurable rains fall, and the heaven is wholly covered, without any appearance of the Sun: a thick, moist, dark and continual fog invironeth the earth, and ceaseth not to distil, neither Vines or corn attain unto their maturity: all seeds are lost in the earth, the ●ields are covered with such herbs as grow in Marshes and Plashes, expecting as yet some greater desolation; for the roots are loosened, the trees fall, the Vine and every other plant hath no more hold of the earth that is soft and fluid. It sustaineth no more by the means of the waters' either herb or grass: famine presseth all men, and they enforced to seek their sustenance after the manner of the ancients beat down and shake down the Burgens and Acorns of the Holm and Oak, and all such that in such necessities a tree may furnish, being shaken or beaten with stones. The rotten houses fall unto the ground, the foundations sink being mouldered and loosened by moisture, the whole earth is glutted with water, and in vain do men labour to underprop that which falleth to ruin. For every foundation is in a slippery place, and in a muddy ground there is nothing stable. After that the showers increase more and more, and those snows that were gathered in ages begin to melt. A headlong torrent, falling from the highest mountains carrieth and hurleth away whole woods that have no settled root, and tumbleth these stones that are washed away from the earth with the rest. It drowneth villages, carrieth away troops of beasts, and those little cabbans that it meeteth withal, and then assaulteth the greater houses. Afterwards it overturneth Cities and draweth away with it the inhabitants, enclosed in their own walls, who know whether they shall sink under their houses, or perish in the water; so sudden is the accident that either should oppres●e or drown them. Afterwards, being increased by some other torrents that join themselves with her, they overflow all the Champain. Finally, being swollen and overcharged by the ruin of divers nations, it layeth hold on all things. As touching the Rivers that are spacious in themselves, and are ravished by the torrents, they forsake their channels, what think you will become of Danubius, the Rhine, and Rhosne, who in their channels have a torrent that runneth marvelous swiftly? What can they do, when after they have overflowed their bounds they are made new Rivers, and having broken the earth have got themselves a new passage? With what violence floweth the River of Rhine when it falleth into the Champain countries, and finding an extent sufficient to weaken his waves, filleth himself every way with water, as if he were enclosed in some strait channel? And Danubius likewise at such time as he not only beateth the foot, but also the midst of the mountains, yea, approacheth the very tops of the same, bearing with it not only the moistened sides of the mountains, but the rocks that are hurried down, and the Promontories of great Regions, which by reason of the weakness of their foundation are separated from the continent. At length, finding no passage because it hath included itself it swelleth on every side, and swalloweth up at once a whole extent of countries and Cities. Mean while the rains continued, the heaven thickneth more and more; and thus by course of time the evil is augmented. The precedent obscurity becometh black, fearful and terrible, night incessantly beaten with dreadful lightnings, which the heaven darteth one after another: the Sea seemeth to be enraged being increased by the access of so many floods, and too much restrained at such time as she was within her bounds. The shores stand no longer, they exceed their limits, the torrents permit them not to enlarge themselves, and push back the floods, whereof the most par● as it were arrested by a bar that is not sufficiently large, get passage from the one side unto the other, and make a new Sea, and make the Champains resemble a standing pool. At that time as far as the eye may aim there is nothing that can be discovered but water. All the noise cometh from the bottom, and the waters are the highest above all things, only in the tops of mountains there are certain shallow places, where men saw themselves, with their wives and children, driving their cattle before them: all traffic and intercourse between Nations ceaseth because the water hath filled all the valleys. In some the highest place, the remainder of mankind maintained themselves, who being reduced to this extremity had this solace, that their fear was translated into stupidity, being so astonished that fear could not hurt them In brief, they were touched with no sense of grief which looseth his force in him that is miserable above the sense of evil. So then the mountains resemble Isles, and increase the number of the Ciclades, as the most ingenious Poet most wittily specifieth, saying as the greatness of the thing required him, All things were Sea, nor had the Sea a shore. Except he had reduced so much vigour of wit and plenty of matter to trivial toys, saying, The Wolf his head amongst the sheep did rear, And weltering wa●es did furious Lions bear. This is to exceed measure to jest and wanton it, in the ruin of the world. He spoke mighty things, and began to set down the image of so great a confusion, when he said, Th' unbridled floods run through the Champain plains, And mighty Towers lie buried under floods. It was magnificently spoken if he had taken no care what sheep and wolves did. But can any one swim in such a deluge and overflow? And were not the beasts drowned as soon as the waters had laid hold of them and carried them away? Thou hast conceived the image and description of this disorder, as great as it should be: if the heaven itself fall, endure it. Thou shalt know that, which becometh thee, if thou set before thine eyes the whole world floating in water. Let us now return unto our purpose. CHAP. XXVIII. THere are some that think that the earth may well be beaten with excessive rains, but not drowned. If the earth may be drowned with waters. Those things that are the greatest must be violently strooken: the rain will spoil the corn, the hail will beat down the fruit, the Rivers will overflow their bounds, Whence proceedeth a deluge, according to Senec●es and the Stoics opinion. and yet will not forsake their channels. Some there are that attribute this ruin to the overflow of the Sea. It cannot be that a deluge should proceed from the violence of torrents, or rains, or rivers. When the end of the earth is near, and that it pleaseth nature that all mankind should perish, I grant that continual and immeasurable rains fall from the heavens: that the Northerly winds are suppressed, that the Southerly blow: that the clouds, the tempests, and rivers increase. Yet harms do more increase, The corn is washed away upon the plain, The Ploughman spends his vows, and toils in vain; All what the year could yield for pain or cost; Is drowned in water, and the labour lost. It was not necessary that the earth should be offended, but only hidden. After these beginnings the Seas increase, but beyond measure, they spread their waves more largely than ever the greatest tempest did. The winds themselves that raise them at their backs, entangle themselves with the waves of the Sea, which break themselves upon the shores that are far estranged from sight. Afterwards when they had enlarged themselves, made a new Sea, from the depth of the greatest Sea there ariseth a new flood, which bringeth with it a mischief far greater than the former; for even as the matter of the air and the etherial Region is very ample, so is that of the water, which aboundeth marvelously in her secret places, she being sufficiently moved (for the floods are the ministers of destiny) makes the waves swell wondrously, and animateth herself violently. Than riseth she to an incredible highness, and mounteth above the highest and most assured retreats of men. It is no difficult matter for the element of water to raise itself above the high●est tops and Promontories of the earth. For if a man measure by the eye the crest of the highest mountains, he shall find that the sea ●qualleth them in height; for the globe of the earth is equally round. The●e caveties and plains are such, that on every part they make an orb, wherein are comprehended these as which make a part thereof, and fulfil the round. But even as he that casteth his eyes a long way, deceiveth himself and cannot deprehend the places, which by little and little bow downward so can we not comprehend the bowings of the ●ea, and all that which we see seemeth to be a plain, yet is it round and like unto the land. Therefore also is it that the sea swelleth not much, but incontinently slideth away, because it is enough for her to rise a little, either to equal or surmount the rest, neither slippeth she away from the banks where she is lowest, but from the midst, where the great assembly of Waters is. In what season the flux and reflux of the sea is greatest. But even as the flux and reflux of the sea is accustomed ●o be the greatest, during the Equinoctial in the time of the conjunction of the Sun and Moon; so the deluge that is sent to cover all the earth, and which shallbe the greatest and most violent that men are accustomed to see, draweth a more infinite abundance of water with it, and never abateth until it hath surpassed and covered the tops of the highest mountains. The flux and reflux of the sea increaseth and decreaseth in some place more than a hundredth miles, and never faileth but keepeth always the same order; for it increaseth and decreaseth by measure. God speaketh oftentimes by Pagan's mouths that which is assured in christian belief. But in the time of deluge, it neither keepeth measure nor rule. How cometh this to pass sayest thou? in such sort as the end of the world shall be by an universal fire. Both the one and the other shall come to pass at such time as it shall please God to give a beginning to better things, and give an end to the old, Fire and water have the dominion over terrestrial things, From them proceed the beginning and end of all things, as often then, as it pleaseth the heavens that things shall be renewed, the sea shall overflow us, in such sort as the fire from above shall lay hold on all things, when by an other end he would bring all things to nothing. CHAP. XXIX. He continueth to speak of the causes of deluge in his sense, and according to other men's opinions, but by the light of nature the transcendent knowledge enjoying in the bo●ome of true Christians. SOme think that the earth is shaken also, and that the ground being broken open, there appear new heads of rivers, which cast forth more abundance of waters, as from a place that is as yet full. Berosus that hath interpreted Belus saith, that thi● is caused by the motion of the stars, and maintaineth it so assuredly, that he sticketh not to set down the time of the end of the world, as well by fire as by water, affirming that the earth shall be burned at such time as all the stars which now hold divers courses shall mere in the sign of Cancer, so settled and placed in the same point, that a man may draw a direct line thorough all their centres and circles, that the deluge shall cover the earth, when as the same stars shall assemble and meet together in Capricorn. In order, the one is the longest day in Summer, and the shortest day of the winter under the other. The signs are of great efficacy and power, which upon the changes of the year cause such moments: for mine own part I reject not any of the causes (for one alone cannot 'cause so much mischief) annexing unto them that which the stoics think. Whether it be that the world be a spirit or body, by the disposition of of nature, it containeth in it trees, plants, and all that which it aught to do and suffer, from the beginning of the world unto the end thereof, no otherwise then in the seed are enclosed all the parts of the body of a man which should be form. The Infant that is borne in his mother's womb, hath the roots of the beard and hair he shall wear one day. In this little Mass likewise are all the lineaments of the body, and all that which austerity shall discover in him. So the original of the world hath no less contained the Sun, the Moon, the revolutions of the Stars, the birth of living creatures, as the causes of the change of terrestrial things. In them hath been the deluge which cometh by the order of heaven, The Paradox of the stoics as touching the universal deluge, and the end of the world, re●u●ed by the celestial v●ritie contained in Moses, where a promise was made to the Patriarch No, that there should be no more any universal deluge. even as Winter and Summer do. It shall not therefore be done by rain, neither by inundation of the sea, neither by quaking of the earth, but with all these accidents which shall assist Nature, to the end that her determinations should be accomplished and executed: yet as touching the principal cause, it shall proceed from the earth itself, which as we have said is changeable, and must resolve herself into water. Whereas therefore the end of all things shall be come: at such time as the parts of the world must perish and be disannulled, in such sort as they may be moulded a new, and made better than before, there shall more water be made then e●er there was: for now the aliments are distributed to every one according as it is behoveful. There must something at that time join itself with an other, to the end that such things that subsist in counterwaight should be troubled and confused by the inequality that should happen. The most shall be found in the water, that hath nothing more for the present, then that which is necessary to environ the earth, and not to drown it: if you will add any thing thereunto, it must needly discharge the same in an other place. How shall it then be, that the earth as being leas● powerful, shall sink under that which is more strong? She shall begin at that time to rot herself, and afterwards being moistened to melt itself into humour, and to fall to mud. At that time the rivers shall mount above the mountains, and shall shake them with a mighty force, and afterwards shall swallow them without noise. All the earth shall vomit out waters, the tops of the mountains shall break forth in fountains. Even as the wholesomest parts of the body become sick, and these that are nearest to an ulcer wax ulcerated: so the mightiest regions of the earth converted into water shall melt themselves likewise, and shall distil from all parts. The rocks shall cleave in sunder to give passage to the waters that shall assemble themselves to make a sea. The straits of Venetian and Sicilian seas shall be no more Charybdis and Scylla shall not be spoken of. The new Sea shall swallow up all these fictions, and the Ocean that at this day beguirteth the remotest parts of the earth, shall then be in the midst of the waters. What shall then be? The Winter shall domineer over all other seasons, the Summer shall be no more, and every star that before time dried up the earth shall have no more heat or effect. All the names of particular seas, as that of Casp●um, Erithrea the read, The Mediterranean, the greater seas, and others shall perisho being all of them intermixed together, and all that which nature had disposed in part●, confused in one: neither Rampires nor high Towers shall warran● any man. The templ●● shall no ways profit the suppliants, nor the high places of Cities, because the water shall overtake those that ●●ie, and bear them away out of their strongest Towers. Th●s prediction is wholly fals●. It shall from East to West, and one day shall bury all mankind, overturning all that which fortunes favour hath cherished so long time, all that which is so much raised above the common, the great palaces, riches, magnificence, and mighty Monarchies. CHAP. XXX. another error that the earth is made to be drowned because in an universal deluge, where as God by Moses speaketh expressly to the contrary. ALL things as I have said are easy unto nature especially, those things which she hath resolved to do from the beginning, whereunto she cometh not suddenly but determinately. But from the first day of the world, as from his informed unity, she came to take this habitude which we see she hath, she prefixed the day wherein the earth should be drowned, and to the end it might not be an enterprise of difficult execution as if it were a new work: the seas long since have exercised and fashioned themselves thereunto. Seest thou not how the floods of the Ocean run towards their banks, as if they sought liberty: Hast thou not observed how the flood hath advanced itself, and put the sea in possession of the earth? Dost thou not perceive how the sea doth nothing but ●ome, and tempests against the bounds which restrain her? What danger is there in that part where thou hearest such a tumult, and from whence issue so many rivers with so great noise, where Nature hath lodged so much water to assail us on every side, when she thinketh fit? Is it not true, that in digging the earth we find water, and when as either undermined by avarice, or pushed forward by an other cause, we have digged and searched a little deeper, sometimes a bloody death ensueth. Furthermore, there are certain Lakes under the earth that are marvelous great, and much hidden sea; besides a great number of rivers that streams thorough certain passages under earth. There shall be therefore on every side certain courses of this deluge, some part of the waters floating thorough the earth, others about the same; these being long times bridled and restrained shall finally get the upper hand, and shall join their floods with the rivers, and the pools with the marshes. The seas shall fill the brims and mouths of all fountains, and shall enlarge them. Even as the belly in emptying itself wasteth our bodies as the forces are dissipated by sweat; in like sort, the earth shall melt i● self, and other causes ceasing shall find a means to plunge and drown itself in itself, so think I that so many great things shall confounded themselves together, neither shall there be any long delay in the ruin. When as once the world shall remit any thing of his course and diligence, and the accord which is betwixt the parts thereof shall be shaken, incontinently the clouds shall break forth, the waters beneath shall issue from their bottomless caves to cover the earth. There is nothing more violent, more hard to be stayed, more rebellious, or more pernicious to those that would restrain the same than a violent water. She shall use the liberty which was granted her, and by the commandment of nature she shall fill all that which she rraverseth and environeth. Even as the fire issuing from divers places suddenly setteth all on fire, Understanding this of time to c●me, it is a mee●●able, it was once in Noah's t●me, and shall be no more. the flames conspiring and assembling together to make one body; so in a moment the seas that are vented and powered forth, shall come and join in one; but the waves shall not rage's always thus: but after that, mankind shall be ruined, and beasts likewise be brought to confusion, whose natures men had taken upon them; the earth shall suck up the waters, and constrain the sea to return within his bounds, and to tempest in her channel. The ocean being driven far from our limits, shall be chased into her caves, and the ancient order shall be re-established. Every living Creature shall be engendered anew, and the earth shall be inhabited with innocent men, and borne to better hap. But mankind shall not persever long in this integrity; it shall only be for as long time, as men shall be, new wickedness shall incontinently fly into the midst of them● Virtue is hard to be found, she requireth a guide and governor: but as touching vices, men learn them without a Master. The End of the third Book of the Natural Questions. OF NATURAL questions, WRITTEN BY LUCIUS ANNAEUS SENECA, DEDICATED TO LUCILLIUS The fourth Book. THE PREFACE. What contentment a virtuous man receiveth by himself. THou art much delighted (my lucilius, the best of me) in Sicily and in the government of the same: because as thou writest unto me, it is full of repose and without trouble. But it will please thee far more, if thou wilt contain thyself within thy limits, and makest not that an Empire, which is but a Procuration and government. I doubt not but thou wilt carry thyself in thi● sort● I know how far thou art estranged from ambition, and how familiarly thou art addicted and delighted in honest retirement and the study of good letters. They that cannot support and contain themselves, have need of the conversation of men, and multiplicity of affairs. But thou accordest very well with thyself: neither wonder I that few men are partakers of this so great good: we are all of us too imperious and troublesome to ourselves. Sometimes we cherish ourselves too much, otherwhiles too little. To day our hearts are puffed up with pride, to morrow covetousness tormenteth us: now are we prostituted by vain pleasures, anon after burned with cares and travail, and that which is worst of all, we are never alone and retired to ourselves. We ●ust ●eeds therefore be in continual debate, being accompanied by so many enormous vices. Do therefore, my lucilius, that which thou wert accustomed to do: separate thyself as much as thou canst from the community, neither permit thyself to be accosted by flatterers, for these are their crafts●masters in bewitching the greater and richer sort. The poison o●●lattery a taste for great men. Thou shalt hardly escape them, although thou take heed of them. Believe me, they will entrap t●●e, if thou betray thyself to their treasons. Flatteries have naturally this force, that they are pleasing, although they be rejected; and being oftentimes excluded, at last they are entertained. Repulse maketh them increase, neither is there any disgrace or outrage that can tame them. That which I shall speak is incredible, and yet very true. A man is hit most of all in that place where he is most open, and happily he is therefore ●i● because he lieth open. Dispose thyself therefore in such sort, that thou mayest be assured that thou canst not be touched, that thou mayest be impenetrable: when thou hast carried the chariest eye, he will strike thee thorough those arms that thou reputest the most assured. Some one will use his flattery secretly and sparingly, another openly counterfeising the fool in all men's sight, as if that his simplicity were not cunning. Plancus, who had been● one of the cunningest Sycophants before Vellius time, said that we aught not to flatter secretly, nor with dissimulation. In vain, saith he, is flattery, if it be obscured. The flatterer getteth very much when he is discovered, and more likewise if he blush after he hath been taunted. Think that thou shalt mee●e with a great number of such as Plancus was, and that it is not● sufficient remedy against flattery, to refuse to be praised. Crispus Passienus, whose equal I n●uer know in subtle discovery of all things; especially in distinguishing and ●uring vices, oftentimes said that we only put too the door against flatteries, but shut them not out, in such sort as we are wont to put it too against our she friend, which if she thrust it back it contenteth us, and more grateful is it, if she break it open. I remember that I have heard the great Philosopher Demetrius say to a certain slave that was enfranchised, A goodly touch against a foolish rub man, and a comedy against avarice. and was become very rich, that the shortest way for him to heap up great wealth, was that day wherein he had repent himself that he had a good conscience. I will never, saith he, envy your practices, but will teach them, that have need, the means how to escape shipwreck, how to fly from those contentions that happen between buyers and sellers, not to trust to the incertainty of a country life, to retire themselves from the exercise of less certain pleading; less, in what manner likewise they may not only easily, but joyfully enrich themselves, and impoverish those that are at their ease and quiet. I will swear (saith he) that thou art higher than Fidus Annaeus, and Apollonius Picta, although thou hast but a mean and crooked statute, as Fracas had. If I say that thou art the most liberal man amongst all others, I shall not lie: when as it may seem that thou hast given all men that which thou hast left. So is it, my junior, the more that flattery discovereth itself, the more wicked, impudent, and outrageous it is, the sooner deceiveth it. For we are now grown unto that madness, that he that flattereth us little, seemeth to be a man of no honesty. I was wont to tell thee that my brother Gallio (whom no man loved but hearty, The praise of Gallio, Senecaes' brother. neither loved he any man but entirely) knew not other vices, and likewise hated this. Thou hast tied him every ways. Thou hast begun to admire his great and excellent spirit above all others, which rather wished to be cursed, then to do any thing worthy shame. But he suddenly retired his foot. Thou beganst to praise his frugality, he cut thee off in the beginning. Thou beganst to admire his humanity, and unaffected affability which ravisheth those that hear them in passing by, and greatly oblige those to whom they are addressed. For there is no man living more agreeable unto another man, than this man unto all men, whilst in the mean space the power of a natural goodness is such, that it savoureth no wa●es of art or simulation. There is no man but will suffer that a public good should be imputed to him. And in this place likewise he resisted thy flatteries, in such sort as thou exclaimedst that thou hadst found a man that was armed against all attempts, whom every man would entertain into his bosom. Thou didst confess that thou didst so much the more admire his prudence and pertinacy in avoiding inevitable evils, because thou wert in hope that thy words should be entertained with an open ear, although thou flatteredst, because thou spakest the truth. But so much the rather learned he to resist them the more. For the truth is always assailed by those things that have a resemblance of truth. Yet will I not have thee displeased with thyself, as if thou hadst done amiss, or as if my brother presumed that thou pretendedst to jest with him, How we aught to entertain a flatterer. or to cirumvent him. He discovered thee not, but repulsed thee. Conform thyself to this example: when as any flatterer cometh unto thee; say unto him, Go I pray thee, and carry these flattering speeches (which are accustomed to leap from one Magistrate to another, that have these Apes and sergeant marching before them) to some one that will pay thee with the like, and taketh pleasure to hear all that which thou wouldst speak unto him. I will deceive no man, neither can I be deceived. I would be praised by you, if you were not accustomed to praise the wicked. But what needest thou to bring thyself into that straight, that flatterers should touch thee so nearly? Let them be far estranged from thee, when thou desirest to be praised well. Why shouldest thou be indebted to any for it? Praise thyself, and say: I have addicted myself to the study of the Liberal Sciences, How a man aught to prize himself. although poverty persuaded me to the contrary, and withdrew my thoughts thither, where my study might return me present gain. I aimed my thoughts at little profit breeding poesy, and addicted myself to the wholesome study of Philosophy. I ●●ue showed that every man is capable of virtue, and struggling thorough the o●●●●ritie of my birth, and measuring myself not by my condition, but my mind; I have equalled myself with the greatest. The enmity of barbarous Caius could not drive me from my sincere intention, Messalus and Narcissus unhappy conspirators against every man, enemies a long time of the public weal, before they were foes to their private fortune, could not cross my resolution. I have hazarded my neck to maintain mine honour, I have not spoken that word, that was against my conscience. The care I always had, was for my friends and not for myself, and the fear, that I was not so true a friend as I should be. I never wept womanish tears, neither after the manner of a suppliant have I lifted up my hands to any man. I have done nothing that either was unworthy a man, or a good man. Being greater than mine own perils, and ready to encounter with those that threatened me, I gave thanks unto Fortune that would sound me, how highly I prised faith. So great a thing should not cost me so little. She kept me not long in suspense, for the things that were in balance were not equal, that is, whether it were better that faith should perish for me, or I should perish for it. I have not violently thrust myself into a desperate resolution of death, whereby I might discharge myself from the fury of mighty men, I saw with Caius torments, I saw fires. I knew in times past, under him, that human affairs were brought to that estate, that it was recounted amongst the works of mercy to be simply slain. Yet thrust I not myself thorough with my sword, neither cast I myself headlong into the sea, to the end that the world might see that I would not die, except it were to remain faithful. Consider moreover my courage, that could not be corrupted with bribes, and that in this rude conflict of avarice, I have never soiled my hands with foul lucre: Moreover, my sobriety, my modesty in words, my affability towards my inferiors, the reverence I have borne my superiors. The means to reprove hypocrisy, and to fortify virtue. Having said all this, ask counsel of thyself if thou hast spoken truth, or told a lie: if truth, Than art thou praised before a great witness: if a lie, without witness thou hast exposed thyself to laughter. But some one might think, that either I would surprise thee or prove thee: believe which thou wilt, and begin by me to fear all others. Cast by that verse in Virgil. Faith is secured in no place.— And that which Ovid saith. Throughout the world ERYNNIS changeth round, As if addressed and sworn with fellow rage, To leave no sin unsought for in this age. Or that of Menander's (for who hath not whetted the greatness of his wit against this, detesting the conce●t of mankind that tendeth unto vice?) All, saith he, live otherwise then they should, and the Poet hath leapt into the Scene as if he were a Clown: he excepteth neither old nor young, nor woman, nor man, and addeth that every one without exception doth evil, and that wickedness is grown to the full. We aught therefore to fly, and to return into ourselves, nay more, we are to departed from ourselves. Although the sea separateth us, The sincere love betwixt Seneca and lucilius. I will assay to make thee partner of this good, that is, in lending thee my hand at such time as thou knowest not what way to take, and making thee to attain to a place more secured: and jest thou shouldest have a sense of thy solitude, I will devise with thee from this place as often as I may. We will be one in that part wherein we are best: we will counsel one another, not depending upon the presence of him that heareth. I will lead thee far from Sicily, to the end thou shalt not yield too much credit to Histories, beginning to please thyself as often as thou shalt say in thyself, I have this province under my government, which hath sustained and broken the armies of the mightiest Commonweals of the world, when the honour of a long war hath remained for many years in suspense, at such time as she saw the forces of four Princes gathered together in one place, namely, of all the Empire, having taken away the prosperity of Pompey, wearied that of Caesar's, translated that of Lepidus, and surprised all the rest, that was present at the strangest spectacle that may possibly be thought, whereby all mortal men may learn how sudden the fall is from high to low, and by how many divers ways Fortune causeth the power of this world to decline. For at one time she hath scene Pompey and Lepidus cast from their high degree to a lower, but by different means, considering that Pompey fled before Caesar's army, and Lepidus his own. CHAP. I But to the end I may wholly draw thee from thyself, He entereth into discourse of the increase of Nilus in Summer. although Sicily hath in it and about it many wonders, yet will I not for the present intermeddle with any questions concerning thy Province, but will draw thy thoughts another way. For we will now devise together upon that which we have touched in the former Book, whence it is that Nilus floweth and increaseth in the Summer months. The Philosophers have left in writing, that Nilus and Danubius resemble one another, alleging that the source of Danubius is unknown, and that it is more great in Summer then in Winter. Both the one and the other appeared to be false: for we find that the head-spring thereof is in ●ermany, and it beginneth likewise to increase in Summer, (yet Nilus always remaineth in his accustomed measure) that is to say, about the first heats, at such time as the Sun growing more hot about the end of the spring time, causeth the snows to melt, which Danubius hath consumed, before that Nilus beginneth to increase: Danubius decreaseth during the rest of the Summer, and returneth to his greatness in Winter, according to which it is measured. CHAP. II. In what time of the Summer this increase is made. But Nilus increaseth in the heart of the Summer time after the Equinoctial, before the rising of the dog-star. Nature hath set this famous flood before the eyes of all mankind, and hath disposed it in such sort that it should overflow Egypt, especially at such time as the earth, being parched by the most burning heats, ●hould drain out the water from the depth, and should draw as much as the dryness of the whole year required. For in that part which inclineth towards AEthiopia, it raineth not, or if sometimes certain rains do fall, yet recomfort they not the earth which is unaccustomed to rain water. Thou knowest that Egypt hath no other hope but in the water of Nilus, by means whereof the year is either fruitful or barren, according as Nilus hath exceeded her bounds either more or less. There is no labourer in that country that lifts up his eyes unto heaven; wherefore then may I not sport myself with my Poet, and allege unto him is Ovid, saying, The herbs to JUPITER make no request To sand them rain from heaven to wet their crest. If a man could comprehend from whence Nilus beginneth to increase, The passages and courses of Nilus. he should find likewise the causes of the increase thereof: but having run thorough the great deserts, it spreadeth itself into Marshes, whence coming to disgorge himself into divers currents that run here and there; first he beginneth to assemble them all together about Philus, which is a stony Island, full of mountains and hard to be landed at in any part, begirt with two Rivers, which mix themselves in one, and fall into Nilus, whence they take their name. Nilus more large than violent, round about this place being discharged from AEthiopia, and running thorough the sands, that make a way unto those which traffic in the Indian Seas, The Cataracts of Nilus. is received into Cataracts a famous place, by reason of the marvels that are seen therein. In this place Nilus raiseth itself amid high rocks and such as are hollowed and divided in divers parts, employing in this place all her forces. For the stones he meet●th withal break him, in such sort as he attempteth to escape by the straits. In every place where it findeth any breach or resistance it floateth and gathereth together his waters, which he had carried along without any noise, and passeth with violence and vehement overflow thorough the most difficult passages, being no more like unto himself, because in these straits it rouleth wholly troubled and muddy. But coming to beat upon the rocks, it foameth, and at that time the injury of the place, and not his nature, maketh him change colour. Afterwards, having surmounted all that which hindereth him, he falleth suddenly and plainly into a marvelous depth, with such a noise as astonisheth the inhabitants of the country round about, who having been planted in those places by the Persians', and being unable to endure the continual thunder that deafened their ears, went and encamped themselves in places more remote, and better for their rest. Amongst the wonders of this river, I have heard more tell of the incredible boldness of those who abide in those quarters. Two men ship themselves in a little boat, which the one of them guideth, and the other emptieth. Having long times balanced amidst the troubled waves o● violent Nilus, they go and retire themselves into some narrow channels, by which they escape the dangerous passages of the rocks, where leaping into the midst of the stream, they govern the boat that is turned over them with their hand, and diving their heads downward to the great amaze of all the inhabitants that behold and bewail them with bitter tears, thinking that they are swallowed up in this gulf of waters, they show themselves again, and appear very far off from the place where they divided so swiftly, as if they had been pushed forward by some engines, receiving no other harm by the violent fall of this ●urious stream, but that it bringeth them to still water. The first increase of Nilus is observed about the Isle above mentioned. A little further of it is separated by the means of a rock, A rock whence first increase of Nilus' i● perceived. which the Grecians call Abatos, on which no men set foot except it be the Priests of that place. These stones first of all feel the increase of Nilus. far off from this there appear two rocks, which those of the Country name the veins of Nilus, from whence there issueth a great abundance of water, but not sufficient to cover Egypt. When any festival day cometh, the Priests cast in their money, and the governors their jewels of gold in that part of Nilus. The which becoming more mighty in all men's sight, runneth by a deep and large channel, yet not so great as he might well have, if it were not restrained by the mountains that hem it in on every side. Finally he getteth liberty about Memphis, and having the Champion at his command, In what place he getteth his freedom. he maketh divers rivers, and entereth into channels made by hand running thorough all Egypt, in such measure as they could wish, who divert the stream. From the beginning he divideth himself into two arms, and then rejoining his waters, he issueth forth after the manner of a Lake or troubled sea. His violent course relenteth by reason of the extent of the provinces, over which he is spread, embracing both on the right and the left hand all Egypt. As much as Nilus increaseth, so much is there hope of fertility, neither doth the computation deceive the husbandman, it is so answerable to the measure of the flood, which seemeth to fatten the sandy and altered earth, upon which he poureth his stream, and dischargeth his mud all at once: for having his waters troubled, he leaveth the thickest in dry places, and such as are exposed to heat, afterwards he manureth all the desert field with all the fat which he hath brought with him, aiding the territory by his inundation, & by this glueing and clammy fatness, in such sort as all that which is not watered, remaineth barren and desert. Increasing beyond measure he hurteth. By this reckoning behold a marvellous flood, which whereas many other small rivers do but wash and waste the lands, diminishe●h them nothing, but contrariwise fortifieth them: for by the means of his mud he fat●eth and bindeth the sands: so that Egypt ascribeth not only her fertility, but her good territory also to the same. It is a goodly thing to behold Nilus when it hath covered the champion. The fields are hidden, the valleys are covered, or appear not but in form of Isles. There is no traffic in the Midland places, except by boats, and the less the people see of these fields, the more rejoice they. But when as Nilus containeth himself within his bounds, he floweth by seven mouths or channels into the Mediterranean seas, The mouths or chanals of Nilus. and which of these mouths thou wilt consider it is but a sea. True it is that it spreadeth some other little arms in other shores which have no name. Besides there are found in this river divers monsters as huge & cruel as those in the sea, The Marvels contained in the same. which may suffice to make it known that it is Nilus. Since he containeth such creatures and feedeth them abundantly, and hath place large enough to contain. Balbillus an excellent man, and one of the learnedest in this world, writeth, that at such time as he governed Egypt, with the greatest mouth of Nilus, called Hereaclioteca, he had this pastime to behold a great troup of Dolphins coming from the sea, A combat between the Dolphins of the sea, and Crocodiles of Nilus. and another troup of Crocodiles coming out of Nilus, as if arranged in battle to encounter one another, and that the Crocodiles were overcome by the Dolphins, which are peaceable fish and bite not. The Crocodiles have a marvelous hard and impenetrable back, so that other creatures that are more great and dreadful cannot hurt them, but their bellies are soft and tender. It was in this place that the Dolphins pierced them with the fins, and bristles they had on their backes● in such sort as they cut out their bowels, and made them sink: many were dispatched in this sort, the rest as being put to flight, returned themselves swiftly against the stream of Nilus. The properties of the Crocodiles. The Crocodile hath this property, that he flieth before these that run after him, and runneth after those that fly him. The Tontentes get the better of them, not for any privilege of generosity they have above the other Egyptians, but for their contempt and temerity. For they willingly hunt the Crocodile, and cast a snare over them as they fly, by means whereof they draw them to them: but divers of these Tontentes that have not sufficient courage to pursue the Crocodile, resolutely are devoured by them. Theophrastas saith, that the water of Nilus was somewhat salt. For the space of two years under the reign of Cleopatra, that is to say, in the tenth and the eleventh year Nilus slowed not, which ●ignified according to the report of the Divines, the change of the State under the government of two, which were Anthony and Cleopatra, under whom the Kingdom was reduced into the form of a Province. Calimachus is the Author that in times past the Nile was nine years without watering Egypt. But now let us consider the causes of the increase of Nilus in Summer, The causes of the increase of Nilus in summ●r according to the opinion o● the Ancients, which is false. and let us begin with the most ancient. Anaxagorus saith, That the snows that are molten upon the mountains of AEthiopia, run and discharge themselves in Nilus. All antiquity followeth the same opinion. Aeschilus', Sophocles and Euripides have taught no less. But that this is false it appeareth by many arguments. First of all, That AEthiopia is a country extremely hot, it appeareth by the tawny colour of the inhabitants, and by the testimony of the Troglotides, who have their houses under earth: the rocks and stones are as they were on fire, not only at midday, but also in the evening: the sand is so hot, that a man cannot walk upon it, the silver waxeth lead, the solder or joining of the images dissolves, there is no coverture of any enriched matter that can endure. The Southerly wind that cometh from that country is extremely hot. Those beasts that hide themselves in the winter, live continually abroad. In the time of lest heat, the Serpents creep abroad. In Alexandria likewise, far distant from these excessive heats, it snoweth not, neither falleth there any rain on the highest places. How can it then be, that a country that is exposed to so great heats of the Sun, there should any snows fall all the Winter time? Truly there should some other mountains be covered therewith, and namely those of Thrace and Caucasus. But those Rivers that stream along from the mountains, swell about the spring time, and upon the beginning of Summer, and afterwards decrease in Winter. For in the Spring time the snows are melted, and about the first days of the summer the Sun dissipateth the rest. The Rhine, the Rhos●e, Danubius and Caystre, are small in winter, but great in summer: The Northern mountains are charged with very much snow. The River Phasis that runneth in those quarters should increase then, if towards the summer time the swowes could make the Rivers swell. Furthermore, if such were the cause of the increase of Nile, it should be very great in the beginning of summer, because at that time, the snows are at that time entire in great heaps. But Nilus floweth as proudly for four months space, always in the same estate, if thou wilt believe Thales, The opinion of Thales, as touching th● incurs of Nilus. the Etesian winds resist Nilus in his descent, and bridle his courses, thrusting the sea against the entrances of his channels, by means of which repulse he floweth back again and increaseth not, but because he cannot have further passage, he swelleth and overfloweth in every place where he may make his way. Enthymenes of Marscillus accordeth hereunto, Euthymenes opinion. saying, I have sailed in the Atlantic sea, thence floweth Nilus more greater, as long as the Etesians blow, for then the sea being pressed by these winds repulseth them against their stream. When such winds cease the sea waxeth calm, and Nilus that returneth back hath less force. The examination of these opinions. Than is the sea-water sweet, and the monsters in the same resemble those of Nilus. Why therefore? If the Etesians make Nilus to swell, why doth the increase thereof begin, before these winds rise, and continued after they are laid? Whence likewise cometh it to pass, that it is not more great at such time as they blow more rudely. For he neither riseth nor falleth, whether they blow more or less, which would come to pass if he increased by their forces. Furthermore, the Etesian winds beaten upon the shores of Egypt, and Nilus streameth against them, contrariwise he would issue from the places whence they came, if he took his original from them. Besides, he would flow from the sea pure and blue, not troubled and dirty, as he doth at that present. Besides infinite testimonies speak wholly to the contrary of this opinion. Than was there place for falsehood to prevail, when the coasts were unknown. It was lawful for them that spoke to publish their fables. But at this day all the coast of the sea is frequented by their ships who traffique● none of which say, that the water of Nilus is blue, or that the sea hath any other taste than it hath usually, which likewise Nature forbiddeth to be believed. For the Sun draweth that which is most light, and sweet. Besides, why increaseth it not in winter? Since at that time the winds being more violent than they were accustomed might move the sea? For the Etesians are moderate. Furthermore, if he were derived from the Atlantic sea, he would at one time fill all Egypt. But he increaseth by degrees. The Philosopher Oenopides of Chios saith, that in winter the heat is hidden under earth, by means whereof the dens are hot, and the fountain water is warm, by means whereof the veins of the earth are dried by internal heat. But in other countries the floods increase by the means of rain. An answer to Oenopides opinion. But the Nile, because he is not assisted by any other rain he waxeth the less, and then increaseth in summer, at such time as the inward parts of the earth are cold, and the fountains are fresh and cool. But if this were true, the rivers should increase, and all the fountains should be full in summer. I say likewise that in summer time the heat is not greater under earth. The water, the lower caves, and the fountains are warm, because they receive not the air that is cold without, so than they have no heat, but they drive out cold. From the same cause proceedeth this, that they are fresh in summer, because the air being remote and severed from the same, The examination of Diogenes Apolloniates his opinion. and afterwards warmed, attaineth not so far. Diogenes Apollinaris is of that opinion, that the Sun draweth humidity unto him, which is sucked up from the sea, and other waters by the dry land, that it cannot be that one earth should be dry, and another moist, because all is perforated and full of passages. Those things that are drier do sometimes borrow from the moister, and if the earth received not from other parts, long since had it fallen to dust. So then the Sun draweth the waves, but the meridianall regions are those that have most need: when the earth is dried, she draweth more humidity unto her. Even as in lamps, the oil runneth thither where it consumeth, so the water runneth into that part, where the vehemency of heat and of the parched earth calleth it. Whence then is she drawn? From those parts that are always cold, that is, from the Northern parts whence she floweth. For this cause the Pontic sea poureth her stream continually into that which is the lower, not by ebbs and floods after the manner of other seas, but tending and running always violently towards that part. If this were not, if that which every one wanteth were not supplied, and that which were excessive were not sent back again by the same ways, the earth should piece-meal be brought to dust, or drowned in the water. I would willingly demand of Diogenes, An instance that wrappeth Diogenes in new absurdities. since that this sea and the rivers join themselves together: Whence it cometh to pass, that the rivers in all countries are not more big in summer time: The Sun scorcheth Egypt more than all other regions, and therefore Nilus increaseth the more: But in other countries likewise there is some increase of rivers? Furthermore, how cometh it to pass that some places are wholly dry, since that all the earth draweth unto her the humidity of other countries, and so the more the dry earth shall be exposed to the Sun. Finally, whence cometh it that Nilus is sweet, if his water floweth from the sea? For there is no river more sweet in taste then Nilus is. CHAP. III. How the hail is made. IF I should maintain that hail is made as ice is, the whole cloud being frozen, I should undertake a thing that were over-headie. Therefore number me amongst those witnesses of the second note, who deny that they have seen, but avow that they have heard it. Or at leastwise I will do that which the Historians do. For they when they have feigned many things according to their own fancy, will not maintain any one thing of consequences but add these words, I refer myself to the credit of the Authors. Possidonius will answer for me, Possidonius opinion. as well in that which I have already entreated of, as in that which followeth. For he will affirm that the hail is made of a rainy cloud converted into water, as boldly as if he had been present at the making. But why hail is round, thou thyself mayest know without a master, when as thou shalt observe, that every thing that droppeth gathereth itself into a round, which likewise appeareth in glasses, which gather a kind of dew from our breath, and in pots that are powered o●t, and in every other light thing, as in the leaves of herbs and trees, if any drop cleave unto them, they are always round. What is more hard than stone? more soft than water, Yet hardest stones by softest drops are pierced. Or as another Poet saith: The drops that fall do pierce the stone. And this hollowness is round also, whence it appeareth that the water hath some resemblance with the stone that it holloweth, for it maketh a hole in the same, that is answerable to her form and habitude. Furthermore, although the hail were not such, yet in falling it might grow round, and tumbling so long thorough a thick air, take an equal form on every side, which the snow cannot do; The difference between snow and hail. because it is not so solid, but is rather spread abroad, and falleth not from any great height, but taketh his original from the lower region of the air, so that it cometh not from an air far distant, but falleth from a place near at hand. Why may not I give myself as much liberty as Anaxagoras did, whereas free liberty should be amongst no men more than amongst Philosophers? Hail is naught else but suspended ye. The snow is a sort of congelation hanging in the frost. There is such a difference betwixt frost and ice, and snow and ice, as between water and dew. CHAP. FOUR ANd having resolved this question, Why it snoweth, but haileth not in winter. I might dismiss and repose myself, but I will give thee full measure, since I have begun to be troublesome unto thee, I will relate whatsoever it be, that may grow in question upon this matter. The question is then why it snoweth in winter, and haileth not, and after that the cold hath been broken by a milder weather, the hail falleth? Although thou thinkest that I am deceived, yet accounted I it for true, which I apprehended in my mind, which permitteth itself to believe these trifling tales, wherein men are accustomed to nip our tongues, and not to pull out our eyes. In winter the air freezeth, by means whereof it resolveth not himself into water, but into snow, to which the air is more nearer. In the beginning of the Spring there followeth a great change of weather, and the air being become more warm, there succeed more greater rain. Upon which occasion our Poet Virgil saith, When as showre-bearing spring, Discovereth itself, the change of the air being opened, and resolved every ways by the assistance of the season, is far more vehement. For this cause the reinss fall more weighty and thick, but they continued not. The Winter hath lent, and thick showers, which we see oftentimes happen when the snow falleth amidst a rare and thin rain. We say that it is a snowy day when it is cold and the heaven is covered: contrariwise, when the North-east wind bloweth and governeth in the air, the rains are more small; but when the Southern wind raineth the rain is more strong, and the drops greater. CHAP. V The opinion of the Po●t upon this point. THat which is resolved by our Stoiques, neither dare I speak because it is but weakly grounded, neither must I let it pass. For what evil is it to writ any thing that is presented unto us? For if we will exactly examine, and make a diligent scrutiny of all things, it were better to be silent, since there is scarcely any thing that is maintained by the one, that is not impugned by the other. For there are very few things without contradiction. They say therefore that all that which is frozen about Scythia and Pontus, and to the Northward, dissolveth in the spring time: that at that time the Rivers thaw, and that the snows wherewith the mountains are covered, melt; by means whereof it is very like, that the colder winds engender such a change, and intermix themselves with the air of the spring time. They further add that which I have not yet tried, nor have the will to do the same; and I counsel thee that if thou wilt know the truth thereof, not to make trial in this sort if the snow be cold. Mark what they say, that they that tread upon the firm and hard snow have not so much cold in their feet, as those that tread upon the snow that is newly fallen. If they speak true, all that which cometh from the Northerly places (wh●n as the snow is distributed, and the ice is broken) toeth and constraineth the warm and moist air of the Southern parts: and therefore when it should rain the vehemency of the cold will make it fall into hail. CHAP. VI O● those that foretell wh●● it shall haite. I Cannot temper myself, but that I must needs discover all the follies of our Stoics, who affirm that there are some men so well experienced in the observations of clouds, that they can foretell when it shall hail, having the means to comprehend the same, by long use, by observing the colour of the clouds, after which hail hath followed so many times. It is an incredible matter that in the City of Cleone there were certain men chosen to this end upon the common purse, which were named 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, that is to say, observers of the hail. When these had given the sign that hail would suddenly follow, what expectest thou, that men should run to th●ir cloaks, or their leathern peltches? Nay rather, every one sacrificed for himself a Lamb or a Pullet; and forthwith those clouds declined another way, after he had tasted some little of the blood: Dost thou laugh at this? Behold cause of more laughter; if ther● were any that had neither Lamb nor Pullet, he drew his own blood, wherein he neither hurt himself nor any other man. And to the end that thou shouldest not think that the clouds are cruel and desirous of blood, one of them with a sharp penknife pricked one of his fingers, and offered his blood: at that the hail fled away from his field that had sacrificed thus, as from those pastures whose Master had the means by more greater offerings to prevent the eminent evil. CHAP. VII. SOme seek a reason hereof. Whether th●re be any reaso● in this pr●dicti●●. Othersome that are more wise say, that it is impossible to covenant with the hail, and to redeem the tempests by their diminutive presents, although th● gods are pacified by such means. Some there are, that hold ●hat they of Cleones thought, that there was some secret virtue in blood, to turn away and repulse the cloud. But how may so great power be enclosed in so little blood as to mount so high, and to 'cause a resentment in the clouds. The shortest way, was to say that all that was no other thing but a fable, & a lie: yet they of Cleones punished those that had not the care to foresee and provide against tempests, because by their negligence their Vineyards were beaten, or their cornelayed. And amongst us, in the law of the twelve tables it was for●bidden, that no man should enchant another man's fruit. The ancient Idiot's and those of little judgement, believed that the enchanters caused the rains either to fail or fall; but it is a thing most evident, that they cannot do it, yea, and so manifest, that the cause hereof is not to be examined in any Philosopher's School. CHAP. VIII. YEt one thing will I add more, and it will content thee to favour and applaud it. In what region of the air the snow is made. They say that snow is made in that Region of the air that is nearest unto the earth, and that hath most heat, for three causes: the first is, that every exhalation of the earth, whereas it hath much heat and dry within, it is so much the more hotter the nearer it is: the second, that the beams of the Sun reflect upon the ●arth, and reverberate back to themselves; the which redoubling warms all that which is neere●t to the earth, the which hath more warmth, because they feel the Sun twice: the third cause is, that the higher parts are more beaten by the winds, but whatsoever are lowest are less beaten by the winds. CHAP. IX. TO these may a man add the reason of Democritus: Democritus reason annexed to the precedent. the more solid a body is, the more suddenly receiveth it heat, and keepeth it the longer. Therefore if you set a vessel of brass, or glass, or silu●, in the Sun, that of brass is warmed soon, and keepeth the heat longest. He expresseth the reason in this sort: It must needs be that the pores and passages of those bodies that are closed, solid and thick should be more less than the rest, and that the air that entereth should be far more subtle. It followeth then, that as the Sto●es that are less spacious, and the smallest. Ovens are soon hot; so the pores and passages that are hidden, and cannot be observed by the eye, do more speedily entertain the heat, and because they are so narrow, deliver over this heat more slowly than they have received it. CHAP. X. The lowest Region of the air is more darksome and l●sse pure. THese long Prefaces bring us to the point that is now in question● All air is more thick, according as it is more near unto the earth● As in the water, and in all humidity, the leeses are found in the bottom; so in the air, those things that are most thick are always lowest. But we have already proved that all things, the more their matter is thick and solid, the more long time and more effectually keep they the heat they have received: but the more the air is raised and estranged from the ordures of the earth, the more pure and neat it is; by means whereof it retaineth not the Sun, but letteth it pass as thorough a void place, and therefore is it that it warmeth less. CHAP. XI. Why the tops of the highest mountains have less sense of the heat of the Sun than the valleys. COntrariwise, some say that the tops of the mountains, being near unto the Sun, should be also more ho●. But in my opinion they deceive themselves in this, that they think that the Apennine, the Alps, and other renowned mountains, by reason of their height have their heads so high, that their tops may feel the neighbourhood of the Sun: undoubtedly these mountains are high, if a man compare them with us that are men; but when thou shalt consider the whole Universe, every one may perceive that both mountains and men ar● things very base. The one compared with the other have the upper hand, and together they are nothing. Neither is ther● any thing, how high soever it be raised, that in comparison with the whole should be esteemed any thing; & if it were otherwise, we would not say, that all this circuit of the earth is but a bowl. The properties of a bowl is to be round in all equalit●e. Consider this equality in a ball; the s●itches, the corners and little holes that appear therein, hinder not a man from s●ying that all the parts are round. But as these spaces hinder not this ball to have a round figure, so in all the globe of the earth in the highest mountains (whose tops are nothing if they be compared with the whole round) the same aught to be considered. He that saith that the highest mountain, because it is nearest to the Sun, should be more warmed, may say also that a great man should have more heat than a little man, and that heat aught to be rather in the head then in the feet. But whosoever hath considered the world according to his measure, and r●membreth him s●lfe that the earth is the centre or point of this great circumference, shall know that nothing may be so ●●gh in the same, that by that meanus it may hau● more sense of the ●ffect of the Sun, and of those other celestial fir●s, as if he were more nearer unto them. These mountains that we behold, and these high Tenari●es that are covered with perpetual snowed are notwithstanding in the bottom. True it is, that a mount which is raised high is nearer the Sun than a valley, but in such sort is it, as one thing is greater than another: for after this manner one 〈◊〉 is said to be nearer heaven than another; which is false, because between those things that are little there cannot be any great difference, but whilst they are compared one with another. When we come to the comparison of a mighty body, it skills not how much the one is greater than the other, because although it be with a great difference, yet are they called small. CHAP. XII. But to return, Why the s●●w is soft. by reason of the reason● above mentioned, divers have been o● the opinion, that snow is made in the lowest region of the air, by means whereof it is sof●, because it i● gathered of a cold that is less rigorous than that of other regions. The neighbouring air hath too much cold to convert itself into water and rain, and over little to be hardn●d into hail. Of thi● moderate cold, and not too much intended are the snows mad● by the means of thick waters. CHAP. XIII. WHy, Of the resolution of this question: ●e entereth into censure against the Epicures of this world, who abuse snow. sayest thou, dost thou prosecute so earnestly these follies, whereby thou shalt neither become more learned, nor more better? Thou tellest me how snows are made, where it concerneth thee far more to let us understand why snows are not to be bought. Thou willest me to plead against dissolution: this is a daily and a fruitless brawl; yet let us chide at it: although she be like to get the upper hand, yet let her overcome us fight and striving against her. What then? Thinkest thou that this inspection of nature availeth nothing to that which thou intendest? When we ask how snow is made, and say that by nature it is like unto frost, that it containeth in itself more ayr● than water; thinkest thou not that they are reproached hereby, because they buy not true water, but a far more base thing? But let us rather inquire how snows are made, then how they are kept, because not contenting ourselves to pour out our old wine●, and to dispose them according to their savours and age, we have found out the invention how to keep snow, and to the end it might overcome Summer, and defence itself against the heat of the year, by the coldness of the place, what have we attained by this diligence? Forsooth this, to buy water that costeth us nothing. It grieveth us that we cannot buy the wind and the Sun; or for that the air cometh so easily to present himself to a rich and more delicate sort, who could be contented to buy the same. O how impatiently endure we that nature, the mother of all hath left nothing common to all. This which she would have flow and lie open to all men; this which she hath made public, to the end that all men might drink thereof to entertain life, that which she hath largely and happily dispensed for all, to serve the common use of men, of savage beasts, of birds and all other living creatures, that are the most idle, that hath d●●●solution (ingenuous in her own mischief) drawn unto a price; so is nothing pleasing unto her except it cost dear. This was the only thing that equalled the rich with the common sort, in which only they could not exceed the poorest. For him was this devised (whose riches are troublesome to himself) to feed his dissolution even in water. I will tell you whence it came to pass that no running water seemed cold enough for us. As long as the stomach is sound and capable of convenient nourishment, and is filled but not overpressed, it is content with natural supplies, it feeleth not the heat of the time, but his inward distemper; when as continual drunkenness encampeth in his bowels, and the noble parts are inflamed by a choleric humour that seizeth the stomach, men seek necessarily for somewhat that may temper that heat which waxeth more violently by those waters that are poured on it, and the remedy increaseth the sickness. And therefore not in Summer only, but in the depth of winter they drink water for this cause. What is the cause hereof but an evil 〈…〉 entrails rotten and spoiled by excess, to which no intermission hath been granted, to concoct & digest that which they had thrust into them; but some have heaped on their dinners those nightly banquets, which have lasted till the next day morning, gourmandize and drunkenness plunging as it were into a gulf, men's stomachs charged with abundance and diversities of wines and meats. Besides this, intemperance that hath no intermission, having greedily devoured all that which was presented unto him, becomes mad, and inflameth itself always in a new desire to follow his train. Although therefore they garnish their chambers with Tapestry and other ornaments, and with huge fires conquer the vehemency of the cold, yet notwithstanding their stomachs cloyed and weakened by their proper heat, seeketh some solace to refresh themselves. For ●uen as we cast cold water upon their faces that faint and are in a ●wound, to the end we may revive them, A pleasant and fit comparison, to show the miseries of the dissolute. so the entrails of these dissolute men, wholly stupefied with so much excess, feel nothing, except you awake them with these extreme cold drinks. Hence cometh it that they content not themselves with snow, but steep their ice in store of fresh water, as if the thickness thereof gave them some more certain refreshing. And this ye is not taken from that which groweth above, but to the end it may have more force, and a more vehement cold, they draw it and dig it out of the deeper places. Therefore is it, that these delicacies have more prizes than one, and there is traffic both of water and ice, according to the diversities of the seasons of the year, to the great dishonour of the buyers and the sellers. The Lacedæmonians banished Perfumers out of their City, and commanded them suddenly to departed out of their confines, because they wasted their oil. What would they have done if they had seen the shops and storehouses for snow, and so many horses appointed to carry water, whose colour and savour they altar by the means of the straw wherein they keep it? But good gods, how easy a thing is it to extinguish wholesome thirst? But what can dull and dead jaws, stupefied with burning meats, feel? Even as nothing is cold enough for them, A lively description of belly-gods, and how great was Senecaes' admired hatred against all excess. so nothing is hot enough: but they thrust down the scalding morsels, speedily drowned in their sauce, half smoking into their stomachs, to the end they may extinguish them with snowy potions. Thou shalt see certain lean fellows, armed against the cold up to the chin, pale and ill disposed, that not only swallow down, but also eat snow, casting great morsels of the same into their cups, fearing lest in forbearing their drink a little, it should wax warm. Thinkest thou that this is thirst? It is a fevor, yea, so malignant that it 〈◊〉 neither discovered in touching the pulse, nor by the colour that appeareth in the face. But intemperance an invincible evil, of soft and fluid becoming hard and stupid burneth the heart itself. Knowest thou not that all things lose their force by custom? Therefore this snow, in which at this day you that are delicate, are as it were plunged, by use and continual servitude of the stomach hath gotten this privilege, that it obtaineth the place of water. Seek out now some other thing that is more cold, for an ordinary and accustomed freshness and coolness is as much to you as nothing. The end of the fourth Book of Natural Questions. OF NATURAL questions, WRITTEN BY LUCIUS ANNAEUS SENECA, DEDICATED TO LUCILLIUS The Fifth Book. Wherein Is entreated of the matter and motion of the winds and air. CHAP. I THe Wind is fluent air. Hippocrat. lib. de Flatib. Read Valeriola upon this, and Aristotle's opinion in 2. Meteorolog. wherein he highly taxeth the definition: bu● Seneca in this place first defineth what ●inde i●. Some have defined it thus: The wind is an air which is fluent in one part. This definition seemeth to be more exact, because the air is never so immovable, but that in some sort it is agitated. So say we that the Sea is calm, when it is but gently moved, and inclineth not overmuch to one part. When therefore thou readest, When as the Sea was calm unbet by windes● Know that it is never so still but that it hath some slight replying, and is said to be calm, because it forceth not a stream neither this way, nor that way. The same may a man judge of the air, that it is never immovable although it be quiet and calm. Which thou mayest conceive by this: When the sun is infused into any closed place, we see certain little bodies carried now a thwart, some upward, some downward, and diversly encountering together. He shall therefore scarce diligently enough comprehend that he would, that saith: The flood is the agitation of the Sea, because when it is calmest it is stirred likewise. But beyond exception shall he be that shall define it thus. The flood is the agitation of the Sea into one part. So in this thing also, whereof we most of all now debate, he shall not be excepted against, that carrieth himself so as he saith: The wind is a fluent air into one part, or the wind is fluent air with violence; or the force of the air that fleeteth into one part, or a course of the air a little more vehement than ordinary. I know what may be answered for that other definition, what needest thou to add this, air flowing into one part? For whatsoever flouteth, into some part. No man will say that the water floweth, if it be only moved in itself, but if it tendeth toward some part. There may be therefore somewhat that may move and not flow, but contrariwise it cannot flow except i● be into one part. But if this brevity b● sufficient to defend us from r●proo●e, let us use this. But if any man be more circumspect, let him not spare his word, by whose adjection he may exclude all cavil. Let us now come to the matter itself, because we have sufficiently disputed of the form. CHAP. II. DEMOCRITUS saith, that when there are many of these small bodies, Whereof wind is composed. which he calleth Atomies, in some void straight, there followeth wind: contrariwise that the estate of the air is calm and peaceable, when in much void there are few Atoms. For even as in the market place or street, as long as there is but little company, a man may walk without tumult: but when as company meeteth in a strait, there groweth quarrel, because they throng and justle one another: so in this space wherein we are environed, when many bodies have filled a small place, it must needs be that in encountering one with another: the one should be pushed by the other, which push them back again, and that they should be confused together, and compress one another. From thence cometh wind, when as those two bodies that were at debate are fallen down, and after they have long time floated and remained in suspense, incline themselves. But where there are few bodies in a great exstent, neither can they justle one another, nor be impelled the one by the other. CHAP. III. Refutation of Democritus argument in the former Chapter. HOw false this opinion is, thou mayst gather hereby, because that when the sky is cloudy and the air is thick, there is no wind stirring. But at that time divers bodies are assembled together, whence proceedeth also the thickness of the clouds. Add hereunto that about Rivers and Lakes fogs fall very oftentimes, bodies being pressed and conjoined together, and yet there is no wind. And sometimes so great a mist is spread abroad, that scarce one man can see another, though they stand near together, which should not come to pass except many bodies had enclosed themselves in a little space. But no time wanteth wind more than that which is foggy. Add hereunto now that which falleth out on the contrary side, that the rising sun ordinarily attenuateth the thick and moist air upon his rise. And then doth the wind rise when as the bodies are set at liberty, and that their press and multitude is resolved. CHAP. FOUR NOw therefore how sayest thou, Wind is made in divers sorts. are the winds made, since thou c●nfessest that they are made? not a●ter one manner: for sometimes the earth pusheth out of her caves a great abundance of air, oftimes when a great and continual exhalation driveth up on high, that which she had depr●ss●●, this change of intermixed● air is turned into wind● for this neither can I b●● persuaded to believe, nor to conceal, which some men do hold, that ●s by the meane● of our meat, wind is caused in our bodies, which cannot burst ●o●th, except it be by viole●● 〈◊〉 ● or like wise sometimes by discharge of the belly with some noise, or making ●n escape which is not heard: 〈◊〉 ●his spacious nature that maintaineth all things, in changing nature produceth winds. It is good for us that she disgesteth always, otherwise we might fear some stink or or more uncleanness. Is there not therefore mo●e app●●ance to ●ay, that from all the parts of the earth, there necessarily arrive a g●●at numbe● of these Atoms, which heaped together, & afterwards attennated by the same, it happeneth that the wind is made, because that all that which enlargeth itself in a narrow place, requireth a greater space? CHAP. V WHat then? thinkest thou that the evaporations of the waters and earth are the only cause of the wind? The air hath in itself a natural faculty of motion. That the gravity of the air is caused by these, & afterwards resolved by violence when these things that stood thick, as i● is needful by being extenuated, strive to get a greater space? For mine own part I judge it to be so. But that is the more truer and firmer cause, is that the air hath a natural force of moving herself, which she hath of herself, as other things have without having any need of conceiving it from an other. Thinkest thou that the force of motion hath been given us, and that the ay●● ha●h been condemned to remain idle, and without agitation, considering thatch water ceaseth not to have her motion, although the winds be calm, for otherwise she could not breed fishes. We see likewise that Moss and other herbs grow in the waters, and float above them. CHAP. VI THere is somewhat therefore vital in the water. Speak I it only of the water● It hath something vital in itself. The fire that consumeth all things, createth likewise somethings, and that which cannot seem● to b●e true● and yet is very true) there are certain living creatures that are engendered in the fire. The air likewise hath some such like virtue, and therefore sometimes it thickneth, sometimes it spreadeth and pureth itself, sometimes it cloaseth, it openeth, and restraineth itself. There is herefore such difference betwixt the air and the wind, as there is betwixt a Lake and a River. Sometimes the sun itself is the cause of wind, sometimes melting the cold air, and finding it thick and closed in itself, purifieth and dilateth it. CHAP. VII. When and from whence the winds proceed. WE have spoken of the winds in general, now let us begin to entreat of them severally. It will happily appear how they are made, if it shall appear when and whence they proceed, First therefore let us examine th●se winds that rise before day, which either are raised from some rivers, or valleys, or gulfs. There is none of them continueth, but falleth when the sun is mounted somewhat high, neither is carried above the sight of the earth. This kind of winds beginneth in the Spring time, and passeth not the Summer. And from thence most of all cometh it, where there are many waters and mountains. The Champions although they abound with waters, yet say I, that they want this breath which standeth in stead of wind. CHAP. VIII. HOw then is that wind bred which the Grecians call 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, what soever the rivers and marshes cast out of themselves, Whence strong winds are caused. (the which is much and continual) is in the day time the nutriment of the sun, by night it is not spent, but being united in the mountains, is gathered into one region; when it hath filled the same, and being unable to contain itself in itself, it breaketh forth, and goeth into an other part, and hence cometh the wind. It inclineth therefore towards that part, which inviteth it with more free passage, and thorough the spaciousness of the place, into which being gathered together it may run. The proof hereof is, that it riseth not before midnight: for this collection beginneth to be made a little before day, and being as it were accomplished at such time as the light appeareth, it seeketh to discharge itself of the weight, and thither especially tendeth, where there is most air, and a great and spacious extent. The sun likewise at his rise reflecting upon the cold air, in some sort addeth forwardness to it: for even before he appeareth, he prevaileth by his light, although his beams do not dissipate the air, yet provoketh he it, and stirreth by sending his light before: for when he himself appeareth, the one are raised up into the air, the other are dissipated by little and little, in such sort as they are not permitted to blow, except in the morning, their vigour vanisherh under the force of the Sun. And if they be strong about the morning, about midday they wax weak, and these small winds never pass midday. There are some likewise that are very feeble, and more short, according as their causes are more or less powerful. CHAP. IX. But why are these winds more violent in the spring-time, Whence it cometh that such a wind is more violent in the Spring and Summer. and in the summer? for in the two other seasons they are very mild and scarcely fill the sails of ships; because the spring is moister, and a greater evaporation is made from divers waters and places, that by reason of the moist nature of the heavens are full and over charged. But why is it that these vapours are so great in the summer time? because such daily heat continueth after the setting of the sun, and continueth for the greater part of the night, and draweth to itself that which is without, and attracteth with violence all that which the earth is accustomed to tender of itself, but it hath not sufficient force to consume and dissipate that which it hath drawn: for this cause, the earth and water push out these little Atoms which are accustomed almost ordinarily to issue out, not only by heat, but also by the reverberation of his beams, the Sun is the efficient cause of the winds: for the light that foregoeth the rising of the Sun doth not as yet warm the air, but only reflecteth upon it, which being strucken upon, retireth itself on the one side; although I aver not that this light is without heat, considering that it is made of heat. It may be it hath not so much heat, that it may actually appear, yet notwithstanding it performeth his duty by deducing and attenuating these things that are thick. Besides those places, which by some iniquity of nature are so closed, that they cannot entertain the sun, are notwithstanding lightened by a dry and heavy light, and are less cold by day then by night. By nature likewise every heat drieth and disperseth away from it all clouds. If the wind bloweth from the place whence the Sun departeth. It followeth therefore, that the sun doth the like. For which cause some are of the opinion, that the wind bloweth from thence whence the sun parteth. But that this is false, it appeareth hereby because the wind driveth ships into divers climates, and such as travel by sea with full sail, sail against the sun rise, which should not come to pass, if the wind were always carried by the sun. CHAP. X. THe Etesian winds likewise (which are alleged by some in way of proof) serve them little for their purpose. Why the winds that are called Eteseans blow not but in summer, and during the number of certain days. I will first declare what their opinion is, and afterwards why it disliketh me. The Etesians (say they) blow not in the winter, because in the shorter days the sun is sooner set before the cold be overcome, and therefore the snows both fall and are hardened. In the summer time they begin to blow, because the days are longer, and the beams of the Sun directly beat upon us. It is therefore like to be true, that the clouds being shaken with great heat, push forth humidity, and that the earth (discovered and discharged of the snow) produceth the vapours more freely; whence issue more impressions in the air to the Northward, then otherwise, which are carried into places more sweet and temperate: so do the Etesians enforce themselves, and therefore is it that they begin in the Solstice, being unable to endure the rising of the Dogge-starre, because that already the colder part of the heaven hath powered much of his humour into the same. But the Sun having changed his course, draweth more directly towards us, inviting one part of the air, and repulsing the other. Thus the gale of these Etesians breaketh the forces of Summer, and defendeth it from the violence of the hottest months. CHAP. XI. If the Etesians and other winds are stirred by the sun. NOw will I perform that which I promised, why the Etesians help them no ways, neither yield any confirmation to this cause; we have said that about the spring of the day, there ariseth a little wind, which is laid as soon as the Sun meeteth with it. And therefore is it why the Mariners call the Etesians idle & delicate, because they know not how to rise early as Gallion saith. They begin the most times to blow when that little morning's breath beginneth to calm, which would not come to pass if the Sun were the stirrer of them as he is of the lesser winds. Furthermore, if the length and greatness of the day were the cause that they blew, they should be heard before the Solstice at such time as the days are long, and the snows are melted; for in the month of july all the earth is discovered, or at leastwise there are very few things that lie under the snow. CHAP. XII. THere are some sorts of winds which the clouds that are broken, and fall, Of the winds called Ecnephy and h●w they are made. push before them; these winds do the Grecians call 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 which in my opinion are made after this manner. When as a great inequality & diversity o● bodies which are cast forth by terrestrial vapours, mount on high, and that the one of these bodies are dry, and the other moist. It is to be believed, that from so great a contrariety of bodies that incessantly strive one against an other at such time as they are assembled, there should certain hollow clouds be composed. and that there is between them some distances, full of narrow holes, such as are in flutes: In these distances there is a subtle and thin air, that encloseth itself, which being tossed up and down therein, and in the end warmed by a constrained and interrupted course, becometh hereby more strong; and seeking for a place more large, breaketh all that which encloseth it, and issueth like a wind, which for the most part is stormy, because it cometh from above, and falleth upon us with a great violence, because it cannot spread itself every ways, but contrariwise traveleth very much to find an issue, enforcing his way before him, and as it were by a violent combat. Ordinarily this wind endureth not long, because it breaketh the recep●acles of those clouds wherein it was carried: sometime it issueth with a great noise, but not without thunder and lightning. Such winds are of more vehemency and longer continuance, if they carry with them other violent winds intermixed with them, and such as issue from the same way, and strive to unite themselves with them: even as torrents flow in a measurable greatness, as long as every one ha●h his particular course, but when as divers of them meet together in one, they surpass in depth, breadth and swiftness the greatest rivers that flow incessantly. The same way in all likelihood fall out in storms, which of themselves continued not long time, but when they h●ue assembled their force●, and when as from divers parts of the heaven, t●e air being pressed, assembleth itself in one place, they both gather more forces, and continued longer. CHAP. XIII. SO than a resolved cloud maketh the wind which is dissolved in divers sorts. The manner how the winds break from the clouds that enclose them. Sometimes the air which is enclosed, searching to find a vent, struggleth in such sort that it breaketh all that collection of clouds that detaineth it, sometimes the heat that hath been occasioned by the sun, sometimes the intershocke of clouds, as it happeneth when two great bodies encounter and crush one another. In this place it may be demanded (if thou thinkest it fit) whence that storm is raised? which is accustomed to happen in rivers, which fleeting onward without interruption seem peaceable and mild, and make no noise: but when they encounter with any rock on this or that side of the river, they recoil and turn their waters into round circles which cannot be divided; so that in whirling about they suck up themselves, and make a gulf: so the wind as long as nothing resisteth it, extendeth his forces: but when it is beaten back by any promontory, or if by constraint of the places it be gathered into some str●ight and crooked pipes, it oftimes turneth and returneth itself into itself, and maketh a gulf like unto those waters, which as I said, are converted and whirled about. This wind turning itself, and environing one and the same place, and moving itself violently in divers circles and rounds, is a whirlwind, which if it grow more strong and furious is enkindled, and maketh that flying fire, which the Grecians call 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉. This is a fiery storm. These winds for the most part being broken from the clouds discover all dangers, whereby whole herds of beasts are carried away in the fields, and whole ships are tossed and drowned in the floods. Some winds also engender divers others, and pushing the air into some other places, than those whereupon they were formerly cast, spread themselves here and there. I will tell you likewise that which is come into my memory; even as the drops of rain in the beginning make not the earth slippery, but when they are gathered together, and reinforced, then is it said that they flow and fall: in like case, as long as th● motions of the air are light and agitated in divers places, it is not wind as yet it beginneth to be when he hath mingled all his motions together, and hath made a mighty body. It is the measure that putteth a difference betwixt the air and the wind, for the wind is a more vehement breath, and the spirit likewise a lightly flowing air. CHAP. XIIII. I Will repeat now that which I said at the first, That there are winds likewise which break from the caves and hollow places of ●he earth. that the winds issue from caves and hollow places of the earth. The earth is not made and fashioned of one whole massive piece from the top unto the bottom, but is hollow in divers places: Suspended on obscure and hollow caves. Some where she hath voids without any humour. There likewise if no light show the difference of the air, yet will I say that the clouds and mists consist in obscurity. For neither are these above the earth, because they seem so to be, but because they are, they are seen. There notwithstanding also are they for this cause, because they are not seen. Thou mayest know likewise that there, there do flow certain rivers, no less great than those that we see, the one stealing along sweetly, the other violently and with roaring noise, by reason that they fall down headlong from craggy and stony places. What then wilt thou not confess also, that there are lakes under the earth, and that there are certain pools, whose waters standeth continually without issue? Which if it be so, it followeth also that the air is burdened, and by his burden bended, and raiseth the wind by his urging forward. We shall know well then that these winds shall be produced, in obscure places, out of these clouds under earth, when they have gathered so much forces that either may suffice to break thorough the resistance of the earth, or occupy some open passage for these winds, and that by these caves they may be conveyed amongst us. But this is most manifest, that under ●arth there is a great quantity of sulphur and other minerals, that serve to enkindle fire. The air searching issue by these caves, after it is very much agitated, must of necessity in this great press, express and 'cause the fire to iss●●. Afterwards the flames being spread more at large, if there remained any air that was still, the subtlety thereof gave it motion, and there with great noise and cracking sound, it seeketh passage. But I will entreat hereof more exactly when I shall speak of, and debate of the trembling of the earth. CHAP. XV. A digression wherein he entreateth of rivers and pools under ground. PErmit me now to tell thee a pleasant tale. Asclepiodotus reciteth, that in times past Philip caused certain workmen to be let down in desert mines, to see if there were any thing to be gotten, in what estate all things were, and if the avarice of our predecessors had left any thing for those that were to succeed. These men descended with many lights, and remained there for many days, and finally being wearied with walking, they saw great rivers, and pools of a marvelous length like unto ours, but not enclosed and restrained with any earth to bond them in, but spread and extended abroad, which made them afraid: I took great content to read this; for I understand that our age is sick, not only of new vices● but also of those which the Ancients have taught, and that it is not of late time that avarice hath digged into the veins of earth, and rocks, seeking in the darkness the ruin of mankind. An invective against avarice. And as touching our Ancestors, whom we praise so much, they likewise (whose virtues we complain that we cannot equal) being led by hope, have opened and digged down mountains, and have found themselves buried under the ruins, and under the gain th●y had made. There have been Kings long time before Philip of Macedon, that have searched out the very bowels of the earth to find out silver, and forsaking the free air, have slid down into those caves, where there was no difference betwixt day and night, leaving the clearness of the day behind them. What great hope could this be? What necessity hath bowed a man towards the earth, who was made upright to behold the heavens, that he hath digged, and drowned himself in the heart of the earth, to draw out gold, which is as dangerous in the searching, as in the keeping! For this hath he undermined the earth, and under hope of an uncertain prey covered in dirt, (forgetful of his time, and forgetful of his better nature) hath he sequestered himself. There is no dead man to whom the earth is so weighty, as to those upon whom avarice hath cast so weighty a load of earth; from whom she hath taken the light of heaven, and whom she hath buried in those bottomless pits, wherein this poison was hidden: Into those places durst they descend, where they have found a new disposition of things, the earth suspended, the winds blowing in an obscure voided, the dreadful sources of waters that streamed along, a profound and perpetual night, yet for all this they fear hell. CHAP. XVI. But to return to that which is now in question. Of the four● principal winds, and whence they come. There are four winds, divided into East, West, South, and North. All the rest which we call by divers names are numbered under these: EURUS retired towards the morning's rise, And to the Nabathean Kingdoms flies, Breathing on Persia, and those mountains high, That are exposed to PHOEBUS rising eye. Mild ZEPHYRUS the evening hath possessed, And bea●es upon the warmer shores of West, But horrid BOREAS doth the North invade And bends his storms against the Scythian glade: Where contrary, the Southern wind again The Noonested tract doth moist with clouds and rain. Or if thou hadst rather comprehend them in shorter words, let them be assembled in one tempest (which can no ways be.) EURUS and NOTHUS tempest both together, And stormy Africa hasts (to help them) thither. And the north-wind which had no place in that conflict. Some imagine that there are twelve winds. Of twelve winds, according to some For they divide the four parts of the heaven into three, and give two adjuncts to every one of the four principal winds. According to this manner, Varro, a very diligent man, hath ordered them; and not without cause: For the Sun neither riseth nor setteth always in one place, but one is the rising and setting Equinoctial, (for there are two Equinoctials) other the Solstitial and hibernall. We call that Subsolanus, Their name●. that riseth from the Oriental Equinoctial: the Grecians call it 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉. Eurus issueth from the Orient of winter, which we have called Vulturnus. And Livy so termeth it in that unfortunate battle of the Romans, wherein Hannibal set the rising Sun and wind in the eyes of his enemies, and by the assistance both of Sun and wind, got the victory. Varro surnameth it also Eurus after this mann●r. At this day the Latins use indifferently both the one and the other. The wind that bloweth from the Oriental Solstice, is called Caecias, or 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 by the Greeks and the Latins have no other name. The West Equinoctial sendeth Favonius, which they that understand not the Greek will tell thee is Zephyrus. From the Occidental Solstice proceedeth C●rus, or according to others, Argestes, which I think not, because that Cor●s bloweth violently, and maketh a storm in some par●; Argestes is ordinarily slack, equal, and common as well to those that go, ●s those that return. Africus that is both stormy and tempestuous, departeth from the Occident of winter, and by the Grecians is called 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉. To the Northward, the highest is Aquilon, that in the midst Septentrion, and Thracias is the lower, which hath no other name amongst the Latins. From the Meridional axis ariseth Euronotus, then Notus, in Latin Auster; after these Libanotus, which amongst us is without a name. CHAP. XVII. Th●● there can be but twelve principal winds. I Agreed that there are twelve winds, not because there arise many in ●uery country (for the inclination of the earth exclude●h some) but b●cause there are no more in any place. So say we that there are six cases, yet mean we not, that every noun hath six cases, but because ●here is no noun that can have more than six. They that have proposed twelve winds, have followed this reason● that ●here are as many winds as th●re are parts of the heaven, which is divided into five circles, which pass thorough the Cardines of the world, that is to say, the Northern, Solstitial, Equinoctial, Hibernal, and Meridional, to which is annexed a sixth, distinguishing, as thou knowest, the superior part of the world, from the inferior. For there is always a half above, and another beneath. The Greeks' have called this line which is partly covered, and partly discovered, Horizon, we Finitor or Finiens. To this must we add the Meridian circle, which divideth the Horizon by strait angles. Some of these circles go slopewise, and traverse the others. But it is necessary that there should be as great differences in the air, as there is in the parts. So then the Horizon divideth the five abovenamed circles, whereof it maketh ten parts, five to the Eastward, and five to the Westward. The Meridian circle, which encountereth with the Horizon, addeth two parts. If the air have twelve differences, so many winds maketh it. There are some that are proper to certain places, which go not from one place to another, but bend themselves towards that which is next, without blowing from one end of the world to another. Atabulus molesteth Apulia; japix, Calabria; Sciron, Athens; Cataegis, Pamphilia; Circius, France; whose inhabitants cease not to give him thanks, although he breaketh their buildings, as if they were bound unto him for the bounty of their air. At such time as the Emperor Augustus sojourned in France, he vowed and builded a Temple to this wind. It were an infinite matter if I should entreat of all other winds in particular, since for the most part, there is not any region that hath not some wind, that both breedeth and ceaseth in it, or about it. CHAP. XVIII. AMongst other works of divine providence therefore, a man may likewise wonder at this, Why the winds have been created and lodged in the air. as a matter worthy of admiration. For it hath not out of one cause, both found out, and disposed the winds diversly: but first of all, to the end it might not suffer the air to stand still, but by continual agitation make it profitable and vital to those that should use it. Again, that they might minister rains unto the earth, and bridle excessive storms. For sometimes they bring on clouds, sometimes sever them, to the end that the rain may be distributed thorough all the world: Auster driveth it into Italy, Aquilo casteth it into Africa, the Etesians suffer not the clouds to stay with us. The same winds in the same season, when we have drought, water India and AEthiopia with continual rains. But why? could a man store up his corn, were it not that the wind assisted him to drive the chaff from that which was to be reserved? Except there were somewhat that caused it to increase, and that breaking the ear and spike that holdeth the grain hidden and covered (which the labourers call the husks) should open the same? Is it not a great good, that she hath giu●n us the means to be able to traffic and to merchandise with foreign Nations? How men have abused this blessing o● God bestowed upon us by the wind. This is a great benefit of Nature, except the fury of men converted it to their injury. Now that which in times past was spoken by the greater part of people by Caesar, that a man could scarcely say whether it were more expedient for the Commonweal, if this man had lived, or had never been, may be at this day said of the winds. So much the necessity of them, and the profit that they bring counterpriseth the evils, that the fury of mankind hath invented to his own ruin by this means. For such goods cease, not to be good of their own nature, although they are become hurtful through their wickedness that abuse the same. The eternal providence of God, who is the governor of this world, hath not given this charge unto the winds to agitate the air, neither hath he lodged them in all parts to cleanse the same, to the end we should cover a part of the sea with vessels charged with armed soldiers, or that we should seek out enemies in or beyond the same. What madness is it that possesseth us, and maketh us to seek out a means how to murder one another? We embark ourselves to fight and seek out danger, we hazard ourselves to found out hazard. We adventure on uncertain fortune, we combat against the violence of a storm, which no human power is able to surmount, and run unto death without hope of sepulture: yet should this be nothing, if we might attain peace hereby. But now when we have escaped so many hidden rocks, and the ambushes of a seafull of shoals, impetuous billows, and sands into which a headlong wind driveth those that sail: when we have passed thorough days covered with scowling clouds, horrid night full of rain and thunder, and seen the vessels broken and battered by the wind. What shall be the fruit of this labour and fear? What haven shall entertain us, being wearied with so many evils? It shall be war, and the enemy that attendeth us upon our descent; the Nations we shall murder, a●d shall kill a part of the Conquerors army, with burning of those Citi●s that were builded for perpetuity. Why call we the people to arms? Why le●ie we men of war, intending to arrange our battles in the midst of the sea? Why disquiet we the seas? Is not the earth great enough for us to die in? Fortune handleth us too delicately: She hath given us too hard bodies, and to happy health. There is no accident that may hurt us. Every one may measure his years, invectives against the disturbers o● human peace. and pursue them until old age. Let us then enter upon the s●a, and provoke the forts that forbear us. Wretched men what seek you? Death; which every where attendeth you, and always is at hand? He will find you even in your beds, but let him find you always innocent; he will possess you in your houses; but let him take hold of those that practise no evil. But what other thing is this, but mere rage, for a man incessantly to carry his dangers about him, and to thrust himself amongst new and unknown dangers, to enter into choler without any offence, and thereupon to tread all things under foot that a man meeteth withal, and after the manner of savage beasts, to murder him that a man hateth not? yet beasts bite either for revenge or hunger sake; but we that are prodigal both of our own and other men's blood, trouble the seas, launch our ships, commit our security to the waue●, wish for fair winds, whose felicity is to be carried speedily to war. How far have our evils ravished us that are evil? Is it a little matter for us to play the fools in our own country? So the foolish Persian King sailed over into Greece, The strange vanities o● Xerxes and Alexander. which he conquered not, although he covered the country with soldiers. So would Alexander inquire, when he was beyond the Bactrians and Indians, what was beyond that great sea, & would be angry if he should leave any thing behind him. Thus Covetousness will deliver Crassus into the Parthians hands. He shall not fear the execrations of the Tribune that calleth him back, nor the storms of a long voyage, nor the lightnings which environing Euphrates, foretold him of his fall, nor the gods that made head against him; In spite of heaven and earth, he will run and seek out gold. It were therefore some reason, to say that Nature had greatly favoured us, if she had forbidden the winds to blow, to the end to bridle the forces of human fury, by staying every one in his own country. For if there followed no other good, at leastwise no man could be borne, but to do evil to himself, and his own. But now it is a small matter to play the madman at home, In what so●t men abuse the wi●des. we must go far off, and torment others. There is no country so far of us, but it may sand us much misery. Whether know I, whether any powerful and unknown Prince, made proud with his own greatness, shall sally out of his own country with armed hand? Or whether he riggeth some navy, intending to 'cause some trouble? whence know I whether such or such a wind may bring arms against me? It were a great part of human peace, if the seas were closed, yet can we not, as I said a little before, God is the author o● good, t●ou 〈◊〉 men employ his blessings to the contrary. complain against God our Creator, if we abuse his benefits, and make them contrary unto us. He gave the winds to keep the temperature both of heaven and earth, to call forth and suppress the waters, to nourish seeds, and fruits of trees; which the agitation of the winds, together with other assistance do ripen, drawing nutriment to their upper parts, and increasing them, jest they should whither. He gave the winds to know the furthermost parts of the earth. For man had been an unskilful creature, and without great experience of things, if he had been shut up within the confines of his own country. He gave the winds, to the end that the commodities of every country might be common, The wicked en●y nothing but to the●r own confusion. not to the end they should carry legions and horsemen, nor transport men to pernicious wars. If we weigh the benefits of nature according to their depravedness that use them, we have received nothing but to our own misery. What profiteth it a man to see, to speak? Nay, whose life is not a torment? Thou shalt find nothing of so manifest profit, which error cannot transfer to the contrary. So Nature intended, that the winds should be good, but we have made them evil. There is not one but pusheth us towards some evil. Every one setteth sail to divers ends and intentions, but no man aimeth at the just cause; A notable censure of our vanity. for divers evil concupiscences make us embark, therefore we set sail to some evil end. Plato speaketh well to the purpose, and he it is, that must be produced before us, as a witness in the end of our days, that we prize our lives basely for things of small value. But (my d●ere lucilius) if thou estimate their fury well, that is to say, our own (for we are of the company) thou wilt laugh; yet more when thou shalt bethink thyself, that life is gotten by those things, wherein life is consumed. The End of the fifth Book of the Natural Questions. OF NATURAL questions, WRITTEN BY LUCIUS ANNAEUS SENECA, DEDICATED TO LUCILLIUS The sixth Book. Wherein He entreateth of the motion of the earth. CHAP. I IT hath been heard by us (my lucilius the best of men) that Pompeias a renowned City in Campania, The wonderful earthquake that happened in Campania in Senecaes' time. having on the one side the Surrentinian and Sabiane shores, on the other side the Herculan, and which the Sea begi●teth with a pleasant gulf, made as it were artificially, was shaken by an earthquake, not without the prejudice of those countries that bordered upon the same: and that the same happened in Winter time, which as our ancestors assure us, is exempt from such danger. This earthquake happened the fift day of February, when Regulus and Virginius were Consuls, which brought a marvelous ruin into Campania, which had been never well assured from that danger: yet had it not before that time encountered with any such misfortune, and in great fears had been oftentimes preserved; for a part of the City of Hercule is fallen to the ground, and that which as yet standeth, is not well assured. The e●●ect of this earthquake. The Colony of the Nucernis also, as it hath not suffered some general destruction, so is it not without complaint. Naples likewise hath privately lost much, but publicly nothing, being lightly touched with a great evil. As touching some scattered Farms, they have been almost all of them shaken, but not offended by this earthquake. They add hereunto, that six hundredth flocks of sheep were strooken dead, and that statues have been riven in sunder, and moreover, that some persons lost their wits, and ran about the streets like mad men. The process of this enterprised work, and the circumstance of the season require us to examine the causes of these accidents. We aught to seek out comfort for those that are dismayed, and extinguish mighty fear. For what security can a man promise' himself if the world itself be shaken, and the most solid parts thereof quake, if that which is wholly immovable and settled, There is nothing assured under heaven. to the end it may sustain all other things on it be shattered here and there? If the earth looseth that which she hath proper in her, which is to be firm; whereupon may we assure our dismay and fear? What retreat shall there be for our bodies? Whether shall they retire in danger, if fear issueth and be drawn from the bottom of the earth? All men are amazed with fear hearing the houses crack, and the ruin hath given a sign; then every one flieth headlong from the place, and forsaketh his home and household-goods, and settleth himself in the open fields. What retreat discover we? What succour appeareth if the world itself fall into ruin? If she that keepeth and sustaineth us, whereon our Cities are builded, which some have said to be the foundation of the world sinketh and trembleth? How vain are the hopes which men apprehended amidst so great incertainties. What support, or rather what solace may a man hope for, when as fear i● self hath lost the means of flight? Is there any assured retreat or firm safeguard, say I, either for a man's self or another? I may repulse mine enemy from the breach; high Rampires and Bulwarks will stay great armies from approaching very easily. The heavens preserve us from shipwreck: the corners of our houses resist the violence of raging rains, and defence us from the continual fall of showers: the fire followeth not those that fly it: the houses under ground, and deep digged caves serve for a shelter against thunders and the threatenings of heaven. The lightning penetrateth not the earth, but is repulsed by a little object of the same. In the plague time a man may change his habitation. There is no evil but may be avoided. Never did lightnings burn up whole Nations. The pestilent air hath desolated Cities, but not destroyed them: this evil extendeth itself every way, and is avoidable greedy, and publicly harmful. For it not only devoureth houses, or families, or private Cities, but overturneth whole Nations and Regions, and sometime covereth them in her ruins, sometimes hideth them in a bottomless gulf of confusion. Neither leaveth it so much whereby it may appear that that was at leastwise, which now is not. But the earth extendeth itself above noble Cities, without any appearance of the former condition: neither want there some men that fear this kind of death, more than any other, whereby both they and their houses are swallowed up, and are carried away alive from the number of the living, as if all sorts of death conducted us not to one and the same end. Consolations and remedies against the same. Amongst all other rites that nature pretendeth in justice, this is the principal, that drawing near unto death we are all equal. There is no difference therefore whether a stone crush me, or a whole mountain smother me, whether the burden of one house fall upon me, or I breathe my last under a little heap of the dust thereof, or whether the whole earth hide my head; if I die by day and before all men, or if some obscure and vast yawning of the earth cover me, if I fall alone into such a bottomless pit, or if many Nations keep me company. What care I if they make a great noise about me when I shall departed? The death is always death in what part soever I meet it. Let us therefore fortify our courages against this ruin, which neither can be avoided nor prevented. Let us listen no more to those men, who have renounced Campania, and who after this accident have forsaken the country, and vow that they will never visit that Region again; for who will promise' them that this or that ground shall stand upon better foundations. All places of the earth are of the same stu●●e, and if as yet they are not moved, yet are they movable: happily this night, or the day before this night shall divide this place likewise, wherein thou livest more securely. Whence wilt thou know that the condition of these places is better, on which fortune hath already spent all her forces, and are assured for ever by the ruin which they have suffered. We deceive ourselves if we think that there is any part of the earth exempt from this danger. All of them are subject to the same law. Nature hath made nothing, which is not exposed to change: this thing faileth at one time, and that at another. And even as in great Cities, now this house, now that is suspended; so in this world, All countries are exposed to earthquakes. now one Region is shaken, strait another. tire in times past was defaced by ruins. Asia lost twelve Cities at once. The last year Achaia and Macedon have been endamaged with this evil (whatsoever it be) that hath now afflicted Campania. Fate maketh his circuit; and if for a time he forget some things, at last he revisiteth them. He afflicteth some more rarely, and others more often, but leaveth nothing exempt and free from evil: he mustereth not us only that are men that have but a little handful of life, but Cities also, extents of countries, shores, and the Sea itself. Mean while we make ourselves believe that these corruptible things are eternal, and believe that our good hap which we enjoy, and which passeth away more lightly than the wind, shall have some weight or stay in this or that. And they that promise' themselves that all things shall be perpetual unto them, cannot remember that the earth itself, on which we tread, is neither firm nor stable: for this accident is hot only incident to Campania and Achaia, but to every ground, to be brittle, and to be resolved upon divers causes, and to be ruinated in part although the whole remain. CHAP. II. WHat do I? I had promised to set down comforts against dangers, and behold I denounce perils every way; The true assurance against dangers, is to remember that we are exposed to dangers. I deny that there is any thing, which both cannot perish nor cause ruin, which may be ever in eternal repose: but contrariwise, I maintain also that this aught to serve for the greatest assurance that may be found, because a fear without remedy is a mere folly. Reason shaketh off wisemen's fear, imprudent men gather great security in their desperation. Think therefore that this is spoken unto mankind which was said unto those men, who thorough a sudden captivity stood amazed amidst the flame and the enemy. The only help to those that are in thrall Is counted this, to hope no help at all. If you will fear nothing, think that all things are to be feared: look about you, upon how slight causes we are shaken and overturned. Neither is our meat, nor our drink, our watching, our sleep wholesome for us, except it be in some measure: you see now that our bodies are vain, fluid, infirm, and easily destroyed. Undoubtedly this one danger were enough that the earth's tremble, that they are instantly dissipated, and swallow that which they themselves sustain. He prizeth himself very much, that feareth the lightning, the shaking and openings of the earth, although the sense of his own infirmity, make him fear his own phlegm. After this manner are we borne; having so happy members allotted us, men grown to this greatness, and for this cause, except the parts of the world be moved, except the heavens thunder, except the earth sink, we cannot perish. A little pain, not of the whole finger but of one side of the nail of our little finger, or a chap killeth us: and shall I fear the tremble of the earth, The smallest dangers being sufficient to end us, why should we fear any whatsoever appearance offereth itself, the end is one. whom a little thick spittle choketh? Shall I fear that the Sea shall break from out his bounds, and that the floods with a course more greater than accustomed, by assembling more waters should attempt to drown me. When as a potion hath strangled some that slippeth down the contrary way into the throat? What a fond thing is it to fear the Sea, when thou knowest that thou mayest perish by a little drop? There is no greater solace and remedy against death, then to know that we must die; and against all dangers that environ and astonish us, to remember that we bear an infinite number of perils in our bosoms. For what madness can there be more, then to swoon when we hear it thunder, and to hide ourselves under earth for fear of lightning? What is more foolish then to fear the sudden fall and overthrow of mountains, the overflows of the Sea, being cast without his bounds. When as death meeteth with us in all places, and accosteth us on all sides, and there is nothing so little, but is of sufficient force to exterminate mankind. Neither should these accidents confounded us, as if they contained in them more evil than an ordinary death: but contrariwise, since we must needs departed out of this life, and at one time or other breath our last, it should be a contentment for us to die by some notorious means. We must needs die sometime, wheresoever it be. Although this earth that sustaineth me remaineth firm, and containeth itself within his limits, and is not shaken by any incommodity, yet shall she cover me one day. What skills it then whether I cover myself, or that the earth of itself cover me? She openeth herself thorough the marvelous power of an unknown evil, she yawneth and maketh me sink, and swalloweth me in her immeasurable depth: What then? is it a more gentle death to die in the plain? What cause have I to complain, if nature will not permit me to be buried in an ignoble place? and if she cast a part of herself over me? My friend Vagellius wrote very wittily in that worthy Verse of his; If I must fall this thing wish I, That I may fall down from the sky. The same will I say if I must die; let it be then when all the world is shaken, not that it is a thing lawful to wish the ruin of the world, but because it is a great solace against death, to see that all the earth must one day have an end. CHAP. III. Of the natural cau●es of earthquakes. THis likewise shall profit much, to presume in mind that the gods do none of these things, neither that their indignation is the cause, whence proceedeth this agitation both of heaven and earth. Such accidents have their causes; it is not by commandment that they rage thus, but even as our bodies are afflicted with evil humours, so both heaven and earth have certain defaults, and even then when they seem to do us harm, they endamage themselves. But because we understand not the true causes, all accidents seem terrible unto us, and because they happen very seldom, we are thereby affrighted the more. Those evils that are ordinary are more easily endured, but those that are extraordinary, astonish the more. Whence it cometh to pass that we esteems extraordinary accidents for novelties. But why seemeth any thing a novelty unto us? It is because we comprehend nature by the eyes and not by reason, and think no ways on that which she may do, but only on that which she hath done. Therefore are we worthily chastised for this negligence, being terrified by those accidents which we call new, when as indeed they are not, but only unaccustomed. What then? Feel we not our minds seized with religious fear, and find we not the common sort dismayed, to see the Sun lose his light, or the Moon, (whose obscurity is more often) when she hideth herself wholly, or in some part, and far more if we see pillars of inflamed fire thwarting the air; a greater part of the heavens on fire, if we see crinite Comets and divers Suns, if we behold the stars by day time, the sudden fires running from one part to an other, and leaving after them a great light? We behold none of these things without fear, and when as to be ignorant is the cause of fear, think you it a small matter to be instructed how you should not be afraid? How far better were it therefore to seek out the causes of these changes, by applying the mind diligently thereunto? For there cannot any one more worthy subject be found out, wherein a man should not only fix his studies, but spend them also. CHAP. FOUR LEt us therefore seek out what the cause is which moveth the earth from her bottom to the top, The causes of divers tremble, and yawnings of the earth, and other such gre●● accidents. that impelleth the weight of so massive a body, what it is that hath so much force to be able to lift up so unwieldy a burden, whence cometh it that sometimes she trembleth, and sometimes being loosened sinketh, now renteth herself into divers parts, now appeareth long time open, sometimes closeth herself suddenly, presently swalloweth up great Rivers, anon after disgorgeth new, discovereth in one place the veins of hot water, in an other cold: vomiteth sometimes fire by a new vent of a Mountain or Rock: other whiles choketh and shooteth up those that had flamed and burned for the space of many years. She moveth a thousand miracles, produceth divers changes, transporteth mountains, maketh mountains of plains, swelleth up the valleys, and raiseth new Islands in the Sea. To know the causes of so many accidents, is a thing worthy to be discussed. But what commodity sayest thou will there grow hereby? The greatest in this world, which is the knowledge of nature. Although the consideration of this matter bringeth many commodities with it, What profit the sear●● into nature yields a man. yet containeth it nothing in itself more excellent than this, that the worthiness thereof wholly possesseth the mind that is fixed thereupon, and it is not the gain, but the miracle that is observed therein that maketh it venerable. Let us consider then what the cause might be, why such things happen, the contemplation whereof is so pleasing unto me, that although in times past, during my younger years, I published a Treatise of earthquakes, yet had I a mind to try and assay, whether age hath added any thing either to my knowledge or diligence. CHAP. V divers opinions v●on the causes of earthquakes. SOme have thought that the cause of earthquakes was in the air, some in the impressions of fire, some in the earth itself, and othersome in the air. Some have said that two or three of the elements were the cause, some have imputed it to all. Some of these have said that one of these in their knowledge was the cause thereof, but which they knew not: But now let us examine ●uery particular. This before all things must I needs say, that the opinions of the ancients were both gross and feeble. The ignorance of the ancient● in this point of natural Philosophy. They wandered as yet about the truth. All things were new to those that spoke of it first, but afterwards they were better polished and discovered, and if any thing be found out, yet for all that we aught to ascribe and attribute the honour to them. It was the enterprise of a high understanding, to dive into the secrets of nature, and not content to behold her outwardly, to contemplate her inwardly, and to descend into the secrets of the Gods. He hath helped very much in the finding it out, that hath hoped that he might found the same. Our ancients therefore are to be heard with some excuse: nothing is consummate in the beginning: neither in this thing only which is the greatest and most intricate of all others, wherein likewise when as much is performed, yet every age shall find what to do: but in every other business also, the beginnings were always far from perfection. CHAP. VI Whether waters be the cause of ●a●hquakes. IT hath not been maintained by one, nor after one manner, that the water is the cause of earthquakes. Th●les Milesi●s is of the opinion, that all the earth floateth, and is carried above the water, whether it be that we call it the greater Ocean, or the great Sea, or any simple water of another nature, or a moist element. By this water, saith he, the earth is sustained as a great ship, which weigheth very much upon the waters that bear it up. It were a superfluous matter to set down the reasons why he thinketh that the most weightiest part of the world cannot be sustained by the air which is subtle and light: For the question is not now about the situation thereof, The reasons alleged by Thales to prove this, w●th Senecaes' answers. but of the trembling of the same. He allegeth for one of his reasons, that the waters are the cause of the quaking thereof, because that in all extraordinary motions, there issue almost ordinarily some new fountains: as it happeneth almost ordinarily by some ships, which if they be inclining to one side; and show their keel aside-long●, gather water, which (if it happen that the burden they bear be over-waightie) either spreadeth itself above, raiseth itself more higher towards the right, or towards the left. We need no long answer to show that this opinion is false. For if the water sustained the earth, sometimes the whole earth should be shaken, and have continual motion, neither should we wonder that it is agitated, but that it stayeth settled. She should not tremble in a part, but wholly: for never is a ship shaken to the halves. But the earthquake is not of the whole, but a part only. How then can it be● that all that which is carried is not wholly agitated? if that which is not carried is agitated? But why appear new waters? First of all the earth hath oftentimes trembled, and yet no new source hath ever discovered itself. Again, if for this cause the water broke forth, it would spread itself on both sides of the earth, as we see it happeneth in Rivers, and in the Sea, that when the ships lie at road, the increase of the waters appeareth, especially about the sides of the Vessel. Finally, there should not be so small an eruption made as he speaketh, and the pump should not yield water as it were by cleft, but a great del●ge should be made as from an infinite water that beareth the earth. CHAP. VII. SOme have imputed the motion of the earth to the water, Other re●sons of th●se who a●ter Th●le● have thought, that the water is the cause of the trembling of the earth. but upon a different cause: They say that divers kinds of waters run thorough the whole earth: and that in some place the waters are perpetual, great and navigable, although it raineth not. On the one side Nilus is very great● and violent in the Summer time, on the other Danubius and the R●ine, passing thorough peaceable and hostile Countries, the one bridling the incursions of the Sarmatians, and separating Europe from Asian the other repelling the Almains which are a warlike Nation. Add hereunto the spacious Lakes, the pools environed by nations that know not one an other, the Marshes that never as yet ship hath thoroughly sailed thorough, nor th● inhabitants that border thereupon have ●uer visited and searched. After thi● so many fountains, so many sources, whence are vomited both from above and beneath the earth, so many Rivers in so great number. Besides these so many furious torrents, whose forces d●re as little as they are sudden and violent. Such is the nature and appearances of waters, especially of those that are in the earth. There likewise are divers currents of marvelous swiftness, which spend themselves into bottomless pits: and others more gentle, which are spread abroad by spacious channels, where they flow peaceably without any noise. But who will deny that they are contained ●n vast receptacle●, and that in divers places they remain in repose without stirring. I need not long time insist upon this proof, that there are many waters there, where all are. For the earth would not suffice to produce so many floods if she had not abundance in store. This being thus; it must needs b●e that sometimes a River swelleth inwardly, and that in breaking his bounds he runneth violently against that which resisteth him. By thi● means there shall be some motion made of some part against which the flood enforceth itself, and against which it will bear until such time as it hath a decrease. It may be that the River exceeding his bounds eateth away some quarter of the Country, ●nd carrieth with it a mass of the earth: which beginning to be dissolved, all the rest which is above is shaken and followeth after. But that man ouer-tr●steth 〈◊〉 eyes, and cannot extend his mind f●rther than 〈◊〉 ●ye of hi● body, that believeth not, that in the cavities of the earth there are gulfs of ●he spacious Sea. For I see not what thing may hinder, but that there is a shore under earth, and that by the channels which are hidden under Sea, which therein it may be have as much and more place than those which we see. The reason is that the earth and the sea, that is discovered to our sight, aught to be as it were covered with so many Creatures as we see. Contrariwise the Regions that are hidden, deserts, and without inhabitants, receive the waters more freely, which nothing hindereth to flow, and to be agitated by those winds, by the whole air, and the whole distances of places. A storm being raised there, and more violent than ordinary, may more rudely shake some portion of the earth which it encountereth with. For in our quarters likewise many places far distant from the Sea, have been beaten with a sudden access and flood of the same; and the flood that is conceived to come a far off hath invaded those country houses that are builded about us. Under earth also the Sea may have his ebb and float; which cannot be without some shaking of the earth, which is above the same. CHAP. VIII. He proveth that there are abundant waters under the earth. I Think that thou wilt not very much debate and doubt, whether there be rivers and a sea hidden under ground: for from whence do they issue, and come unto us, except that it be because the water is enclosed in his source? Tell me when thou seest the course of the river Tigris stayed, and the water thereof cried up by little and little, and not all at once, and less appeareth not, but that it is diminished until such time as it is wholly dried, whether thinkest thou that it goeth, when as thou seest it issue, as violent, spacious, and deep as it was in the beginning? And when thou seest the river Alphaeus, which the Poets have so much renowned, lose itself in Achaia, and aft●r having traversed the sea, discover itself in Sicily, where with a lively source it passeth forward the pleasant fountain of Arethusa, what thinkest thou? Knowest thou not that amongst the reports that are made of the River of Nilus, and the over flow thereof in Summer time, that it is said that it issueth from the earth, & that it increaseth not by the waters of the air, but by those waters that spring from under the earth? I have heard say by two Centurions, whom the Emperor Nero Nero's praise during the first years of his Empire, but how great alteration breedet● much authority, where the counsellors are flatterers, religion paganism, delight impiety? (a friend of all virtue, but above all of verity) had sent to discover the source of Nilus, that after a long journey, accomplished by the assistance of the King of AEthiopia, who had recommended them to divers other Kings, they came unto certain marshes of infinite extent, the inhabitants of which country knew not the end thereof, and no man durst promise' himself to discover the same, by reason that the herbs and waters were so tied together, that it was impossible for a footman to travel; no less for a Boat, because the Marshes being full of mud and flags, could not bear the vessel wherein there was any more than one man. They add moreover, that they have seen in Marshes two rocks, from whence the water falleth abundantly. But whether it be that such water be called the source or increase of Nilus, or that he hath his beginning there, or that he is derived from farther places, thinkest thou that it mounteth not from some great Lake under earth? It must needs be tha● these rocks have their waters derived from divers place●, and gathered up on high, which discharge themselves in such abundance and s● violently. CHAP. IX. THere be some that judge fire to be the cause of this motion, The examination of their opinion who hold that the fire i● cause of earthquake. yet consider they this cause in divers fashions. Amongst the rest Anaxagoras thinketh that the air and the earth are almost shaken by the same cause. When as the wind which is enclosed under earth, breaketh the air which was thickened and form in a cloud, with as great violence as the clouds which we see are accustomed to break, and that the fire by this entershocke of clouds, and by the course of the air, which is restrained within it, causeth lightning to issue. This air opposeth itself against all things it meeteth, which seeking a passage to issue forth, and teareth open all that which hindereth it, until such time that either it hath found a passage by some little hole to mount towards heaven, or that it hath gotten it by force and violence. Some say that the cause is in the fire, but they are not of opinion that it is for this reason, but for that being covered in divers places, it burneth and consumeth all that which it meeteth withal. And if the things that are eaten thereby happen to fall, then is it that there followeth a disjunction of the parts, which are disfurnished of their stays, and finally, a total ruin, because nothing presenteth itself to sustain the burden. Than are the openings and vast yawaings of the earth discovered; or else when the parts of the same have long time declined, they which remain entire begin to dissolve. We see the like hereof happen amongst us as oftentimes as the fire hath taken hold of some quarter in the City, when as the beams and principals are burned, or that the main timbers that sustain the house are sunk, than the house being shaken falleth to the ground, and so long time shrink they, and are uncertain, until they have found some place to stay upon. CHAP. X. ANAXIMENES saith, that the earth herself is the cause of her motion, The opinion of Anaximenes, that the earth itself is the cause of her motion. neither is there any thing extrinsically that impelleth the same, but that into her, and from her fall certain parts which the water dissolveth, or the fire eateth, or the wind shaketh? but although rhese three cease, yet ceaseth she not to have something, by means whereof this revulsion and diminution is made. For first of all, all things decline by succession of time, and there is nothing that is exempted from the hands of age which ruinates the strongest & most solid things. Even as therefore in old houses, some things fall although they are not strooken, when as they have more weight upon them then force to bear it: so falleth it out in this universal body of the earth, that the parts thereof are dissolved by age, and being dissolved, fall and breed a trembling in the upper parts. First, whilst they separate themselves (for there is no great thing that is disjoined without the motion of that whereunto it cleaveth) than when they are fallen they rebound back again after the manner of a ball, which falling from on high upon the earth, is many times strooken up, and maketh divers bounds. But if they happen to fall into some great pool, the water that is moved by the fall maketh that tremble which is round about, and it is the weight that falleth from on him that causeth this present shock, and that spreadeth it every ways. CHAP. XI. Another opinion of those that think the earthquake is caused by fire. THere are some that assign this trembling to the fire, but otherwise; for when as in divers places they are hot and boiling, it must needs be, that a mighty vapour is turned up and down without issue, which by the multiplication thereof reinforceth the air; which being animated & provoked, riveth that which it opposite; but if it be more remiss it doth nothing else but move. We see that water foameth when fire is put under it. That which this fire doth in this water, that is included in a strait and narrow vessel, but far more we may think it may do it, when with violence and great abundance, he causeth great quantities of waters to boil. Than agitateth he by the vaporation of the waters that overflow, whatsoever he beateth upon. CHAP. XII. Whether the wind be the cause of earthquakes. MAny and the greatest learned men, are of the opinion that the wind is the cause of earthquakes. Archelaus who hath carefully examined the opinions of the ancients, saith thus: The winds are carried thorough the cavities of the earth, afterwards when all spaces of the same are filled, and that the air is thickened as much as may be, that wind that cometh after presseth and expresseth the former, and first of all by redoubled strokes pusheth it forward, and finally casteth it out. This seeking for a place, runneth here and there, and enforceth itself to break his bounds. Thus cometh it to pass that the earth is shaken by the wind, which striveth and seeketh for a passage to get out at; when as therefore an earthquake is like to follow, first there goeth before it a tranquility and calm of the air, and the reason is, because the power and virtue which was accustomed to move the winds, is detained under earth. And now likewise in this earthquake of Campania, although it were in Winter time, and in a troubled season; yet so it is that some days before it happened, the air was calm and peaceable. What then? Was there never earthquake when the winds blue? Very seldom have two winds blown at once: yet can it be, and it is wont to be; which if we admit, and that it appeareth that two winds may blow at once, why might it come to pass that the one should agitate the higher air, and the other the inferior. CHAP. XIII. YOu may number amongst those of this opinion Aristotle and his scholar Theophrastus, The firm opinion of Aristotle and others, that wind is the cause of earthquakes. a man not so excellent and divine as the Grecians make him, yet of a pleasing, fluent, and unaffected discourse. I will discover unto thee both their opinions: there is always some evaporation from the earth, that is sometimes dry, sometimes intermixed with humidity. This exhalation issuing from beneath, and carried up as high as it might, when as she hath not a farther place by which she may find issue, recoileth back again, and enfoldeth herself in herself: and whilst the debate of the wind, which goeth and cometh, overturneth that which maketh head against her, be it that she remaineth enclosed, be it that she escapeth by narrow straits, she moveth earthquakes and thunders. Strabo is of the same opinion; a man who hath carefully addicted himself to this part of Philosophy, and hath diligently searched out the secrets of Nature. This is his opinion: Cold and heat are two opposites, and cannot be together, the cold slippeth in thither where the heat is absent; as contrariwise, the heat entereth that place whence the cold is driven. This that I speak is true; but that both are driven contrariwise, by this it appeareth. In Winter time when the cold is upon the earth the Springs are warm, the Caves and all hidden places under earth are hot, because the heat is retired thither, giving place unto the cold that possesseth the upper part. When the heat is thus entered into the lower parts, and hath insinuated itself as much as it may, the thicker it is the stronger it is. If a new heat come unto it, the one being pressed by the other giveth place: the contrary happeneth, when as the cold becoming more powerful slippeth into the Caves. All the heat which at that time was hidden therein, giving place unto the cold, retireth itself into some narrow corner, and is moved, and enforceth itself with great violence; for the nature of them both admitteth no concord, neither can they ever bide in one place. Flying therefore and striving by all means to get out, he overthroweth, ruinateth and tosseth whatsoever he meeteth. Therefore before the earth is moved, men are accustomed to hear a kind of whistling or murmur whilst the winds combat beneath, or otherwise, as our Virgil saith could not, The earth waves under feet, the mountains quake. If the wind were not the cause hereof. There are likewise vicissitudes of this fight, and each hath his turn. The heat ceaseth to assemble itself, and to issue. Than is the cold repressed, and succeedeth to reinforce himself incontinently: when as therefore the force of heat and cold runneth and returneth often, and that the wind goeth and returneth here and there, then is it that the earth trembleth. CHAP. XIIII. The divers causes of earthquakes by the means of wind. THere are some that think that earth is shaken by the wind, and by no other means; but they imagine another cause than Aristotle did. And hear what they say. Our body is watered and moistened with blood and spirit, which run here and there, thorough those passages that are deputed to those offices. But we have some more narrow receptacles of the soul, by which she doth nothing else but wander, some more open and spacious, in which she is gathered together, and from whence she divideth herself into parcels. So this great body of the earth is open to the waters that possess the place of blood, and to the winds, which a man may well call the soul. These two encounter in some place, in some place stay. But as in the body, as long as it is in health, the continual beating of the artery is measured, but if the health thereof be altered, the pulse is frequent and high, the signs and violent respirations, are the signs that the body is wearied and afflicted. In like sort when as the waters and the winds are in their natural receptacles in the body of the earth, they have no agitation above measure. But if there happen any disorder, at that time there is distemper, as in a sick body, the wind that breathed along pleasantly, if it be stopped in the passage, agitateth his veins. It followeth not therefore that the earth should be as the body of a living creature, as some do pretend. For if it were so, it should be wholly agitated as a living creature is. And we ourselves feel that fevor afflicteth not some parts of the body more gently than other some, but that she runneth thorough all equally. Consider therefore, if it be not true that the wind entereth into the earth, replenished with air round about, which as long as he hath free passage, stealeth a long gently, if he encounter with any thing that stoppeth his passage, first of all he is charged by the air that presseth after hard at his back, afterwards he flieth secretly by some cranny, and the more eagerly dislodgeth he, the more straighter his passage is. This cannot be done without conflict, neither is there any combat without agitation. If he findeth not any cleft to escape there, he gathereth himself together and beginneth to tempest, whirling upwards and downwards, until such time as he hath overturned and sunk that which resisted him: if he be subtle, he is wondrously strong, and if he slideth thorough passages that are somewhat narrow, and that by his virtue he enlargeth and dissipateth all that where he entereth, then is the earth shaken. For either she openeth herself to give passage to the wind, or after she hath given it, being destitute o● foundation, she seizeth and sea●eth herself in that cavity whereby she gave him passage. CHAP. XV. The third opinion of ea●thquaks by ●orce of wind. THus some think: The earth is perforated in divers places, neither hath she only these first entrances and pores which she received as vents from her beginning, but casualty hath bred many more in her. In some places the water hath enlarged all that earth which she had over her, the torrents have eaten away some portion, the greatest heats have cleft another. The wind entereth betwixt both, which if the sea hath included and driven, neither suffered the floods to go backward, than he being cut off both of his entrance and return, tumbleth about. And because he cannot, according to his nature, tend directly, he shooteth up himself on high, and reverberateth the earth that presseth him. CHAP. XVI. WE must also speak something as touching that which divers Authors approve, The fourth opinion as touching the trembling of the earth by wi●de. and where it may be they will be found to be different. True it is that the earth is not without air, and not only this air which maintaineth the same, and toeth the parts thereof together, penetrating likewise thorough stones and other bodies without life: but also this vital air which quickeneth and nourisheth all things. If she had it not, how should she give life to so many plants and seeds, which draw their vigour from no place else? How could she entertain and sustain so many divers roots in her, the one of one fashion, the other of another; the one entertained in her upper part, the others buried more deeper, if she had not much soul which engendereth so many and so divers things, and nourisheth them by her inspiration and virtue? Hitherto have I ●et down but conjectures. All the heavens, that are enclosed and arounded with elementary fire, all these innumerable numbers of the stars, Senec●es opinion as touching the greatness of the Sun. all the celestial bodies, and amongst th● rest, the Sun (shaping his course more near unto us, and which is but twice as great as the globe of the earth) draw nourishment from the earth, and divide it amongst them, being sustained by nothing ●lse but terrestrial vapours. This is their nourishment and feeding. But the earth could not nourish so many creatures, so ample and more greater than herself, if she were not full of a soul, that day and night is spread thorough all her parts. For it cannot be but that there remaineth very much in her, from whence there is so much both expected and gathered, and that which issueth forth should not be bred in his proper t●me. She should not have continual abundance of spirit to furnish so many celestial bodies, if these things had not concurrence amongst themselves, and were not grounded and changed in some other thing. Yet of necessity she must abound and be full, and that she furnish herself with it, which she hath in store. There is no doubt then, but that much spirit is hidden therein, and that within the entrails of the earth there is a marvelous abundance of air. This being so, that must needs follow, that that which is filled with a thing which is very movable, should be oftentimes removed. Every one knoweth that there is nothing more inconstant, stirring, and fleeting then the air. CHAP. XVII. IT is convenient therefore that she exercise h●r nature, A consequence drawn from the precedent discourse, and a proof that the wind is the cause of the trembling of the earth. and that that which will always be moved, should sometimes agitate and move other things. When is this do●e? Than when her course is cut off and stayed. For as long as he is not intercepted, he stealeth along quietly and peaceably, but if he be resisted or restrained, he entereth into fury, and breaketh thorough all that which intercepteth him, ●u●n as the Poet s●ith by the flood: Araxes that disdains to bear a bridge. As long as he hath an easy and free passage, he fleeteth along at pleasure, but if either by cunning or adventure some stones are gathered together which stay his course, he taketh occasion hereby to do much mischief, and the more stones are opposed against him, the more forces findeth he. For all these floods that come behind, and make the heap more high, being unable to support themselves any more, overthrow all things in passing by, and fly along leveling their stream with that they have overthrown, and those waves that fled before them. The wind can never be stayed. The same befalleth the wind: The more vigorous and swift it is, the more swiftly flieth it, and carrieth away with it, with greater violence, all that which either stoppeth or resisteth his passage. Thence cometh the earthquake, but in that part under which this conflict was made. That this which I have spoken is true, it appeareth by this that followeth. Oft-times when there hath been an earthquake, if any part of the same hath been shattered, the wind hath issued forth, and blown for the space of divers days, as it fell out by report in that earthquake, The conclusion of all the precedent discourse. whereof those of Chalcis were afflicted, which was described by Asclepi●dotus, Possidonius scholar, in his book of Natural Questions. You shall find in other Authors, that the earth being opened in a certain place: anon after, there issued a wind, which undoubtedly had made his way in that part from whence it blew. CHAP. XVIII. In what sort the wind causeth the earth to tremble. SO than the wind being by nature swift, and changing from place to place, is the greatest cause whereby the earth is moved. As long as this wind is impelled and lieth hidden in a voided place, it remaineth calm, and doth no evil to that which environeth it; when as any external or supervenient cause soliciteth him and chaseth him, and driveth him into a straight: yet for a while giveth he place and wandereth, but when as all occasion of escape is taken from him, and he is pressed on every side then, With a mighty murmur of the mountain, He furious runs about his straight enclosure And after he hath long time beaten against the same, he teareth and scattereth it in pieces, showing himself the more violent, the longer that this debate hath lasted in his prison and enclosure. Afterwards when as he hath searched every nook of the place wherein he was restrained and could not escape, he returneth towards that part, where he was most of all impact and closed, and then slideth he away by certain secret places, which the earthquake hath a little opened, or passeth by some new breach. Behold how his extreme violence cannot be stayed, and there is no restraint sufficient to retain him: for he breaketh all bounds, and carrieth with him every burden that is laid upon him, and infused into those things that are more small and thin, he prepareth himself a release and liberty by an invincible power that is natural unto him, and running on headlong, establisheth himself in his rights. In a word, the wind ●●s invincible, neither is there any thing that, May keep in awe, or else in prison strong The struggling winds or tempest thundering long. Undoubtedly the Poets, who have discoursed in these terms; intended to speak of these coverts under ground, where the winds r●maine enclosed. But they have not comprehended, that that which is enclosed is not wind already, and that that which is the wind, cannot be enclosed. For that which is enclosed remaineth still, and is a statue of the air. The wind appeareth not to be wind, A comparison taken from the body of man. but when it flieth. To these reasons a man may add this also, which proveth that the winds is the cause of earthquakes, that is to say, that our bodies tremble not, except some cause do sh●ke the spirit, which being restrained by fear, weakened by age, the veins decaying and shrinking, is a●●●sted by cold, or when the access approacheth is cast out of his coarse. For as long as he floweth without hindrance, and floweth according to his accustomed manner, there is no shaking in the body. But if any thing hap that hindereth him from performing his office, then being scarc● able to bear those things which he sustained by his vigour, in falling he shaketh all that which in his integrity he had supported. CHAP. XIX. But we must needs give care to Metrodorus Chius, The opinion of Metrodorus upon this point. that will have his opinion stand for law. For min● own part I will not overslip those opinions I approve not, when as it is far better to present all, and rather to condemn that which we approve not, then to pass it under silence. What saith he then? Even as his voice that sing●th in a tun, passeth and resoundeth in every place with a certain echo, and although it be not high, yet filleth it always the ●unne, not without noise and rebound of the same: So the capacity and vastit●e of the cavities, and holes that hung under ground have their air, which as soon as another that falleth from above hath strucken, maketh a noise, even as the things that are void, whereof I have spoken, have a resound, when any one crieth in them. CHAP. XX. LEt us now come unto them, The examination of their opinion who think that all the elements together, or the most part, are the cause of Earthquakes. that have said that all the Elements, or the greater part of those whereof we have spoken, are the cause of earthquake. Democritus setteth them not down all, but for the most part. For sometimes he saith that the wind is the cause, sometimes the water, and sometimes both; and this prosecuteth he after this manner. Some part of the earth is hollow, and in that there assembleth a great quantity and abundance of water. Of this there is some part more subtle and liquid then the rest: This being rejected by the weight that cometh upon it, is beaten against the earth, and shaketh the same. For it could not float, except it shaked that against which it is beaten. That likewise which heretofore we have spoken by the air, may be said by the water also, when as it is gathered into one place, and that it ceaseth to contain any more: she stayeth herself against something: then worketh she an issue first by h●r weight, secondly by her violence, for she cannot have issue, but by some hollow or bending place having been long time retained, nor fall by measure in a right line, or without shaking those things, by which, and upon which she falleth. But if it so fall out, that having taken some motion, she happen to stay in some place, and that this collection of water mounteth back again, and confuseth itself in itself; she is repulsed towards the firm land, which she shaketh towards that side where she dischargeth herself most. Furthermore, the earth being sometimes steeped in water that hath entered into it, settleth a little lower, and the bottom thereof is shaken: which coming to pass, this part is pressed towards that, towards which the greatest abundance of water inclineth. Sometimes also the wind pusheth forward the waves, and if he insist with more violence than ordinary, he causeth that portion of the earth to tremble, into which he translated the waters that are gathered by him. Sometimes enclosed in straits, and seeking issue, he stirreth all those things which he environeth, but the earth is porie, and giveth passages for the wind, which is so thin and pure, that a man cannot contain it, and so strong, that nothing can resist his force. The Epicure ●aith that all these causes may be, and he s●archeth out divers others likewise, censuring those that have maintained that both the one and the other causes above mentioned, proceed from the quaking of the earth; sure it is a thing almost impossible to maintain certain things to be certain, which a man cannot comprehend but by simple conjecture. So then, according to his opinion, the water may shake the earth, if it hath washed and worn away some portions thereof, which being diminished and enfeebled, cannot any more sustain that, which they bore being in their entire. The impression of the air may 'cause an earthquake, and it may come to pass that the external air shall be agitated by another, that cometh to intermix itself with it. It may be also that the earth being justled by some part of itself, that sinketh and falleth suddenly, is shaken likewise: Or else a portion of the same, being sustained by some supports, trembleth if either the supporters bend, or retire back. Happily also some inflammation of the air being converted into fire, and like unto lightnings darteth forth and confoundeth all that which it meeteth withal. And it may be that some wind incenseth both the waters of marshes and pools, whence followeth an earthquake, because the shock is violent, or else the agitation of the air, which increaseth by motion and urgeth itself, moveth all things from the bottom to the top. But the Epicure can find no more certain cause of earthquake than the wind. CHAP. XXI. THis is our opinion also, Seneca accordeth with Aristotle in his opinion, in as much as concerneth earthquakes. that it is the wind that eff●cteth so great things: since there is nothing so strong and violent in nature, and without which, those things that are most vehement, have not any vigour. The wind enkindleth the fire: take away the wind from the waters, they are sluggish and dead; but if the wind stirreth them, they flow violently. The wine can dissipate the greatest spaces of countries, make new mountains appear and rise, place unseen Isles in the midst of the Ocean. Who doubteth but that the wind brought that Island of Therasia into sight, which in our time appeared in the AEgean seas, in the presence of those Mariners that beheld the miracle. Possidonius setteth down two sorts of earthquakes, Three sorts of earthquakes. giving every one of them a several name: the one is called Succussion, when the earth is moved upward and downwards: The other is called Inclination, when the earth is shaken, and inclineth to one side like a boat. But I think there is a third, which hath his denomination from us, and our predecessors have called Earthquake, and not without cause, because they differ the one from the other. For in these accidents there is not always an agitation from high to low, nor an inclining on one side or another, but sometimes a darting or pressing forward, which is the least dangerous, whereas on the other side the inclination is far less dreadful than the succussion or shaking. For if in the inclination of the earth, the opposite motion, hasteth not to redress that which bendeth sidelong, there necessarily followeth a dreadful rain. And as these motions are different in themselves, so are their causes divers. CHAP. XXII. THerefore let us first of all speak of the motion by succussion or shaking. Of the earthquake by succussion. If at any time, by change of divers chariots, men carry great burdens, and that the wheels being drawn with more than usual force, sink into some place, you shall feel a shaking of the earth. Asclepi●dotus reporteth, that when as a stone fell from the side of a mountain that was broken, it shaked in such sort the buildings that were nearer that they fell to the ground. The like may happen under earth, that some of those stones that hung over the mountain, being dissolved, fall with some great weight and noise into the hollows that are under earth, and the greater the weight is, and the higher it falleth from, the more violent noise is there made; and so all the covering of the hollow valley is moved. And it is not unlikely but the rocks are pushed downward, and divided by their simple weight; but when as the rivers flow and rage above them, the water continually minisheth the joints of the stone, riving off (if I may so speak) the skin that encloseth it. This diminution increasing by succession of time, infeebleth in such sort that which it hath eaten, by little and little, that such stays cannot any more sustain the burden. Than fall the stones through excessive weight and this rock being cast down headlong, shaketh all that which it hath driven to the bottom, having found no resistance. And all things seem to fall to sudden ruin. As our Virgil saith. This should be the cause of this motion of succussion: now pass I over to the other cause. CHAP. XXIII. Of the earthquake by inclination. THe earth is of a rare nature, and hath much voided in it. Thorough these parts and rarities the wind is carried, which when it is entered in some quantity and findeth no issue, it shaketh the earth. This cause, i● a troop of witnesses prevaileth any thing with thee, is pleasing unto others, as I have said a little befor●. This likewise doth Calisthenes approve a man of no small reckoning. For he was a man of a noble mind, and such a one as could not endure a Prince's insolency. Alexander is defamed for ever, which neither his virtue, neither his felicity in war can ever redeem. For as oftentimes as a man shall say, that he hath defeated divers thousands of Barbarians: it will be opposed, and Calisthenes also. If any one saith Alexander killed Darius, who at that time was the greatest King of the earth: some will reply, and Calisthenes too. When some shall allege that he conquered all that which he met withal, as far as the bounds of the Ocean, on which he rigged new navies, extending his Empire from the one corner of Thrace, as far as the furthest part of the East, it will be said that he slew Calisthenes. Although he hath surpassed all Princes, and precedent Captains: the wrong which he offered Calisthenes was so great, that it blemisheth all his other exploits. This Philosopher then, in his books wherein he describeth how Helice and Bu●is have been devoured by the waters: Calisthenes' opinion. and what accident was the cause why the sea covered them, or why they were sucked up, saith that which hath been touched in the former part, that the wind entered the earth by some small and secret conduits in all parts, yea under the sea. Afterwards, when this course which it had held to enter, is stopped, and the water hat● closed up behind him all other passage, he turneth here and there, and returning himself into himself, shaketh the earth. And therefore is it, that the places that border upon the sea are oftentimes agitated: and the Poets have assigned this power unto Neptune. Whosoever understandeth the Greek tongue, knoweth that Homer surnameth him 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, that is to say, Earth-shaker. CHAP. XXIIII. In what manner the wind entereth into the earth, to 'cause it to tremble. FOr mine own part I am of this opinion that the wind is the cause of such an evil. I will only debate upon one point, in what manner this wind entereth, if it be by pores, so straight that the eye cannot observe them, or if they are more greater, and open, and likewise whether they rise from the bottom or above the earth. This is incredible: For in our bodies likewise, the skin repulseth the wind, which hath not entered, except by those passages, by which it is drawn, and being entertained by us, cannot consist but in the most spacious part of the body, for it remaineth not amongst the nerves, and in the pulp, but in the entrails, and the large retreat of our breasts. A man may think as much of the earth, especially by reason that the shaking happeneth not above, nor about the surface of the earth, but from beneath, and proceedeth from the bottom. The proof whereof is, that the deepest seas are agitated, when as that whereupon they are spread is moued● It is therefore likely to be true that the earth is agitated from the bottom, where the wind is form in spacious dens: Some will reply, that even as after we are seized with great cold, a horror and trembling succeedeth, so the wind finding a passage outward causeth the earth to tremble. But this is impossible. For first of all the earth should of necessity be subject to this access of cold, to the end that the same might befall her as doth us, who quiver upon an external cause. I will not deny, but that there is something in the earth that hath some resemblance with that which happeneth in our bodies, but the causes are divers. It must needs be some interior and deep agitation, that shaketh the earth, as a man may gather evidently enough by this, because the earth having been opened by a very great and terrible motion, such opening hath sometimes swallowed and sucked up whole Cities, which no man hath seen afterwards. Thucydides writeth, that about the time that the war was in Peloponesus, all the Atlantic Island, or the most part thereof, was covered with waters. As much happened in Sidonia, if thou believest Possidonius. This matter needeth no witnesses: for we ourselves remember, that the earth having been opened by an inward earthquake, all the Countries were ruined, and the Champions perished: which I will now tell you how I think it happeneth. CHAP. XXV. WHen as the wind with great violence hath engulfed himself wholly in the cavities and voided places of the earth, How the earth is shaken by the wind. and that it beginneth to tempest in seeking an issue, it oftentimes beateth against the sides and places, wherein he is restrained, upon which sometimes whole Cities are situated. And these at sometimes are in such sort shaken, that the houses that are builded thereupon fall unto the ground. Sometimes the agitation is so violent, that the foundations and walls that sustain all the rest of building, fall into this concavity, in such sort as whole Cities sink down into a depth without end or measure. If thou wilt believe it, it is reported that the mountain Ossa was joined to the mountain Olympus, and was torn away by an earthquake in such sort, that the Mountain, that beforetime was very thick, was divided into two: and that at that time, the River Peneus retired himself, which dried up the Marshes that were discommodious to Thessaly, and carried with him those waters that were settled there without issue. The marvelous force of the wind. Ladon, a River that is betwixt Helis and Megalopolis, was caused to flow by an earthquake, what prove I by this? That the winds are gathered in spacious caves: for I can give no other name to those void places under earth. If it were otherways, the greater part of the earth should be shaken, where as now the earthquake extendeth itself never farther than two hundredth miles about. That whereof all the world talketh hath not passed Campania. At such time as Chalcis was shaken, Thebes remained in quiet. AEgium was violently tossed, and Patrassa that was near unto it, heard nothing of it. That vast concussion that oppressed the two Cities of Helice and Buris, stayed on the other side of AEgium, How far the earthquake extendeth. whereby it appeareth that the earthquake had as much extent as under earth those hollow places had, where the wind was enclosed. CHAP. XXVI. The examination of their opinions who hold the egyptians, and the Island of Delos were never shaken. I Can abuse the authority of great men to prove this, who writ that Egypt hath never trembled. And the reason they yield hereof is this; That it is wholly gathered and composed of mud. For (if we may give credit to Homer) Phares was so far off from the Continent as a ship with full sail may reach in one days journey: but now it is adjoined to the continent. For Nilus flowing with a troubled stream, and bearing along with him much mud, and heaping it afterwards on those other lands, that are united together, hath from year to year enlarged the Confines of Egypt. Thence is it that it is a fat and muddy ground, without any openings, but of a continued thickness: the mud being become dry; which hath stopped up and cemented all that structure, and united all the parts of the same so well together, that no void may come between, considering that always that which is soft and moist, joineth itself with that which was solid. But I say that Egypt is subject to trembling, and the Isle of Delos likewise, although that Virgil willed them to stand: He made th'inhabitants this favour find, Neither to fear strange earthquakes, nor strange wind. These the Philosophers likewise (a credulous Nation, according to Pindarus) said to be exempt from trembling: Thucydides writeth, that before time it had not been agitated, but that about the time of the Peloponesian war it trembled. Calisthenes saith, that it was at an other time. Amongst many prodigies (saith he) which denounced the overthrow of Helice and Buris, there were two most notable, the one was a pillar of fire, of immeasurable greatness, the other the earthquake in Delos. The reason why he thinketh that Delos is firm, is, that being in the sea it hath many hollow rocks and stones that are pierced through, which give passage to the winds that are enclosed. He addeth, that by reason hereof the Islands are more assured, and the Cities also that are more nearer to the sea. The City of Pompeias and Hercule have ●elt, that this is false. Furthermore, all the sea coasts are subject to agitation. So Paphos hath oftentimes been ruined, and Nicopolis likewise too familiarly acquainted with this misery. A deep sea invironeth Cyprus, yet is it shaken, and so is tire likewise: Hitherto have we examined the causes why the earth trembleth. CHAP. XXVII. A discourse upon 〈◊〉 sheep which were found dead in that earthquake, and of the causes of this accident. But some particular accidents fell out in this earthquake of Campania, whereof I am to set down some reasons. For they say that six hundredth flock of sheep were killed in the Region of Pompeias. Thou hast no cause to think that these sheep perished through fear, we have said that after great earthquakes, there ordinarily followeth a pestilence: neither is this to be wondered at, because many pestilent things lie hidden in the depth. The air itself, that is imprisoned in eternal obscurity, either by the intermission of the earth, or by his own idleness, is pernicious unto those that suck the same, either being corrupted by the malignity of hidden fires, when it is sent from a far off, it soileth and infecteth the other air which is pure, and breedeth new sicknesses in them who breath the same, whereunto they have not been accustomed. Furthermore, there are certain unprofitable and pestilent waters, hidden in the hollows and secrets of the earth, and the cause why they are such, is, because they have neither flux nor reflux, nor are beaten upon by any freer wind. Being then thus thick and covered with an obscure mist, they have nothing in them that is not pestilent, and contrary to our bodies. The air likewise that is intermixed with them, and that lieth amidst those marshes when it raiseth itself, spreadeth a general corruption, and killeth those that draw the same. But bruit beasts and cattle feel this lest, on whom the plague the more greedier they are, reigneth more fiercely. The reason is, because they remain most often in open air, and along by river sides, which ordinarily draw more contagion. As touching sheep, which are of a more tender nature, and have their heads almost daily inclining towards the ground, I wonder not that they have been attainted with this contagion, considering that they have sucked and gathered the breath of the infected air from the earth. Such an air had done more mischief unto men, had it issued in greater abundance, but before it issued or was sucked up by any man, it was choked by abundance of pure air that breathed. CHAP. XXVIII. THat the earth containeth many things both pestilent and mortal, Why the air issuing from the hollow places of the earth is pestilent and mortal. thou mayst know, because so many poison's issue from it, not scattered by the hand, but of their own accord, the ground containing in it the seeds both of good and evil. And why? are there not divers places in Italy wherein by secret pores certain venomous vapours are exhaled, that kill both man and beasts if they draw near them. The birds also if they light upon it before it be tempered with a better air, fall down in their very flight, and their bodies become blue and swollen, even as these human bodies are, that are strangled. This spirit as long as it is contained in the earth, flowing through a small and slender passage, hath no more power to kill any, but those that look into that, or willingly offer themselves unto it. But when as for many ages it hath been hidden in darkness, and thorough the malignity and vice of the place hath gathered more corruption, the longer it stayeth there the more heavy it waxeth, and consequently the more pernicious is it. But when it hath gotten an issue, it spreadeth that eternal venom; of shady cold and infernal night, and infecteth the air of our Region. For the best are overcome by the worst. Than likewise that purer air is translated and changed into evil: whence proceed sudden and continual deaths, and monstrous sicknesses, as proceeding from new causes. The contagion continueth more or less, according to the continuance and vehemency of the earthquake, and ceaseth not until the spacious extent of the heavens, and the agitation of the winds hath dissipated those venomous vapours. CHAP. XXIX. A consideration of an other accident a● touching some that have become insensate and stupid in these earthquaks. IF a particular and slight fear maketh those that are attainted therewith to become senseless, and to run about like fools and desperate men, we need not wonder, if at such time as the world hath had an alarm, and Cities have been sunk, whole peoples swallowed up, and the earth shaken, that some have been seen tormented with sadness and fear, destitute of consolation, and driven out of their wits. It is no gazing matter to have a good sense in prosperity or adversity. And therefore the milder spirits have been attainted with such fear, that they have swooned. There is no man afraid that hindereth not his health in some sort: and whosoever is attainted with fear, resembleth a mad man rather than any other, but some recover themselves suddenly, other some remain troubled a longer time, and are as it were transported. Thence cometh it that during the war time there are found so many fools running about the streets; and never meet we with so many divines and soothsayers, as when fear intermixed with Religion, attaynteth and seizeth men's brains. I wonder not that during this earthquake, a statue was divided into two parts, and that the earth itself was rend from the top to the bottom. Some say that erst the fury of a storm, (So much can age and tract of many years Transform those things beneath in sundry sorts.) Did separate two places, which at first Were but one soil. The Sea pushed forth her waves: And headlong floods by force surpassing measure, Did rend the strong Sicilian shores perforce From Italy and his fair Continent, And severed with a strait and floating stream, The fields and Cities from their former bounds. Thou seest that there is nothing permanent in the estates of Cities and People's, when as one part of nature is moved by itself, or that a violent wind agitateth some Sea. For the effert of the parts as well as of the whole is marvelous. For although it rageth in some parts, yet is it caused by the forces of the whole. So hath the Sea divided and torn Spain from Africa: and by the same inundation, so much testified by the most famous Poets: Sicily hath been separated from Italy. But sometimes those things have most violence which come from beneath, for that is most furious that enforceth his passage through streights: we have sufficiently declared both of the effects of the earthquake, and of the marvelous events that have succeeded them. CHAP. XXX. How it may come to pass that a statue cleaveth in two by earthquake. WHy therefore should a man be amazed for this cause, that the brass of one statue, which is neither solid, but hollow and thin, is broken? when as happily the spirit that seeketh issue is included in the same? But who is he that knoweth not this? we have seen houses tremble, and the joints and the timbers of the same open, and afterwards close again; contrariwise we have seen some buildings that were not well grounded at the first, and which the Carpenters had carelessly joined together, which being agitated by an earthquake, have united themselves together in a better sort. And if it riveth in two, whole walls, and renteth wholehouses, and shaketh the walls of whole Towers which are solid, and overturneth the foundations of the building, who is he that can find any matter worthy of note, that a statue hath been rend from the bottom to the top? But why continued the earthquake for divers days? For Campania ceased not to tremble continually, Why the quaking continueth divers days. sometimes more mildly then at other times, but with great hurt: because the earthquake shivered that which had been overturned and shaken, which finding no stay or resting place, fell, and broke itself anew. All the wind had not as yet gotten issue, but had only delivered over a part whilst the stronger part, that remained, laboured to find issue. CHAP. XXXI. AMongst those arguments whereby it is proved that these things are done by the wind: Why the first tremble are almost the most violent. thou mayest without all doubt set down this: when as there is a great earthquake past, whereby Cities and Countries are destroyed: there cannot an other follow the same that is equal with it, but after the greatest, the lighter motions follow, because the most violent have given passage to those winds that encountered one an other. The remainder of these winds cannot do so much, and do not beaten one upon another, because they have their way already opened, and follow that way by which the greatest force is past. Moreover I think that worthy memory which a learned and honourable parsonage hath observed, that being in the stove to wash himself, he undoubtedly saw the pavements and stones, wherewith the house was paved, separate themselves the one from the other, and afterwards reunite themselves, and the water eating between the clefts, at such time as the tiles separared themselves one from another; boiled and foamed between them both, at such time as they closed themselves. I have heard the same man report, that he had seen soft things tremble more gently and oftener, than those of hard and solid nature. CHAP. XXXII. ANd thus much, my lucilius, the best of men as touching the causes. What resolutions we are together from these earthquakes. Now come I to that which will fortify our minds, where it more concerneth to be confident then to be learned. But the one is not done without the other. For resolution is no otherways planted in the mind then by good arts, and the contemplation of nature. For whom will not this accident fortify and confirm against all others: why then should I fear a man or a savage beast? I am exposed to far greater dangers. We are assailed by Rivers, by Lands, and by the greatest parts of nature: we aught therefore to provoke death with a mighty courage, whether he invade us by an equal and vast assault, The principal is a resolute and assured contempt of death. or by a daily and ordinary end: it makes no matter with what mask he be covered, nor how mighty the engine is that he draweth against us, that which he demandeth at our hands is the lest matter. This shall old age take from us, this the pain of an ear, this the corrupt abundance of humours in us, this meat which the stomach can hardly dis-j●st; this a foot but slightly offended. The soul in man is but a small matter, but it is a mighty thing to contemn the soul. He that contemneth it shall with a quiet eye behold the enraged seas, although all the winds have incensed the same, although the stream with some perturbation of the world, turn and arm all the Ocean against the earth. He shall securely behold the dreadful & horrid face of the lightning-heaven. Although the heaven breaketh itself, and mixeth his fires to ruin both himself, and all that is under him. He shall securely behold the yawning earth that riveth and renteth under him. Although those infernal Kingdoms should be discovered, he shall dreadless stand in the face of this confusion, and happily shall skip into the gulf, into which he should fall. What care I how great the means be, by which I perish? when as to perish is no great matter? if therefore we will be happy, if we would not be vexed by the fear of men, of gods, or any things: if we would despise fortune that promiseth us unnecessary things, and threateneth us with trifles, if we will live quietly, and debate for felicity with the gods themselves, we must carry our souls in our hands: whether it be that ambushes would entrap, or sickness assail, or the enemy's sword threaten, or the noise of falling Islands, or the ruin of the earth, or these great fires that consume Cities & Countries do environ her, she will lay hold on, which soever of these dangers she listeth: what else should I do but exhort her in her departure, and to sand her away with all her goods? Go forth courageously, go happily. Think it not strange to restore that which thou hast received. The question is not now of the things, but of the time. Thou dost that which thou oughtest to do at an other time: neither desire thou death, neither fear it, beware thou step not back as if thou wert to departed into some place of ●uil: Nature that made thee, exspecteth thee, and a place far better and secure. There the earth trembleth not, neither the winds combat one with an other, and burst the clouds with thundering noise, nor fire desolateth whole Countries and Cities, nor the fear of whole Navies sucked up by shipwreck, nor Armies ready to give battle, nor a multitude of Soldiers running in fury to murder one another, nor the plague, nor fires kindled here and there, to burn the bodies both of great and small, into ashes. This is but a small matter: what fear we? Is death a grievous matter? rather let it happen once, then threaten always. Shall I be afraid to perish, when as the earth perisheth before me, and those things are shaken which shake others, and attempting to do us mischief, offence themselves? The sea hath swallowed up Helice and Buris wholly: shall I be afraid for one little body? Ships sail over two Cities, yea too such as we knew, which are reserved in our remembrance, by the means of that discourse which hath been published of them. How many other Cities, in great number, have been swallowed up in other places? Miserable ●ffects caused by the overgreat apprehension of death. how many Nations hath either the earth or sea devoured. Shall I refuse mine end, when as I know that I am not without end? yea when I know that all things are finite: shall I fear the last breath or sigh. As much as thou canst therefore, my lucilius, animate thyself against the fear of death. This is he that maketh us humble, this is he that disquieteth and confoundeth that very life which he spareth. This is he that maketh these earthquakes and lightnings greater than they be. All which thou wilt endure constantly, if thou think that there is no difference betwixt a short and long time. They are hours which we lose: put case they be days, months, years; we lose them because they must be lost. What importeth it, I pray you, whether I attain to such a year or no? The time fleeteth away, abandoning those that desire it so much: neither is that mine that either is to come or hath been. I hung upon the point of flying Time, and it is a great matter that it hath been but a very moment. The wiseman Laelius answered very elegantly to a certain man, that said, I have sixty years of age; speakest thou (saith he) of these sixty which thou hast not? neither hereby understand we the condition of incomprehensible life, nor the chance of time which is never our own, because we make account of the years that are past. Let us fix this in our minds, and let us oftentimes say one unto an other, we must die: when? what carest thou? Death is the law of nature; Death the tribute and office of mortal men, and the remedy of all evils; whosoever feareth it will wish for it. Setting aside all other things, my lucilius, meditate on this only, lest thou wax afraid of the name of Death; make him familiar with thee by continual meditation, that if the cause require thou mayst step forth and meet it. The End of the sixth Book of the Natural Questions. OF NATURAL questions, WRITTEN BY LUCIUS ANNAEUS SENECA; DEDICATED TO LUCILLIUS The seventh Book. Wherein He entreateth of Comets. CHAP. I THere is no man so slow, dull, and brutish, that lifts not his thoughts to behold divine things, Novelty ravisheth us, ordinary matters are contemptible unto us. and fixeth not his whole mind upon them, especially when as some new miracle appeareth in the heavens. For as long as nothing appeareth but that which is ordinary, custom taketh away the greatness of things. For we are so composed, that those things which we daily meet withal, pass by, although they be worthy of admiration: contrariwise, we take a singular pleasure to behold the smallest trifles, if they have any novelty in them. This assembly therefore of stars, whereby the beauty of this immeasurable body is distinguished, inviteth not the people to behold them; but when as any thing is changed in some extraordinary manner, all men's eyes are fixed on heaven: no man gazeth at the Sun except it be in the eclipse: no man observeth the Moon except she be darkened. Than whole Cities cry out, and every one being transported thorough vain superstition, feareth in his own behalf. But how far greater things are those, that the Sun (if I may so speak it) hath as many degrees as it hath days, and firmeth the year by his course? that from the solstice he presently inclineth and giveth space unto the nights, that he hideth the stars, that he burneth not the earth being far more greater than the same, but nourisheth it by temperating his heat, by intentions and remissions, that he never filleth or obscureth the Moon but when she is opposite unto him; yet respect we not these things as long as they continued in their order. If any thing be troubled or appear contrary to custom, we behold it, we inquire of it, we show it: so natural a thing is it to admire at the newness, and not at the greatness of things. The application of this curiosity to the consideration of Comets The same falleth out in Comets: if a rare fire appear, and of an unaccustomed figure there is no man that is not desirous to know what it is, and forgetting all other things he questioneth upon this new accident, not knowing whether he aught to admire or fear. For many there are that will enkindle fear in other men, and walk about and presage that this fire threateneth some great mischief. They inquire therefore, and would needs know whether it be a prodigy or some star in the heaven. The modest s●rch & examination of these fires is laudable. B●t truly no man may either search after a thing more magnificent, nor learn a thing more profitable, than what the nature of the stars and planets is. Whether this contracted flame, which both our sight doth affirm, and that light which floweth from them, and that heat that descendeth from thence; or whether they are not flaming Orbs, but certain solid and earthly bodies, which sliding thorough fiery tracts, draw their brightness and colour from them, not being clear of themselves. Of which opinion many great men were, who believed that the stars were compact of a solid substance, and were nourished by foreign fire: for their flame, say they, would fly away except it had something that restrained it, and detained it, and being gathered and not united to a stable body, undoubtedly the world by his storminesse had dissipated it. CHAP. II. If Comets are of the same condition as other s●ars. FOr the better investigation hereof, it shall not be amiss to inquire whether Comets are of the same condition as the stars are. For they seem to have something common with them, their rising and setting, their resemblance likewise, although they spread and stretch themselves out longer: for they are as fiery and bright as the other. But if all stars were terrestrial exhalations, the Comets and stars should be alike: but if they be naught else but pure fire, and continued six months; neither the continual turning and swiftness of the heaven dissolveth them, they likewise may consist of a thin matter, neither for all this be dissipated by the continual course of heaven. To this point it appertaineth also to know if the heaven turneth the earth continuing fixed, or if the heaven is unmovable, and the earth turneth. For some there were that have said that it is we whom nature insensibly turneth about, A Paradox of the m●t●on and turning of the earth about the heavens, reu●ed in ou● t●m● by Copernicus. and that the rising and setting is not by the motion of the heavens, but that they rise and set. It is a thing worthy contemplation to know in what estate we are, if the place wherein we abide be fixed or turned, whether God causeth us to turn, or causeth all things to turn about us; but it is necessary for us to have a collection and knowledge of the ancient rising of Comets: for as yet their courses cannot be comprehended, by reason of their rarity, neither can it be sought out whether they observe their courses, and some due order produceth them to their certain day. This observation of celestial things is a novelty, and but lately brought into Greece. CHAP. III. DEMOCRITUS also the most subtlest amongst all the ancient Philosophers saith, The ancient natural Philosophers seemed over curious in observing comets that he suspecteth that there are divers stars that run, but neither hath he set down their number, nor their names, for as yet had he not comprehended the courses of the five Planets. Endoxus was the first that brought the doctrine of these motions out of Egypt into Greece, yet speaks he nothing of Comets; whereby it appeareth that this part had not been sufficiently laboured and sought into by the Egyptians, who had been the most curious observers of the heavens. After him Conon a diligent enquirer after these things, likewise gathered that these eclipses of the Sun were observed by the Egyptians: yet made he no mention of Comets, which he would not have forgotten, if they had any ways made mention or given knowledge of them. Two only amongst the Caldees, who are reported to have studied this science, Epigenes and Apollonius Myndius a most cunning observer of the works of nature, differ amongst themselves: for the one saith that Comets by the Caldees are put amongst the number of wandering stars, and that their courses are well known. But Epigenes contrariwise saith that the Caldees have no assured knowledge of Comets, but that in their judgements they are kindled by some storm that is agitated and stirred in the air. CHAP. FOUR IF first therefore thou thinkest it meet, Epigenes opinion as touching the meteors of fire. we will set down their opinions and refel them: This man thinks that the star of Saturn hath the most force unto all the celestial motions. This when as she presseth the neighbouring sign of Mars, or that she passeth into those that have a vicinity with the Moon, or falleth into the beams of the Sun, being by nature windy and cold, she closeth and thickneth the air in divers parts. Afterwards, if she hath gathered into herself the beams of the Sun, it thundereth and lighteneth. If Mars favoureth her likewise, it lighteneth. Besides (saith he) the lightnings have one matter, and the fulgurations another; for the evaporation of the water, and all other things which are moist, doth naught else but move the lightnings, which do naught else but move threatenings; neither succeedeth there any other evil. But the exhalation that mounteth from the earth, as being more hot and more dry produceth lightnings. But those beams and Torches which differ in no other thing amongst themselves but in greatness, are made after this manner: when as some globe of the air hath enclosed moist and earthly things in that which we call a storm; whithersoever it is carried it presenteth the form of an extended fire, which continueth so long as the complexion of that air hath remained, carrying in itself much moist and earthly matter. CHAP. V An examination and distinct resutation of those opinions. TO begin with the last lies: this is false that Torches and fiery beams are expressed by a storm: for a storm is form, and rolleth near unto the earth; and therefore it pulleth up shrubs by the roots, and wheresoever it inclineth, it maketh the ground naked, laying hold in the mean space on woods and houses, for the most part lower than the clouds, and yet never higher. But contrariwise, the pillars appear in the highest region of the air, and consequently they have never resisted the clouds. Furthermore, a storm presseth forward more violently beyond comparison above any other cloud, and fulfilleth his course in a round. It likewise continueth not long time, but bursteth itself by his own violence. But pillars of fire neither room, nor fly over as Torches do, but abide in one place, and shine in the same part of the heaven. Charimander also in that book which he wrote of Comets, saith, that Anaxagoras observed in the heavens a great and unaccustomed light of the greatness of a huge pillar, and that it shined for many days. Calisthenes testifieth that there appeared the like resemblance of extended fire, before that Buris or Helice were hidden by the sea. A●istotle saith, that it was not a beam but a comet; but that by reason of the excessive heat it appeared not to be scattered fire, but in process of time, when as now it burned less, it presented itself in the form of a Comet: in which fire there were many things that were worthy to be noted, and yet nothing more than this, that when it shined in the heavens, the Sea presently overflowed Buris and Helice. Did not therefore Aristotle believe, that not only that, but all other beams were Comets? This difference have you, that in the one the fire was continual, in the other scattered: for pillars have an equal flame, neither intermitted or failing in any place, and coacted in the uttermost parts thereof, such as that was whereof I spoke of late, according to Calisthenes' opinion. CHAP. VI Two sorts of Come●s according t● Epigenes, and of their causes. EPIGENES saith there are two sorts of Comets; the one on every side power forth their heat, and change not their place; others extend their scattered fire in one place like hair, and traverse the stars, where two such have appeared in our time. These former are crinite, and every ways likewise immovable, yet are they for the most part lower, & composed of the same causes, as pillars and torches are from the intemperature of the troubled air, which carries with itself many moist and dry exhalations that are raised from the earth. For the wind that slides thorough these straits may inflame the air above, full of nutriment, fit for fire, and afterwards drive it backward from the place where it is calmest, for fear jest through some cause it should return and grow fain●, and anon after should come to raise itself, and enkindle the fire where it was. For we see that the winds after some certain days, return unto the same place whence they first issued. The rains also, and other kinds of tempests, return unto their point and assignation. But to express his intent in a few words, he thinketh that Comets are made in the same sort, as fires that are cast out by storms; this only is the difference, that the storms fall from on high upon the earth, and these fires raise themselves from the earth unto the heavens. CHAP. VII. Many things are spoken against these; The wind is no cause of Comets, a● Epigenes thinketh. first, if the wind were the cause, a Comet ●hould never appear without wind, but now it appeareth even in the calmest air. Again, if it were caused by wind, it should fall with the wind: and if it began with the wind it should increase with the wind, and ●he more fiery should it be, the more violent the wind was. To this add that likewise: The wind impelleth many parts of the air; but a Comet appeareth in one place: the wind mounteth not up on high; but Comets are seen very high above the winds. After this he passeth over to those, which a● he saith, have a more certain resemblance of stars, which go forward, and pass the signs in the zodiac. These, saith he, are made of the same causes as the other that are lower: in this only they differ, that the exhalations of the earth, carrying many dry things with them, ascend to the higher part, and by the North wind are driven into the upper part of heaven. Again, if the North wind did drive them, they should be always driven to the Southward, against which the North wind bloweth. But they have divers stations, some go towards the East, some towards the West, and all in turning, which way the wind would not give. Again, if the violence of the North wind, lifted them up from the earth unto the heavens, Comets should not rise with any other winds; but they rise. CHAP. VIII. But now let us refel that reason of his (for he useth them both). All that which the earth hath exhaled, Storms are not the cause of Comets. either dry or moist, coming to join in one, the discord that happeneth between these bodies, maketh the air become stormy. The vehemency then of that turning wind enkindleth by his course, and raiseth up on high, that which it holdeth enclosed in itself, and the brightness of the fire that is enclosed dureth as long time as the exhalation, whereby he is entertained, which beginning to decrease, the fire decreaseth likewise. He that said this, considered not what the course of storms & Comets is. That of storms is headlong and violent, and swifter than the winds: that of the Comets is more mild, and no man can discover what way they make in four and twenty hours. Furthermore, the motion of storms is inconstant, scattered, and turning: that of Comets is certain, and keepeth one settled course. Would any one of us think that the wind carrieth away, or that the storm causeth the Moon to turn, or else the five wandering stars? Nothing less in my judgement. And why? Because their course is neither troubled nor suspended. Let us transfer the same unto Comets. They move not confusedly or tumultuosly, so as any man should believe that they are impelled by turbulent and inconstant causes. And again, although these storms might embrace the exhalations of earth & water● & afterwards lift them up from beneath vpwards● yet should they not make them mount above the Moon. All their carriage extendeth no farther than the clouds. But we see that comets are intermixed with the stars, & slide along the superior parts. It is not therefore likely, that in so great space a storm of wind may continued, the which as it is most violent, the sooner takes it an end. CHAP. IX. The continuation of the refutation contained in the former chapter. LEt him choose which of these two he li●t: if it be a light storm it cannot descend from so high, if it be a violent and sudden storm, it will break itself the sooner. Moreover, these lower comets mount not so high as some think, by reason that they have more weighty matter then the rest. This weight hindereth them from mounting. Contrariwise, it must necessarily follow that the comets that are highest, and are of longest continuance have a matter more solid than the lower. They likewise could not continued longer except some more stronger nutriment maintained them. I said not long since that a storm could not endure long, nor raise itself above the Moon, nor as far as the stars: for a storm is raised by a conflict of divers winds one with another. This conflict cannot be of long continuance: for an uncertain wind having struggled with the rest, finally, the victory remaineth to that whi●h is the strongest. But no violent tempest lasteth long. The more headlong the tempests are, the less time and continuance have they: when the winds are in their full force, they incontinently begin to decline, and it must needs be that by their more earnest vigour they should tend to their dissolution. So then no man ever saw a strong storm of wind continued longer than four and twenty hours, not not an hour. The swiftness thereof is wonderful, and no less wonderful is the shortness. Besides this, he turneth with more greater violence and swiftness about the earth: if it be high, it is less headlong, by reason whereof it spreadeth itself. Add hereunto now, that if it raised itself above the regions of the air, towards the heavens and stars, the motion of them, which whirleth about the whole frame would dissolve and dissipate the same: for what is it that turneth more swiftly than the motion of heaven? When the force of all the winds should be assembled together, and the solid and firm structure of the earth likewise, this motion could dissipate all that, and consequently in less than nothing, should make that parcel of intorted and confused air to vanish. CHAP. X. He continueth his proole, that storms o● the air cannot be the cause o● th● enkindling of Com●ts. furthermore, the fire carried up by the storm could not continued long, if the storm continued not likewise: but what is more incredible than that a storm should last long? For one motion is overcome by his contrary motion: for the place above the airs hath his motion that carrieth the heavens. And draws the higher stars with swifter turn, And whirls them round about. And if thou grant them some remission, which can hardly be done in any sort, what shall we say of comets that continued six months? Again, there should be two motions in one place, the one of them divine and continual, accomplishing his work without intermission, the other fresh & new, being shaken by the storm. Of necessity therefore, the one must be an impediment to the other. But the motion of the Moon & the course of the other Planets, which are above, always observe their time, neither stop they ●uer, or stay they, nor giveth us any suspicion of intermission or let in their motion. It is an incredible thing that a storm (which is a kind of tempest extremely violent and impetuous) should mount as high as mid-heaven, and whirl itself amongst the spheres, whose course is so peaceable and governed, Put case that a storm enkindleth a fire, and driveth it up on high, or that it appears in a longer form, yet think I that it must be such as that is which causeth the fire. But the form of a storm is round, for it turneth in the same place, and is whirled about, after the manner of a cylinder that turneth and rouleth in itself: therefore the fire that is enclosed therein must be like unto the same. But it is long and scattered, and no ways like unto that which is round. CHAP. XI. LEt us leave Epigenes, & examine other men's opinions, which before I begin to expound, Comets appear● in divers part● of heaven. this is first of all to be presupposed, that Comets are not seen in one part of the heaven, nor in the Zodiac only, but appear as well in the East as in the West, yea, and oft-times about the North. Their form is not one; for although the Grecians have made a difference of those whose flame hangeth down after the manner of a beard, and of those which on every side of them spread their light as it were hair, and of those whose fire extendeth and poureth itself out, but tendeth towards a head; yet are all these of the same note, and are rightly called Comets, whose forms when as they appear after a long time, it is a hard matter to compare them one with another. At that very time when they appear, all those that behold them are not of the same opinion in respect of their habitude, but even as each of them hath either a sharper or a duller sight; Their quality is judged by the obscurity or clearness of our sight. so saith he that they are either clearer or redder, or that their hairs are drawn inwardly or scattered on the sides. But whether there be any differences of them or not, yet must Comets be made by the same reason. One thing must remain resolved, that it is an extraordinary thing to see a new appearance of stars, that draw about themselves a scattered fire. Some one of the ancients allow of this reason, when as one of the wandering stars adjoineth itself to another, both their lights being confused into one, make an appearance of a longer star: neither doth this happen only at such time as one Planet toucheth another, but also when they approach, for the space between them both is enlightened and inflamed both by the one and the other, and maketh a long fire. CHAP. XII. TO these we will answer thus; An answer unto those that think that Comets are form by the approach and incountry of two Planets. that there is a certain number of movable stars, and that at one time both they and Comets are wont to appear; whereby it is manifest, that Comets are not caused by their coition and meeting, but are created of themselves. It oft-times happeneth that a star is found right underneath one of those which is highest, and sometimes Saturn is above jupiter, and Mars beholdeth in a right line both Venus and Mercury. But for all this course and incountry the one with the other, a Comet is not therefore made, otherwise they should be made every year, for in every year some stars meet together in one sign, if one Planet drawing near or above another, did make a comet, it should cease to be in the same instant, for the Planets pass suddenly. And therefore is it, that the eclipse of the Planets dureth not long time, because the same course that brought them together carrieth them away swiftly. We see that in a very little space of time the eclipses both of Sun and Moon take an end. Those of the other Planets likewise which are less, aught likewise to continued less. But there are certain comets that endure six months, which would not come to pass, if they were produced by conjunction of two planets, which cannot long time subsist together; but that the law of necessity must needs separate them. Besides, these planets seem near neighbours one unto another, yet are they separated by huge distances. How then may one planet dart out fire unto another, in such sort as both of them seem but one, when as there is so great a distance between them? The light (saith he) of two stars is intermixed, and present a form of one: in no other sort then when as by meeting with the Sun, a cloud becometh read, as the evenings and the mornings are yellow, and as sometimes or other we see the Arch of the Sun. All these first of all are caused by great force: for it is the Sun that enkindleth these, the stars have not the same power. Again, none of these appear but under the Moon, and near unto the earth. The superior bodies are pure and sincere, & never change their colour. Besides, if any such thing should happen it should not endure, but should be extinguished suddenly, as crowns are which begird the Sun or Moon, and vanish a little while after: neither doth the Rainbow continued long if any such thing were, whereby the middle space between two stars should be confused, they would as soon vanish out of sight, or if it continued it should not be so long as the comets endure. The planets shape their course in the circle of the Zodiac, but the comets appear in all the parts of the heaven. As touching the time of their apparition, it is no more certain than the place wherein they are confined. CHAP. XIII. THis is alleged by Artemidorus against that which is said before, that not only the five stars do run, An instance of Artemidorus to maintain his opinion, and the answer to the sam●. but that they are observed alone, yet that innumerable stars, that are carried in secret, either unknown unto us by reason of the obscurity of their light, or by reason of such a position of their circles, that then at length they are seen when they are come to their period or end. Therefore, as he saith, some stars run between, which are new unto us, which intermix their light with those that are fixed, and extend their fire far mort than other stars are accustomed: this is the slightest of his fictions, for all his discourses of the world are impudent lies: for if we believe him, the heaven that we see is most solid, and hardened after the manner of a tile, and of a deep and thick body, which was made of Atoms congested and gathered together. The next surface unto this is fiery, so compact that it neither can be dissolved or vitiated, yet hath it some vents and windows, by which the fires enter from the exterior part of the heaven, which are not so large that they may trouble it inwardly, whence again they steal and slip forth. These therefore which appeared contrary to custom, flowed and had their influence from that matter, that lay on each side of the world. To answer these questions, what other thing is it, then to exercise the hand, and to cast a man's arms into the wind? CHAP. XIIII. YEt would I have this man tell me who hath laid such thick planchars on the heaven, An exact refutation of Artemidorus hi● Paradoxes. what reason there is that we should beleeu● him that the heaven is of this thickness. What is the cause he should carry so many solid bodies thither, and detain them there? Again, that which is of so great thickness, must needs be of a great weight. How therefore may heavy things remain suspended in the heavens. How cometh it to pass that this heavy burden faileth not, and breaketh not himself through his weight? For it cannot be that the force of so great a burden, as he setteth down, should hung and depend on so slight stays. Neither can this likewise be spoken, that outwardly there are some supporters that uphold it from falling; nor likewise that in the midst there is any thing opposed, that might entertain or contain such an impendent body. No man likewise dare be so bold as to say that the world is carried and whirled about infinitely, and that it falleth, but that it appeareth not whether it fall or not, because the precipitation thereof is eternal, having no end wherein it may terminate. Some have spoken thus of the earth, Another Paradox enclosed in divers absurdities. when as they had found no reason why a weight should consist in the air; It is always falling say they, but it appeareth not whether it fall or not, because, that is infinite into which it falleth. What is it then, whereby thou wilt prove that only five stars move not, but that there are many, and in many regions of the world? Or if it be lawful to answer this without any probable argument. What is the cause why some man should not say, that either all the stars are moved or none? Again, that troup of stars that wander here and there, help thee nothing. For the more they be, the oftener should they fall upon others: but comets are rare, and for this cause are wonderful. Moreover, all ages will bear testimony against them, which have both observed the rising of those stars, and have communicated them with posterity. CHAP. XV. AFter the death of Demetrius King of Syria, the father of Demetrius and Antiochus, Examples to approve t●●t one Comet cannot be made of divers wandering stars. and a little before the war in Achaia, there appeared a comet almost as great as the Sun. In the beginning it was a circle of read fire, sparkling with so great light, that it surmounted the obscurity of the night. Afterwards this greatness began to diminish, and the brightness thereof to vanish. Finally, the Comet was wholly spent. How many wandering stars, think you, should have been joined together to make so great a body? Although a thousand had been reduced into one Mass, yet could they not reflect so much light as the Sun doth. During the reign of Attalus a Comet was seen, which in the beginning was but little, but afterwards it increased, and extended, and lengthened out itself as far as the AEquator, in such sort as it equalled (so long was the extent thereof) that part of the heaven which the Astronomers call the Milk-white way. How many wandering stars should there have been gotten together, to occupy with a continual fire so long a tract of heaven? CHAP. XVI. The shameless error aod absurdity of some Historians, taxed, and namely of Artemidorus. WE have spoken against the argument, now must we say somewhat against the witnesses: we need not labour much to impoverish the authority of Ephirus, he is an Historian. Some men get commendation by relating of incredible matters, and excite the Reader by some miracle, who would do some other thing else, if he were but entertained by ordinary matters. Some are credulous, and some negligent, some are circumvented, Against Historians in title, and liars in effect. and some pleased with lies: the one avoid them not, the other desire them. And this is common of the whole Nation, which as he thinketh cannot approve his work; neither that it will be passable and vendible, except it hath some aspersion of lies. But Ephirus, a man of no religious honesty or faith, is oft-times deceived, and oftentimes deceiveth: as in this place, because when as in this Comet, which all the world observed, drew after it the event of a mighty matter, when as upon the rising thereof it drowned Helice and Buris, he saith that it divided itself into two stars, which besides himself no man testifieth. For who is he that could observe that moment, wherein the Comet was dissolved, and divided into two parts? And how if there be any man that hath seen a Comet divided into two, is there no man that hath seen it made of two? And why added he not into what stars it was divided, whereas it must needs be some one of the five Planets. CHAP. XVII. The examination of Apollonius Paradox, that there are many wandering Comets. APOLLONIUS MINDIUS is of a contrary opinion, for he saith that a Comet is not made one out of divers erratical stars, but that many Comets are erratical. It is not a false appearance, nor an extended fire, by the vicinity of two Planets, that maketh a Comet: her form is not restrained in a round, but more high, and extended in length: yet hath it no manifest course, for it traverseth the highest part of heaven, and when as she is at the lowest of her course, she is not seen. Neither are we to think that we saw the same in Claudius' time, which appeared in Augustus' days, nor that which appeared under Nero Caesar, which hath ennobled all the rest; was like unto that which appeared about the eleventh hour of the day, when as men celebrated the sports of mother Venus, after julius Caesar had been murdered. There are divers Comets of divers sorts, of different greatness and dislike in colour: the one are read, without any clearness, the other white, and of a pure and clear brightness, the other flaming obscurely, and environed with thick smoke. Some are bloody, hideous, which presage nothing else but murders and massacres. These either lessen or increase their light, as other celestial fires do in descending and approaching more near unto us, they show more clear and more great: less and more obscure in remounting, because they withdraw themselves further off. CHAP. XVIII. HEreunto we forth with answer, A difference between Comets and other celestial fires. that the same falleth not out in Comets, that happeneth in other Celestial fires. For Comets, the very first day they appear are at the greatest. But they should increase the nearer they draw unto us: but now their first appearance continueth until such time as they begin to be extinguished. Again, that which was answered to the first, may be answered to this man likewise: if a Comet were a Planet, and had his course, it should be moved within the bounds of the Zodiac, in which all other Planets shape their course. For never doth a star appear by a star. Our sight cannot penetrate thorough a star, to see thorough it, what is under it. But men see thorough a comet, as thorough a cloud, that which is underneath, whereby it appeareth that it is not a star, but a light fire that is gathered in haste. CHAP. XIX. ZENO the Stoic is of this opinion, zeno's opinion according with Apollonius. supposing that the stars do rank themselves, the one of them near unto the other, and intermix their beams, where there followeth an appearance of a long star. By this reckoning divers think that there are no comets, but that by reverberation of the stars, which are one of them near unto the other, or by the conjunction of them that entertain one another that is caused, which hath such or such appearance of a comet. Some maintain that there are● but that they have their particular courses, and at the end of certain years they appear. Some other accord also that there are; but deny that they aught to be called stars, because they diminish by little and little, and continued not long, and vanish, as it were, in an instant. CHAP. XX. divers of our coat and sort are of the same opinion, Senecaes' opinion hereupon. neither think they that it repugneth against the truth: for we see divers sorts of fires that are form in the air, and sometimes the heaven on fire, sometimes long streams of flame, than burning torches carried away swiftly, with a large fire: the lightnings also, although marvelously sudden, in an instant dazzle the eyes, and leave there fires proceeding from the air, that is crushed and violently beaten together. Therefore resist they not, but being expressed, flow, and forthwith perish. Other fires continued long, and vanish not, except first of all that aliment that nourished them be consumed. In this rank are those miracles that are written by Possidonius, burning pillars and bucklers, and other fiery impressions, notable by reason of their novelty, which would not astonish men's minds, if they appeared according to custom and nature. All men are amazed that behold these, and be it that any fire either shine or shoot, be it that pressing the air, and by setting it on fire, it subsisteth, and is reputed for some novelty, every one gazeth thereat, and supposeth it to be miraculous. What then? Hath not the heaven sometimes opened, and a great clearness hath broken forth of the cavity. Thou mightest exclaim: What is this? I see the heaven departed itself in twain And scattered stars from thence shine forth again. Which sometimes have shined before the night was expected, and have broken forth at midday, but there is another reason hereof, why they appear at an unusual time, which that they were, it is manifest even then, when they were hidden. We see not many comets that are obscured by the Sunbeams, in whose Eclipse, as Possidonius testifieth, there appeared a Comet, which the neighbouring Sun had hidden. For oftentimes when the Sun setteth, there are certain scattered fires seen not far of him: the cause is, because the greater light is spread in such sort over the lesser, that it may not be seen: But Comets escape the Sunbeams. CHAP. XXI. That which the Stoiques teach, as touching Comets. SO than the Stoics hold that the Comets, such as are torches, trumpets, pillars, and other such wonders in the heaven are created of thick air. And therefore appear they most often in the North, because in that place there is found much weighty air. Why then is not a Comet fixed, but goeth forward? After the manner of fires, it followeth that which nourisheth it. For although by nature he inclineth upwards, yet when it wanteth matter, it declineth into that air, according as the matter thereof tendeth or bendeth it, either to the right or left part. For it hath no way, but such as the vain of that which nourisheth it leadeth it, thither creepeth it; neither shapeth she her course as a star, but is fed as fire is. Why then appeareth it a long time, and is not quickly extinguished? For that we beheld under the happy governmet of Nero, was seen for the space of six months, shaping a course altogether opposite to that which appeared in the time of Claudius. Of two Comets that appeared in the time of Claudius and Nero. For that rising from the North upwards, declined towards the East, always more obscure. This began in the same part, but bending towards the West, declined towards the Southward, and then vanished out of sight. That in Claudius' time had a quarter more moist, and more fit for inflammation, which she followed. That in Nero's time had a more spacious and furnished extent. They therefore descend thither, whither the matter that maintaineth them draweth them, and not their way: which appeareth to be divers in those two which we beheld, whereas the one moved toward the right hand, the other towards the left. But all stars have their course in the same part, that is to say, contrary to that of the heavens, which turneth from the East to the West, and the stars quite contrary: they have therefore a double motion, that of their own, and that of the heavens, that carrieth them. CHAP. XXII. I Am not of the Stoiques opinion, The examination o● the Stoics opinion. for I think not that a comet is a sudden ●ire, but that it i● to be reputed ●mongst one of the eternal works of Nature. First of all● whatsoever the air createth, are of short continuance, because they are made of a fleeting and mutable subject. For how can any thing subsist long time in the same sort in the air, when as the air itself never remaineth like itself? It doth nothing but turn and flow, and hath ve●y little rest. In a moment's space it is changed into another state than it was in before: now is it fair, now rainy, then inconstant between both, for clouds are familiar with it● into which he gathereth himself, and from which he is dissolved, which now assemble themselves, suddenly scatter, and never continued at rest. It cannot be that a settled ●ire should take his situation in a body so fleeting, and should clea●e unto it so obstinately, as if nature had so appropriated it, that it should never be separated from it. Moreover, if it always remained annexed to ●hat which en●●rtaineth the same, it should never descend: for the nearer the air approacheth to the earth the thicker it is, and never doth a comet descend as far as the lower re●●on of the aire● neither approacheth so near unto the earth. The fire likewise mounteth thither, whither his nature carrieth him, that is to say, on high, or thither, whither the matter to which it cleaveth, or that it feedeth, draweth him. CHAP. XXIII. NOT ordinary and celestial fires have an oblike way. The difference between stars and Comets. Circular motion is the property of the stars, yet know I not whether any other comets have done th● like● tw● in our age have done 〈…〉 that which is kindled by a temporal cause is quickly 〈…〉. So do torches burn in passing by, so lightnings 〈…〉 force for a flash, so those stars that are called transverse and falling, 〈…〉 cut the air; no fires have continuance but in their own fire. Those divine stars speak I of, which shall continued as long as the heaven itself, because they are parts and the workmanship thereof. But these do something, they go, they infallibly follow their courses, and are equal. For they should every other day become greater or less (if there fire were gathered and collected) suddenly enkindled upon some cause: for it should be lesser or greater, accordingly as it should be abundantly or sparingly entertained. I said of l●te that there is nothing continual which is inflamed by the corruption of the aire● now add I further, That which is inflamed by the corruption of the air cannot subsist. it neither can abide or stand by any means. For both a torch, and lightning, and a shooting star; and whatsoever fire is expressed by the air, stayeth not in a place, neither appeareth but whilst it fa●leth. The comet hath her siege, whence she is not so soon chased, but she finisheth her course in measure, and is not extinguished suddenly, but vadeth by little and little: if it were a wandering star, saith he● it should be in the Zodiac. Who se●●●●h one limit for the stars? Seneca seemeth to incline in some sort to this opinion, that a Comet is some kind of wandering star. Who driveth divine things into a straight? The Planet's which thou only thinkest have motion, have divers circles. Why therefore should there not be others, which might have a way proper & peculiar from that of the Planets? what is the cause that the heaven is unaccessible in some place? If thou thinkest that no Planet may pass the Zodiac, I say that a comet may have his circle so large, that in so●e place he may enter into the zodiac. This is not necessary, but it may be. CHAP. XXIIII. The reasons that move him to produce this Paradox. COnsider whether this becometh not the greatness of heaven better that it be divided into several courses, then to imagine one only circle wherein all the Planets have their course, and that the rest remain unprofitable and idle. Believest thou that in this so great and ●aire body, amongst innumerable stars, which by their divers beauty adorn and distinguish the night, nor suffering the air to remain volde and improfitable, that there should be but only five stars, to whom it should be lawful to exercise themselves, whilst all the rest stand, like a fixed and immovable multitude? if any man inquire of me in this place, why therefore is not the course of these as well observed as of those five stars? To him I will answer, that we grant that there are many things, but what they are we know not. All of us will confess, that each of us hath a soul, by whose command we are impelled, and revoked: but what this soul is which is the Ruler and Governor over us, every man is as far from telling thee, as he is uncertain where it is. Some will say that it is a spirit, an other that it is harmony. That Man, a divine thing, and like unto God; This Man, a very subtle air, and that other, an incorpor●all faculty: neither will there want some that will call it blood; othersome, heat. So that a man cannot know the truth of other things, who as yet hath not the perfect knowledge of himself. CHAP. XXV. That there is somewhat more i● Comet● then in other Meteors of ●i●e. WHy wonder we therefore that the Comets (which are a rare spectacle of heaven) are as yet unrestrained under certain laws, and that neither their beginnings nor end are known, having not their return, but after a long space of time? There are not yet a thousand and five hundredth years past since Greece Numbered and named the light-some stars. and many Nations are there at this day who know not the heaven but by sight, that as yet are ignorant why the Moon faileth, or suffereth an eclipse: And these things amongst us likewise have been lately reduced to a certainty. The time shall come that these things which are now hidden shall be discovered by Time, and the diligence of future Ages. One Age is over-short to seek out these secrets, and a man's whole age is required to be spent in the contemplation of heaven. Is it not a misery for us that we divide this little time we have to live, One A●e cannot know all things. between serious and frivolous occupations? There shall be divers ages therefore that shall clear these difficulties: The time shall come wherein our Posterity shall wonder that we were ignorant of so manifest things: we have learned not long since in what time those five Planets, which we perceive, do rise and set, or stay, why they go directly on, or recoil backward, and which holding so different courses, constrain us to be curious: Not many years since it hath been showed vs● if jupiter riseth, or setteth, or is retrograde; for so it is said, when he retireth. There have been some that have said unto us: you err, that judge that any star either suppresseth or turneth his course. Celestial bodies have their motion, neither can they be averted, they all go forward, as soon as they are sent, they go. They shall be no more when they cease to move. This eternal work hath irrevocable motions: which if they should at any time s●ay, the one should be confounded in the other, where as now the same tenure and equality conserveth them. CHAP. XXVI. WHence cometh it then that certain Planets seem to be retrograde? Of the retrogradation of certain Planets. The course of the Sun imposeth on them this appearance of slow motion, beside, the nature and site of their courses and circles in such sort, that at sometimes they deceive their sight that behold them. In this sort, ships that sail with a forewind seem not to stir: The day will come when some one shall show us in what parts the Comets wander: why they observe so different a course from other stars, To maintain his opinion he answereth to an objection that is made, that the Comets are more nearer the earth than the Planets and that they are of another form. what and how great they are: We content ourselves with those things that are found: Let those that succeed us manifest the truth likewise for their partest We see not, saith he, any thing that is underneath the Planets. Our eyes pierce the Comets. First, if this be so, it is not in that part where the celestial body is of a thick and solid fire, but there, where there is a brightness more rare, and in that part where the hairs are scattered. Thou seest through the spaces of the fires, and not through them. All stars (saith he) are round, all Comets are extended, whereby it appeareth that they are no stars: but who will grant thee this, that Comets are long? whereas naturally according as other celestial bodies are, they are form round, but it is their brightness that extendeth itself. Even as the Sun spreadeth his beams far and near, and yet hath another form then that which proceedeth from his beams: so the bodies of Comets are round, but their light appeareth more long, then that of the other stars. CHAP. XXVII. WHy (sayest thou?) Tell me first why the Moon receiveth a different light from that of the Sun, Another answer of Senecaes', to the objection, that there is a difference between the light of the Comets and Planets. when as she receiveth the same from the Sun? whence is it that she is sometimes read, and sometimes pal●? For what cause hath she a leaden and dark colour, wh●n she is excluded from the sight of the Sun? make me understand why all the stars have a different appearance the one from the other, and have no resemblance with that of the Sun. But as nothing hindereth them to be stars, although they resemble not, so nothing hindereth the Comets from being eternal, and of the same condition that the stars are, although they have not the same appearance. And why? the world itself, if thou consider the same, is it not composed of divers parts? whence is it that the sun is always burning in the sign of Leo, and scorcheth the earth with excessive heat, and that in Aquarius he calleth on the Winter, and causeth the Rivers to frieze? All this is but one sun, although his nature and effects are divers: within a short time after, he riseth in the sign of Aries, and slowly stealeth on in that of Libra, yet both the one and the other sign is of the same nature, although that in the one there is swift motion, and in the other slow progress. Seest thou not how contrary the elements are the one unto the other. They are heavy and light, cold and hot, moist and dry. All the harmony of the world is composed of discords. Thou deniest that a Comet is a star, because the form of the one is not answerable to that of the other. For thou seest how like that star is that ful●illeth his course in thirty years, to that which finisheth his within the space of twelve months, nature frameth not all her works upon one mould, but glorifieth herself in her variety. She hath made some bodies greater, some more swift than others, some more violent, and some more tempered: There are some she hath drawn from the troop, to the end they should march apart and in sight, other some hath she put into company: he is wholly ignorant of the power of nature, that thinketh not that it ●s lawful for him to do that sometimes which he doth often. She showeth not Comets ordinarily, she attributeth them an other place, other times, and different motions from the rest: By these Comets he would embezzle the excellency of his work and the face of the Comet is more fair, then that it should be esteemed casual; whether it be we observe their extent, whether their more clear brightness, and more ardent than others. But their face hath some worthy and notable thing in it, for it is not restrained and locked up in a narrow roome● but is more large and spacious, and that comprehendeth that which divers stars embrace. CHAP. XXVIII. Presage of Comets. COmets signify tempest, as Aristotle saith, and the intemperature of winds and reinss. Thinkest thou then that that which presageth a thing to come is not a star? For this is not in such sort a sign and presage of tempest as that is of rain, when Where boiling oil doth crack, and rotten muhrooms grows. Or as it is a sign that the sea will rage's, When Morcheus sport upon the drier coast, And leave the marshes where they haunted most: And mounting hence forsakes his watery shrouds, And soars aloft above the highest clouds. But thus as the Equinoctial presageth heat or the cold of the year, that runneth as the Chaldees say, that the star that governeth on the birthday, settleth and presageth the good or evil hap of men. But to the end thou mayest know that this is thus, the Comet threateneth not the earth with wind and rain suddenly, as Aristotle saith, but maketh all the whole year suspected: whereby it appeareth that a Comet hath not suddenly drawn presages to reflect them upon that which she meeteth withal, but she hath them in reservation, and comprehended by the laws of the world: The Comet that appeared during the Consulship of Paterculus, and V●piscus, accomplished that which was foretold by Aristotle and Theophrastus: For there were great and continual tempests every where. But in Achaia and Macedon the Cities were ruined by earthquake. Their slow motion (saith Aristotle) showeth that they are weighty, and have much earthly exhalation in them: Their course likewise for almost ordinarily they are pushed towards the Poles. CHAP. XXIX. BOth the one and the other is false, Senecaes' opinion of that which is contained in the former Chapter. I will first speak of the former, why those things that are carried more heavily are more weighty? what then? Is the Planet of Saturn, which of all others shapeth his course more slowly, heavy? But it is a sign of levity in it, that it is above the rest. But she goeth about with a longer compass, in the month more slowly, but longer than the rest. Remember thyself that I may say as much of Comets, although their course be more slow. But it is a lie to say they go more slowly, for this last hath traversed the half of the heavens in six months space: The former shaped his course in less time. But because that Comets are weighty, they are carried more low. First, that which is carried circularly, hath not a course in strait angle. Afterwards, this last began his motion in the North, and came by the West unto the South, then raising her course vanished. The other under Claudianus appeared first in the North, and ceased not to raise itself continually on, and until it was extinct. Hitherto have I proposed other men's reasons, or mine own, in respect of Comets: which, whether they be true or not, the Gods know, who have the knowledge of truth. For us it is lawful to censure and conjecture upon them in secret only, not with any confidence to find them out, but yet with some hope. CHAP. XXX. ARISTOTLE speaketh worthily, The use of the doctrine of Comets. that we aught never to be accompanied with more modesty, then when we speak of the Gods: if we enter the Temples with a good countenance; if we approach the Sacrifice with abased eyes; if we cast our gowns over our faces; if we compose our behaviour in the most humblest sort that may be: how much more aught we to do this when we dispute of fixed and wandering stars, and of the nature of the Gods; avoiding carefully all rash, impudent, light, foolish, lying, and malicious speech? neither let us wonder that those things are discovered lately, which lie hidden so deeply. It must needs concern Panaetius and those, Senecaes' answer to Panaetius as touching Comets. that deny that a Comet is an ordinary star, affirming that it is but a vain appearance to entreat more exactly, if every month of the year be equally apt to produce Comets; if every Region of the heavens be fit to entertain them, if they may be conceived every where, whereas they may wander: and other questions, all which are taken away, when I say that they are no casual fires, but interlaced in the heavens, which they bring not forth frequently, but move them in secret. How many things are there besides Comets, that pass in secret, and never discover themselves to man's eyes? How God aught to be considered. For God hath not made all things subject to human sight. How little see we of that which is enclosed in so great an Orb? Even he that manageth these things, who hath created them, who hath founded the World, and hath enclosed it about himself, and is the greater and better part of this his worke● is not subject to our eyes, but is to be visited by our thoughts. CHAP. XXXI. Of the weakness of man's judgement in the consideration and knowledge of Celestial things. THere are many things beside, that are near unto the divinity, and have a power that approacheth near unto it, which are hidden, or happily which thou wilt more wonder at, have filled our eyes, and fled from them, be it that their subtility is so great, as the apprehension of human understanding cannot reach thereunto, or that so great a majesty remaineth hidden in so sacred a retreat, governing his Kingdom, that is himself, without suffering any thing to approach him, but the soul of man: We cannot know, what this thing is, without which nothing is; and we wonder if some small fires are unknown unto us, whereas God which is the greatest part of the world, is not subject to our understanding? How many living creatures have we first known in this world? and many things likewise are there, that the people of succeeding age shall know, which are unknown unto us. The wonders of the world are discovered from age to age. Many things are reserved for the ages to come, when as our memory shall be extinguished. The world is a little thing, except all men have somewhat to observe in it. Those things that are sacred are oftentimes taught. The Eleusians always reserve some novelty, to show unto those that revisit them. Nature discovereth not her secrets at once: we think that we are exercised in them, but we are but poor Novices. Things that are so hidden, are not the subjects and objects of every man's eyes: they are enclosed and shut up in his most retired sacrary. The ages wherein we are shall see somewhat, the succedent another part: why therefore shall these things be brought into our knowledge. The greatest come slowly, especially when we cease to travel after them. That which we wholly endeavour in our minds, we have not yet effected, which is to be most wicked: vices are but yet a learning: dissolution hath found some novelty whereupon he may mad himself and dote. Impudicitie hath attracted some new thing to defame herself: The pomp and vanity of this world hath invented I know not what, more dainty and delicate then was accustomed, to confounded itself: We are not as yet sufficiently effeminate, but extinguish by our disguises all that which remaineth of virtue: we will outstrip women in their vanities; we that are men, attire ourselves in colours like Harlots, which modest Matrons would be ashamed to think upon: We Bride it in our walks, and tread upon tiptoe; we walk not, but slip along. Our fingers are loaden with rings, Disorders not of Senecaes' age but ou●s, wherein pride wants no ornament. and there is not a joint that hath not a precious stone: We daily invent, I know not what, to violate and vitiate manhood, and to defame it, because we cannot shake it off. One hath cut off his members, another hath retired himself into the most shameful and infamous place in the Theatre, and being hired to die, is armed with infamy. The poor man likewise hath found a subject, wherein to exercise his infirmity. His Conclusion is such, that he complaineth of the contempt of Philosophy, and the affectation of vanities, which if it be not a misery of this time, let every wise man judge. CHAP. XXXII. WOnderest thou that wisdom hath not as yet attained her perfection? Iniquity is not yet wholly discovered. She is but new borne, and we bestow all our labour upon her, our eyes and hands are at her service. Who is he that seeks after wisdom? who judgeth her worthy any more but a superficial knowledge? who respecteth Philosophy or the liberal study thereof, but when the Plays and Pastimes are put down, or when it raineth, or when a man knoweth not how to lose the time? Therefore is it that so many schools of the Philosophers are empty. The old and new Academic have no Reader left them: Who is he that will teach the precepts of Pyrrhon. The school of Pythagoras, whose scholars were so envious, finds not a Master. The new sect of the Sextians more powerful amongst the Romans, than any other, having begun with great vehemency, is extinguished in his infancy. Contrariwise, what care is there had that the name of some famous stage-player should not be obscured. The families of Pylades and Batillus, two famous Players, continueth by successions, there are divers Scholars and a great number of Professors in those sciences. Privately through the whole City their Pulpit soundeth: hither men and women troth. Both husbands and wives contend which of them shall be nearest, afterwards having lost all shame under their masks, they enter into Taverns, caring in no sort what becomes of Philosophy. So far are we therefore from comprehending any of those things, which the ancients have left in obscurity, that for the most part most of their inventions are forgotten. But undoubtedly, when we shall travel with all our power after it, if sober and modest, youth would study this, if the elders would teach this, and then younger learn it, yet scarcely should they sound the depth of it, where truth is placed, which now we seek with idle hands and above the earth. The End of the seventh and last Book of the Natural Questions. OF THE REST AND RETIREMENT OF A WISEMAN. WRITTEN BY LUCIUS ANNAEUS SENECA. The Argument of JUSTUS LIPSIUS. I Know not whether this be a Book or an Epistle, yet is it to be severed from the book of blessed li●e, with which it hath no correspondence. Neither know I when it was written, yet is both the matter and the handling thereof good and learned. The question was, Whether it were lawful for a Wiseman to live prinately and retired from the Commonweal? It was debated amongst the Stoics, who by consent called men thereunto. He maintaineth the affirmative, and the beginning of this book is missing, that which is extant intendeth thus much. He saith by the example of the chiefest of the Stoiques, that this is both just and usual, who although they sent some unto the Commonweal, yet went not. But that some embraced honest repose, even from their youth, other some in their later days retired thither, like old soldiers that had already deserved their wages. But that honest repose is in the studies of wisdom, and contemplation of Nature. He addeth this, that these are pleasing both to the Stoics and Epicures, but with some slight difference, because the one do purposely seek out the rest, the other upon occasion; Namely, if the Commonwealth be desperately corrupted, if a man have small authority and favour; likewise if he he infirm and sickly. He concludeth that even in retirement the Commonweal is handled, which he maketh double, the lesser and the greater; the one is concluded and comprehended in certain bonds and laws, as the Athenian or Roman Commonweal: the other is the whole world itself, whereof nature hath made us Citizens. The greater, a wiseman both manageth and handleth even in his rest and retirement, either by writing or teaching. This did ZENO and CHRYSIPPUS, and more profited they mankind then the labours and discourses of all active men. OUT OF THE XXVII. CHAPTER. THe Circi by all men's consent, commend vices unto us, although we attempt nothing else that is profitable for us, yet shall it profit ourselves first of all to retire ourselves into ourselves: the better shall we be every one of us in retiring ourselves apart, and why is it not lawful for us to retire ourselves to those that are the best men, and to choose some pattern whereby we may direct our lives? which may it not be done in retirement? Than may a man build on that which is the best, when no man cometh between, that may wrist the judgement which as yet is but weak, by the assistance of the people. Than may the life march onward with an equal and settled pace, which we make unprofitable by contrary deliberations: for amongst all other evils this is the worst, that we change our vices into other vices, in such sort, as we have not that power over ourselves to continued in one vice, which is already familiar unto us: we grow from one unto another, and cause ourselves to be tormented daily after some new manner. This likewise vexeth us, that our judgements are not only depraved, but slight and vain: we fluctuate and comprehend one thing by another, we leave that which we have wished for, and run after that which we have forsaken. In brief, there is a perpetual turn and return between our desire and our repentance. For we depend wholly on other men's advice, and that seemeth the best in our judgement, which is desired and praised by the most, and not that which we aught to desire and esteem. Neither estimate we the good or evil way by itself, but only by that which is most beaten, wherein every one throngeth after another. Thou wilt say unto me, What dost thou Seneca? Thou forsakest thine own part. Truly the Stoics say thus: We will be in action even until the last term of our lives, we will not desist to seek out common good, to help every one, to assist our very enemies, and to labour with our hands: we are they that give not any vacation to our years, and who, as an eloquent man saith, hide our white hairs under our helmets. We are they amongst whom it is so hard a matter to find any tract of idleness before death, that (if the occasion offer it) even in our death we employ ourselves more than ever. Why talkest thou unto us of the precepts of Epicurus amidst the very principles of zeno's Doctrine? If thou be aggrieved, and moved by following one party, why forsakest thou them not honestly and courageously without betraying them? Behold what for the present I will answer thee; Requirest thou any more at my hands then this, that I endeavour to resemble my Masters and Conductors? What therefore wilt thou do? I will tract that path which they lead me, and not that way which they sand me. CHAP. XXIX. NOw will I approve unto thee that I forsake not the precepts of the Stoics, for they themselves have not departed from them, and yet might I be very well excused, although I followed not their precepts but their examples. This which I say, will I divide into two parts: in the first I will show how any man may from his infancy addict himself entirely to the contemplation of verity, seek and exercise apart, the means how to order his life well. In the second, how in his old age he may fashion other men, and make them virtuous. Herein will I follow the custom of the vestal Virgins, which divide and order their age in such sort, that they may learn first of all to understand their ceremonies, and then to practise them, and finally to teach them unto others. CHAP. XXX. I Will also show that this is approved by the Stoics, not that I am constrained to do nothing that repugneth against the saying of Zeno or Chrysippus, but because the dispute permits me to incline to their advice; and to follow always the opinion of one alone, is to offer injury to the rest. Gladly would I wish it that all things were already understood, & that truth should be discovered & confessed by all men, we would not then change the opinions of the Stoics: but now we seek the truth with those men that teach the same. There are two great sorts that differ in this thing, the one of the Epicures, the other of the Stoics; but both of them sand a man to his repose, but the truth is that the ways are different. The Epicure saith, That a wiseman shall not have access to the Commonweal, except some accident happen that driveth him thereunto. And Zeno saith, That he shall have access to the Commonweal, except there be somewhat that retaineth him. The one seeketh repose of set purpose, the other upon occasion and cause. But this cause extendeth very far, if the Commonweal be so desperate as it cannot he helped, if it be possessed with mischiefs. The wiseman shall not labour in vain, neither hazard himself, knowing that it will be but lost time, especially if he have little credit and less forces, and that the Commonweal be so sick, that it neither can nor will give him access or audience. Even as a weak and consumed man will not enrol himself to go unto the wars; and as no man will launch a Ship into the Sea that leaketh, and hath watching timbers: so a wiseman will not cast himself into a way where there is neither entry nor any issue whatsoever. He than that hath all his commidities in their entire, may stay in the haven, and addict himself readily to good occupations, rather than make sail and to go and cast himself athwart the winds and waves; in brief, the disciple of virtues may embrace this happy repose, wherein the most peaceable men have licence to maintain themselves. This is required at each man's hands, that (if he may do it) he profit divers, at leastwise some, if not his nearest; or if he cannot, at leastwise himself. For when he maketh himself profitable to others, he procures the common good. As contrariwise, he that makes himself worse, first of all hurteth himself, than all those whom he might assist had he been a good man. So then he that behaveth himself well in his own respect, doth hereby profit others, because he prepareth them the means whence they may reap profit. CHAP. XXXI. LEt us imagine two Commonweals, the one great and truly public, the which comprehendeth both gods and men: wherein we cannot confine our eye within this or that limit, but we measure the extent of the same with the Sun: and the other, that where Nature hath caused us to be borne. This shall be either Athens, or Carthage, or some other City, which appertaineth not unto me, but to certain men only. Some men at one time serve both these Commonweals, other some the lesser only, and some other the great, and not the less. We may in repose serve this greater Commonweal, & I know not whether better in contemplation then in action, as if we inquire what virtue is, or if there be but one or divers; whether it be nature or study that maketh men virtuous: whether there be but one world that comprehendeth the seas, the firm lands, and that which is enclosed within them: or if God hath created divers worlds, if the matter whereof all things are made, is continuate and complete, or in parcels: if there be voided intermixed amongst those things that are solid: if God only beholdeth his work, or if he manage and governeth it: if he be spread about the same, and not enclosed, or if he be infused into all creatures: if the world be corruptible or incorruptible, and to be numbered amongst those things that have end. What service doth he to God, that beholdeth and considereth these things? It is to that end, that the works of God should have such a man for a witness. We say usually that the sovereign good is to live according to nature, which hath brought us into this world, both for contemplation and action. Let us now approve that which we have said heretofore. CHAP. XXXII. THis shall be well approved, if every one ask himself how great desire he hath had to know unknown things, and how much he listeneth attentively to all fables that are recounted unto him. Some travel by sea, and expose themselves to the dangers of a long voyage, under hope to know some hidden things, and which few other men have seen. The like desire assembleth the people in the theatres. This compelleth us to search out hidden things, and to search out those things that are secret, to turn over antiquities, and to examine the customs of foreign Nations. Nature hath given us a curious mind, and knowing the excellency of her art and secret, hath created us to be beholders of things so excellent. But she had been frustrated of her intention, had she discovered in secret, works of so great, so apparent, so exquisitely laboured, so proper, and of so divers beauties. But to the end thou mayest know that she would be beheld every ways, and not covertly or slightly consider where she hath lodged us. She hath placed us in the midst of herself, and hath given us the overview of every thing, and hath not only created man upright: but also to the end he might behold the rising and setting of the stars, and carry his eyes on every side; she hath raised his head, and planted it upon his neck, which boweth and turneth at his pleasure. Afterwards she hath produced six signs for the day, and six for the night, and hath left no part of her undiscovered, to the end thereby that she might present them to the eye, and enkindle a desire in him to behold the rest. For we see not all things and as touching those things which appear unto us, we see them not in their greatness: but our sight in searching them maketh way, and planteth the foundations of the truth, to the end that inquisition may pass from those things that are manifest to those that are obscure, and found somewhat more ancient than the world itself. As, where these celestial bodies come, what was the estate of the world, before the parts thereof was disposed, as now they be: what reason hath discovered those things that w●re drowned and confused, who hath assigned places unto things; whence cometh it, that those things that are weighty, are by their nature inclined downwards; and those things that are light mount up on high: if besides the force and weight of bodies, some higher power hath imposed a law on all those things; if that be true, and which is more justifiable, that a man is a part o● God, and that they are, as it were, sparkles which that holy fire hath caused to fall upon the earth, and that remain enclosed in this foreign place. Our thought breaketh thorough the bulwarks of heaven neither is contented with that which is showed unto it. I search, saith he, that which is beyond the world, wh●ther it be a deep voided, or some great extent enclosed, yet notwithstanding within certain bounds. What is the habitude of those things that are excluded from our world, if they be informed and confused: if in every part they have equal place, if they be ordered to some use, if they are belonging to our world, or far estranged from it, and whirleth about in the voids if they be individual, whereof all things created are to be made, or if their matter entertaineth them, and is every way mutable: if the elements are contrary the one unto the other, or if they be not at discord, but by divers means entertain one another. Being borne to seek out these things. Consider how small a time man hath received, although he employ himself wholly herein, although he permit no man to distracted him, and were careful to husband well every minute of an hour, without losing one: although he lived longer than any other, without touch of any cross or disaster whatsoever, yet is he over mortal, and of to small continuance to attain unto the knowledge of eternal things. So then I live according to Nature, if I addict myself wholly unto her, and admire and reverence her. But her will is that I should intent to contemplation and action. I do both the one and the other, for contemplation is not without action. But we must see (sayest thou) if thou hast disposed thyself thereunto, to this end only, to reap the pleasure without searching any other thing, than a continual contemplation and without issue; for this contemplation is a sweet and very attractive thing. To this I answer thee, that it importeth as much as to demand, with what affection thou addictest thyself to a politic and active life? If it be to travel always, and without ceasing, in such sort as thou never raisest thyself from the consideration of human things to divine? Even as it is unlikely that a man can desire things, or do any work, except he first of all have some science in his soul, and some love of virtue (for these things desire to be mixed together, and compared the one with the other) so virtue, which is idle and without action, is an imperfect and languishing good, which never maketh show of that which she hath learned. Who will say that a virtuous man aught not to assay in action how much he hath profited? Dare any man maintain that he aught to meditate only on that which he aught to do? Is he not tied also ●o exercise his hand sometimes, and to bring that which he hath meditated to a true effect. What if the delay be not in the wi●eman himself, if there wanteth not an actor, but such things as are to be acted. What, wilt thou permit him to be with himself? With what mind doth a wiseman retire himself? To the end he may know that he will act somewhat by himself that may profit posterity. Undoubtedly we that are stoics do maintain that Zeno and Chrysippus have done more in their solitude, then if they had conducted Armies, exercised public charges, established laws: for they have proposed worthy lessons, not only to a Commonweal, but to all mankind: why therefore should not such repose become a good man, by means whereof he governeth the ages to come, and instruct●th not only a small assembly of people, but teacheth all men that are living at this day, and that shall come hereafter into the world? In brief, I ask if Cleanthes, Chrysippus, and Zeno, have lived according to their precepts? I assure myself that thou wilt answer me thus, that they lived so, as they said, men were to live, but none of these governed a Commonweal. But thou mayest reply, that they had not either the means, or qualities that were requisite in them that are admitted to the government of public affairs. And I say for all that, that they lived not without doing somewhat, but have found the means to make their solitude more profitable unto mankind, than other men's endeavours and labours. So then they have done much, although they have done nothing in public. Besides, there are three sorts of life, amongst which, there is a question which is the best. The one intendeth pleasure, the other contemplation, the third action. First of all, laying aside all contention, and that irreconcilable hatred that we have denounced against those who are of a contrary opinion to ours: let us see if these three manners of living do not jump in one, although they appear under divers titles. He that approveth pleasure is not without contemplation, and he that is contemplative enjoyeth some pleasure; and he that addicteth himself to the active life, hath not wholly forsaken the contemplative. There is a great difference (sayest thou) whether that be one thing which a man proposeth, or a dependence of some proposition; undoubtedly a great difference, and yet the one cannot be without the other. Neither is he without action, who is contemplative, neither doth the other do any thing without contemplation. The third likewise; whom ordinarily we make worst account of, appeareth not an idle pleasure, but that wherein he confirmeth himself by reason. So this voluptuous sect likewise is in action. And why should it not be in action? When as the Epicure himself saith, that he will sometimes retire himself from pleasure, and long after pain, if either penitence attend pleasure, or a lesser grief be taken for a more grievous. Whereto tendeth this discourse? To show that a contemplative life is pleasing unto all men. Some seek after the same, it is our place of rest and not our part. Add hereunto now, that according to the precepts of Chrysippus, a man may live without travel, not to addict himself unto idleness, but make choice of a commodious repose. The Stoiques maintain that a wiseman will beware jest he meddle with affairs of estate. But what skilleth it how a wiseman come unto repose, is it because the Commonweal forsaketh him, or he forsaketh the Commonweal. If the Commonweal should leave every one there (as she searcheth not those who seek her in despite.) I ask you to what Commonweal a wiseman should retire himself? Shall it be to Athens? In which Socrates is condemned, and from whence Aristotle fled, for fear he should be condemned? whence envy smothereth all virtues? Thou wilt grant me this, that a wiseman should not retire thither: if he should go and live in that of Carthage, troubled with continual seditions, enemy of their liberty who are good men: where equity and goodness are basely prised, where enemies are rudely and cruelly entreated, and where citizens themselves are pursued as enemies. He will fly that place likewise. If I should represent other unto thee, I should not find one that might support a wiseman, or be supported by a wise man. And if we find not this Commonweal, which we imagine, the repose beginneth to be necessary for all. Considering, that that alone which might be preferred before repose, is found in no part. Put case that some one say, that it is good to embark, but that we must not make sail upon that sea, wherein ships are drowned ordinarily, and which is agitated with sudden gusts, which carry away the most expert Pilots out of their course: I think that such a one forbiddeth me to weigh anchor, although he praiseth the Navigation. The End of the Book of a Wiseman's rest and retirement. CERTAIN COLLECTIONS GATHERED OUT OF SENECAES' Books. Of Poverty. COntented poverty, as the Epicure saith, is an honest thing, but it is not now poverty, if it be content. He that agreeth well with his poverty is a rich man: he is poor that desireth much, not he that hath little; for what profiteth it a man to have much in his coffer, to hoard up much in his barns, to feed much cattle, and lend much upon usury, if he thirsteth after another man's fortunes, if he desire not those things which are gotten, but such as are to be attained? Askest thou me what measure there is in riches? First, to have that which is necessary; secondly, that which is sufficient: no man can be possessed of a peaceable and contented life, that tormenteth himself much about the enlargement thereof. There is no good whatsoever that profiteth him that possesseth the same, except that which we are addressed and willing to lose. By the law of nature the greatest riches are but a composed poverty. But knowest thou what bounds the law of Nature hath allotted us? Not to be hungry, not to be a thirst, not to be cold. To satisfy and assuage thy thirst thou hast no need to attempt the Seas, nor follow the wars: the thing that nature desireth is easily gotten, and readily s●t before thee. We sweated for superfluities. They are those that wear out our apparel, that compel us to wax old, that drive us upon foreign forces: it is at hand that may suffice us. If a man suppose not that which he hath to be ample enough, although he be Lord of the whole world, yet is he miserable. Wretched is he that judgeth not himself to be most blessed, although he command not the whole world: he is not happy that thinks not himself happy. Let us have nothing which may be taken from us, to his great profit that would lay hold thereof: let there be very little in thy body that may be taken from thee. There is no man, or very few at leastwise, that thirst after man's blood for murther-sake only. The thief passeth by the man that is naked, the poor man hath peace in a way beleaguered with thieves. He hath most fruit of his riches that wanteth lest. If thou livest according to nature, thou shalt never be poor; if according to opinion never rich: nature desireth a little, opinion a great deal. If thou be'st loaden with as many goods as divers rich men possess, if beside these particular riches fortune raise thee to honours, covereth thee with gold, clotheth thee in purple, bringeth thee to such a height of delights and riches, that thou coverest the earth with marble pillars, that not only handlest gold and silver, but treadest upon it, that besides all this thy chambers be garnished with statues and pictures, and all that which cunning could represent, either rare or exquisite in gold or silver: these things will teach thee to desire more greater. Natural desires are finite, they that spring from false opinion have neither end nor measure: for falsity hath no limit, truth hath some end; error is infinite. Retire thyself therefore from these vanities, and when thou wouldst know whether thou hast a natural or vain desire, behold if it stay in any part or no: if having gone far onward thou always findest somewhat farther off to be achieved, know that this is not natural. That poverty which is expedite, is secure. When the alarum is sounded, she knoweth that she is not sought after: when the army is commanded to dislodge, she seeketh how to issue, not what to carry with her. But if she must make ●aile, the haven hath no noise in it, the shores are not pestered with many attendants. A troup of men attend her not to nourish, when she need not wish for the felicity of foreign countries: it is an easy matter to feed a few bellies that are well governed, and desire naught else but to be filled. Hunger is satisfied with a little, but excess with much: poverty is content to satisfy her instant desires: well advised is that rich man, that having great store of riches, possesseth them as things that may be taken from him. What moves thee then to refuse such a one for thy companion; whose manners a discreet wiseman doth imitate. If thou wilt govern thy mind well, either thou must be poor, or like unto a poor man. Thou canst not study any thing that may profit thee except thou have a care of frugality, and this frugality is a voluntary poverty. Whole armies have divers times been destitute of all things, the soldiers have fed upon roots and herbs, and have suffered famine too loathsome to be spoken. And all this have they suffered for a Kingdom, and which thou wilt wonder at more, for another man. Is there any man that will doubt to endure poverty to deliver his mind from these furious passions? Many in obtaining worldly riches, have not seen ●he end of their miseries, but only the change. Neither wonder I hereat. The fault is not in the riches, but in the mind itself. That which made poverty seem tedious unto us, will make our riches burdensome likewise. Even as it skilleth not whether you place a sick man in a wooden or a golden bed; for whether● soever you shall carry him he beareth his sickness with him: so it matters not whether a sick mind be in riches or in poverty; for his mischief followeth him. We have no need of fortune to live securely: for whatsoever is necessary she will give, although she be displeased. For fear she find us unprepared, let poverty be familiar with us: we shall be more securely rich, if we know how easy a thing it is to be poor. Begin to accustom thyself to poverty. Behold my guest to set thy wealth at naught, Resembling God in nature and in thought. There is no man more worthy of God than he that hath contemned riches. And therefore I hinder thee not from the possession of goods, but this would I effect, that thou shouldest possess them without fear; which thou shalt attain unto by this one meane●, if thou hopest that thou likewise shalt live well without them, and beholdest them as things that are transitory. Let him pass who followeth not thee, but something that is in thee. For this cause only is poverty to be beloved, because it discovereth by whom thou art esteemed: it is a great matter not to be corrupted with the fellowship of riches. Great is that man who is poor in his riches. No man is borne rich. Whosoever entereth into this world is commanded to content himself with bread and milk. kingdoms come not to seek us so far. Nature requireth bread and water. He that hath these is not poor; and if he boundeth his desires in these, he shall contend with jupiter in felicity: felicity is a disquiet thing; she tormenteth herself, she distempereth the brain in more than one sort. She provoketh some to brave it, some to sergeant gravity, some she maketh proud, othersome she humbleth. If thou wilt know how little evil there is in poverty, compare the countenance of a poor and rich man, one with the other: the poor man laugheth more often, and more hearty, he is shaken with no care, he is above the tempests of this world. His care passeth over like a slight cloud: their mirth (who are called fortunes minions) is feigned: their grievous and intolerable pride, although not openly is inwardly their torment, and so much the more grievous, because that sometimes they have not liberty to be publicly miserable. But amongst those disgusts that torment and swell up their hearts, they are enforced to sergeant their happiness: riches, honours, powers, and such like, which draw us from the right, which in men's opinion are precious, but i● effect wild. We know not how to praise those things, whereof we aught not to determine according to common report, but according to the nature of the things themselves. These things have nothing magnificent in them, that may allure our minds unto them, except this, that we are accustomed to admire them. For they are not praised because they are to be desired, but because they are desired. This precedent cause have riches: they change the mind, they breed pride and arrogancy, they draw on envy, they so far estrange the mind that the fame of the money delighteth us, although it be harmful unto us. All good things aught to be without fault, they are pure, they neither corrupt nor solicit the mind, yet they extol and delight men's minds, but without any pride. Those things that are good make men confident, riches make men audacious. Those things that are good, give us greatness of mind, riches insolency. OTHER COLLECTIONS. Of the remedies of casualties. ALthough thou art fully possessed with all the flowers of Poesy, yet debated ●nd resolved I with myself at length to dedicated this little work unto thee● concerning casual remedies, which the precedent times speak not of, posterity shall respect. From whence therefore shall w● first take our beginning? If thou thinkest it fit from death, What, from the last? Yea, from the greatest. Hereat mankind doth most especially tremble; neither without cause in thy judgement do they so. All other fears leave some place after th●m, death cutteth off all things. Other things torment us, but death devoureth all things. The issue of all that which we fear and are affrighted at, after they have long time followed us and attended us, have their period in this: yea, even those who think they fear nothing, yet notwithstanding are afraid of death. All other things which we fear may find some redress or solace. So therefore form and conform thyself, that if any man threaten thee openly with death, thou mayest delude all his threats and slight fears. Thou shalt die: this is man's nature, and not his punishments Thou shal● die: upon this condition entered I the world, that I must leave it. Thou shal● die● it is the law of Nations to restore that which thou hast borrowed. Thou shalt die● life is but a pilgrimage, when thou hast travailed long ●hou must return home. Thou shalt die: I thought thou wouldst tell me some news; to this end I came into the world● this I do, every day conducteth me thereunto. Nature when I was borne forthwith prefixed me this limit: why should I be displeased herewith? I am sworn to obey her. Thou shalt die: it is a foolish thing to fear that which thou canst not avoid He escapeth not death that deferreth it. Thou shalt die: neither the first nor the last; many have gone before me, and all shall follow me. Thou shalt die: this is the end of all that I aught to do; what old man would not be glad to be exempted from service? Wither the world passeth thither shall I pass. To this end are all things created. That which begins must have an end. Thou shalt die: nothing is grievous that happeneth once. I know that I must pay that which I owe. I have contracted with a creditor that will not lose his debt. Thou shalt die: there can be no better news, or more happy threat to mortal men. But th●u shalt be beheaded● what care I whether I die by the stroke, or by the stab? But thou shalt have many strokes, and thou shalt see divers swords unsheathed against thee. What matters it how many the wounds be● there can no more but one be mortal. Thou shalt die in a strange country. The way to death is in every place. I am ready to pay that which I owe. Let the creditor ●e● to it● where he will arrest me. Thou shalt die in a strange country. There ●s no ●arth that is strange to him that dieth. Thou shalt die in a strange country. Sleep is no more grievous abroad than it is at home. Thou shalt die in a strange country. This is to return into a man's countr●e without provision. But thou shalt die young. It is the best that may befall a man to die before h● wisheth it. This is the only thing that concerneth the young, as well as the old. We are neither cited according to our revenues or years. The same necessity of destiny constraineth both young and old. It is best for a man to die, when he hath a desire to live. Thou shalt die young. Whosoever cometh to the last period of his destiny, dirth old. For it skilleth not what the age of man is, but what his term is. Thou shalt die young. It may be that Fortune retireth me from some great mishap, and if from naught else, at leastwise from old age. Thou shalt die young. It skilleth not how many years I have, but how many I have received. If I cannot live longer, this is mine old age. Thou shalt lie unburied. What other thing shall I answer thee, but that of Virgil's. 'Slight is the loss of sepulture. If I feel nothing, I need not care whether my body be burned or not, and if I be sensible, every sepulture is a torment. Heaven covers him that hath no pointed tomb. What matters it whether fire or wild beasts consume me, or the earth which is the sepulture of all things? This to him that hath no sense, is nothing, and to him that hath feeling a burden. Thou shalt be unburied. But thou shalt be burned, but then drowned, but then imprisoned, and locked in a tomb, but thou shalt rot, and be emboweled and sowed up, or cast into the hollow of a stone, which shall consume and dry thee by little and little. There is no sepulture, we are not buried, but cast out. Thou shalt not be buried. Why art thou afraid amidst thy most security. This place is out of fear and danger. We are indebted much unto life, to death nothing. Sepulture was not invented for the dead sake, but for the living, to the end that our bodies, which in sight and smell are most loathsome, should be hidden from our eyes: some the earth overwhelmeth, some the flame consumeth, some are shut up in stone, that will return nothing but bones. We spare not the dead, but our own eyes. I am sick. The time is now come wherein I must make proof of my virtue. A confident man not only discovereth himself upon the sea, and in the battle, but virtue approveth herself even in the bed. I am sick. This cannot continued for an age. Either I shall leave mine Ague, or mine Ague will leave me. We cannot be always together. The question is betwixt me and sickness, and either he shall be conquered, or I overcome. Men speak evil of thee. But evil men. It would move me, if Marcus Cato, if Lelius the wiseman: if the other Cato, if the two Scipios spoke these things. In this time it is a matter praiseworthy to displease the wicked. That sentence can have no authority, where he that is condemned doth condemn. Men speak evil of thee● It would move m●, if they did it vpo● judgement, but now they do● it upon infirmity. They sp●ak● not of me, but of themselves. Men sp●ake evil of thee, they do it therefore because they canno● speak well. Not because I deserve it● but because they are accustomed unto it. For there are some dogs of that nature● that they bark rather upon custom then curstness. Thou shalt be banished: thou art d●●ciued when I have done all that I may, I cannot pass out of my country. All men have one country, and out of this no man may wander. Thou shalt be banished, I am no● forbidden my country, but the place. Into whatsoever country I come, I come into mine own. I can be banished into no place, for it is my country. Thou shalt not be in thy country. That is my country wheresoever I live well. But to live well is in the man, and not in the place: In his power it i● what his fortune shall be. For if he be wise, he traveleth; if a fool, he is banished. Thou shalt be banished: thou sayest thus. Thou shalt be a citizen in another City. Sorrow is at hand; if it be slight, let us endure it, patience is an easy thing to support. If it be grievous, the glory is the greater. Let pain extort cries, so h● express not secrets. A man cannot resist pain, neither pain reason. Pain is a tedious thing, nay rathe● thou art effeminate. Few men could endure pain. Let us be one of the few. We are weak by nature. Defame not Nature, she created us strong and valiant. Let us fly pain. And why? Knowest thou not that he followeth those that fly from him? Povertie is grievous unto me, nay, thou unto poverty. The error is not in poverty, but in the poor man. S●ee is ready, joyful, and assured. I am poor. I in opinion, but not in truth. Thou art poor, because thou thinkest thyself so. I am poor. The birds want nothing. Tame beasts live their time, wild beasts found food in their solitude. I am not powerful, be glad, thou shalt not be impotent. I may receive an injury. Be glad, thou canst not do any. He hath great store of money. judgest thou him to be a man, it is hi● means? Who envieth a treasury or full coffers. And this man, whom thou supposest to be master of this money, is but the bag that shutteth it up. He hath much. Whether i● he covetous or prodigal: if covetous, he hath nothing: if prodigal, he shall have nothing. This man, whom thou supposest to be happy, is often sad, doth often sigh. Many accompany him. Flies follow after honey; Wolves after carrion; Aunts after wheat. This troup followeth their prey, and not the man. I have lost my money. It may be it would have lost thee. I have lost my money, but thou haddest it. I have lost my money. Thou shalt be no more in so great danger. I have lost my money. how happy art thou, if thou hast lost thy covetousness with the same. But if she remain with thee, yet art thou happy in some sort, because thou hast neither wood nor oil to cast into so horrible a fire. I have lost my money. And thy money hath lost and spoiled an infinite number of men. Thou shalt be now more light to walk on thy way, and more assured in thy house. Thou shalt neither have nor fear an heir. Fortune hath disburdened thee, if thou conceivest the same, and settled thee in a more secure place. Thinkest thou it to be thy wrong? It is thy remedy. Thou weepest, thou wailest, thou criest, as if thou wert undone, because thy riches have been taken from thee. It is thine own fault that this loss doth torment and touch thee so near. If thou hadst possessed them as things that might perish, thou wouldst not torment thyself thus. I have lost my money, another had lost it before, to the end thou shouldest have it. I have lost my sight. Night and obscurity hath her pleasures. I have lost my sight. From how many desires art thou exempted? How many things shalt thou want, which rather than thou shouldest see● thou thyself wouldst pluck out thine eyes. Knewest thou not that bodily blindness is a part of innocence? The eye discovereth unto one man and adultery, to another incest, to this man a house which he desireth, to that man a town; in brief all sorts of mischiefs. Undoubtedly, the eyes are the sting of vices, and the guides of wickedness. I have lost my children. Thou art a fool to bewail the death of those that are mortal. Is this a novelty, or a thing to be wondered at? Is there any house exempt from this accident? Callest thou a tree miserable, whose fruit falleth to the ground whilst his branches mount aloft. Thy child is thy fruit. No man is exempt from theses strokes, untimely funerally are led as well out of the Arti●icers shop, as the King's Palace. Destiny and age have not the same order. A man departeth not out of the world in the same sort as he entered. But why art thou vexed? What hath happened contrary to thy hope. Those that aught to die are dead. Yet could I have wished that they might have lived. But no man promised thee thus much. My children are dead. They had them who had greater right unto them than thou? They were only lent thee. Fortune left thee them to bring them up, she hath retained them, and hath taken away nothing but her own. I have suffered shipwreck. Bethink thee not what thou hast lost, but what thou hast escaped. I came naked to the shores But thou gottest to land. I have lost all: but thou mightest have been drowned with the rest. I fell into the hands of thieves. But another man hath met with detractors, another with thieves, another with coseners● The way is full of dangers. Complain not thou that thou hast met with them, rather rejoice that thou art whole and in safety. I have grievous enemies. Even as thou seekest out means to defence thyself against the fury of savage beasts, and the venom of serpents● so see thou fortify thyself with some succours against thine enemies, by means whereof thou mayest repulse them or repress them, or which is more assured and better, make thyself gracious in their eyes. I have lost a friend. It is true then that thou hadst one. I have lost a friend. Seek out another in some part where thou mayest find him. Seek amongst the Liberal Sciences, amongst those occupations that are just and honest, in the shops of Artificers. This treasure is not sought out at the table. Seek out some one that cares not for good cheer, but is frugal. I have lost my friend. Show thyself to be a brave fellow, if thou hast but lost one, blush; if an only friend: why trustedst thou to one anchor in so great a tempest. I have lost a good wife. Didst thou find her good, or make her good? If thou foundest her by chance, thou mayest hope to light upon the like. If thou madest her good, hope well: the pattern is lost, but the craftesmaster is living. I have lost a good wife. What allowedst thou in her? Her chastity? How many women are there found, that having maintained their honour a long time, have lost it at last? Was it her modesty: how many have been numbered in the rank of most honest matrons, that afterwards were scolds and railers? Wert thou delighted in her loyalty? How many of the best wives have we seen prove naughts, of the most diligent, the most dissolute. The minds of all unskilful persons, especially women, is subject to inconstancy. If thou hadst a good wife, thou couldst not maintain that she would always remain in that estate. There is not any thing so inconstant and vnassured as the will of women. We know the divorces of ancient matrimonies, and the brawls of married couples, more hateful than divorces. How many are there that having affectionately loved their wives in their youth, have forsaken them in their age? How oftentimes have we laughed at the divorces of old and married folks? How manies noted love, hath been changed into more notable hatred? But this was both good, and would have continued good had she lived. Death is the cause that thou mayest boldly maintain this. I have lost a good wife, if thou seekest none but a good wife, thou shalt find her. Provided that thou study not about the antiquity of her race, nor on her worldly possession, which men prize now adays more than Nobility. Beauty annexed to these, will make headlong time against thee, but thou shalt not have so much labour to govern a mind that is puffed up with any vanity. A woman that is too proud of herself, will make small reckoning of her husband. Marry with a maid, or that is well brought up, and not tainted with her mother's vices. A maid that beareth not her fathers and mother's bequest at her cares, that is, not loaden with Rings and jewels, nor clothed in such apparel, as cost more than she brought unto her marriage. Nor that causeth herself to be drawn in her Coach thorough the City, and to behold the people as boldly, and on both sides, as would her husband. Nor such an one for whom thine house will seem too little to contain her carriage and equipage: Thou shalt work that maiden according to thy mind, which hath not as yet been corrupted by those dissolutions that are in request. I have lost a virtuous wife. Art thou not ashamed to weep, and to call thy loss intolerable? But well, thou must know this, if thou bewailest thy wife or no. In remembering thyself that thou art a husband, remember also that thou art a man. I have lost a good wife. A man cannot recover a good mother or a good sister, but a woman is an accessary good, and is not reckoned amongst those which every one cannot meet with but once in his life time. I have lost a good wife. I can name thee many men, that having bewailed a good wife, have met a second far better than the first. Death, banishment, pains, sorrows, are no punishments, but tributes which we must pay unto this life. Destiny sendeth no man out of this world, without giving him some stroke. Happy is he that esteemeth himself such, and not he who is esteemed such by others. But consider that this happiness is rare in this world. It hath near unto it misery, and borroweth something of it. The end of SENECAES' Works. A Table wherein SENECAES' Paradoxes and other Stoical vanities are set down, to the end that such as are of weakest judgement and apprehension, may both know, and be more circumspect in judging of them. 1IT is a thanksgiving for a benefit when a man receiveth it with a good william. 2 The virtuous child doth more good unto his father, than he hath received from him. 3 Of the names of God, and if so many presents as he bestoweth us, should be as many names as a man might bestow upon him. 4 Thou art not to think that there are but seven wandering stars, and that the rest are fixed. 5 The wicked and the foolish man is not exempt from any vice. 6 Of the power of God. 7 That sometimes we aught not to recompense the good turn which we have received. 8 The wiseman satisfieth the rich man for the gold and silver he offereth him by one refusal. 9 Whether a man may give unto himself, and requited himself. 10 That no man is good, wicked, or ungrateful. 11 All men are ungrateful. 12 If a wiseman may receive a benefit, and pleasure from another man, considering that he is Lord of all things. 13 Of divers sorts of benefits. 14 Of the resemblance and difference betwixt God and good Men. 15 If jupiter would fix his eyes upon the earth, I think that he might not see any thing more fair, than Cato was at such time as he slew himself. 16 Of fatal destiny. 17 One and the same necessity enchaineth both Gods and Men. 18 Death is in the power and will o● a man to kill himself, and to departed out of this world when he thinketh fit, without expecting the good will and pleasure of God. 19 The rich man cannot be rich except he be poor. 20 Remedies against divers accidents of this life. 21 Our infirmities may be healed, and nature which hath created us to tend unto good, aideth us when we desire her to become better. 22 Why mournest thou? on which side soever thou turnest thyself, there is the end of thine evils. 23 Mercy or compassion is an imperfection of the soul of affections. 24 If a wiseman pardoneth. 25 Of happy Life, and of perfect Virtue. 26 Wherein consisteth the sovereign good. 27 The praise of that Epicure who cut his own throat. 28 That a wiseman aught not to intermeddle with affairs of estate. 29 Of an imperfect and perfect wiseman. 30 Death is neither good nor evil, for that may be either good or evil which is something, but that which is nothing, and reduceth all things to nothing, neither subiecteth us to good or to evil. 31 Of the purgation of the soul above us, where she maketh a little stay to cleanse herself from the spots that remain in her. 32 Of the end of the world, and of the resolution of souls into their ancient elements. 33 Of the creator of all things, and of the immutable succession of things that are enchained the one within the other. 34 Death is not a punishment, but the ordinance of nature. 35 jupiter after the consummation of the world, all the gods being derived into one, and nature reposing herself a little, shall content himself with himself, and shall govern his thoughts. 36 It is a great misery to be contrained to live, it is no constraint to be constrained to live; there is no man that may be hindered from forsaking this life. 37 Dying we are worse than we were when we were borne. 38 Of two sorts of Wisemen. 39 God dwelleth in every good man, but we know not what God he is. 40 Thinkest thou for the present what I call a good man? He which is imperfectly: for the other which is perfectly wise appeareth not but by chance one time in five years, as the Phoenix and we aught not to be abashed, if the generation of great things requireth a great distance. 41 Of the source of disorder which is in the soul. 42 The short life of a Wiseman hath as much extent for him as the long life of God. There is likewise something wherein a wiseman marcheth before God, which is that God is wise by the benefit of nature, and not by intention and diligence. 43 We deceive ourselves to think that life followeth death, when as death had gone before, and life followeth it. 44 If the soul of a man being hidden under the ruins of a Tower or Mountain, cannot be delivered from the body, nor find issue, but spreadeth itself incontinently thorough all the members, because she hath no free issue. 45 If by reason of continual pain i● be lawful for a man to murder himself. 46 Of perfect virtue in this life. 47 Of the equality of vertuest and wherein lieth their difference. 48 Of reason and the sovereign good. 49 Of the behaviour of a wiseman in death. 50 If it lie in our own power to dispose of our lives as we please. 51 Of the Stoics wise man. 52 jupiter can do no more than a wiseman. 53 Three sorts of Philosophers. 54 Stoical inductions to persuade a man to murder himself. 55 The estate of the soul before it entereth into the body, and after it hath left it. 56 That no man but a wiseman can requited a good turn which is received. 57 If a wiseman be without passions or no? 58 Of happy life and the chiefest good. 59 A happy man is perfectly happy. 60 Of the golden age and the first men. 61 Of the invention of arts and occupations. 62 That the firmity and felicity of a wiseman (imagined perfect in this present life) is in himself. 63 The sovereign good is in this life, and cannot receive increase. 64 This world wherein we are contained, is one, is God, whose members and companions we are. 65 A dead man is no more. 66 That which we call good is a body. 67 Virtues and other things, yea, those accidents which are without subject and form, are animals and bodies. 68 If it be better to have moderate affection, or to have none at all. 69 Wisdom is a good thing, to be wise is not. 70 Nothing seemeth more dishonest then to wish for death. It is in thine own power to die when thou wilt. 71 God is the soul of the world: it is all that which thou seest, and all that which thou seest not. 72 Of the universal deluge by water which shall ruin the world. 73 Of the end of the world by an universal deluge. 74 If the heaven turneth and the earth standeth still, or if the heaven is immovable, and the earth turneth. If the heaven falleth continually, unperceived because it falleth into that which is infinite. 75 Of Comets. 76 The nourishment of the flesh is a savage life and beastly. 77 There is nothing honest but that which is good. 78 Virtue is sufficient for herself, to live well and happily. 79 Sins are equal, and virtuous actions likewise. 80 All imprudent men are mad. 81 All wisemen are exempt and free: contrariwise, all imprudent men are vicious and slaves. 82 Not one but a wiseman is rich. 83 The sum of certain dangerous Paradoxes of the Stoics. AN ALPHABETICAL TABLE OF THE PRINCIPAL MATTERS CONTANED IN THE WHOLE Works of LUCIUS ANNAEUS SENECA the Philosopher. A ABstinence, why the Pythagorists abstained from eating of flesh. Fol. 444. Accidents, which are extreme and past reremedie, shake those men that are most constant and assured. 380 Accidents of the burning of the City of Lions to ashes in Senecaes' time, ibid. Why such accidents shake a constant heart. 381. Remedies against such accidents, because there is nothing firm in this world, ibid. Witness the perpetual inconstancy of all affairs. ibid. Accusers of other men, wherein they show themselves unjust. 613 Achilles, how he behaved himself towards King Priam. 548 Action and Contemplation joined together. 354 Actions, different in a wiseman and another man. ibid. Actions of the soul aught to be carefully considered, to the end they may be well governed. 463 Acts, whereto they aught to be intended. 354 Admonitions aught to be redoubled for our profit. 394. What admonition is profitable. 397 Advantage of men over beasts. 493 Advantage of beasts over men, in regard of corruptible goods. 302 Adversity maketh trial of man's courage. 280. If it be to be wished for, ibid. How adversities are to be desired. 281. Some Stoics opinions hereupon, ibid. The contrary opinion of the Author, ibid. How it may be good. 294 Advertisements for Princes. 280 Advertisements aught to be wholesome, which affect our ears. 241 Adulteries of these times prophesied of. 10 Adulteries described, would God not practised. 50 AEneas saved his father. 62 AEschines his gift to Socrates. 9 Aesop's irish dish. 205 aetna's secrets. 221 Affairs of this world, how they aught to be managed. 659. He that will retire himself apart from the affairs of this world, must despise the vain and imaginary commodities of the same. 201. Vanity of the world that deferreth affairs till to morrow. 235 Affection of Seneca towards his wife 432. How far it aught to extend toward our dearest friends. ibid. Affections, how they are impugned by the Stoics. 607 Affections and divers occupations, do abridge life 614. A dispute written in favour of the Stoics, who governed their affections contrary to the Sect of the Epicures, who confused and confounded them 421. Opinion of the Stoics as touching affections 466. That it is impossible to keep a measure in affections 467. Why we cannot command out affections. ibid. Afflictions are honourable, pleasant, profitable, and necessary for virtuous men 499. They are turned to good, ibid. They do as it were enclose human greatness, 503. They are not to be called evil. 508 Afflictions that are foreseen, are but slight: afflictions which affect other men aught to instruct us how to digest our own moderately: afflictions fortify the mind, and make it resolute against adversities, 182. Against those that increase their evil, by augmenting the same by new grieving. ibid. Age: no age exempt from choler. 285 Agrippa ennobled his Father. 59 ajax untimely death through choler. 591 Air, esteemed for an element or simple body 779, 780, 781. His divers Regions. 782 Why it is movable. ibid. The three Meteors thereof; with divers opinions touching the nature of the same. ibid. Air in his lowest Region is most darksome and less pure; and that it hath something vital in it: that air which is inflamed through corruption of the air, cannot subsist. ibid. Alexander the great; how he entertained the offer of the Corinthians. 13 He giveth more & otherwise then he aught. 27 His entertainment by Diogenes. 96 His ambition discovered. 143 His courageous and wise behaviour. ibid. Alexander and Pompey, authors of ambition. 399 Alexander a poor man. 476 His disgrace through his cruelty. 601 He killeth his dearest friend Clitus. 565 All things bad to the bad. 102 Almans, why easily overcome. 537 Why they seem generous. ibid. Ambition aught to be carefully avoided. 557 exclaimed against. 646 It shorteneth life. 674 The most miserable passion of all other. 581 It must be avoided: Avarice must not be consulted. 201 Ambition wittily described 399. dissuaded, 433. Ambitious slaves, 29. Ambitious outrages are avoided by means, 185 Her assaults are repulsed by the use of Philosophy, ibid. Ambitious medicines. 400 Amity is not extinguished, although the testimony of the same differ. 8 Into what vicious extremities they fall, that know not well what true Amity is. 166 Amity faithful and feigned. 174 How we aught to use the same. 179 False friendship. ibid. True Amity. 222. See Friendship. Anger killeth those for whom it shall become sorrow. 554 How it is to be repressed. 556 Anthony. 104 Antigonus, how he acquit himself from a subtle beggar. 27 He reverenceth his father. 62. Is graced himself by his son ib. A Prince of marvelous courtesy. 568 Apicius drank poison. 745 Apothegms of divers noble personages 21, 27, 32, 34● 52, 54, 132, 136, 141, 142, 146, 148, 506, 522, 561 577, 590, 643, 649, 650, 651, 653, 338 Apprehension, how we may know the vanity or verity of a reprehension 182 Apprehension of death, with the remedies against it. 317 Apprehension of death, which is not measurable, censured. 479 Arcesilaus a gracious benefactor. 22 A great drinker. 653 Archelaus receiveth gifts from bad men. 32 A Prince of little wi●. 97 Arguments of the Stoics, to prove that virtue only sufficeth to live well and happily. 350 Aristons' choice in a young man. 223 Aristotle refuted as touching Anger 515 Approving Anger in some sort he is reproved. 554 Armodius and Aristogiton, why they were both surnamed Tyrants. 150 Artisans, how they aught to be requited. 124 They and their tools. 375 Arts, wherein they differ from Philosophy. 402 Asinius Pollio, how he recreated himself. 653 He would not disturb his supper with any business. ibib. Assurances midst all the tempests of this world. 416 Astyages a furious and cruel Prince. 563 Attalus. 203 Avarice trodden upon by Anger. 550 Detested. 38 The evils that proceed from it. 147, 148 Is the cause of terrible confusions. 575 Dissuaded. 372 And described. 379 Inveighed against. 46● Not willing to do any man good without sureties. 49 Augustus miserable for want of counsel. 173 An affable Prince. 569 Approveth himself prudent, courteous● and just. 579 Is an example to Princes● to use affability and courtesy. 569 His moderation. 595 A courageous Prince, and constant in adversity. 676 His strange and prosperous clemency. 590 B BAba a fool much noted. 188 Babil. See prate. Babil and lies, enemies to honourable men. 242 Babillus excellent in all sorts of Sciences. 88 Bacchus, 70. why surnamed Liber. 653 Berosus interpreted Belus. 68 Baia a City. 243 Banishment is necessary, and not evil. 215 Banished men are not miserable. ibid. Banishment cannot take our true privileges from us, ibid. The examinations against it, disproved, ibid. It is no injury to be banished by an evil man, ibid. Whether it be necessary to live and die in the place where a man is borne, ibid. Whether it be a shame to be buried out of a man's country, ibid. How it aught to be considered, ibid. divers consolations in banishment, ibid. Notable considerations to lenify the rigour thereof, ibid. The commodities of banishments. ibid. Banquets immoderate. 683 Barbil a dainty dish among the Romans. 357. The divers colours it hath in dying, ib. A Barbil of four pound weight and an half, presented to Tiberius, sold by him and bought by P. Octavius for 200. crowns. 407 Barrus a great man about Nero. 604 B. Bassus. 366 Bassus Aufidius. 215. His confidence, discoursing constantly of death. 217: Bath of Scipio. 356 Bath of Libertines, ibid. Baths. 654, 615 Baths warmed without fire, ibid. Bath, ancient and darksome. 356. Beauty. 683 Bellienus. 366 Bellona. 593 Bellophorontes. 465 Benacus, a River. 68 Benefits incorporate things. 7. Benefit, what it is, ibid. Benefits endure, although the things that are given perish, ibid. Benefits are given too late by him that expecteth to be entreated, ibid. Benefits proudly given are odious. 24. Benefits graciously received, are in a kind satisfied. 32. Benefits are never so great, but malice may blame them. 34. The action of a Benefit, and that which is given by the action is called a Benefit. 39 Benefits have no reference to fortune. 66. How Benefits should be bestowed. 17. How received. 29. Benefit dependeth on the will of him that giveth. 125. Benefit wherein it consisteth. 7. Benefits compared to a ball. 28. A Benefit is a bond. 138. Benefits aught not to be repent. 90. Benefit is not subject to any Law. 116. Benefits are not due, except they be voluntarily given. 107. Benefit for gain or profit is usury or exaction. 73. Benefits of two sorts. 122. Benefits of God, infinitely more great than those of men. 67. benefits of parents toward their children. 128. Benefits should not be vulgar or common. 12. Benefits are not equal, and why. 46. Bion. 145, 443, 611. Bocchus, a King, 648 Boeotia hath two Rivers that infect flocks. ibid. Bondmen may do their Master a good turn. 51 Bounty. 81, 473, 474 Brutus and his death. 341. his book of virtue. 407 C CAEcilius an usurer. 472 Caecinna an eloquent man. ibid. Caelius an Orator. 559 Caesar's could not mourn. 720 Caesar reproved for suffering his feet to be kissed. 24. His siege at Cor●inum. 54 inflamed with vainglory. 399. He burneth the letters found with Pompey. 542. His passage into England. 720. His patiented taking the death of his daughter, ibid. His clemency. 56. His ambition reproved. 400 Caligula called jupiter in a combat. 525. a great mocker. 669. His impudency. 670 Calons against Vatimius. 394 Caluisius his undecent happiness. 211 Cambyses furious. 355. addicted to wine. 562. His soldiers are destroyed with sand. 790 Camillus sent into exile. 105 Campania, her delights destroyed Hannibal. 224● 637, 313 Cand●lia. 218 Canius julius in his death. 650 Cannae. 530 Capitol. 719 Carthage. 591 Cassander besieged the Gauls. 812 Catiline enemy to Cic●ro. 677, 104, 105 Cato a defender of liberty. 186.341 359.245.651.228.475. is spit upon. 186 his temperance. 437 Celestial bodies always in motion. 732. celestial things. 365 Censure. 235 Censures of Cato Vticensis. 186 Centaurs. 2●8 Chaldaea●s. 792 Chameleon. 766 Charge equal to force. 200 Charybdis. 722, 218, 234. The nature and description thereof 320 Charity the mark of a generous mind. 49. It maketh other men's profit her own. 121 Charondas a Lawmaker. 374 Chel●don Cleopatra's wanton Minion. 360 Chimaera. 455 Chrysippus taxed. 5. and why. 6. his similitude of a ball. 28 Crystal, how it is made. 821 Cicero, his Epistles to Atticus are memorable with him. 198. His settled and sweet style, 228. He mocked at the Lyric Poets, 241. He painteth out the life of Clodius, 413. is compared with Asinius Pollio, 423. He composed the books of the Commonwealth 446. The ordinary subject of his Epistles. 472. His discovery of Catiline's conspiracy, 727. The mishaps presaging his death, 676. His death. 651 Circles and crowns about the Sun and Moon, 760. in what Region of the air, ibid. in what time, ibid. & 761 Circumstances of gifts. 27 Claudius Quadrigarius. 53 Cleanthes, 119. His excellent verses 441 Clemency of Nero. 592 Cneius Pompeius. 104 Comets, 775.886. two sorts of them 888. not caused by wind, 889. nor by storms, ibid. 890. Their quality judged of. 891. not made of divers stars, 893. Their difference, 895. two appeared under Claudius and Nero, 896. How they differ from stars, 897. their presages, 900. their use, 901 Comparison betwixt the beauty of a Father and his son. 59 Conscience to be respected. 232 Consideration in giving. 48 Consolation against casualty. 860 Constancy maketh worldly casualty nothing. 803 Contemplation of celestial things surpasseth the wealth of the rich, 756 Contemplation of divine things an argument of Divinity. 757 Conversation a great light to good manners. 170 Cossus a grave man, but addicted to good fellowship. 346 Covetousness consenteth not that a man should be thankful. 35 Co●●saile how it is to be found, 290 Cowardice described. 81 Crocodiles fight with Dolphins. 836. Their properties. ibid. Cruelty followeth drunkenness. 347 Curiosity in study condemned. 141 D DAncers reprehended. 376 Darius his cruelty. 565 Dead not to be lamented. 697 Dead in opinion do indeed live. 698 Death better than life to the bad. 154 Death the haven, life the storm. 286 Death despised by Cannius. 650 Death commodious. 226 Definitions of an happy life. 613 Delay and doubting, loathsome in Benefits. 17 Deluge of the world described, 823 whence it proceeded. ●25 Demaratus faithful counsel. 132 283 Demetrius contemneth Kingly bounty, 148. His slovenly allusion, 383. richer than Pompey, 643. not poor enough. 623 Demetrius the King, overcome by Stil●o. 660 Dentatus would rather die than live. 640 Description of an angry man; 555. Of a wiseman, 608. Of a virtuous man. 660 Desire of learning; how it should be governed. 442 Destiny, what it is according to the Stoiques. 793 Didymus wrote four thousand books. 368. Difference betwixt a wiseman and a ●oole, 175. Betwixt the students in Philosophy, 295. Betwixt a Proficient and Master in wisdom, 296. Between Philosophy and other Sciences, 755. Between Natural and Moral Philosophy, ibid. Betwixt fulguration and lightning. 785. Difficulties of vocation, to be quietly ●ndured. 645 Dignity attended with care. 698 Diodorus; a self murderer. 623 Diogenes; richer than Alexander. 95 Dionysius, preferred before divers Kings. 193 Divorced women, most pleasing to some. 9 Domitius. 54 Dragons, made tame. 547 Drunkenness of this Age, prophesied of, 10. It is a voluntary madness, 346. The description thereof. 347 Drusilla, sister to Caligula. 705 Drusus his hot nature. 677. E EArinus; Seneca's Darling. 344 Earth; why it trembleth & yawneth. 863 Earthquake, of strange nature, in Campania, 859. The natural causes of earthquakes. 862 Eclipses of the Sun; how to be discovered. 771 Effects of Mercy. 59● Eloquence, spent in vain. 696 Eminent vocations aught to be courageous. 695 Ending of a Prince, aught to be like his beginning. 592 Enemies, made of Augustus his Guard. 591 England, or Britain. 7●1 Envy, is the property of a discontented man; to give thanks, the property of him that is well pleased, 4●. It is fled by obscurity. 437 Epicurus his opinion of God, 77. The difference between him, and the Epicures of this time, 193. His encouragement to Idomeneus, 198. His happiness in tortures and death. 387 Erixo whipped his son to death. 597 Error of a future deluge. 828 Estimation of folly may be● entertained by a wiseman. 291 Eternity; not easily attained. 909 Eunuches in Anthony's time took tribute of Rome. 105 Examples in Plays; causes of much mischief. 171 Exemption from businesses, prayed for by Augustus. 676 Exercise of mind leni●ieth sorrow. 697 Exhortation to contemn death: 208 Exile taketh not some privileges from us. 741. F FAbianus style; what it was. 422 Fabius Verrucosus calleth disgraceful courtesy, gravelly bread. 21 Fabricius his contempt of wealth. 478 Falling fire. 760 Fate, of Stoiques described. 791 Fear is without love. 77 Felicity of this world, a disquiet thing. 914 Fidus Cornelius wept at a scoff. 669 Fire ● how it may issue from water, 788. It hath somewhat vital in it. 847 Fishes, that are pestilent. 817 Fishpools, of strange fashion. 815 Flatterers alone about Augustus. 133 Flattery counterf●iteth friendship; 234. Is discovered by wholesome Precepts, 263. It betrayeth secrets, 438. How it is to be entertained, 832. Used by Seneca. 692.830 Flight to Caesar's statue, saved bondmen. 597. Flux, and reflux of the Sea; when it is greatest. 826 Folly; even in tears. 418 Fools; their difference from a wise man. 629 Fortitude defined, 39 What it is. 282 Fortune; not to be wandered from by Princes. 589 Fountains, having flux and reflux. 815. Friendship admitted, must be trusted, 165.166: A friend to himself, is a friend to all. 170 Frugality in Seneca, 358. Frugality of the ancient Romans. 744 Fruits of Abstinence, 445. Fruits of Mercy. 591 Furnius. 34. G GAllio; Seneca his brother. 831 Gifts of Kings, may be equalled by poor men, 8. Gifts from God are to be repaid, 699. The giver, not the gift, accepted by God, 8. Gifts of great men are slow; but their injuries are sudden. 20 God; to be marched after, 621. Hi● blessing to man: Man's ungratefulness, and foolish exceptions, 37. His benefits to Mankind, 68 His names according to Seneca. 69 Good the chiefest, is peace of conscience, 617. Good of the Si●iques, 481. Good, is not to live; but to live well. 286 Good deeds are to be don● every way, 4. They would be s●ene, 5. Good books comfort, 700. Good co●●saile of Attalic, 453. Good men will not be enforced to do evil. 222 Go●d thoughts, a great purchase, 624. And are the beginnings of good works. 825 Goods of this world, not truly goods, 738. Not rejected by a wise man, 628. Not loved by virtuous men● 746. Good uses of goods. ●27 Go●ernours, elected by goodness. 374 Grief profiteth ●one, 692. Is lessened by complaint, 693. It aught not to be taken for inevitable things. 694● H Hail; how it is made, 8●9. How it differeth from Snow, ibid. None in winter. ibid. Hair kept long, in former time. 4●3 776. Hannibal his bloody mind. 4●1 Happiness of contemplation's ●5● Harpagus calesh his own son. 564 Harpaste, Seneca●s wi●es fool. ●4● Heat in Augustus in his youth. 59● Heathenish resolutions in death 288 Heaven, common to God● and men, 75●. 724 Hecaton. 29 Heluia comforted 737. O●ght not to be sad for h●r son. 755 Hercules, burned a live, 652. One of the ancient wisemen's 65● H●r●nni●s Mact● displeaseth Caligul●, by calling him Caius. 670 Heroic virtues of Hel●●●●● si●●er● 753 Hesiodus. 5 Hipocrates Aphorism; why it is falsified. 404 Hippias killed his nearest friends. 531 Homer challenged by sundry Sects of Philosophers. 364 Honesty praised. 65 Honours are cares. 263 Horatius Cocles his valour. 478 Hostius an impure villain. 774 How a man aught to behave himself in receiving a benefit from a bad man. 32 How a man should discourse. 229 How to live in retirement. 284 How a man may govern himself well. 913 I Idleness abhorred. 172 jesting, how to be avoided. 669 Ignominy of poverty, not to be cared for. 747 Ignorance of things is evil. 219 islands new made. 788 islands floating. 820 Imperfections not long concealed. 585 Impiety it is, not to reverence & love our parents: and not to acknowledge them is madness. 42 Infelicities fruitless effects. 223 Ingratitude the greatest evil, 10. every where reproved, no where punished. 44 Ingrateful is he that denieth a good turn. 41 Injury, what it meaneth, 668. Of what nature it is to a wiseman. 663 Ins●ti●blenesse of desire. 747 Insinuations of S●neca. 701 Interpretation of things spoken by another. 668 invectives against intemperance. 744 Iphicrates his answer of parentage. 670 juba. 291 judgement corrupted by Clodius. 413 judgement of men's styles. 423 julius Graecinus his merry censure of Austen. 204 K KIngs abused, 134. Their safety the safety of all. 586 Kings and Tyrants, how they differ, 593. The misery of cruel Kings. 584 Kings like to fathers, 585. They obtain no glory by cruelty. 597 Kings over Bees. 598 Kingly riches spent upon books. 644 Knowledge of a man's fault is the beginning of his health. 213 L LAmproies fed with men. 537 Lascivious love not to be entertained. 467 Lawyers impertinent subtleties. 116 Learned men honour Noblemen by their writings. 198 Leonidas his valiant encouragement. 343 Lessening of grief. 693 Lessons for Playhaunters. 170 Liberty what it is. 244 Lie, well given, 266. wisely discovered. 323 Life to be hazarded for Charity. 10 Life is no good thing, but to live well. 58 Life compared to a City sacked. 157 Life not to be prised. 646 Heavens, their effects, 791. foretell future things, ibid. Their divers names 795. said to be darted by jupiter, 797.798. Why they appear at once, 802. How made. 773, 783 Lions made gentle. 4 Livia soon finished mourning for Drus●s, 711. her wisdom. 590 Living against Nature. 486 Logituns bitterly foolish. 241 Love betwixt Prince and subject, the maintenance of the estate. 586 Lucius Cynna pardoned by Augustus. 590 L●cius Piso a good drinker, but a diligent Officer. 346 Lucius Sylla his bloody mind. 593 Lions the City burned. 381 Lysimachus killed a Lion, 565. is cast to Lions. 601 M MAgnanimity is to contemn base things. 303 Mamercus a filthy fellow. 84 Man continually evil, 10. His inestimable good, is to be his own, 307. Being free from adversity is most miserable. 503 Manes ran away from Diogenes. 643 Marcellinus a merry Gre●ke. 215 Marcellus, son to Octavia. 711 Marci● comforted for the death of her son. 709 Marcus Allius received a gift and no gift. 21 Marriage after refusal. 49 Mark Anthony solemnised his brother's funerals, with the Massacre of twenty Legions, 704. defeated by Augustus. 590 Marullus. 418 Mathematics perfect not the mind. 367 Matter of writing reserved for posterity. 269 Maxim●s, Senecaes' friend. 3●8 Medes permit no action against ingrati●●d●● 44 Mediocrity always content. 745 Men cannot fly necessities: they may overcome them, 225. they follow honest ●hings then, when they can do naught else, 307. When men grew learned, good men ceased, 403. Men swell for superfluities. 312 Mercy, her fruits. ●591. praised in Augustus. 59● Metellus endured banishment constantly. 204 Meteors of fire. 758 A fiery Meteor, called a Goat. 758 Fiery Meteors, called Cast●r and P●●●ux. 759 Meteors of divers sorts. 772 Metrodorus, of what desert he was. 245 His prophesy of himself and Epicurus. 322 Metronactes a Philosopher, his death. 389 Mildness defined. 605 Mind giveth value to things. 7 A mind that is pure entertaineth God. 360 Mindyrides the most idle of men. 542 Miseries of a pleasure. 142 Misery of servants. 237 Mithridates King of Armenia, among the Soldiers of Caligula. 648 Maecenas delicacy, 459. could not sleep. 503 Mortification in heathen men. 372 Multitude of books show variety: but wisdom is gathered from few. 234 The multitude is not to be followed. 612 M●tability whenc● it is. 739 Mutius thrust his hand into the flame. 204 N NAture is not without God. ●0 It teacheth not sorrow. 714 I● contented with a little. 737 Naughtiness hateful to every man. 76 Necessary things preferred before the best. 49 Neighbours, to be relieved. 627 Nero, loath to shed blood, 605. His power described, 583. His mild government at the first, 584. His mild speech. 605 New-yeares-gifts in use amongst the Romans. 679 night-owls described. 487 Nilus, why it increaseth in Summer, 833. His Cataracts, 834. His Original sought for. 866 Nobility appeareth in the mind. 233 Not man dieth too soone● 727 No man more estranged from life, than other. 728 Not man knoweth his destiny. ibid. Nomentanus, an Epicure. 618 Nothing may hurt that which is eternal. 255 Novelty the ignorant man's evil. 312. O Objections about the Rainbow. 765 Objections against Philosophers answered. 607 Objections against Zeno, Plato, and others. 613 Occupations unnecessary, to be avoided. 648 Ocean, created with the world. 818 Octavia, her mourning for Marcellus, 711. Sister to Augustus. 703 Offences, not so much repressed by cruelty, as by clemency. 6●0 One man cannot endure all earthly miseries. 647 One death dischargeth many sorrows. 726 Opinion should rather follow, than lead us. 139 Opinion of Seneca concerning death. 747 Oration of Augustus to Cynna. 591 Orators in Rome censured. 229 Other men's goods must be restored 154 Others have felt that, which we feel. 692 Others, not to be sorrowed for. 694 P Pacwius his Epicurean remembrance of death. 181 Pain, is but opinion. 318 Parelies. 770 771 Parents wish our wealth to others harm: wit is man's best possession. 220 Parricides punishment. 596 Parsimony defined. 39 Patrimony, that is great, requireth great liberality. 5 Paulus, saved by his slave. 55 Peace of conscience, the chiefest good 617 Pestilent air. 879 Phalaris, a Tyrant. 6●6 Philip his justice upon ingratitude. 89 Philosophers, are good subjects. 297 Philosophers beg; Cooks flourish. 404 Philosophy; what it promiseth. 168 It maketh men noble. ●33 Her fruits. 373 Is to be perfected in future times. 899 Physic; what it was at first. 403 Pisistratus would not be made angry. 561 Pythagoras, his transmigration of souls. 444 Python. 344 Plato. 124 His frugality lengthened his life, 260 Being angry, he would not punish his servant. 562 Pleasure; how it agreeth with virtue. 620 Pleasures of body make not happy. 614 Pleasures of body and soul, not to be confounded. 615 Poets; their vanity. 5 Policy, in redemanding benefits. 110 Poor men free from care. 745 Possidonius his worthy lesson, 320. His four kinds of Arts. 366 Praise of pleasure, is pernicious. 619 Pretences of vain men. 296 Priam, entertained by Achilles. 548 Princes, most adorned by clemency. 585 Profit beginneth at a man's self. 11 Pr●gnostiques of the Rainbow 767 Prophecies of the increase of learning. 198 Punishment none so hateful, as public hatred. 50. Q QVaking of the earth, caused by wind, 868.870. Divided into three sorts. 875 Quaking of the earth by succession. ibid. By inclination, 876. How far it may extend, ibid. In Egypt, 878. It hath deprived some of sense, 880. It causeth contempt of death. 881 Questions about benefits, and their use. 337 A question, whether a wise man pardoneth. 608 Quiet enduring the difficulties of a man's vocation. 645 Quietness persuaded. 581 Quietu● est; not to be gotten by Receivers. 588 R RAine wetteth not above ten foot deep. 810 Rainbow: her cause, form, and appearing at night, 762. Her colours, 763.764. Why greater than the Sun, 767. Her colour, Ibid. Her appearing in half a circle. 76● Reading with discretion, 164. Nourisheth the wit. 348 Remedies against death, 915. Against violent death, ibid. Against death in a strange country 914. Against death in young years, ibid. Against want of burial, ibid. Against banishment, 915. Against sorrow, poverty, and casualties, ibid. Against blindness, loss of children, and shipwreck, 916. Against loss of a good wife. 917 Restitution, thought necessary. 155 Revengeful men lead a miserable life. 438 Rhinocolur●, whence named. 567 Richeses; and their effects. 914 Richeses of a King, spent upon books, 644 How to be gotten easily and suddenly. 475. Rich men are poor for the most part of their lives. 746 Rivers; why sometimes dried up, 812. Their causes. 813 Their increase in summer. 821 Their purgation. 822 Under the ground. 853 Rods like the Rainbow. 770 Romans tongue excellent, 348. Their intemperate bathing. 356 Romulus died, during the Eclipse of the Sun. 446 Rufus, saved by his slaves counsel. 55 Rutilius. 105.204. S SAtellius Quadratus, a smell-feast, flatterer, or jester. 211 Scipio saved his father. 60. His love to his Country. 355 Scoffing; how to be avoided. 669 Scribonia, Drusus wives Aunt. 287 Seals better trusted than souls. 49 Sejanus as dangerously friended as offended, 250. his sudden fall. 648 Seneca, his diet and manner of living. 345 His love to his wife. 433 Being old, he wrote of Philosophy 805 Drowned in vices. 613 Senecio's sudden death. 424 Serapions headlong and huddling discourse. 227 Servants how they aught to be used and esteemed. 236 Servile imitation is condemned. 221 Sextius his excellency. 269 Shameful it is for a wiseman to be wise by his notebook. 221 Sicilian young men. 62 Sickness, how it should be tolerated. 319 Singularity not to be affected. 168 Slaves are not tied to any insolent action. 52 Cast alive to Fishes. 579 Sluggishness reproved. 489 Snow, where it is made. 841 Why it is soft. 843 Abused in meats and drinks. 844 Societies forces. 76 Socrates refused the courtesies of King Archelaus. 96, 97. His conscience. 436 His modest discovery of want. 156 204 His judgement of travel. 433 His scoff upon one that struck him 561 Solitude a living man's grave without study. 340 Sons, whether they may give benefits to their Parents. 56 Sophisters taxed. 239 Sophr●nisius, Socrates his father. 59 Sotion, Senecaes' Master. 240 He made Seneca half a Pythagorist. 444 Statists instructed. 85 Stilpo vanquished Demetrius. 660. His answer to Demetrius, 176. His consolation in misery. ibid. Stoiques attribute to every one a Genius. 450 Submission of Augustus. 595 Supernatural Philosophy of the Stoics. 758 T TAming of Elephants. 4 Tapers, carried in funerals. ibid. Telesphorus, cruelly handled by Lysimachus. 565 Temperance, a great virtue. 208 Thankfulness towards Gods and Men. 106 That is never said too much, that is never learned too much. 211 The cause of broken sleeps. 25● theatres are filled; Philosophers Schools empty. 308 Theodorus his answer to a Tyrant. 650 Thought maketh unhappiness. 807 Three sorts of Proficients in virtue. 306 Thunders, 760, 785, 786, 787. Their diversity, 789. their causes, 801. their definition. 802 Tiberius Caesar his relief to prodigals, 21, 55. His policy, 112. His government commended. 585 Timagenes saying of Rome. 382 Time will not be ours, except we be our own. 295 Titus Arius his condemning of his son. 595 Titus Ma●lius his worthy care of his father. 63 Torment, how much the more it is, so much the more glorious is it. 502 Travail, the effects and uses thereof, 213. limited. 285 Treasures, not secure if strictly examined. 588 Trivial subtileties are condemned. 260. Trivial proofs, to make the soul a body. 439 Trusty friends, a remedy against a troubled mind. 642 Tullius Cimber a boon companion. 345. A babbler. ibid. Tullius Marcellin●s his resolution. 313 Two sorts of ungrateful men. 81 V Vain and Stoical Arguments, to maintain violent death. 288 Valerius Asiatius abused by Caligula. 670 Vanity of flattering praise, 263. Vanity of travail. 434. Vanity worthily described. 757 Vanity in apparel. 903 Variety of learning maketh not men good. 364 Varr● the best learned amongst the Romans. 741 Vatinius escaped scoffing. 669 Verity and ver●ue are the same, saith Socrates. 292 Verse more effectually affects than Prose. 443 Virtue, Time, Ability, and Fortune are requisite to requited a benefit, 42. virtues directions are to be desired, 283. Virtue always happy, 304. How Virtue agreeth with pleasure, 620. It maketh good use of riches. 626 Vices are all in all men, but not equally apparent. 82. Vices kiss us, that they may kill us. 245 Vice, like to virtue. 478 Vicissitude of all things. 224 Ungrateful Citizens, 104. Ungrateful Commonweals, ibid. Ungrateful men, how to be borne withal. 156 Voice, how to be governed. 188 Volesus his bloody mind. 431 Voluptuous persons not wise. 618 Usury one hundred for one hundred. 472 W WAnt of a grave is no misery. 389 Water and its original. 808, 809. Why naturally warm. 819 Way to riches. 266 What maketh men ungrateful. 34 What indifferent things be. 341 When a man is in health. 296 Who willingly hath received a benefit, hath restored the same. 37 Who is a Gentleman. 233 Why Physic was less used in ancient time. 403 Why a wiseman is patiented. 667 Wicked men may be concealed, but not secured. 438 They have no true pleasures. 618 Will is the Mistress of action. 120 Will for the deed. 94 Wind, what it is. 845 Whereof it is composed. 846 Made in divers sorts. 847 Whence it proceedeth. 848 Violent in the Spring. 849 How it breaketh from the clouds. 851 How it breaketh out of the earth. ibid. His distinctions, and their names. 853 There be twelve principal. 854 His Temple, built by Augustus. ibid. Wine discovereth secrets. 346 Wisdom, what it is really. 364 Though but little, yet is it more worth than much superfluous knowledge. 141 A wiseman coveteth nothing. 143 Wisemen's manner of life. 268 What a wiseman is. 293 A wiseman's uprightness in respect of benefits. 338 A wiseman is a Tutor of mankind 371 A wiseman hath different actions. 354 A wiseman described. 608 women's shameless excess, 147. How long to mourn for their husbands, 268. As great surfetters, as men; and therefore gouty and bald, with men. 40● Women courageously bearing loss of children. 721 World; the parts and matter thereof. 778 Worldly affairs are trifles. 757 Wrath; a womanish quality, 587. Is defined, 529.531. Being often exercised, it is changed into cruelty, 530. It is a great fury, ibid. It is a vice, admitted by our own will, 528. Not decent in a King. 587. X XAn●ippe powered foul water on the head of Socrates. 670 Xenocrates his opinion of a blessed man, 352. His opinion of a wise man. ibid. Xerxes' his cruelty, 565. He would ●etter the Sea. 659. Y YOuth of Augustus described, 592. A young man slain for being too ●ine, 548. A young man chosen according to Aristo. 223 Years, well employed, attain wisdom, 285. The first year of Nero, the books of Clemency written. 585 Z ZEno, constant in promises to his loss, 90. His collection, 341. His argument, why a good man will not be drunk, 345. His use of a great loss. 650 FINIS. Faults escaped in the Printing. PAge 4. line 22. for exhorteth read extorteth. p. 4. l. 27. for expalliat r. expatiate. p. 5. l. 17. for no Virgins r. Ves●als● p. 10. l. 3 ●or departed out of this li●e r, end. p. 13. l. 22. for young r● mad. p. 33. l. 26. for last r. first. p. 62. l. 33. for pres●rue r perform p. 70. l. 42. for love r. use. p. 93. l. 40 for preserved r. preferred. p. 94. l. 23. ●or Captain r. captive. p. 10● l. 17. pu● out, It is of the Stoics doctrine. p. 104. l. 17 for Consular r. 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Lord p. 443. l. 23. for vices r. verses. p. 444. l. 20. for eyesores r. Oysters. p. 450. l. 32. for resigned r. assigned. p. 456. l● 48 for she is r. she is not. p. 457. l. 43. for lucilius r. Caecilianus. p. 485 l. 26● for prived r. praved. p. 505. l. 38. for ●ateneth r. ●asteneth. p. 515. l. 33 ●or ruins r. reins. p. 516. l. 1. for full r. ●orce. p. 549. l. 4. for mercies r. merits. p. 578. l. 5. for repaired r. prepared. LONDON, Printed by WILLIAM STANSBY. Anno Domini, 1614