THE TREASURE Of Tranquillity.  
OR A MANVALL OF Moral Discourses, tending to the Tranquillity of Mind.  
Translated out of French by T. M. Master of Arts.  
LONDON.  
Printed by NICHOLAS OKES, for SAMVEL RAND, and are to be sold at his Shop near Holborn Bridge 1611.   

TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE JOHN LORD RAMSEY, Viscount of HADINGTON, The most valorous Rescuer of our King: And to the right Noble and virtuous Lady, ELIZABETH Vicountesse of HADINTON, his wife, Honour's increase.  
Right Honourable,  
BEHOLD I bring unto your Honours, this English Treasure of tranquillity of mind. It is a treasure, and therefore worthy of you, who in the judgement of all those that full know your worth, are worthy of the best Treasure that either Nature or Art, honour or wealth are able to yield, and howsoever it be but a small one (for how shall a mean man give any great gift) and even so small that easily ye may hold it in one of your hands (in which regard I confess it is but too unworthy of your greatness) yet my wish is that it may serve for a testimony, howsoever small, of that no small affection and observancy which unto your Honours I do bear: till at what time some greater token of my duty appear, and come forth into the light under the lustre of your honourable name.  
This little Manual doth entreat of such moral means as may further a man to the attaining of true Tranquillity; the which the Poets have painted out for the preciousness thereof under the names of Nectar and Ambrosia, the dilicious bread and drink of their gods, Thereby giving us to understand, that the virtue and efficacy thereof is such that it is no less able to make men like unto God by felicity, than were Circe's sensual cups to transform men into swine by carnal voluptie. In it one shall see how a man may best fortify himself against the violent flashings of his affections and the unreasonable and unseasonable uproars of his passions, and how he may attain unto the conquering of the same, and to the knowing of himself. In it may likewise be seen how and in what manner a man must carry himself about callings, charges and employments, both before, and after his undertaking of them, how to order the whole important actions of his life. It will show a man how to foresee by providence and foresight all kind of changes, and chances that usually do occur, and how to comport ourselves in them, and to keep a correspondency with them, by carrying ourselves patiently in adversity, and moderately in prosperity. Lastly, in it a man may learn how to correct, or cover humours, how to make choice of friends, and how to make use both of other folks fortunes, and his own. All which instructions and directions therein mentioned, in the most brief and bright manner, may serve very much for the attaining of this foresaid tranquillity, The learned Bishop Don Antonio Guevara in his Castiliane discourse, dedicated to the King of Portugal, touching the miseries and vanities of the Court, thinketh it a matter almost impossible for a Courtier to attain thereunto so long as he followeth the Court, in regard of the manifold vexations of mind, which there do arise, because of covetousness, contention, emulation, and ambition which commonly at Court are so rife: the which grave Bishops judgement, if it be true, then truly Courtiers stand in much more need of such furtherances of true tranquillity as this is, then do other men, and yet I dare persuade myself that your Lordships own self doth stand in much less need of such moral helps, than many other do. For ye are so far from covetousness (which moral Writers do commonly call the cankerworm of Courtiers) that your bounty and liberality is every where known, and deservedly spoken of: and so free from ambition the Burriour of Courtiers, that your modesty and moderation is to every one more than manifest. The rising and exaltation of men is usually subject to envy, but it is your Lordship good fortune that no man envieth your good fortune, yea rather men wonder how that it is not much more favourable than it is, considering the greatness of your extraordinary desert, and your unmatched moderation in this your Lordship's present preferment. In revolving and reading the Chronicles of our Country written by our learned Hector Boece, and by our famous Lesly, Bishop of Rosse, the ornament of our Isle, I find that the ancient name of Ramsey hath in former times afoorded divers famous, and King-favoured personages, your Lordship's Ancestors and honourable kinsmen, which have done acceptable service to their Country and Kings. Such a one was sir Alexander Ramsey of Dalehouse Knight, who in King David Bruces time, was a most virtuous wight, and according to the signification of his name in Greek) proved another Greeke-alexander even a most strong helper of men. For he is recorded to have been the most worthy Chieftain of those days, and so renowned for his prowess that every Noble man was feign to have his son or kinsman to serve under him. Such a one likewise was Sir William Ramsey, preferred in the said King's time, to be Earl of Fife, and Sir john Ramsey master household to King james the third, and his greatest minion and favourite preferred to be Earl Bothwell, These and such others, no doubt but that they deserved well, each of them in his place: but all Albion, yea all Europe knoweth that your desert is of a far more notable kind. God who giveth deliverance unto Kings and rescueth David his servant from the hurtful sword, did use you as an instrument for the rescuing of our Sovereign upon Mars his day, and in that town and place, where once Cunedagius King of Britain's builded a Temple unto Mars. The two too martially, and mortally affected men on their Mars-day, and in their Mars-towne, would have to their bloody Idol Mars sacrificed the heart-blood of their King: But God in heaven who is the true Mars, even the God of Hosts, and the most mighty rescuer of Kings on earth, kept his servants heart in his hand, & by your happy hand prevented the spilling of his blood, yea more, he made themselves the bloody sacrifice, and you the sacrificer. On the fift of August, they thought to have made our Augustus to taste of death, and to guste of the grave. But God turned the day of our Augustus' danger into a day of deliverance for him, and of destruction for his enemies, and as the Lord made it a day of preservation unto our King, so hath he made it a day of gratulation and thanksgiving unto the Lord, for that his unspeakable favour. The same is likewise the Calendar day of commemoration of the most godly and devout King Saint Oswald, who was a King full of piety towards God, and of pity towards the poor, as Galfride Malmesbury, Polychronicon, and venerable Beda do write. And who King james-like was an uniting King, even of the two divided Kingdoms of Northumberland, Deira, & Bernicia, and a teaching, yea a Preaching, and a converting King. For after his returning home out of Scotland, whether he had fled for fear of his too strong foes, where he had enjoyed protection, with Princely liberty, the space of 18. years, and where he together with his brother Oswy with many other young Nobles had been christened and confirmed in the faith by the holy Scottish Bishop Aidanus, as Beda writeth, he wholly gave himself to the conversion of his heathenish subjects to the Christian faith, and for the same purpose he sent into Scotland for Aidanus, whom he made Bishop of Lindefarne, and Primate of Northumberland, unto whom also succeeded divers other holy men of the same Country, namely Finanus, Colmanus, Cuthbertus and others. Even this godly King was accustomed to expound the Sermons and instructions which Aidanus made in the Scottish language, to his people in the English Saxon tongue: so that with greater reason may he be called, the Prince of Preachers, than was Henry the fift called the Prince of Priests as Chronicles do bear. For Oswaldus was not ashamed in his own person to teach and expound to his people, the Principels of the Christian faith, and that in public, whereas the most virtuous, valorous, and victorius Prince Henry the fift (the father of that most pious and patiented Prince Henry the sixth) yea and the flower of the whole Henry's, and most worthy to be a pattern for our young hopeful Henry to imitate, was called the Prince of Priests, for no other cause, but for that he did honour and respect his Priests & Prelates exceedingly, and took a great care for their honourable provision like another Ezekiah. This blessed King Oswald, though in the beginning he got a great victory over his too strong enemies, being many more in number than he, at his erected cross in Heaven-field; yet in the end he fell josiah-like by the heathenish hand of wicked Penda the Mercian King, and that on the fift day of August, being but a little elder than our Sovereign was on that same day of his danger, Good Lord! how great a lamentation was there made in the North, when as holy King Oswald fell in the field of Maxfield by the hand of the heathenish Penda the Mercian King? even such a lamentation as was made in the South when good King josiah fell in the field of Megiddo, by the heathenish hand of the Egyptian King Pharaoh Necho? And what great mourning should there have been made both North and South, if our josiah, and our Oswald, being almost of the same age with them, who were equal in years all save one, had fallen on that day with them by the hands of those two conspiring Pendas, and by the revenging hands of two hardhearted Pharaohs? For as Pharaoh is as much as revenging in the Syrian; so were they two set upon revenge for their father, as the younger brother did confess. But it was the Lords will that they should prove Pharaoh Nechos, and yet that in the mean time our josiah should be safe. That is to say, that our Sovereign should jacob-like prove a supplanter of his enemies, and so continue to be a josiah, that is a burning light of the Lords to this land: & that those children of revenge, should prove lame revengers, and such as were smitten, for so do these words of Pharaoh Necho signify. They plotted mischief in their hearts, and they would have practised mischief with their hands: and therefore the Lord made them lame in their hearts, and in their hands, even both heartless and handless: so that they had neither policy, nor power to execute their intended, and pretended revenge, yea more they were smitten both by your hand, who did hit them on the teeth, and thunder on them so sore that those evil men were blotted out from among men, and cast away like two forlorn castaways, in so doing your worthy actions did answer unto the signification of your surname: for as Ram signifieth as much in Hebrew as high and casting away, so doth Rameses signify a thunder, a hitting in the teeth, and a blotting out evil.  
At what time the sun was in running of his Giant's race, being mounted on the back of the celestial Lion, even from Aries top to Pisces tail; and that Albion's Sun was running his race under Aries, (which according to Ptolomee, and the Astrologians, is the celestial sign of this head-Ile of men, as it is of the head of man,) being mounted on the back of a Lilly-bearing Lion, running as it were, with the Leopard, from Kentire to Kent, and from Catnesse to Totnesse, for the prize of the Rosen Crown: At that same time, and even when as he was come almost to his rinks end, and ready to lay hold upon the prize, the Devouring Lion began to roar and ramp, and never to take any rest from compassing till he had stirred up some compass Sheba against David, the beloved of the Lord, as the word signifieth: For jacob hath he loved. But behold the Lion of judah, who feedeth among the Lilies, and taketh pleasure in the gathering of Lilies, (as the spouse in the Canticles speaketh) even he holp his Lilly-bearing Lion, and put into your Lordship's young heart the courage of a lusty Lion for the confounding of the old Devouring Lions instruments, our Lilly-Lions f●es. Thus the Old Lion miss of his project, and the Lilly-bearing-Lion ere it was long won the prize.  
In the spring time, and in the beginning thereof, when all things begin to spring and to sprout, the Lily of the North began to spring, and to put forth both a white and a red flower. When Phoebus, the bright eye of the world, had begun in the sign of Aries to overshine the whole Hemisphere, than our Phoebus, the bright star of the North, began to overshine Albion's whole Isle, which is under Aries: yea and is as the heaven-favoured head of islands, yea of lands, under the head of Aries, as is likewise the head of man. And my wish is, that the whole body of Aries may once full into his hands who hath already the head. Ptolemy in his Astrological Construction, & Pontanus in his celestial things, will soon show a man what I mean. Our King he even entered to this Crown about that time that Almighty God entered into the world by the creation thereof, and our Saviour entered into the world for the renovation of the same by the assumption of our flesh: even then (I say) when as JESUS the son of MARY, began in his blessed mother's womb to make all things new, JAMES the son of MARY began his new Kingdom. At what time the Lord JESUS came down from God in Heaven into earth, amongst men to make an Union between Heaven and Earth, God and Man, yea and between Man and Man (for all God and Christ's actions aim at union:) at that same time came King JAMES down from the North into the South, to make an Union between North and South, and between Men & Men, I mean between his Northern and Southern subjects.  
Who as he is sprung from the blessed Bed of the white-red-rosie union of two royal Houses; so hath the eternal Vnion-maker appointed him to be the auspicious Author of a far greater Lilly-rosie, and white-red-crossie union of two ancient Kingdoms. To the end that two (once warring and jarring) nations, might be reconciled and united in allegiance and love, as they are in religion and language. The which thing Merlin many hundred years ago hath clearly foretold in these terms: Pacificabuntur nationes Regni, & Leo ad stateram sedebit: Bruti nomine vocabitur regnum, & nuncupatio extraneorum peribit. The nations and people of the Kingdom shall be pacified and united by the Lion that shall rule. The Kingdom shall be called by the name of Brutus Britain, and the other name which foreigners, that is, the Saxons, or Angles, brought in, shall fail. Yea, the same Merlin hath likewise foretold long ago the plantation, and conformation of Ireland, by his majesties means in this manner: Sextus Hiberniae moenia subvertet, & nemora in planitiem mutabit, di versas portiones in unum reducet, & capite Leonis coronabitur. The sixth (saith he) shall ding down the walls of Ireland, that is to say, the thick woods, forests, and trees thereof, by turning them into arable ground. The divers portions of it shall be brought into one, and it shall be crowned with the lions head.  
The which prediction; me thinketh, ought rather to be understood of our King, who is not only descended from the ancient Irish Kings, no less then from the English, British, and Scottish; but also is the sixth of the name of james, bearing a red Lion in his Arms, & hath also taken order for that foretold plantation of Ireland: rather I say, then to understand it, & expound, it with Alanus Magnus, of King Henry the first. Except he had meant it of our hopeful flower of Princes, Henry the first Prince of Cambria, and of Cumbria, Albion's young Lilly-rosie-Lyon, and the first of that name since the Concord, as the other was the first of the same name from the Conquest.  
Finally it was but a few days after the festival time of the blessed and glorious Saints (according to our English Calendar) james the brother of john, and Anna the mother of Mary, that Satan Herod-like thought and sought to have killed james, the happy son of a matchless Mary, and the memorable mother of great Britain's greatest grace and united glory; and Anna likewise, a graceful Mother of rest, according to her name, and the happy mother of so many hopeful children. That great enemy of kings, yea of all mankind, I say, thought even at that time to have slain both of them, james with the edge of the sword, and Anna with endless sorrow. For he was sorry to foresee how that a golden-rosie crown should be set upon their happy heads at this holy time. But the Lord hath preserved both (and long may he preserve, both.) and at that festival time, at which sathan thought to have feasted upon their fall, he made their crown to flourish; for he set a rosy crown of pure gold upon their heads, and clothed them with glory in the eyes of all Albion, yea, of all Europe. And he that hath set the Crown upon their heads, will keep it on in despite of the devil, and of all such blind-zealed passionatists, (I will call them no worse) as have either sought, or shall seek hereafter to hurl down head and crown into the dust, or to blow all up into the air.  
And not only hath the great King-crowner set upon his servants head a crown: yea a triple crown of Union; but also he hath put into his hands an Harp, the which as Orus Apollo writeth, is the hieroglyphic, or symbol of Concord, (for our God is a God of Concord, and our King is a King of Concord) to the end that David-like by the musical melody thereof, even by the gentle moderation of his patiented and peaceable mind, and by the pithy and pleasant persuasion of his eloquent mouth, he may chase away saul's evil spirit of malice and murmuring from our minds, and make all our partialities and private respects to departed, to the end; that judah and Israel may be made one perfect people in union and affection, as well as in subjection; and in love as well as in religion. And truly if we be not worse-spirited than Saul was, and more ungratefully affected than he, David's harping must at last chase away the unclean spirit of Division from our heads, and bring home the clean and quiet spirit of Union into our hearts, that in the end both North and South may join hands, and sing to the praise of the God of Union, that sweet harmonious song of Union: Ecce quàm bonum, & quàm jucundum fratres habitare in unum.  
O how happy a thing it is,  
And joyful for to see,  
Brethren together fast to hold  
The band of Unity.  
And truly David deserveth a far better requital at our hands for his harmonious harping, then that any of his passionate patients, whether North or South, (for it is not the South alone that is averse from Union) should with graceless and gratelesse Saul, seek thus to wound his heart with the sharp spear of obstinate opposition. And yet for all this he leaveth not off Orpheus-like, with the harmony and melody of his harp to charm and tame the wild beasts of our jarring affections, passionate oppositions, and timorous apprehensions, to the end that the Lion and the Leopard may be for ever made faithful friends, and may even brotherlike live and lie together (to speak with the Prophet Isay) yea and dwell together as it were in one den.  
Our Orpheus is labouring by all means with the harmony of his Harp, to turn our swords into scythes, and our spears into spades, to the end that there be no more hurting or fight hereafter in Albion among ourselves, and that all former troubles and bypassed quarrels may be forgotten, according as the Scripture speaketh. But if we will needs be more uncharmable, and untameable then were Orpheus' beasts at the sound of his Harp, than we shall have good cause to fear, lest we both prove at home, and be called abroad brute-anes indeed. For if we will bite and backebite one another like dogs in the beginning; beware lest like the Lion and the Leopard, we consume one another in the end. The which evil thing, I pray the God of Zion, and the God of Union, who is likewise the God of jacob, even of our jacob, and of his Albion, yea and of his Albion's Union for ever to forbid.  
The Lord who is the Author of Union, and whose nature is Union, as his number is Unity, had purposed to make his servant the instrument of this Union. Even jesus the Prince of of peace, who is our peace, and hath made of both, one, by breaking down the stop of the partition wall, (as the Apostle speaketh) he had appointed to make james his servant to be Britain's peace, and to make of both kingdoms one, by breaking down the partition-wall of partialities, oppositions, passionate affections, and private respects. That great King-crowner, and matchless Vnion-maker, I say, had even determined to adorn and decore his servants head with an Vnion-diademne, whose price (like unto King lemuel's virtuous woman) is far above the pearls. And hence it is, that his enemies, which imagined mischief, & intended evil against his sacred person; in the North to hurl him down into an hole, in the South to blow him up unto the Pole, could not prevail.  
Thus we see our sovereign graciously preserved, and in a manner gloriously transfigured in the sight of his loving subjects, at the same time that our Saviour was most gloriously and visibly transfigured upon mount Tabor in the sight of his three principal Apostles, Peter, james, and john. I say he was in a manner transfigured at that same time, because at that same time, of a supposed dead man he was found to be alive, and in effect did pass, or was translated from death to life. Yea more, of a Prince he was transformed into a Preacher, and a publisher of God's powerful preservation, showed in his own person, and of his praises for the same in the mids of the Congregation of the people. The which he did perform in the most public manner, and in the most public place, even upon the crossie Mountain of purity and contrition (for so doth the word Tabor signify,) I mean in the mids of the choicest and purest City of the North, Edinburgh. At which time he appeared more precious, and glorious in the eyes of all his loyal and loving subjects, then ever he had done before. Yea even so precious, and so dear, that the eyes of the multitude could not be satisfied enough with beholding him, both when as he was upon the Crossie-mountaine, and when as he was come down.  
True it is, that there were some which could not at first with incredulous Thomas be persuaded of the Truth, except that they had either seen or felt the very wounds and blows upon our Sovereign's Body, neither could be brought to give trust to the true testimony of a seeing, yea a touching Thomas, even of a Noble Earskin an honourable branch of honour (according to the Saxon signification of his surname) I mean my Lord Viscount Fenton, than a valorous Rescuer of our King, and now the worthy Captain of his Guard, and both then and now, one of his Highness best deserving servants. Neither could the testimony of your Lordships own self, à seeing, yea a touching john, prevail with them, though your testimony was even sealed, not only with the conspirators blood, but likewise with your own, whereof ye had the marks then to show, and as yet still keep the scar thereof in your skin. But both, these have been better informed since, and the better part then, was fully persuaded of the Truth, & esteemed that they had received, as it were, a voice from heaven in this notable preservation and real transfiguration of their Prince. This is my servant in whom I am well pleased, obey him, honour him, and thank God for him: yea all his good subjects and servants there present said in effect with Peter, james, and john, It is good for us to be here, It is good for us to be here to see our King in safety, it is good for us to have such a Lord as the Lord loveth, such a master as is God's servant, & such a King, as the immortal King keepeth. And the King himself: it is good for me to have such subjects and servants, as love me so dearly that they cannot be filled with looking on me, after my danger, and delivery, and it is good for me to have such a forward and toward servant in my need and at a pinch as my young Ramsey. And truly my Lord even as your Christian name signifieth Grace, and the place where first your virtue did appear, signifieth the town of Grace, and as the person in whose cause it did appear is a Prince full of Grace; so me thinketh that God hath wonderfully graced you in that he would have your virtue to appear in this kind, and at that time: and in that he would have the beginning of your Lordship's exaltation to fall out in the time of his sons glorious transfiguration: for even then did the Lord begin to call you up from the low valley of worship, into the high hill of honour, where ye were transfigured from the condition of the King's Page, unto the King's preserver. Whereupon, of a Gentleman by birth and blood, ye were within a while made a Noble Baron, yea and a worthy Viscount: and that which I had almost forgot (pardon me I pray you, for it is because your Ls. order hath not a particular or patronal name) of a virtuous Squire ye were dubbed a courageous Knight. And though you be not of any patronized order, as of the Palestinian, White-crossie order of Saint john, according both to your Lordship's name, and the name of the place (being called S. john's town) where your virtue and knightly valour did fist show itself, nor yet of the Castilian Red-crossie order of S. james, according to the name of the festival time, near unto which your Lordship's virtue did appear, as also of the person, in whose cause ye did so generously, and valourously venture yourself, nor yet of any of the two Aragonian orders, the one Black-crossie the other Red-crossie, instituted by james King of Arragon, though I say your Lordship's Knighthood hath not any such note or name, yet I am assured that all worthy personages will honour your Knightly courage, and defer unto your virtue and worth, and acknowledge you for King james his rescuing Knight: and this will serve you in steed of a Saint james or a King james his order of Albion. But to shut up, at last, my discoursing dedication, for the tediousness whereof I must implore your Lordships, and the courteous Readers favourable excuse: as I honour your Lordship for your worth, and your well deserving of our King, and whole Country, both North and South; so must I tell you, that you are infinitely beholden unto almighty God for your good fortune: whether ye regard your Lordship's honourable exaltation, or yet your happy association in marriage with a graceful Elizabeth, the eldest daughter of the Noble Earl and Countess of Sussex. The which your Lordship's alliance with so ancient and honourable an house, I doubt not but ye do esteem as one of the chiefest degrees of your Lordship's earthly felicity. Your Lordship knoweth who hath said it, honorantes me, honorabo, such as honour me, I will honour. Go on therefore in proving thankful unto God for the honour which he hath already given you, and yet he will give you more. For according to the measure of your honouring of God, shall God make you to be honoured of man; it is an easy thing for the great King of hearts to open yet a wider door in our salomon's large heart to let you in, and when he hath once opened the door, it is as easy a thing for him to shut it so fast, that ye shall never go out of it, for he that hath the key of David which openeth and no man shutteth, & shutteth and no man openeth: hath also the key of our David's heart in his hand, and he openeth, or shutteth the same, when and to whom it pleaseth him. Your Ls surname was one of those that did favour the right of Edgar Etheling in England to the English crown at the Conquest: and therefore was forced to sly with Edgar into Scotland, as our renowned. Leslie Bishop of Rosse, and Hector Boece with others, do write. And in Scotland it was endowed with lands, livings, & Lordships, & decored with Titles of honour in the persons of divers of your Ls honourable ancestors & kinsmen, as I show in some particulars mentioned above, though not in all. And now again it is come into England, whence once it did spring, to revive, now after the Concord, the ancient honour which it had before the Conquest, in your Lordship's noble person.  
that even as God hath made you the instrument of much honour and credit unto both countries by the means of your virtue, and rescuing hand, so may ye bear or reap the fruit of honour in both Countries. But lest I seem to some to speak too much, here I stay, wishing unto your Lordship, and your worthy Lady for your stay, the fullness of God's grace (according to the signification of your two christian united names) together with the highest step and top of stable honour; and so I rest.  
Your Honour's right devoted to all humble duties. JAMES MAXWELL.   

The Contents of this present Book.  

DISCOURSE I. HOw we must prepare ourselves against the assaults and onsets of our passions.  
DISCOUR. 2. Of the choice of callings, charges and affairs,  
DISC. 3. Of providence and foresight.  
DISC. 4. Of each man's vocation and calling.  
DISC. 5. Of a man's ruling and ordering his life.  
DISC. 6. Of the diversity of actions.  
DISC. 7. Of the choice of friends.  
DISC. 8. Of dissembling and disguising of humours.  
DISC. 9 Of Vanity.  
DISC. 10. Of prosperity.  
DISC. 11. Of comparing of our fortune with that of others.  
DISC. 12. Of adversity.  
DISC. 13. Of sadness and sorrow.  
DISC. 14. Of the afflictions of good men.  
DISC. 15. Of other men's faults and imperfections.  
DISC. 16. Of injuries, indignities and wrongs.  
DISC. 17. Of poverty.  
DISC. 18. Of death our last discourse, and our last debt.    

Errata.  
PAg. 4. for tried, read had. pag. 26. for ever read even. 34. for ever, read never. pag. 86. for continuance, read continence. pag. 92. for cannot, read can. pag. 104. for wretchlesly, read recklessly. pag. 130. for mighty visions, read nightly visions. pag. 140. for misteeme, read misken. pag. 150. for to iue, read to live. pag. 153. for the fore, read to the fore. pag. Ibid. for riotous, read with riotous.  
Such faults as are in the pointing, the diligent Reader will easily espy, and as I hope, courteously excuse.   

A Manual of Moral Discourses, tending to tranquillity of Mind,  

DISCOURSE. 1.  
How we must prepare ourselves against the assaults and onsets of our passions.  
CONsidering that our happiness on earth doth hang (next after the knowledge of Christ) upon our actions, and that the soul is, as it were, the Fountain and wellspring thereof; our chief care (if we desire to live an happy life) should be to make the better part of us quiet and calm, endeavouring by all means, that it be not troubled, nor diseased by vulgar & popular opinions, as being things much contrary to the excellent nature thereof.  
There are two times, the one of prosperity, the other of adversity, wherein the soul is wont to be vexed and tossed, with the passions of the inferior part, as with so many violent and impetuous winds. And therefore we must herein imitate the Mariners, which before they lose off from the port, do furnish themselves with all things necessary and needful for resisting of the tempest and storm: so must we provide ourselves aforehand of such sound and substantial discourse, as may anchor & stay the mind against the push of our passions, when as they, like so many surging waves, do, nil we, will we, fling themselves aboard into our boat, and even as Xenophon did exhort his fellow Citizens to sacrifice unto God in the time of prosperity, to the end they might find him the more ready and favourable when as they should invoke him in their adversity: So should we do, and withal, at our first leisure, we must contract acquaintance with rectified reason, to the end, that when we shall stand in need of her aid and assistance, she may come running to us at our call, as knowing us by our voice, and having already an affectionate & earnest desire for our defence.  
The discourse of rectified reason is the master and daunter of all peevish and perverse affections or passions. For, when as we have once taken good notice of them by an earnest examination and trial, made and tried touching the same; and that we have ripely and advisedly weighed both what power they have over us, and what Empire we hold over them: They are not thereafter so fierce, and furious in our behalf, but are more easily, and with much less ado appeased and pacified. They therein not a little resembling our little dogs, which will bark uncessantly at such as they are wont to see, but by and by are quieted as soon as they hear the voice of such as they know.  
The wise have compared the commandment of the mind above this sensual and terrestrial part of the soul, out of which our passions do spring, unto the office of a Rider, who teaching, and training his horse, and sitting within the saddle manageth and turneth him at his will. But small credit should the Rider receive, that should bring to the Tourneyment or Tilt a young horse, which had never before borne the bit, nor galloped in the round, But he must needs in the first place break him by convenient discipline, before he use him in any errand or action of importance. In like manner before we put our backs under the burden of any business, or expose ourselves unto the public view of the world, we must endeavour to break and bring under this wild & unbacked part of the soul, and make it, as it were, to bite upon the bit, by bringing it to learn the laws and measures whereby it must be managed, and mastered in all occasions, and at all occurrences, & in the mean time we must not forget to enhearten and encourage it, by acquainting it with the pleasure and contentment, wherewith is accompanied the issue and end of all worthy and virtuous actions.  
Meditation and Discourse is that which giveth an edge unto the soul, and maketh it steele-hard and unpierceable, even unto the sharpest point of the strongest passion, & usually we prove admirable at every such exercise as we have before hand accustomed ourselves unto, what difficulty soever it may seem to carry with it. On the other side, there is nothing (be it never so easy) which will not seem hard and difficult, and withal much trouble us, if it do find us but novices, and new apprentices therein. How often think ye, must Canius have needs thought upon death, and revolved in his mind what thing it should be, who being condemned by the Tyrant, and sent to the place of execution, was so far from being any whit dismayed thereat in his mind, that merrily, and as it were jestingly, he bid the Centurion, who came for him, remember that he was stronger by the advantage of one table, than he against whom he played at that hour? And who taking his leave of his nearest and dearest acquaintance, for his last farewell, uttered no other words but these: Now my dear friends, I shall presently find that which I have so long longed after, & so much desired to know, if the soul be immortal, and whether men in dying, do feel the separation of the Soul and Body which they endure? We must needs think that this poor pagan had a long time exercised himself in commanding, and overruling his passions, and that he had aforehand armed and fenced himself with fair resolutions, seeing that with such constancy, and gravity he went to undergo a death both cruel and unjust. If the only desire to understand, what should become of the soul after death, could make the torment, and torture not only tolerable, but also acceptable unto him, what resolution then ought the certain and assured knowledge of the soul's immortality, together with the hope of eternal felicity work in such as do seriously meditate upon the same in their minds? May not these goods, think ye, make unto such minds not only supportable, but even comfortable & delectable, both death itself, and all other disasstrous afflictions, which they endure, seeing they are as the waves which do push us forward unto the sweet and sure port of everlasting rest and repose?   

DIS. 2.  
Of the choice of Callings and Affairs.  
MAn is not borne to live his arms a cross, but rather, as one of the fairest members of this fair frame, he must confer, and contribute his whole travel and pain to the conduction and conservation of that civil society and condition wherein he is placed. But because that of the choice which men make of a calling, their rest and quietness doth principally depend, and that nothing doth so much avail to the leading of a contented life, as when they find themselves fit for the same: they ought, me thinketh, before all other things, to take a trial of their own strength, and seriously bethink themselves of that charge which they are about to embrace. Because usually we presume too much upon our own power, and attempt more than our ability is fit to achieve. And this error we see is incident almost to all our actions: hence it is, that some will dispend more than their means may well bear: Others in labouring and toiling go beyond their abilities; some are not masters of their own anger; others there   

DISC. 3.  
Of providence and foresight.  
Ye must take order that ye be not surprised of any humane accident, whereof (if it be possible) ye have not been beforehand prudently foreseen, which thing ye shall easily perform, if in all the affairs ye shall take in hand, in the first place ye do diligently fore-bethinke yourself of such inconveniences and cross encounters as may fall out in the same, according to the nature, quality, and ordinary issue of the affairs: and certainly such foresight doth marvelously mitigate, sweeten, and abate the sharpness, and harshness of all such sinister accidents and chances: the which cannot bring you in so doing any sensible, or notable alteration and change, by reason of their not coming upon you as unlooked for, But contrarily they do not a little endamage such persons as suffer themselves to be surprised, neither do consider how that nature sending them into this world, hath allotted them rough, and uneasy seats. Such men do not mind how that about their own doors many times they have with their eyes seen the loving wives weeping and bewailing their deceased husbands, and the husbands with dewy eyes burying their beloved wives, and dear children. They do not ponder how that such persons as did yesterday walk, and talk with them, to day dead, lie buried in their graves. So apt are we to be deceived, and so little foresight have we in our own fortune, that what we see daily with our eyes happen unto others, we never, or seldom consider that the like may befall our own selves.  
If we would take such notice of things as we ought, we should rather find occasion offered us to marvel how that disasters, and dangers, which do follow us at the heels, have delayed so long to overtake us, and having overtaken us, how it could be possible that they should have handled us so harmlessly, and gently as they have done. O how grossly we deceive ourselves, when as for fear that men take us to be timorous and fearful, we think ill to forecast and foresee dangers, and will not a whit mistrust our own judgement! It behoveth the man who is minded to make sail, to know that he is in the possibility to have a storm, and we must know that the chance which hath happened to one may likewise befall unto us, and that which hangeth over the heads of all, may fall upon any one of us all, without exemption or exception whatsoever. The man who marketh well another's misfortune as a thing which may no less befall unto himself, than it hath already done unto his fellow, hath this advantage, that before any such mischance take hold of him, he is already armed against the fury and force of the evil. Then were it too late for a man to make head against a danger, when it is already come, & bootless should it be for him to say, I did not think, forsooth, that such a misfortune should have befallen me. And why so I pray you? is there any wealth in this world which hath not following after at her heels poverty and need? or is there any health that is not apt to be diminished by a lingering disease? or any honour or grace which is not inpossibility to be turned into dishonour & disgrace? or what high rising is there which is not apt to have a doleful down fall? or is there any estate from the pedlar even to the Prince, exempt from alteration? and that which hath befallen to one may it not likewise befall unto another? It were a matter both tedious, and contrary to our design, to discourse of such as fortune (if so we may speak) from high rooms hath brought low, and of mighty men in a moment made miserable. In such a variety and vicissitude of matters, if ye do not fore-bethink yourself, how that all human accidents may touch you, as well as others, ye give adversities great power over you, the which by the prudence of him that foreseeth them are not a little abated, & made more mild. Our minds out of question, should be in greater rest, if our actions were occupied about such things as be of a more certain & constant condition. For at least having once attained them, we should content ourselves therewith, and enjoy the sweetness and commodity thereof, in tranquillity & ease.  
But seeing that in this world, all things are subject to tottering and turning, and that there is nothing under the cope of heaven stable and firm: the remedy most fit unto our infirmity is to foresee this instability, and not to passionate, and turmoil ourselves about those things, the possession whereof is no less toilsome, and troublesome then was the acquisition & purchase thereof. And therefore we must love them as things which may leave us, and withal, we must have so much foresight that they never leave us the first. When on a time it was told Anaxagoras that his son was deceased: I knew very well, quoth he, that he was a man, and that he was borne to die once. In the like manner must we be prepared for all adventures. My friend hath not assisted me, well, I knew that he was a man, and one that might change. My wife was very virtuous, and yet was she but a woman. The man that thus before hand bethinketh himself of humane accidents, shall never be taken at unawares, neither shall he need to say, as customably the unadvised are wont: I did not think of such a thing: unto whom the chances of fortune do occasion much affliction and anguish, because they find themselves disarmed of this wise foresight. The well-aduised Prince in time of peace maketh ready his preparatives for the time of war. Ulysses overpassed many dangers and difficulties, and yet none of them all did afflict him so soar, as one thing which did take him at unawares, even the death of a dog which he loved dearly. So that the common proverb we see proveth true: That a person surprised is half beaten.   

DISC. 4.  
Of each man's Vocation and Calling.  
IT cometh oftentimes to pass that such as do not think diligently of that which they do, are seen to fall into such a kind of life as is painful to bear, and yet more uneasy to be abandoned. The which is certainly a great difficulty, and a case that doth require much prudence, and no less patience, with piety to implore the aid and assistance of God; considering that patience with humility in God's behalf, is the remedy which most doth lighten and ease the evil. Consider the poor prisoners, what pains they endure in the beginning to bear the burden that is laid upon their legs, but after that they are once accustomed thereunto, necessity teacheth them, and use maketh all such hard usage easy unto them. There is no manner of life, howsoever hard & strict it be, which hath not some kind of solace and refreshment, one or other to sweeten the same. And truly there is not any one thing, wherein Nature hath so much favoured us as in this; that she maketh us to find the remedy, and mitigation of our misfortunes in the sufferance of the same.  
The case then so standing as it doth, that man is borne obnoxious, and subject unto all manner of miseries, we must consequently suppose that we are all of us the prisoners of Fortune, who holdeth us tied, and fettered fast hand and foot; and that there is no difference, saving that the fetters and chains of some, are of gold, and of other some of iron. We are all of us in one & the same prison, and those that hold others captive are in the like condition and case themselves, in regard of others. If the desire of honour turmoileth thee, the desire of riches doth trouble another. If the baseness, and obscurity of birth doth afflict the, to others Nobility and greatness doth bring a thousand discontented thoughts: Art thou subject to the commandment and will of another, that other is subject at least to his own, having his brains and his breast beaten with ten thousand heart-burnings, and diseasments which thou dost not espy, in sum if ye mark all things well, our whole life is nothing but a servitude wherein every one ought to take good heed how to demean himself in his calling, & how he may content himself therein, winking at that which is evil in it, and applying himself unto that which is good. For there is no calling, howsoever painful and toylefull it be, wherein the patiented soul doth not find some contentment and gain, though that cunning and skill be more exquisite in time of adversity, then of prosperity. For when as difficulties and crosses do present themselves, then must we gather all the forces of our wits together, and set our whole vigour and virtue against such imminent or present evils, reposing our whole confidence in God. jonas had ever leisure within the Whale's belly to make his supplication & prayer unto God, and was presently heard. In this manner all accidents, howsoever grievous and uneasy they be, may be sweetened and lightened not a little.  
To this purpose also it is good that each one set certain bounds and limits to the hopes of his life, and that he think with himself that howsoever human things be different and divers for the outward semblance and show: that nevertheless inwardly they resemble one another in their inconstancy and vanity.  
Bear not envy against such as are in higher place than yourself, for oftentimes that which we account height, is as a steep hill from whence a man with very little ado is hurled down headlong. And truly such as have lived content, have not been always those that have made the better choice, but rather those who prudently and discreetly could carry themselves in that estate and calling which they once made choice of, taking patiently the evil that fell out therein, and endeavouring to redress such accidents as did cross their desires, and for this cause Plato did compare the life of man to the play at dice, whereat whosever doth play, ought always to strive to have a fair throw, and yet should content himself with any cast that cometh. For seeing that good or evil luck is not in our power, at least wise we must labour to take cheeerefully our chance, & withal to thank God, for that the worst that could, is not fallen forth. Men of weak wit, having fortune at will, are so transported with joy that scarcely they know what they do, they are so insolent, that no man can keep them company, they can abide nobody and nobody can abide them. Whereas in the time of adversity they are so amazed and so melancholious, that they are almost overwhelmed with sorrow and heaviness of mind, ye shall see them like unto the sick of a languishing, and anguishing disease, which can neither abide heat nor cold.  
The Philosopher Theodorus was wont to say, that he gave his scholars instructions & lessons, with the right hand, but that they received them, with the left, and so doth it far oftentimes not with a few, who with the left hand take hold of the luck which fortune (I mean God's providence) reacheth them with the right. It were much better in my judgement wisely to imitate the wise diligence of the Bees, the which of Thyme which is but a dry and harsh herb, do make the sweet and pleasant honey. So should we out of this harsh and cumbersome life extract and draw whatsoever therein is good, and in the mean time chase away what is evil therein, or case and cover it closely, and who knoweth not but that such as are exercised in the actions of virtue can draw, by a certain secret and supernatural kind of alchemy, good out of evil? Diogenes was banished, but he made good use of his banishment, in that he did in the mean time betake himself unto the study of wisdom. And this shall not be so difficult and hard to do, as it seemeth to be, if by frequent exercise ye do endeavour to acquire, the habitude & settled custom of living content. Can ye not abide in the houses of Princes and great men? content you then with your own. Do ye find yourself uncapable of government in the Commonwealth? play then the good Citizen's part & be content to obey. Thus doing ye shall make unto yourselves facile, and easy, that which most men deem to be difficult and hard in the course of our life.  
Moreover it shall much avail you in your discontentments to represent unto yourself the great and famous personages of the time past: how and with what wisdom, and courage they have remedied and borne the crosses and calamities which befell them in this life, Doth it displease you that you are destitute of children? Consider how many Kings, Princes, and Potentates, have died without issue. If poverty doth vex you, weigh in your own mind, how many excellent men have been likewise poor, who nevertheless have lived patiently without complaining. On a day it was told the Philosopher Stilphon, that his daughter had done amiss: the fault (quoth he) is not in me, but in her fortune and mine. If the churlish and froward conditions of your own grieve you, set before your eyes so many wise, honourable and illustrious men, as have quietly comported with the importunities of theirs. Socrates had the most froward wife in the world, and he said that, by enduring of her at home, he did learn to be patiented abroad. Look upon holy David a man after Gods own heart, who yet was troubled and angered by his own children.  
The world is full of such examples, and if we did not love ourselves so much as we do, it is certain that in the greatest crosses, & encombrements of this life, we should find comfort enough. For there is not any prison, how dark or strait soever it be, which will not give place unto a song, to refresh somewhat the poor prisoners perplexed mind. Finally, I say, that if ye serve God and fear him, charity shall be able, of itself, to procure peace & tranquillity unto your spirit: that which the whole world cannot perform, although in word every one should offer you to do the same.   

DISC. 5.  
How a man must order and rule his life.  
IT is expedient, in my conceit, that a man hold and keep a certain stayed and settled manner of living, and that he vary not not with every wind. Ye shall see many a one much subject to this vice of changing their manner of living from day to day; so that they cannot ground or settle themselves upon any thing whatsoever. Wherein they do resemble such folks as have ever been accustomed to be at sea, who as soon as they begin to sail, run out of one vessel into another, leaving the bigger to put themselves into a lesser, and by & by leaving the lesser to return to the bigger again. And thus they continue in changing, until at what time they know clearly that nothing can fit them, because that whithersoever they go, their queasy stomachs doth keep them company, and consequently, their vomiting disease.  
Likewise those that bring their passions with them unto their affairs, do seek incessantly after a new manner of living, and never accomplish what they have once begun. All things go against their stomach, all things displease them, whether to be employed, or to be idle, to serve or to command, to be married, or to be single, to have children, or to have none at all: finally; nothing doth fit their fancy, nothing doth satisfy their desire, save only that thing they have not: and such folk me thinks must needs live miserably, and restlessly, as prisoners fettered in perpetual pain.  
There is likewise another manner of men not much unlike unto the former, that cannot keep themselves quiet, nor be at any stay, in any time, or in any place. They cease not to go and come always intermeddling with affairs, without being thereunto called, and busying and bestirring themselves about that which no wise concerneth them. These men when they go out a doors, if ye but ask them whither they go, they will answer you thus; I know not, I go to do as the rest do. They run along the streets, they haunt the public places, and then they return home full of vexation and weariness, without any design: for there is nothing that doth so much irk & weary men's minds, as to labour in vain. They are like unto the little Aunts, which do grasp upwards upon trees, & after they have mounted up to the top, have but the pain to creep down again, the same way they went up, without bringing down with them any good at all. Many do live in this manner, whose life is nothing else but a boiling leisure full of tumults and toils, ye shall see them posting on with such vehemency and speed, as if they would carry away with them all that they find before them in their way. The public places, the Churches, and Markets, are ordinarily full of such folks.  
These be they which forge, and frame news at pleasure: they will be the weighers of men's worths, and the givers of garlands. They will talk lavishly of other men's lives, and discourse of other men's offices, keeping a babbling coil. But the actions of a wel-aduised man tend always to some certain end; neither doth he burden himself with more businesses than he can conveniently put in execution. And truly the man that undertaketh much, must needs, in my mind, give Fortune much power over him.   

DISC. 6.  
Of the diversity of Actions.  
MEn, me thinketh, aught to take pains in enabling themselves to comport with the time, and matters, according as they fall forth: and not to tie themselves so much to one manner of living, but that in case of necessity they may well leave it. For even as a man that is whole & sound, should not subject himself to the keeping of one certain rule in his diet, but ought rather to accustom himself to eat sometimes more, and sometimes less, at one time of one meat, & at another time of another meat; to drink now of wine, and then of water, to stay sometimes in the sun, & sometimes in the shade, sometimes to labour, and sometimes to rest: so must a man frame and fashion himself to all manner of accidents, for in so doing, any new accident whatsoever, that can befall you (for there falleth out an infinity of chances in the course of our life) shall not trouble, nor disquiet you: yea though ye be driven to betake yourself to some other manner of living, yet shall ye do it without much ado (providing always that temerity and rashness be away) by reason that ye shall be so well enured thereunto before hand, that it will be easy for you to give place unto the time that offereth itself. And truly the impotency, and weakness is all one, not to be able to change in time of need, and not to be able to continue constant in a good course.  
Moreover, we must mingle and temper our matters in such sort that they may be fitted proportionably one to another. As for example. At one time to be solitary, at another time to be in company, the one for our friend's sake, the other for ourselves: for we must not always remain in our grave mood, for that should make us to be abhorred: neither must we show ourselves continually jocund and glad, for that should make us to be despised. But we must carry ourselves discreetly, observing comeliness and conveniency of time and place, as the life of man doth require. For it is a needful thing for a man at one time or other to recreate himself, by giving intermission to his more serious affairs.  
We read of Socrates, a most grave Philosopher, that he made no difficulty to play and refresh himself with the little boys: and of Cato, a very austere man, that sometimes he did feast his friends, thereby to refresh himself with the pleasure of their company, and to recreate his mind, wearied with the weighty affairs of the Commonwealth. Also of Scipio Africanus, that sometimes he would delight himself with dancing.  
And this we have said to show that the mind of man requireth some release. Neither hath that man his due liberty, who hath not the means sometimes to be at leisure. The fruitfullest grounds, if they get not leave to rest a while, become barren in a short time. Continual labour maketh the mind of man to become slack and weak: even as laziness & luxury doth make it heavy, feeble, and faint. Our recreation ought to be as our sleep, which restoreth our strength, and giveth us breath to return more gaily, and joyfully to our work. For if we should sleep continually, it should be a death and not a sleep.  
Those which of old did establish laws, have ordained there should be also certain feast-days in the year, to the end men might in a manner be constrained to surcease from the actions of their ordinary callings, and to take their pastimes after their toils: and of old we find that many excellent men were wont to allot some parcel of time to their recreation. Asinius Pollio a great Orator was never so much busied in affairs, but he reserved for his pleasure and pastime the two last hours of the day; during the which space, he would not so much as read the letters which he received from his friends, fearing lest they should minister unto him some new care and cogitation. Others were wont to labour until noon, and the remnant of the day they did spend about meaner matters. The lights which they distribute to servants at Court, do like wise limit and bond the times appointed both for labour and rest.  
There was a decree of the Senate of Rome, which did bear a prohibition that no new thing should be propounded or mentioned in the last two hours of the day. Furthermore, when a man is weary of his work, he doth find himself marvelously refreshed and restored when as he goeth out into an open and spacious place, and it seemeth that the free air doth repair and renew the strength and vigour of his dispersed and spent spirits. For conclusion, ye ought to love diversity and change according to the time, and take heed lest ye nourish, and cherish your mind too delicately and daintily.  
For it having of the own nature great strength, providing that it be wakened and roused up, it were not reasonable ye should suffer it through voluptuous and delicious living to wax feeble and faint. And no sooner do ye come to that point to be impatient and delicate, but as soon all things begin to cross your good liking. To eat it goeth against your stomach, to be hungry it hurteth you, to sleep it slayeth you, to be awake it vexeth you: and as a sick or queasy person, ye go on in a restless maze, always searching and seeking after some new thing: such delicacy and tenderness hath been the cause that diverse have had much ado to comport with the very things which are necessary in this life, as to lie, to sleep, to wake, to rise, to dine, to sup, to talk, to walk, to  & unclothe themselves: so that some have thought it a death to be always wearied in beginning a new again & so often the same things. Such folks come to such extremities that hardly can they manage, or maintain the manly courage of their mind; neither can they frame themselves to all things, to know many things, to taste of many things, and always in every thing to carry a good stomach. For in this case there is the like reason and condition of the body and of the mind. Hence it is that ye shall espy some men so tenderly disposed, that a small noise of their neighbour will annoy them, and the sound of a little bell will trouble their brain. For as unto a crazy and ill-complexioned body, so unto, a drooping and languishing mind it doth semblably befall, that what thing soever toucheth it, doth prick it and sting it full sore.   

DISC. 7.  
Of the choice of friends.  
SEeing that the life of man necessarily hath need of friendship and fellowship (for it were a matter both harsh and hard for a man to have always his mind bended about business; and it should be yet more wearisome if he had not one with whom he might take some release) I find that we prove commonly too negligent and careless in making our choice. We ought in my judgement to choose such folks for our friends as be of a mild and meek conversation, and who because of their calm and quiet disposition do deserve to be loved. Neither is there any thing that so much doth content, & delight the mind of man, as doth a faithful and trusty friendship. For it is a great contentment to find a person so disposed, unto whom ye may safely impart your most secret affairs: whose counsel may advise you, whose cheerfulness may qualify all your cares, and whose presence may appease all your pains, and expel your pensiveness of mind: and therefore ye must endeavour to choose such friends as are free from covetousness, and all notorious vice. For vice like the fire taketh hold of that which is nearest unto it. So that we must do as men are wont in the time of plague and pestilence: which is to separate and sever the sick from the whole: it being a contagion and an occasion of sickness to let them live together. Nevertheless I do not like that we should be in our choice too scrupulous, but seeing we cannot find folks altogether perfect, we must hold those for good which be less evil.  
But in the election of friends, ye ought chief to avoid such as be extremely sullen or sad, who weep and wail at all things: and despair of all things, alalthough otherwise they be such as do love you, and would prove faithful enough unto you. For it is a thing that must needs trouble us much to have such a man for our friend as is always sad, sighing and sobbing at every occasion. For seeing that friendship, and fellowship is ordained to drive away discontent, sorrow and grief, it were neither reasonable nor convenient to choose such a one for your comforter and friend, as in stead of delighting you, and of lightning your grief, should by his sullenness and sadness increase your sorrow, and every day occasion unto you some new vain apprehension and fear.   

DISC. 8.  
Of dissembling or disguising of humours.  
IT is a great pain and a restless molestation of mind, for men to labour to appear different in show from that which they are in substance. And a marvelous trouble and torment it is for them to take always heed unto themselves for the fear they have to be discovered. Look how often men look on them, as often do they think that they are espied: so that in the end it falleth out that, nill they will they, they do bewray what humour and inclination doth bear rule in their breast. The excessive care they have to hide their natural humour, putteth them to an unexplicable pain: and again to be discovered it putteth them to almost an intolerable shame. So that in this covered and masked kind of carriage there is not that pleasure and ease, which is to be felt in the other plain and simple kind of conversation that nature doth lead each man unto. And though there be some little danger accompanying this plainness that a man may be the less esteemed of by the occasion of this his inclination when it is descried: notwithstanding in mine opinion it were better for him to be a little less accounted of, and to live openly, then to have such a pain to disguise himself, and to carry himself thus dissemblingly. And yet in both the two there is to be kept a reasonable mediocrity and mean: for there is a great difference between a frank and free fashion of behaviour, and a negligent, or careless kind of carriage.  
To understand this point somewhat the better, we have to consider how that nature hath endued man with two diverse qualities and properties: the one general and common to us all, in making us reasonable and capable of discourse, wherein we surpass the bruit beasts: the other particular to each one of us, as to be inclined to gravity, to policy, to melancholy, or to some such humour. In this every one should follow his natural inclination, providing that it be not absurd, unseemly, or vicious. As if a man be subject to too much laughter, it behoveth him to endeavour to amend this imperfection. But in such qualities, as are not blamable, it is good not to use counterfeiting, cloaking, or dissembling. For it is a thing very uneasy for that man always to play the grave, who is not naturally inclined to gravity, as to change his countenance, to enlarge or raise swellingly his voice, to fashion and frame his eyes and looks to austerity, majesty, and greatness: The which gestures if a man chance to forget through negligence and oversight, by and by he is descried.  
In my conceit it were much better for such a man to follow his inbred cheerful inclination and gay humour in conversing with others.  
Notwithstanding, if it be a man's fortune to be preferred to a place of dignity and honour, such as doth require a grave, or severe countenance and carriage, then in this case it behoveth him to constrain and command a little his jovial inclination. But this must be done with much discretion and moderation, and by degrees, and in such sort that this change offend no man. And this kind of dissembling, or disguising of humours cannot be blamed; seeing the quality of his charge doth require it, for the seemly bearing whereof, he must be content to take the pains to put aside, or rather to smother a little of his facile and easy disposition.  
But there are some which being indeed lightheaded and ridiculous, will notwithstanding that men take them for grave, stayed and magnanimous: and there are others again, who without cause labour to counterfeit and cover, or rather smother their good inclination; for being borne of a mild and meek disposition, they endeavour to daub themselves over with the untempered mortar of inhumanity, roughness and austerity. And others there are who being very cowards, will yet make show as if they were the most valorous in the world, and by no means can they be brought to know themselves.  
But yet this their coloured & constrained courage they cannor carry far off without discovery; The common saying always proving true, That no violent or constrained thing hath any long continuance.   

DIS. 9  
Of Vanity.  
IT is a thing very difficult, yea, I dare say impossible, that a vain and ambitious man can ever attain to taste of this sweet and most desirable tranquillity of mind, which the wise have so diligently sought for, by sea and by land, on foot, and on horse, sparing no pains: for the man that hath his mind and heart eaten with the gnawing worm of ambition cannot attain to that which he desireth, to wit, that place, credit, and account, which he doth crave. And as of himself he promiseth always more than he can perform; so likewise in his habits, attire, and all his other things, he doth usually go beyond his measure. So that he is found to be in the self same pain, wherein are lodged all those which strive against the stream, or which creep and grasp upwards against a steep brae, because in setting forwards they make too much haste, therefore it cometh to pass, that they do lie the further behind. Contrariwise, the true means to attain unto ease is, for a man to make a smaller semblance & show then indeed his power and ability doth bear, and to set aside all pompous superfluity and vanity, as well in his attire, as in his train: and to hold always for his measure and rule that which is necessary, not that which hath no other ground but a vain opinion, or a frivolous conceit: yea in our very eating and appareling, we must take heed there appear nothing so singular, or odd that men may in an extraordinary manner take notice thereof. It is likewise very expedient and profitable, that we refrain our hopes, and that we extend not our designs further than we may well attain unto. As for riches, endeavour to come by them rather of yourself, then of fortune: and every way it is a principal point for a man to be moderate as well in his actions as in his intentions. For when any tempest, or storm of fortune shall fall out, it shall have the lesser power to prevail upon him, and to give him the overthrow if it find him with his sails gathered in, rather than hoist up to   

which sustain such a rank and dignity, that they cannot conveniently debase themselves, except they either fall from their place, or at least, not carry themselves in the same as they ought. And such men must employ their prudence and wisdom in tempering their gravity, so that men may be brought to impute it to their charge and calling, & not to the natural disposition of their mind, and therefore it is good that they excuse themselves towards their friends, and such folks as be of a meaner rank, whom they have known familiarly before, that they have not the leisure to entertain them, & to make much of them, by bearing them company, as otherwise they would very willingly do: Yet so, that they use in the mean time, all the facility and affability their condition & calling can suffer them to use; not bewraying or showing any stormy, or angry mood, by their visage or words, if a man chance to come to them at an unset hour, or yet speak to them somewhat more importunately, or undiscreetly than reason would require. For it is a like vice for a man not to know how to carry himself in his prosperity, and not to be able to comport with adversity: we ought therefore to observe an equality in our whole life, and to show always (if it be possible) In all the changes and chances thereof one and the same countenance, full of courtesy, mildness, and gentle in behaviour. Alexander the great did far outrun his father Philip King of Macedon, by his high and excellent feats of war: but his father did far surmount him in humanity and gentleness of mind. The Father was always virtuous and well-beloved, but the son was oftentimes vicious & hated: In such sort that there counsel is questionless wholesome and sound, which tell us that the higher and loftier men are, the humbler and lowlier ought they to be.  
Scipio Africanus was wont to say, that even as men are accustomed to put wild and untamed horses into the hands of Equiriers and Riders, that being daunted and tamed they may serve them in their turns. So likewise is it needful to tame proud and insolent persons, that have grown wild through the abundance of fortune's favour, and to bring them again within the round and compass of reason, by setting before their eye the wretchedness and weakness of human matters, and the mutability and instability of fortune. And for this end we ought in our greatest prosperity to use the advise and counsel of our friends, yea, than we should give them more authority and power over us then at any other time to the end they may be the more bold towards us in telling us the truth. We must also stop our ears to flatterers, which may very easily beguile us: For at all times men do deem & esteem themselves, to be such, as aught to be praised and raised to the skies, but most of all in time of prosperity: In the which it is a thing very rare and difficult to find a man who doth not incline to attribute unto himself the cause of his own good hap. Neither is there any other season in the which men more easily forget God, then that when as they enjoy health and wealth, dgnity and felicity according to their wish. In manner that mishap whensoever it doth happen them, doth serve them for a medicine, because it bringeth them home again unto the knowledge of themselves.  
This opinion of self-conceit for a man to think too much of himself, and to give credit lightly unto the fawning lies of flatterers, maketh men to stumble, yea to fall into many gross faults, yea giveth occasion of mocking and scoffing them bitterly, and out of all peradventure it is a great oversight, yea a fond folly for a man to rely more upon another's judgement concerning himself, then upon his own.  
This Philip (of whom we spoke before) seeing himself very mighty and victorious, and considering with himself, as a wise and moderate man ought to do, how that human things do not always abide in the same stay, appointed that one of his pages should have no other thing else to do every day, but only each morning to salute him with these words. Philip, remember that thou art a mortal man. But how much more may the wise and well-disposed Christian say every day to himself; Remember that thou art earth, and to earth thou must return.   

DISC. 11.  
Of the comparing of our fortune with that of others.  
IT is much available for the attaining of this tranquillity of mind, that a man setting aside all passions, consider with himself what means and commodities he doth enjoy, and in the next place that he set before his eyes such men as have not so much: not doing as many are wont, who have their eyes only upon such as surpass them, as admiring them, and reputing them only happy and blessed. The prisoners hold them happy that are set at large; and again, those esteem such blessed as are altogether free. The free think the rich only fortunate, and the rich again those that command. They that command account Kings of all other most blessed, and Kings those of their degree that excel them in ability and power, hence it is that men finding themselves unable to equal such as surpass them, they do remain discontented and no wise satisfied with their fortune, wherein they both bewray their ingratitude towards God, and beget a torment to themselves. A wise man will not be malcontent, though many surmount him in means, but rather representing to himself the great numbers of afflicted and miserable men the world doth afford, he will rejoice & be glad of his condition & case. If ye see then a man well mounted and furnished with fair horses, richly arrayed, do but cast down a little your eyes and consider how many there are that go a foot, which, leading a poor life, esteem that of yours to be happy, for it is not reasonable that the good fortune of one, or of a few, should have greater force to make you discontent, then should the bad fortune of many have to move you to be content. How many poor folks see ye daily, that live of their labours, & are laden with children, and pinched with poverty, and which is worst of all, have no hope at all to escape out of their misery? How many is there to whom your life, which ye so much deplore, would bring much consolation and ease?  
We are come unto a time so miserable, that one man's life dependeth more of another's then of itself: and the good of our neighbour doth occasion us greater grief than is the gladness we reap of our own. But if it were possible for men to see unfolded the fortune of such as they esteem happy, they should feel and find in it oftentimes more anxiety and pain, than they do in their own. Who is he that doth not account the condition of Kings of all other to be most happy? And yet hearken what a great King saith of himself in Homer: Great jupiter hath imprisoned me, with great perplexities and cares. O how happy then are those that live in their little corners out of these dangers and fears! And if it be so that ten thousand folks would be content with the estate wherein God hath established you, what reason have you to complain, for that ye have not the estate and fortune of one whom ye envy? Ye have no cause at all to slay yourself with sorrow and care, for to attain unto another man's rank, seeing there is nothing, that so much troubleth and tormenteth a man as this affection & immoderate desire of mounting from one degree of dignity to another. For such folks ordinarily do follow without consideration any hope whatsoever that offereth itself; the which if it fail to succeed according to their wish, they presently begin to accuse fortune, and to accurse their hap; whereas they ought rather to blame themselves for their rashness and lightness, and their want of foresight, Neither do they consider what a folly it is for them, to impute unto another the blame of their own weak understanding, and the fault they have fallen into by following that which was either uncertain, or impossible for them to attain unto. They are like unto those, in my conceit, which fret and fume for that they cannot fly, or shoot an arrow with a bow as big as a plough beam.  
The cause of this evil is the excessive affection men bear unto themselves: whence it cometh to pass, that in all things they will needs strive to be the first. It is nothing in their eye to have wealth, except they have much more than other rich men have.  
Behold how this vice reigneth, or rather rangeth in all estates. Dionysius the first was not content to be King of Sicily, neither esteemed he his dignity accomplished enough, because Philoxenus did surpass him in poesy, and Plato in philosophy. Whereupon he fell into such a fury, that he condemned Philoxenus to the quarries, there to wring verses out of the hard rocks, and banished Plato out of his country.  
And out of this immoderate love it doth also proceed, that men will speak of all things, thereby to show that they know all things: whereby they make themselves oftentimes to be mocked at, as it once happened to Megabyses the Persian, a man otherwise of great reputation, and valour, who having upon a time entered into the lodging where the famous painter Apelles did ply and practise his art, began to discourse touching the same, and would needs give him to understand, that he understood the nature and secrets thereof. To whom Apelles, as being a man wise, and well conditioned, thus answered: Truly, sir Megabyses, before I heard you speak, I held you for a discreet man, for your silence did grace your brave apparel, but since ye have meddled to talk of my trade, trust me, there is not even unill the smallest boy here that doth bray the okre, but will mock you for your labour.  
Hannibal, that great Captain of Carthage, after that the Romans' had chased him out of Italy & Africa, fled towards the king of Bythinia, where, on a day, he was invited to go into the Schools, to hear a great Philosopher discoursing of the stratagems, tricks, and subtleties of war: his auditors wondering at his eloquence and science of the military Art, asked of Hannibal what he thought of him; who laughingly answered them: That he had known many old fools, but that he had never seen, nor heard any man uttering so many fond and foolish words as that man did, whom they all so much admired. And not without cause did he answer them in this wise: considering how that this man did take upon him to discourse largely and lavishly of a matter, which very hardly can be taught or learned in the shade of a School, and that in the presence, and audience of the greatest Captain, and most experimented wariour that was then in the whole world. Which may teach every man to contain himself within the compass of his calling, without meddling or troubling himself with that of another man's. The which thing the Poets also have given us to understand, when as they feign that their gods do content themselves each one with his own calling and charge. Mars meddleth with war, Minerva with arts, Mercurius with eloquence, Cupido with love, Neptunus with the Sea, Pluto with hell, jupiter with the heavens, and so of the rest, each one keeping himself within the bounds and lists of his vocation. And if it had chanced that any of them should have encroached upon the office and function of another, he should not have miss to be scoffed and chastised for his presumption.  
Hence we may gather, that all things do not befit, nor become all men, and that each one ought to consider what calling he findeth himself most apt and sufficient for, and that he content him therewith, and contain himself therein. They that follow the profession of letters and learning, have need of leisure and ease. He that will follow the Court, and laboureth to have the countenance and acquaintance of great men, and to find access unto Princes, must needs undergo much pains. So that these conditions, and the like, are not fitting for all: and it standeth each one upon to know whereunto he is most apt. The Horse is fit for riding & running: the Ox for opening & labouring the ground. The man that would be sorry for that he cannot bear a lion in his bosom, as he could a little dog, were he not more than mad?  
There are some, who without leaving any part of their ease, and of their vice, would be as wise as the Philosophers that have both day and night studied and traveled so much. The good wrestlers of old contenting themselves with their prize, suffered the other Champions to win likewise theirs at running. Contrariwise such as despising and disdaining their own good, do sighingly seek after another man's, do they not live in displeasure and pain?  
They say, that in times past, there was a notable kind of men in Boeotia, which did complain of their gods because that their fig trees did not bear grapes, and that their vines did not bring forth figs. We must imagine that God hath fashioned & framed diversly men for divers affairs, & that each one ought to content himself with that ability or place which God hath imparted unto him, without passing beyond his own, to pursue, and follow after that which is another's. For this kind of people make none account at all of that which they have, but only of that which they would have: they go always looking a far off, and little think of the place wherein they are.  
There was of old, in a certain Temple, an image portrayed, which did represent the manner of men, that always wait on the time to come, and neglect the good opportunity of the time present. The picture was of a Rope-maker who did still work, but suffered an Ass that stood behind him to eat up his work. And thus do the ingrate people in God's behalf, who making no reckoning of the goods they enjoy, suffer them to be buried in oblivion, and are always covetous of things to come. In the harmony of the world, the differences, or distances are to be observed: so likewise in human things, all are not of one sort. And as in music there are tunes and sounds, some grave, some sharp, and some mean, of the mingling whereof the skilful physician maketh a sweet melody: so doth the prudent man make an harmony of the good & evil that occur in this life, not taking the good or the evil alone, but consorting and tempering the one with the other, as things which in this world can never be fully severed. That fair proverb uttered by Eurypides, but used of all, proving true: That sorrow and man's life are sisters of one womb.   

DISC. 12.  
Of Adversity.  
Adversity is of it own nature grievous and heavy unto our hearts, as sickness, the loss of children, or of friends, with such like other dismal accidents. But yet in part we follow the popular opinion in the apprehension thereof, and this we do principally in our own wants, and in the necessities of ours, as also in the matter of affronts, circumventions and scoffs, and when as we imagine that the honour is not deferred us which we do deserve.  
And against these crosses of the second kind, me thinketh it were good for us to apply unto ourselves the saying of the Poet Menander, That which hath befallen you, is not indeed grievous, but only it seemeth to you so, and that it is so, it may appear in that ye have your mind and body as much at commandment as ye had before the cross did befall you. And against the crosses of the first kind ye ought to consider how that ye endure nothing contrary to the law and course of human things, in regard that all these accidents are annexed unto man's being, and that from his birth they are allotted to him for ordinary: and the truth is that nature hath not framed us so feeble, to bear out adversity, as we make ourselves to be. Let us rather always think, that it is but our inferior part which is subject unto fortune, & that we have the principal in our own power: and that that which lieth in us, as concerning virtue, cannot be overcome by any other thing else, without our consentment: also we know that we have not need of any great forces for the doing hereof; we having none to fight against but our own selves, and seeing that the better part of the victory consisteth in mastering of our own will: whereunto add this, that God will always favour the man who through the aid of rectified reason disposeth himself to be the stronger. Fortune (if so it be lawful for a Christian to speak) may well make thee poor, abase thee, & afflict thee, but she is not able to make thee vicious, lazy, or ill-conditioned, neither can she bereave thee of the courage & vigour of mind, wherein doth lie greater strength to govern thy soul, then there is in the Art of Navigation to direct a ship. For the Mariner, let him be never so skilful and wise in his Art, cannot with all his skill assuage the surging tempest of the Sea, nor yet take away fearful apprehensions from another man's fantasy. Whereas virtue and wisdom in a well ordered mind doth assure and settle the body, for it preserveth it from diseases through temperance, & pulleth it back from wicked and vicious dispositions by continuance, and whereas any thing, wherein there is danger, shall present itself unto our mind (as if it were in a dangerous shore) it is good that we leave it and pass further: or else if the evil be unavoidable, let him comfort himself, and think with himself that the haven is not very far off: and that his soul goeth out of the body, as out of a crazy or broken bark, holding death for a sweet and assured harbour, chief considering that in regard of the nature of the soul, her outgoing from this life, is her in-going to a better. The which consideration ought to add much unto the courage of Christians, Yea, and make them not to fear that which bringeth affrightment unto others, And truly if we had skill and courage enough, toward the blows of froward fortune, to look her in the face, and to meet her in the way with a stout stomach, prepared to sustain all her assaults, nothing in the world could dismay us, or yet put us to pain. And this thing should certainly come to pass, if we could once be accustomed never to promise to ourselves any great or assured hopes, or yet any certain and settled estate, during this miserable life, and if we would take heed diligently, considering whether those things we do account as evil, be so evil as we deem them to be, or if happily they be not so evil but rather less than we imagine. Finally this thing should come to pass if we would behold a far off, and wisely foresee frowning fortune, for in so doing we might assure ourselves, that at her coming she should not affright us, but the nearer she came to us, the bolder we might be to look her in the face, and to esteem her not to be so lusty and strong as her picture would import, and if no man be able to boast during this life, so far as to say, I am exempted from this bitter potion, at least may he say thus, though I must swallow it down, yet shall I not be aghast, weep and wail I will not, neither despair as many men do. I will not bring myself into so deplorable a plight as divers do, amidst their disasters. Though poverty pinch me more than many others, for all that: will I not beguile my neighbour, nor yet take that to myself, which to another doth belong: I will not lie, much less will I forswear myself. Briefly there shall nothing unto me seem so intolerable, as that for to shun it, I would choose to become vicious. If by honest means I cannot avoid indigence and need, at least necessity shall make this necessity of mine easy to be borne. Besides that the common law of human things, doth not allow us to esteem that thing heavy and unbeareable, which so many daily do carry and bear on their backs: for choose what manner of afflictions ye will, ye shall find more men burdened therewith, then exempted therefrom.  
We must likewise comfort ourselves with this consideration, that where there is no sin, there can be no true evil at all: and that the virtuous man is more calm and quiet in his deepest adversity, then is the vicious man in his highest prosperity, & such were the crosses of the righteous men of old, which by the help of the divine grace, were so accompanied with fortitude, patience, and humility, that how-sharpe and rough soever they were, yet they brought them not so much vexation and anguish as their conscience did them consolation and ease, and even as those that are sick of a fever, feel sooner and in more painful manner, the heat and coldness of their fit, then do the whole and sound the sharpest cold of Winter, or the scorching heat of Summer: so likewise doth it far, with those that are troubled with the fever of their vicious affections, the which do burn and blister extremely and continually their conscience: for they are much more vexed with the corrupt and vicious qualities they do beget and bear in their bosoms, then are virtuous men with all their adversities. For these having the inward and better part sound and without wound, cannot be hurt by outward accidents, whereunto they oppose a lively and lusty courage together with the force of an honest and inviolable mind, which is a stronger force (truly) than any whatsoever else. Think not that riches, howsoever abundant they be, cannot afford so great contentment to the owner thereof, as virtue doth unto the virtuous man, the which is sufficient to make him content: For virtue in whomsoever it be, is always the reward and recompense of herself. And even as the most precious plants, & sweetsmelling trees, though they be cut in pieces and dried, keep always their sweet and pleasing sent, when as the unsavoury and barren do not please the sense, even then when they are whole and full of blossoms and flowers: even so the virtuous man in the very midst of his adversity reapeth more pleasure and contentment of his virtue, and honesty, than the vicious can do of his wealth and superfluity, being beaten and scourged with a cursed conscience. In one word, in what time, place, or condition soever ye find the virtuous man, ye shall find him always content.  
It is reported that Diogenes the Philosopher, seeing, on a time, a certain man dressing and decking himself for a Festival day, said unto him thus: Why dost thou take such pains to trim thyself to day, considering that every day is a festival day to the virtuous man? And truly every day of the life of the virtuous man is a solemn day, and fit for a moderate rejoicing and mirth. For if we look well unto the matter, the world is no other thing else but a fair and holy Temple, into the which a man is brought to so soon as he is borne: and within this Temple there is to be seen two bright Lamps, or Torches set up, the Sun & the Moon, with many other starry lights. There may we see and behold divers kinds of creatures, by the means whereof Man attaineth to the knowledge of other essences, that cannot be seen. What a sweet sight is it to see so many fair floods, and clear running rivers, which send out always fresh water; to see so many fruitful, and flourishing Trees, plants, herbs, and roots: the beautiful variety of beasts, and of stones, together with the grassy hills, and high mountains on the one hand, and the low valleys, and pleasant plains on the other? If man were so wise as he should be, this same sight and show might serve him for a pastime, and a play. For what thing is there in this life more worthy to be seen then the pass-times and pleasures which God doth afford and offer us in his creatures, if we could use the same as we ought? Why do we take greater delight in any artificial sport of beasts, than we do to behold them acting the several parts of nature's play, each kind of them their own part, upon this fair & wide stage of the world? Or is there any music sweeter than the chirping and singing of birds? In sum, it is a great delectation to see & observe the diversity of creatures which God hath framed & form each one to his kind: we consume & spend away our life about so many purposes & practices, so many toils & broils, that hardly we do enjoy any part thereof, and yet for all that we leave not to enjoy the other good creatures of God. If a man could once attain to this point of perfection, as to rid his mind out of these manifold entanglements, and to give it some space & place to entertain, cherish, and nourish itself with the knowledge of the creatures, and of the Almighty Creator, nothing should, or could, cast it into any excessive sorrow, except it were sin, for the soul being once united with him that made it by contemplation and meditation, by knowledge and love, it should gather itself together calmly and quietly, so that a man should lead and live continually a gladsome life, considering that at one time or other some evil hath befallen him; yet oftener hath he tasted of good. So that requiting, as it were, the one with the other, he may well say that he hath greater occasion to rejoice of his good success, then to complain of the evil adventure of another time, as we are accustomed to turn our eyes away from such things as offend us, and to cast them upon green, and gay colours that please us: so should we divert thee yes of our understanding, together with our thoughts, from sad and sorrowful objects, and apply them to such as are more pleasing and agreeable thereunto, neither must we be like unto the malicious man, who beholdeth another man's faults with the eyes of an Eagle, but his own with the eyes of an owl. But our perverseness is such, that very often we do resemble the boxing-glasses, which draw and drink up the corrupt blood, and leave the pure and clean blood behind. There was in former times, a certain rich wretch, who had in his house great store of wine; but yet was so nigardish and near, that he sold the best, and kept the worst for his own use: a certain servant of his, observing this pinching and preposterous niggardliness of his master, fled away from him: and being asked afterwards, why he had left his Lord answered thus: Because I could not endure to stay with a man, who having that which was good, made choice of that which was evil. The Philosopher Aristippus, made yet a far better reply, who having lost one of his three Farms, said thus unto his friends, That it was babishnes to be sorry, for one Farm lost, and not to be merry for the other two that did rest in his hands, seeing that all of them had lain open to the same adventure. We are like unto little children, from whom, if ye pull but one of their playockes and knacks, they will presently, without more ado, fling away all the rest in despite. For if, of many good things that we enjoy, it chance that one of them, either be taken from us, or that it be lost, by and by we begin to bewail it, forgetting all that resteth behind in our hands.  
But some man bewailingly will ask me, saying: alas! what have we? to whom askingly I would answer: But what rather have we not? One hath great reputation and credit, another hath wealth, and another health, one hath a wife according to his wish and will, another hath sweet children, and another faithful and trusty friends.  
Antipater of Thrase did reckon it among his other good fortunes, that he had sailed prosperously between Sicily and Athens, and we each one of us would have all, though we have not in the mean time the understanding to thank God, for the smallest thing. Neither make we any account or reckoning of the greatest goods because they seem to us to be too common, as to live, to be in health, to see, to hear, to speak, to enjoy peace, to eat and drink, to have food for our belly, & clothes for our back, to see & enjoy the fruits of the labourable ground, together with the commodities of the saileable sea, that we can talk, or hold our tongue, sit, or stand, sleep or wake as we will. If men would but consider in their minds, what displeasure and grief redoundeth unto such as do lack any of these abilities, they would, no doubt, live much more content than they do. What think ye would the sick give for the benefit of health? the blind for the use of his eyes? and such as are despised for a small measure of renown? we wretches are so blockish and blind, that we can never prise the goods that we have, until that we be deprived of them, and have them no more.  
That which resteth, I wish you always to be advertised that ye fall never so far in love with the things of this life, that the fear ye have to lose them vex you with unrest, or yet having lost them, immoderate sorrow for them hurl you headlong into despair.   

DISC. 13.  
Of sadness, and sorrow.  
Adversity doth beget in us vexation and grief, according to the greatness or smallness thereof: whereabout likewise there happeneth some fault: for now a days we may see men, ordinarily, mourning and moaning excessively for many things, not so much for that they have cause, as because it is the custom. One lamenteth the mishaps of his neighbour, or friend, and carrieth a pale and heavy countenance, to show that he is very sorry therefore, although he be nothing sorry at all. This kind of customable compassion is altogether unprofitable, in regard that even in your own adversity, ye ought not to be sad, but only so far forth as reason doth require, and not as custom doth command, How many is there who weep when others look on them, and do think it should be a very ill favoured thing, not to shed tears when as others do, mourn? How many frivolous sorrows hath it made many to slide into, to lean too much upon the tottering and unstaid prop of opinion? How much better were it in such cases, to devise some new fashion, and to feel human accidents after that mood which best becometh wise and moderate men? What good do their immoderate sighs and sobs, either to the living or to the dead? Doth their any there thing flow therefro, save that they wast themselves wretchedly & wretchlesly away? For though it be true that oftentimes such disasters and accidents fall out, that it is impossible for men to pass them over without being touched with sorrow for the same: nevertheless we must always beware to be more sorry than reason doth allow, and seeing that time ought to heal you in the end, it were a babishnesse not to prevent it wisely, and to do that betimes, which once at last, nill we will we, it behoveth us to do.  
How many men, shortly after the death of their children, or wives, have recomforted themselves, as esteeming the time lost which they had spent in sadness and in sorrow? For although it be true, that such persons are worthy to be renewed in our remembrance, yet we ought to bring thereunto that moderation and remedy, which at last will needs offer and apply itself, though ye would never so feign it were otherwise.   

DISC. 14.  
Of the affliction of good men.  
IT is not a small occasion of sorrow unto vigorous minds, and such as are touched with humanity to see virtuous men vilipended or wronged: and truly it seemeth to be nothing less than a heavy heartbreak & almost an unsupportable pain to behold wise & peaceable men afflicted, troubled, and vexed, yea to be ill-used, & trampled, as it were, under feet by the vain world, and to say the truth, it seemeth that this doth touch us very near: for when as we weigh with ourselves that the portion and lot of virtuous men is no other but affliction, and labour of mind, we do thereupon presently imagine, that thereby our best hopes are hemmed in.  
If then such a case disquiet you, (as ordinarily it doth) think with yourself, that if they be honest and patiented men than are they in that case so much the more happy, because that in this life, which is so short, they purchase to themselves a life eternal in the heavens, for ye must know that the first good which such as go to rest in God's house do obtain, is to be quit and discharged from the temptations and torments of this troublesome life.  
Moreover, set before your eyes the roll and scroll of the holy men of old, the blessed Martyrs of Christ, of whom some have been beheaded, others have been hanged; some have been burnt, and others have been broiled; some have been cut in pieces, and others have had their skin pulled off. Besides that, during their life they have been afflicted with hunger, nakedness, and need: of whom certainly the world was not worthy, and therefore it had them in horror, as those in whom it had no interest at all. But God loved them dearly, and by his divine providence, which cannot be deceived, appointed them to pass through such tribulations, as through a needle's eye, into the place of perpetual repose. Yea the pains and perplexities that virtuous men do endure, do even prick them forwards to have a more earnest desire to loath, and to leave this wretched world. So that in the end they dislodge out of a bad & sad prison, they escape & slip out of the dark caves and obscure corners, and having no deep apprehension of death, they find the fair beaten way that leadeth them to a better life.   

DISC. 15.  
Of other men's faults and imperfections.  
AFter that ye have thus disposed of yourself, and have appeased your own passions; yet shall ye have the vices of others, and the faults which are done in public, making an onset against you, to trouble your mind. Considering the disorder that is amongst men; which is so great, that scarcely can any thing be found in the room where it ought to be, and that there is scarcely any one that doth the duty whereunto by birth and calling he was ordained. The man who should prove the wise judge, is a simple Citizen: and he that ought to be but a mere citizen, is made a judge, and that man doth command who ought to obey.  
It is a strange thing to consider, how that almost every thing is corrupt and sold, & how that, as it were, all things are turned upside down. To see how that the poor man is punished for every petty trespass, & the puissant and wealthy person is spared: to see, I say, how the whole plotting and plodding of men now a days, is altogether for money.  
Again, it cannot but bring grief unto a good man's mind, to consider how small occasion and example of living virtuously such persons do minister unto us, as hold the chief offices and the first ranks in the Common wealth. The virtuous man is holden every where as a monster, abhorred, despised, and disdained. And what shall a man say, when as he weigheth with himself the variable & mutable disposition of the multitude, one while loving, and another while loathing, at one time praising, at another time dispraising one and the same thing, one and the same party? How many be the miseserable changes that fall out amongst men? And what a hard case is it, when men make none account of that they should diligently hear: and on the other side hearken to that whereunto they should rather stop the ear? The despite and dislike that many have conceived, by reason of such courses, hath made them bid the world farewell, and moved them to withdraw themselves into the deserts and solitary aboades, as not being able to behold with their eyes, that which did breed, and bring so much displeasure to their minds. And therefore such have chosen to live rather amongst the wild beasts, amidst the vast wilderness, and rocky mountains, then amongst so many wild men, swarming with vile and wicked manners.  
Nevertheless, in these, and such other occurrents as cannot be amended, man must command and master his mind, and carry himself in such sort, that these unamendable evils make him not to abhor the company and society of men: but rather he must take occasion thereof to be the more watchful & wary, lest he become one of those that forget to carry themselves discreetly amongst men, he must also beware lest he minister occasion to another to blame in himself that which he doth blame in his neighbour. A man must hold more on Democritus then on Heraclitus side. Heraclitus did weep always at the faults he saw men fall into; but Democritus did laugh at them always.  
To the one, all that men do, did seem to be but misery: to the other, fondness and folly. And it seemeth to be the better of the twain, when as things amiss cannot be amended, that we sweeten them a little, if it were but in covering them with the cloak of a fair show, and as it is a thing by all likelihood more consonant to man's nature, to laugh at the manifold miseries of our life, then mourningly to bewail them with tears.  
But yet ye shall do better, if that about the vices of other men, and such as are done in public, ye do keep a mediocrity and mean, neither always lamenting, nor yet always laughing at them: for it were both a miserable kind of disposition, for a man to afflict himself excessively, by reason of another man's miscarriage, and a pitiless kind of pastime always to be laughing thereat.  
But there be some, to whom this advice will seem to be of no weight: for not only they cannot comport with the imperfections of their friends, but also those of their enemies do put them to pain. The honours, the precedencies, the wrongs, the incompetencies vex them: the importunities of their friends, the waywardness, and peevishness of their servants, and acquaintance trouble and torment them daily. But how much better were it to have patience in such accidents, chief seeing they win so little by willing and wishing the amendment thereof? Ye must rather imagine and think with yourself, that these men, which thus take pleasure to annoy you, are as dogs which be borne to bark. We must impute all this evil to their perverse nature, wherein they are enough punished by the means of a perpetual perplexity and anguish, which pricketh, and pierceth their mind.  
But if your weakness be such, as to stumble at all that ye see ill done, by such as are about you, ye are then, in that case, merely forlorn. For if the vices of strangers, or of those that be your own, come once to win ground on you, to close with you, and to overcome you, ye shall be abashed, and amazed to see how that all such importunities and troubles, like water, shall run into you, as the rain doth from the gutter into the base court, or from a steep hill into a low valley. And out of all question, it is to be undiscreetly tenderhearted for a man to be always sorry and sad, if those, with whom we do haunt, do not handle, use, or entertain us so carefully, or respectively as we crave.  
The immoderate affection we bear unto ourselves, doth deceive us, and the delicacy of our condition maketh that we cannot bear with the defects and neglects of our servants, we not considering how that very often they know not how to do any better. We require at their hands perfect things, when as yet we ourselves do fall into so many faults, and are subject unto so many imperfections.  
And most often we play the passionate and fretting man's part in our servants behalf, either being moved by the distastes that our own ill conditions do occasion unto us, or by the quality and kind of the business we have in hand: and thus foolishly we cast the fault over upon them which are innocent, and do the best they can.  
There is also another thing which doth bring unto us much disquiet, and that is to affect too much one and the same thing, & thereabout to fall into debate with our friends. For there was never yet any perfect friendship amongst them which are led and miscarried with an obstinate emulation and contention who shall overcome. If ye belabour, & accustom yourself, through ezercise, to frame yourself to times and persons, ye may easily govern and rule men at your will, & withal purge them from such evil humours as ye find them subject unto. And whensoever it shall fall out, that it shall seem unto you a thing impossible to comport with them; think that it is your fault, and that this floweth from your own inability: considering how that so many others could, and yet can, very well comport with the same. For even as the sick are wont to say, that they find all meats bitter, and contrary to their taste, thinking that the fault is either in the meats, or in the man that prepared them: but as soon as they see other men eat them, without going any whit against their stomach, they do know that the imperfection lieth in themselves. In like manner, as often as ye call to mind, how that many others have suffered, and yet do suffer, with a gay and courageous heart, the most troublesome, and toilsome accidents of the world, ye must confess that the fault must be imputed to your own feebleness, and to no other thing else.  
If the manners and conditions of your wife vex you, ye must bend them, and bow them gently and softly, if it be possible, and that by using all kind of mild and amiable means. But if your misfortune be such that ye cannot prevail with her, by way of pleasing and peaceable persuasions, than it behoveth that wisdom and discretion teach you to endure patiently her crosse-conditions, and to master and dissemble the evil which ye cannot amend: otherwise be ye sure ye shall turn your house into a prison, your quiet rest into restless coil, and your good name into an intolerable shame.  
In your children require not that sageness and settledness, which ye find in old folks: seeing that they were not borne old: This age carrieth in it many things, the which if ye should endeavour on a sudden to draw to a perfection, ye should undertake a task of no small trouble, and if in young trees ye are content that they bear leaves and buds, why do ye require ripe fruit in your children before the time? Who craveth the thing that cannot be had, laboureth for that he shall not obtain? The mean is to teach, & instruct them diligently, to bring them up virtuously, and not to chide them continually, or check them immoderately: if peradventure they fail to do a thing as they ought.   

DISC. 16.  
Of Injuries and Indignities.  
THere are some men, which could patiently comport with all other kind of affliction: only they cannot away with an indignity and wrong. The which thing, nevertheless, befalleth them more for being persuaded that the injury offered them is unsupportable, then for that it is so of the own nature. In which case, one thing may avail you much; if ye can resolve with yourself to keep you aloof from the common opinion, and if ye can consider without passion, each one of the things that are wont thus to toil, and turmoil men's minds. For in so doing, ye shall see, if ye have reason to think upon the wrong offered you so immoderately as ye do.  
There is one kind of displeasure, which we call an injury, or wrong, that is, when any one overthwarteth us in our affairs against all equity and right. And there is another kind, which we call an indignity, or affront, when as in our body, or name, we are used by word or deed otherwise then is fitting.  
For both these kinds, ye ought to know, that the virtuous man is not subject to receive any wrong: not that I do mean that there is none to offer, and infer wrong, (for there is nothing so sacred, but there will be found sacrilegious hands to touch it.) But that though there be not wanting multitudes of men, whose tongues and hands have no other employment, but to defile, and diminish, so much as in them lieth, the honour of God, and of men: yet, for all that, the virtuous man's mind is not a whit the less assured: and though that such mischievous, and malicious men, level right at him to hit, and to hurt him with their harmful shaft, yet do they come short of their aim; for either they hit him not, or if they do, they hurt him not at all for an inviolable thing is not simply that which cannot be hit, but rather that which being hit, receiveth thereby no hurt, or at least, careth not at all for it. And thus doth it far with the virtuous man, who of himself offereth no man any occasion of offering him any wrong. And if it fall out, than a man, out of a proud & haughty stomach, or rather out of a malicious disposition set upon him, and assail him; he is then in that case like a brazen wall which the darts of the wicked cannot pierce through.  
Moreover, we know that the virtue and vigour of him, who in fight hath vanquished his adversary, is always greater than the man's who never did try the combat in his time. And even the very same must we think and say of the virtuous wight, and well disposed person: who, like to good metal, the more he is fired the more is he fined, the more he is opposed, the more is he approved. Wrongs may well try him, touch him, or prick him, but they cannot imprint in him any false stamp. And if (peradventure) some flout, or affront be fling upon him, as it were, by the way; yet doth he in the mean time remain firm and unremoved, he maketh no reckoning, nor yet taketh any notice thereof, as assuring himself that it doth not reach so far as unto him. Add also hereunto, that there is almost no man, but he will hold the wrong-offerer for wicked, and the wrong-sufferer for honest, as not deserving any such outrageous usage. The force and strength of his virtue appeareth so much the more in this kind of adversity, and his mildness and meekness of mind, shineth so much the more clearly, by how much the more atrocious and grievous the wrong offered was. But unto such as are of a more tender and dainty courage, an indignity is more uneasy to be borne withal.  
But would you see how men do measure wrongs by opinion? Such vanity there is in the things of this world, that some will make less ado for a bloody blow, then for a light box on the ear. Yea some will make a greater stir for a vanishing hard word, than they would do for a deadly dint of a sharp sword. We are fallen into such blindness and babishnesse, that opinion annoyeth us more than the soar itself, being like unto little children, which are amazed at a mummers mask. If it chance that a man be hindered, or wronged in his goods, it is a wonder to consider what a coil he doth keep about them. But the discreet and well-stayed person, who judgeth of things according to reason, not measuring them by opinion, as he holdeth all things, even as if it were by borrowing so he feeleth the loss of them, as if they were things no wise his own. And even as he should not cease to be content, though he had never had them at all, so he taketh the loss of any part of them, as the necessary out-casting or foregoing of one portion to save another, in the midst of a tempestuous storm. Yea the foregoing of his whole goods will not make him to forget his own worth, and vigour of mind: he knowing well that not only his goods, but also his life, honour, and whole happiness do hang upon him who is the giver of every good thing. Such an one possibly hath cozened you of so many crowns, hath deceived you of so many Ducats. Well, it is a damage he hath done you, yet is it a loss but of a part only of your goods, and not of the whole. And the man that hath the heart to give, or forego the whole, can he be much sorry to let go, or lose a part?  
But if it be the manner of your loss which doth most vex you: then in that case ye have to think, that as your virtue would have you to comport with Fortune and her frowns; so ought ye likewise to bear with insolent and audacious men, which are no other thing else, but the hookish hands of the same hard fortune. Trust me, that our impatiency doth us much more harm, than those, of whose violence, injustice, and wrong we do so bitterly complain.  
What? (will some say) such a one did disdain to cap to me; such another in speaking to me did not use that respect in my behalf as he ought, & I thought he should have done: such a one did not give me place, but sat him down before me, and such another would not give me the wall. What terms, I pray you, be all these, but mere plaints flowing from the soft and feeble courage of an effeminate mind?  
divers things displease us, which otherwise would not do so, if we had the skill and will to construe them aright, and to take them in the better part; whereas through our own indiscretion, and distrust of ourselves, we make that an indignity which of it own nature is none, in so doing we judge ourselves well worthy thereof, and what other thing is it but lack of courage, though we feel the wrong we have received never so sensible, not to be able to tread on it, and to trample it under feet?  
And if we will but weigh and observe how, and in what manner the mighty visions and imaginations of dangers, which do present themselves in our dreams do suddenly vanish, ye sometimes do make us laugh when as we remember the same, we should do well to endeavour to do the like in our wrongs, even to think when as any wrong is done us, that we do but awake out of a dreaming sleep: a virtuous and well-disposed man (assure yourself) will be loath to wrong you in your body, goods, or good name; and as for any ill-disposed wretch, what shall it avail you to complain, seeing that he is no more his own man than if he were mad? Ye will willingly endure any thing at the hands of a man that is out of his wits, neither will ye make any complaint for aught he hath said or done to you, but will rather pity his case: in the like manner must ye bear with the mis-behaviour of a foolish undiscreet person, who is no better than a man out of his mind: ye will endure well enough what a jester or sporter will say unto you, be it never so unpleasant, and would think it but a base part for you to inform against, or to complain upon such a person, and if he chance to utter any pleasing word amidst his carping discourse, ye take it and taste it as a savoury disport. Consider therefore how unfitting and unseemly a thing it were that the same word uttered by one should make you to laugh, and by another to lower: the case so standing, that the man that is in choler hath no more judgement than a simple jester hath; if he have so much.  
But what shall we say of those that are offended with little boys, and silly women? people that do offend rather of weakness then of a wilful or wicked design? for conclusion ye shall never attain to tranquillity of mind, if ye take in ill part every crosse-chance that doth offer itself.  
Some will say, this offence may be well borne with, but that other must not be borne with at all. But these men do shut up virtue into a too strait room, and confine her abilities within too narrow bounds, as if they should say virtue may well vanquish this wrong, but not that other, truly if fortune be not wholly beaten down and defeated, she will remain mistress. But what if it be so, will ye say, that I have given some occasion to affront me in this fashion? how then shall I, or can I, bear it patiently and go with an open face? If the injury hath his birth from your misbehaviour, ye must think then, that it is not so much a wrong as a correction: and this ye ought to receive as a discreet man ought to do, and withal make use of it as a chastisement of your own miscarriage. If it chance that a man flout you for some imperfection of your person, as for that your nose, eyes, or legs are not to their mind, take not this to heart as a revengeable wrong: for it is but a mere folly, for a man to care much for that which falleth not out through his own faults. Fidus Cornelius did weep for very anger in the Senate, because Corduba Struthio said to him scoffingly that he did resemble much a piled Camel: see what simpleness, if one counterfeit our gesture, lo we are by and by offended. But what miserable blindness is it for a man to vex himself because another doth imitate his mode or manner of going. The mean were rather to do thus, if nature hath laid upon you any defect or blemish which doth deform your body, which ye cannot cover, that yourself were the first man should speak of it, as knowing it better than any other: for by this means ye shall take away from others all occasion of scorning or flouting you for the same: Thus Vatinius was wont to mock himself, in regard of his neck, and feet which were somewhat deformed: so that his enemies and ilwillers could not take any advantage thereof to break upon him any bitter jest. Moreover it is not a small policy to deprive the party that doth you wrong of all the pleasure he intendeth to reap, by holding your peace, as not thinking him worthy of so much as one word of your mouth, or by leaving him there where ye found him, as disdaining to brabble or quarrel with him, or yet to take any notice of the man, or of his manners: if ye will be advised by me, make never answer to an insolent malapert person, for in holding your tongue ye leave with him lying in his mouth, yea in his mind, his vice, folly, and rashness, whereas in answering him, ye shall conform yourself to his naughty nature. There is nothing that equalizeth so much men among themselves, as the participation of one and the same vice: neither can there any such chastisement befall unto an ill-humored man as to make no reckoning, but to let vanish with the wind his vain and unsavoury words, for both by your silence are his speeches condemned of impertinency, & he deprived of the pleasure he promised to himself by provoking you to anger.  
It behoveth likewise a man to be very circumspect and wary in his jesting at others. For we find by experience that men do commonly fly the company of such as make profession of scoffing and mocking others. We find likewise that no man can entertain certain amity and unfaileable friendship with such an one as is averse from pardoning such as have offended him. The Emperor Caius Caesar, a man of an injurious inclination, had in his army a certain Tribune, Cherea by name; a man of a shrill, small and womanish voice in speaking, and therefore one of whom they had no great opinion. This womanish-voiced man having on a time asked the Emperor what should be the watchword: he of purpose to scorn him gave him such a word as was dishonest. By reason of which indignity the Tribune was so deeply offended, that thereafter associating himself among the murderers which did wickedly seize upon the Emperor, he was the man who with one blow did beat down the one half of his brains. So that he who seemed unto Caesar to come somewhat short of a man, proved most the man (though indeed he had more malice than manhood in his heart) in cutting off impiously Caesar from being any more a man & a Monarch among men. To use such bitter taunts bewrayeth want of discretion, and not to be able to digest them, doth argue lack of courage. Socrates hearing himself flouted to his face, did no other thing but laugh thereat, without making any show of a displeased mind. It is reported of him and of Laelius the Roman, that they two did so happily entertain this tranquillity of mind, that they were never seen to change their countenance.  
Moreover ye ought diligently to avoid all noise, brabbles and strife: for this brawling and quarreling humour altereth not a little the whole man, and maketh him ill-conditioned. Be not lavish of your language, but rather sparing of speech. Let your words be such as carry with them their due authority and weight. And withal accustom yourself to pass diverse things under the great seal of sure silence.  
Suffer not yourself to be beguiled by the unreasonable opinion of the misordered multitude, which do hold such folks only to be free as may do what ere they list, be it never so evil, and such only to be courageous and generous spirits as can put up no wrong.  
It is true liberty for a man to live not according as his lawless lust doth lead him, but as reason doth rule him: and to do not what ever sensually he would, but what reasonable he should, And it is true courage and magnanimity for a man to put up wrongs, to misteeme them, not to be moved by them, but to command his affections, and to overcome his passions. That which the man shall never be able to do, who hath not his spirit composed, and his mind ordered to despise these vanities and delicacies, which do shake the feebler sort: finally endeavour to have the upper hand in setting light by all human crosses, and popular conceits: for it is no sign of good health when a man is always crying & complaining that they touch him, & in the same manner it fareth with the mind.   

DISC. 17.  
Of Poverty.  
THE man that can make but that reckoning of life and death that he ought, I fear not that poverty can afflict him, or yet bereave him of his rest, For it were a thing very unfitting that he who can despise death, should suffer his courage to be cast down, let alone, to be quite quelled by poverty and need, which nevertheless is the thing the common people doth most apprehend, and most plain upon, when as they cannot attain unto a sufficiency of goods whereupon to maintain themselves in a gay and gallant manner. They not being able to content themselves with such things as may serve for their necessity; but esteeming abundance and wealth man's sovereign good; and poverty, and want his sovereign evil. And yet were it not better for a man not to have a thing, then to lose it when he hath it? And how is it possible in this life that some should not lose, seeing that one cannot be rich, except many other be poor, and many cannot inherit, except others do die? And yet there is in poverty this consolation, that as it is not subject to the receiving, and incurring of great damages, so is it not accompanied with so many monstrous turmoils as plenty and abundance is.  
And to think that rich men have more courage to comport with losses then other men have, it is an error. For the pain of a soar is as sensible and dolorous in a big body, as in a small; yea we fee ordinarily, that the greatest men are the most tender and delicate.  
The Philosopher Bion was wont to say, that the pain is alike which is felt by plucking, or pulling the hairs from an head that hath many, and from that which hath few.  
All the difference that can be, is this; that the bald head hath less hair to lose, and consequently cannot feel so much smart as the other doth that is full of hairs.  
Hence it is, that we see, for the most part, the poorer sort of people to be more jocund and joyful then commonly the richer sort are, because they have not so great care as they have, neither do they fear so deeply the storm of adversity, as the richer sort do. For they are eaten up with this double worm, the care of conserving and increasing the goods they have got, and the fear of losing that which they enjoy. But poverty is a Castle and fort, assured and fenced against fortune, yea the whole world. She feareth nothing and is able with all to defend herself against all her enemies.  
Thou man whosoever thou art that goest drooping & dying for riches, for worldly pelf, and wealth, tell me I pray thee, if since thou hast got them, they have brought unto thee any more knowledge unto thy mind, or more tranquillity and peace unto thy spirit, or more rest and happiness unto thine heart, than thou hadst before, they came into thine hands? The wise men among the heathen have taught us, how much poverty is to be prised and praised, when as they did portrait and paint their Gods naked, attributing unto them all things according as they conceited to be most befiting their natures: and as for myself, I shall never repute that man poor who is placed without the reach & power of fortune. There is one thing sufficient to express unto us the nature of poverty, to wit, that no virtuous man speaketh thereof, but he praiseth it, and avoucheth that the wisest have been those who have suffered the same with most contentment, and truly it is a great weakness and tenderness in us not to be able to endure that which so many others have well endured, and it can be no other thing but a vain apprehension and a frivoulous fear of enduring and suffering which maketh us so feeble hearted, for if we were indeed of a generous & magnanimous disposition we would love and like that for ourselves which we approve in others, and therefore howsoever that this peevishness and softness of ours is not altogether to be comported with; we ought at least to limit our affections and dress ourselves in such sort that fortune may find the less advantage to offend us, for a little body that can cover, & gather itself together under a buckler marcheth on towards the enemy, much more surely than a bigger body doth, that lieth at large and open unto blows, If it were not mine intention to husband the time, & to spare paper, I could enlarge my discourse by reciting of almost innumerable examples aswell of heathens as of Christians, which have placed a great part of their perfection in poverty. But ye ought to consider one thing for all, that jesus Christ was poor, who was Lord of the whole world: his Disciples were poor, which did possess all things, and the Saints were poor which might have been rich. If ye should never die, I would advise you to set your affection upon riches, but I see that those to whom they most befall, do find sooner the end of their living then of their longing. But why should a man torment himself for a thing that he must necessarily leave? and why is he not rather content quietly with that which is needful, chief considering that the fairest kind of wealth is for a man to be neither too poor, nor yet too far off from poverty?   

DISC. 18.  
Of Death.  
IT seemeth that all incommodities and misfortunes may be borne with, either by the means of a long custom, or by the help of a strong discourse, only death and the apprehension thereof, is the thing that putteth us in greatest fear.  
Now the only remedy and true easing of this evil, is that ye make this reckoning of the world, and all that is therein, that ye have nothing which is your own, neither life, nor living, no not so much as your own self: but that ye live always at borrowing, as holding your very life, not in property but on condition to restore it unto him again, who hath lent it you, whensoever he shall require it at your hands: yet for all this ye must not not neglect it as thing not yours, but must keep it faithfully, and carefully in regard that God hath trusted you with the custody thereof, and when it is time, to render it to him that gave it, not grudgingly, but gladly, and with a cheerful countenance, in the mean time thanking God, the giver of all good things, for the time ye have had the use and aid thereof, and saying unto him in this or the like manner; Lord, I render unto thee again this soul, and life, with as good an heart as it pleased thee to give me the same, yea even even with a better and readier will than I did receive it, for when thou gavest me this soul, thou gavest it to a little weak creature, which knew not the good thou then didst bestow, but now thou dost receive it again at the hands of a creature, more accomplished, who knoweth what it is he commendeth into thine hands, and therefore rendereth it unto thee, withal frankness and readiness of will: and truly we may easily imagine that it is not a thing otherwise difficult for a substance to return to the the p ace whence it first came, the body therefore must return to the earth, and the soul (if it go the right way) must go to him that gave it. To be short, that man doubtlessly never learned well to live, who knoweth not how to die: we must therefore in this case be so affected towards ourselves, as we are wont to be in the behalf of fencers which must fight in a barred field, for we commonly hate him that beareth himself faint-heartedly, and favour the other who out of a brave courage had rather choose to die then to be overcome. Besides that the fear of death is sometimes the cause, or occasion of death, to him that flieth fastest from it.  
And seeing ye know well, that life was given you upon condition to render it 〈…〉 aught not to be so unjust, as to desire to enjoy that thing for aye, which was given unto you to a day, by making yourself Lord, and owner of the thing whereof ye are only a depositary or keeper.  
Moreover men will say, that it is a matter much importing, to wit, the fear, and apprehension of death, and that it is the extreme of all terrible things. But ye ought to understand that Death is not to be found fault with for this, seeing that it proceedeth not from the nature of death, but from our own imbecility: who are commonly overtaken and entangled with delights, with a desire of this transitory life, and with an immoderate love of this miserable flesh? And if ye take good heed, it is 〈…〉 self that is dreadful, as the opinion which we hold concerning the same. For every man feareth it according to his judgement, apprehension, and conscience.  
And if it be so, that ye have no fear thereof, but only for this occasion, then lay the blame upon yourself, and not upon it. For in this case it fareth with men of evil conscience, when they must die, as it doth riotous spendthrifts when they must pay their debts. They will not come to an account for the distrust which they have of their ability to satisfy for what they have done.  
And to say that ye fear death, by reason that it is the last point and period of man, hath but little reason in it. For the soul is always the fore, it liveth always, and cannot die.  
The Greeks' call man's decease, the end, giving us thereby to understand, that it is the period and end of wearisome life.  
The holy Scripture calleth it a sleep, to assure us of an assured resurrection, and to the end we weep not, as the Infidels do, which are without hope, Let us consider with ourselves how many holy men and women have prized it, and desired it as the only easement of all their anguish.  
The writes of Solomon, job, and the Histories of God's Saints are full of the praises of this Christian desire of death. What a vanity is it to love so much this miserable life, this jail, this prison, this vale of tears, seeing that the longer we live, the longer we live in sin, the more days we spend, the more ways we offend, and so go on each hour purchasing unto ourselves a new pain and punishment?  
Finally, to shut the door unto all fearful apprehensions of death, we must learn to do two things which the world can never teach us; the one is to live well, for a virtuous and Christian life maketh even agreeabe the very memory of death: the other is that we believe that the thing which it hath pleased God to afford us for a remedy, and easement of our manifold labours, and toils is not so harsh, nor so horrible, as we do imagine it is.  
And for a final conclusion, let us remember, how that the Saints have had life in affliction, and death in affection.   

The Author's Conclusion.  
BEHOLD here the flowers that I have gathered here & there out of the garden of the flourishing wits and writs of the wise, which I have passed mine eyes over. Them I lay out in common between you and me, even as the busy bees do in their hives with all they have reaped in the fair and well furnished gardens, or flowery fields, to the end we together may draw out thereof the sugared honey of this sweet and pleasant tranquillity of mind. I am of the opinion for my part, that if the ancient poets had thoroughly known thereof, they would not have put themselves in pain to compose any other Nectar or brew any other Ambrosia besides this, for the diet of their gods: but should have thought them well feasted in serving them with this dish alone, for all messes and at meals. Seeing therefore we have the opportunity offered us of finding out, and using so divine a thing, let us make use of it in the most thrifty manner we possible may: acknowledging in the mean time that this tranquillity we talk of, is a gift from heaven, which the bountiful influence of the worlds-maker must distill into our minds; he being the true and living wellspring whence floweth all our felicity and bliss. Whose name therefore (according as we are bound) we bless and magnify for ever.  
Amen.   
FINIS.