A DISCOURSE OF CIVIL LIFE: Containing the Ethic part of Moral Philosophy. Fit for the instructing of a Gentleman in the course of a virtuous life.  
Bianca LOD: BR.  
Virtute, summa: Caetera Fortunâ.  
ANCHORA SPEI  
LONDON, Printed for EDWARD BLOUNT. 1606.   

TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE, HIS SINGULAR GOOD LORD, ROBERT Earl of Salisbury, Viscount Cranborne, Lord Cecil Baron of Essenden, Principal Secretary to his Majesty, Knight of the most noble order of the Garter, etc.  
THis book treating of the Moral virtues, being now to come under the censure of the world, doth summon me of itself to crave protection from your Lordship's honourable favour, as the parsonage, who knowing best their worth, may best protect him from the injury of any that should attempt to carp the same. And my private obligations for your manifold favours (among which, the great benefit of my liberty, and redeeming from a miserable captivity ever fresh in my remembrance) doth make me hope, not only of your honours willingness to patronize both myself and my labour; but also that you will be pleased therein to accept of the humble and devoted affection, wherewith most reverently I present it unto your Lordship. Vouchsafe therefore (my most honoured good Lord) to yield me the comfort of so gracious an addition to your former favours and benefits: and to give to all the young Gentlemen of England encouragement to embrace willingly that good which they may receive by reading a book of so good a subject, the title whereof bearing in front your noble name, shall give them cause to think it worthy to be passed with the approbation of your grave judgement. Which being the most desired fruit of my endeavour, I will acknowledge as none of the least of your great graces, and ever rest  
Your Lordship's most bounden and humbly devoted, LOD: BRYSKETT.   

TO THE GENTLE and discreet Reader.  
RIght well saith the Wise man, that there is nothing new under the Sun; and further, that there is no end of writing books. For howsoever in a generality the subject of any knowledge be declared; yet the particulars that may be gathered out of the same, be so many, as new matter may be produced out of the same to write thereof again: so great is the capacity of man's understanding able to attain further knowledge than any reading can afford him. And therefore Horace also affirmeth, that it is hard to treat of any subject that hath not been formerly handled by some other. Yet do we see daily men seek, partly by new additions, and partly with ornaments of style, to out-go those that have gone before them: which haply some achieve, but many more rest far behind. This hath bred the infiniteness of books, which hath introduced the distinction of good from bad, used in best Commonweals, to prohibit such as corrupt manners, and to give approbation to the good. For that the simpler sort by the former drink their bane in steed of medicine, and in am of truth (the proper object of man's understanding) they introduce falsehood decked in truths ornaments, to delude the unheedful Reader. Whereas on the other side, the benefit which we receive by the reading of good books being exceeding great, they deserve commendation that offer their endeavours to the benefiting of others with books of better matter. Which hath made me resolve to present unto thy view this discourse of Moral Philosophy, tending to the well ordering and composing of thy mind, that through the knowledge and exercise of the virtues therein expressed, thou mayst frame thyself the better to attain to that further perfection which the profession of a Christian requireth; and that everlasting felicity, which, assisted with God's grace (never refused to them that humbly and sincerely call for the same) thou mayst assuredly purchase. As my meaning herein is thy good chiefly: so let thy favourable censure thankfully acknowledge my labour and goodwill, which may move me to impart after unto thee another treating of the Politic part of Moral Philosophy, which I have likewise prepared to follow this, if I shall find the favourable acceptation hereof such as may encourage me thereunto. The book written first for my private exercise, and meant to be imparted to that honourable parsonage, qui nobis haec otia fecit, hath long lain by me, as not meaning (he being gone) to communicate the same to others. But partly through the persuasion of friends, and partly by a regard not to bury that which might profit many, I have been drawn to consent to the publishing thereof. Gather out of it what good thou canst: and whatsoever thou mayst find therein unperfect or defective, impute charitably to my insufficiency and weakness; and let not small faults blemish my travel and desire to benefit thee.  
But say to thyself with that worthy bright light of our age Sir Philip Sidney, Let us love men for the good is in them, and not hate them for their evil. Farewell.   
A DISCOURSE, CONTAINING THE ETHICKE PART OF MORAL PHILOSOPHY: FIT TO INstruct a Gentleman in the course of a virtuous life.  
Written to the right Honourable ARTHUR late Lord Grey of Wilton: Bianca LOD: BRYSKETT.  

WHen it pleased you (my good Lord) upon the decease of master john Chaloner, her majesties Secretary of this State, which you then governed as Lord Deputy of this Realm, to make choice of me to supply that place, and to recommend me by your honourable letters to that effect, I received a very sufficient testimony of your good opinion and favourable inclination towards me. And albeit your intention and desire in that behalf took not effect, whether through my unworthiness, or by the labour and practise of others: yet because your testimony was to me instar multorum judicum; and because that repulse served you as an occasion to do me after a greater favour, I have evermore sithence carried a continual desire to show myself thankful to your Lordship. For when at my humble suit, you vouchsafed to grant me liberty without offence, to resign the office which I had then held seven years, as Clerk of this Council, and to withdraw myself from that thankless toil to the quietness of my intermitted studies, I must needs confess, I held myself more bound unto you therefore, then for all other the benefits which you had bestowed upon me, and all the declarations of honourable affection, whereof you had given me many testimonies before. And therefore being now freed by your Lordships mean from that trouble and disquiet of mind, and enjoying from your special favour the sweetness and contentment of my Muses; I have thought it the fittest means I could devise, to show my thankfulness, to offer to you the first fruits that they have yielded me, as due unto you, from whom only I acknowledge so great a good. That they will be acceptable unto you, I make no doubt, were it but in regard of the true and sincere affection of the giver; who in admiring and reverencing your virtues, giveth place to no man alive. Howbeit there will be other respects also (I doubt not) to move your liking and acceptance of the same. For if the travel and industry of those men be commendable, who curiously seek to transport from far and foreign countries, either for the health and use of the body, or for the pleasing of the exterior senses, the strange grafts, plants and flowers, which excel, either for any medicinable quality, or for delight of the eye, the taste, or the smell: how much more will you esteem of my endeavour, and be delighted with my translation of these choice grafts and flowers, taken from the Greek and Latin Philosophy, and engrafted upon the stock of our mother English-tongue? Especially being such as will not only promise delight and pleasing to the senses, but assuredly yield health and comfort to the mind oppressed and diseased? Neither is it unlikely but that the receiving of so unlooked for a present out of this barbarous country of Ireland, will be some occasion to hold it the dearer, as a thing rare in such a place, where almost no trace of learning is to be seen, and where the documents of Philosophy are the more needful, because they are so geason. Perhaps the want of that same sweeter taste & relish, which those climes of Athens and Rome could give unto them, and ours here of England and Ireland cannot afford, may make them seem unto your Lordship at the first somewhat harsh and unpleasing: But the wholesomeness of their fruit will easily supply the desire of the pleasing taste, and satisfy you rather with that it hath, then mislike you for lack of that it cannot have. For although our English tongue have not that copiousness and sweetness that both the Greek and the Latin have above all others: yet is it not therefore altogether so barren or so defective, but that it is capable enough of terms and phrases meet to express all those conceits which may be needful for the treating and the discoursing of moral Philosophy. And the doctrine and consent of the wisest and best learned Philosophers being truly set down and declared, though it be not done with that flowing eloquence wherewith Plato and Tully did utter their learning, having the use of two such noble and flourishing languages: yet will not the appearing of this fair virgin-stranger in her homely weeds and attire, be any impediment (I presume) why she should not be as welcome and as willingly embraced as if she had come decked in all her gorgeous ornaments and apparel. For of her nakedness I do not fear she shall need to be ashamed, though of her pomp and garnishments she have no cause to be proud and haughty. That your Lordship will not reject her, but courteously entertain her, though she be but the handmaid of the doctrine of Grace, I do the rather assure myself because I have been an admitted testimony, how often and very willingly you were pleased to recreate yourself with her company, at such times as either the weighty affairs of this your government would spare you, or that you found cause to refresh your mind by drawing it from the depth of your other studies. For if I did persuade myself that you would, as soon as you saw her, frown and avert your countenance from her, as some men of this our age do, and say, that, where her Lady and mistress is, she is not only needless, but also perilous; I would truly have kept her from your presence, contenting myself alone with her company, and presuming that my familiarity with her should neither inveigle me to like the less of her said Lady and mistress, or to use her otherwise then as the servant and handmaid, fit to make her Lady the more reverenced and the more honoured. To your Lordship therefore I now direct her, that under your honourable favour and patronage she may be denizened: For I nothing doubt but that the example of your courteous entertaining of her, will easily draw many others to delight in her conversation, and to feel the true taste of the healthful and delicious fruits which she hath brought with her to furnish this our English soil & clime withal. Whereby we may with the less labour and cost henceforth have them to delight and nourish our minds, since we shall not be constrained to fetch them from Athens or from Rome, but may find them growing at home with ourselves, if our own negligence and sloth cause us not to foreslow the culturation and manuring of the same. The course which I hold in this treatise, is by way of dialogue (which I have chosen as best pleasing my mind) to discourse upon the moral virtues, yet not omitting the intellectual, to the end to frame a gentleman fit for civil conversation, and to set him in the direct way that leadeth him to his civil felicity. Wherein though I have (I fear me) hazarded myself to be reprehended by such as look after formality in all things: yet because my intention is to give light as well to the meaner learned (whose judgements can be content to busy itself rather to learn what they know not, then to find faults) as to the learneder critics that spend their eyes to find a hair upon an egg; I have the more boldly followed mine own liking: making account, that if I may purchase your liking and allowance of my labour, to whose satisfaction I do most recommend it; I shall the less esteem the censure of any that may hap to carp or mislike whatsoever part of the same. For as I can be content to acknowledge my infirmity and weakness, and to confess and take upon me those faults which I may have committed, when they are civilly and without malice discovered and made known unto me: even so shall the over-curious searcher of errors or escapes, to make them faults, very little molest me; being resolved to content mine own mind with the good that I hope will be found in the work, rather than to dismay myself or be grieved because I cannot do a thing in that high degree of excellency, that there were no fault to be found by any man in the same. The occasion of the discourse grew by the visitation of certain gentlemen coming to me to my little cottage which I had newly built near unto Dublin at such a time, as rather to prevent sickness, then for any present grief, I had in the spring of the year begun a course to take some physic during a few days. Among which, Doctor Long Primate of Ardmagh, Sir Robert Dillon Knight, M. Dormer the Queen's Solicitor, Capt. Christopher Carlisle, Capt. Thomas Norreis, Capt. Warham, St Leger, Capt. Nicolas Dawtrey, & M. Edmond Spenser late your Lordship's Secretary, & Th. Smith Apothecary. These coming of their courtesy to pass the time with me, and chancing to meet there one day, when M. Smith the Apothecary was come to visit me also, and to understand what success the physic he had prepared for me did take; Sir Robert Dillon with a smiling countenance asked of him to what intent (I being to all their judgements in health and well) he with his drugs should make me sick, and force me to keep the house, whereby neither I could come to the city, nor they being come to me might have my company to walk about the grounds, to take the pleasure of seeing how the works of my hands did prosper, now that the season of the year filling the plants and all other living things with the natural humour, which the sharp cold of the winter had restrained and kept within the inwardest parts, did bud and break forth, to give proof and tokens of their prospering.  
To which M. Smith answered, that he had ministered nothing to me but what myself had prescribed: and that if I was sick therewith, it was mine own doing and not his, who by his trade and profession could not refuse to compound and minister such physic as should be required at his hands. But to tell you the truth sir (quoth he) I could find in my heart to give him a potion that should purge him of his melancholy humour, because he hath no small need thereof in my opinion.  
And whereby perceive you any such humour to reign in him, replied sir Robert Dillon; for in my judgement neither his complexion accuseth him of any disposition thereunto, nor his behaviour and manner of life giveth any token of sadness or desire of solitariness, which commonly all melancholy men are much given unto: whereas he is not only desirous of good company, but always cheerful and pleasant among his friends.  
Yea marry (said M. Smith) thereof he may thank you and these other gentlemen his friends, that by coming often to visit him do keep from him those fits which otherwise it is likely enough he would fall into; whether that his complexion draw him to it or no, which oft times deceiveth the most cunning Physicians, or whether it proceed of any accidental cause. But (I pray you) for proof of my words, who but one more than half mad or in a frenzy, would of his own accord, not being compelled thereunto, have given over such an office as he hath resigned? which beside, that it was of good reputation and profit, gave him the means to pleasure many of his friends, and kept him still in the bosom of the State, whereby he might in time have risen to better place, and more ability to do himself and his friends both pleasure & good? All which in a melancholy mood he hath let slip, or rather put from him: for which I, among other that love him, could find in my heart to dispel him very well.  
In troth (quoth sir Robert Dillon turning to me) master Smith seemeth to have spoken more like a Physician, or rather like a Counsellor, then like an Apothecary: and it will behove you to satisfy him well, lest we all begin to think of you as he doth, and agree with him that it were expedient to give you a dose of Ellebore, which the Physicians say, hath a peculiar property to purge the melancholy humour. And therefore you shall do very well (I think) to declare unto him, what reasons induced you to resign that office, wherein I myself can testify with how good contentment of all the table you did serve so many years. For withal some of us, that have not yet understood upon what foundation this resolution of yours is set and grounded, shall in like sort rest the better satisfied, if from yourself they shall be made capable of some reasonable cause that might induce you thereunto. And henceforth believe, it hath been well done, not because you did it, but because you have done it with reason and judgement: which although we be all sufficiently persuaded you take to be your guides in all your actions, yet these words of master smith's, and the like discourses, which we hear very often among some that love you and wish you well, doth make us sometimes half doubtful to allow of this retiring yourself from the State. Because we suppose that a man of your condition and qualities should rather seek to be employed, and to advance himself in credit and reputation, then to hide his talon, and withdraw himself from action, in which the chief commendation of virtue doth consist. And to say truly what I think, a man of your sort, bred and trained (as it seemeth you have been) in learning, and that hath thereto added the experience and knowledge, which travel and observation of many things in foreign countries must breed in him that hath seen many places, and the manners, orders, and policies of sundry nations, ought rather to seek to employ his ability and sufficiency in the service of his Prince and country, then apply them to his peculiar benefit or contentment. For you that were in so good a way to raise yourself to credit and better employment, whereunto that office was but the first step and trial of what is in you, to forsake suddenly so direct a path, leading you to preferment, and to betake yourself to a solitary course of life, or a private at the least, seemeth a thing not agreeable to that opinion which every man that knoweth you, had conceived of your proof: and that of you it may be said, Gravior est culpa clara principia deserentis, quam non incipientis; Non enim magna aggredi, sed perseverare difficile. What is the end of parents in the education of their children, wherein they bestow so much care, and spend their wealth to purchase them learning and knowledge; but a desire to make them able to be employed, and a hope to see them raised to credit and dignity in the commonwealth? Or who is he that doth not strive by all the means he can to advance himself, and to press forward still even to the highest places of authority, and favour under his Prince, though oftentimes with no small hazard and danger, if he may once lay hold upon that lock, which, men say, Occasion hath growing on her forehead, being bald behind; showing thereby how foolish a thing it is to let her slip after she hath once presented herself to be apprehended? No doubt but this folly will be laid to your charge by many, and not without good appearance of reason, since you having had the occasion offered unto you, as well to enrich yourself, as to rise in credit and reputation, have nevertheless let her go, after you had fast hand in her foretop, and abandoned so great a hope, nay, so assured a reward proposed to you for your labour and pains, to be sustained some while in that place.  
Sir (quoth I) to have answered M. Smith's imputation, I suppose would have been very easy, since the greatest matter therein was the neglecting of my profit, and the abandoning a mean to pleasure my friends. For the first is rather a commendation (though not so conceived by him) than any just blame: and the other is no more but a partial complaint of him and others of his disposition, that look to their own private interest, and consider only what they may miss, by not having a friend in such a place, who might stand them in stead, and regard no whit the contentment or discontentment of their friend, which they are not able to measure; as wanting the general rule by which it ought to be measured according to reason; and so consequently frame the measure according to their own minds: using their own judgements, even as the ancient greeks were wont to say of the Lesbian rule, which being made of lead, the workmen would bend and fit to their work, and not frame their work by a right rule. But having added to his objection your own censure of me, whose judgement and prudence is so well known, and so much by me to be respected, I can no less do, then make some further Apology for myself touching that point, and open so much of my counsel and purpose in that behalf as I shall think needful to give you and others, that will prefer reason before their opinions, sufficient satisfaction. And first where you say, that my service in the place was acceptable unto you all, I cannot but therein acknowledge my good hap, rather than impute it to any sufficiency in myself. Neither would I, in regard of that great courtesy and favour which I received therein, have willingly done any thing whereby I might have seemed unthankful, or to have made so small estimation of so worthy a favour. But my not having been brought up or used to much writing and long standing, (which of ordinary that office doth require) besides the extraordinary occasions which the service bringeth forth, to travel, to sit up late, and disorder the body, had bred such an increase of rheum in me, and of infirmities caused thereby, as I could not without manifest and certain peril of shortening my days have continued the exercise of that place. Whereupon having in dutiful sort made known the cause of my desire to resign the office to the Lord Deputy, who was in like sort privy to some other just occasion I had to further that my resolution; it pleased him with his accustomed prudence and favour towards me, to consider and to allow of my request, and to grant me his honourable consent to the accomplishment of the same. Neither can this be rightly termed in me a retiring myself from the State, or a withdrawing from action to hide my talon. For leaving aside the uncertainty and vain issue for the most part of those hopes that commonly draw men on into ambitious heaving & shoving for dignities and places of credit and commodity; from which to be freed, little do men know or believe what gain it is; as of things that, when they obtain them not, vex and torment their minds, and when they obtain them, do soon glut and weary them. What comparison can a man of reason & judgement make between them, and that contentedness which a well tempered and a moderate mind doth feel in a private life, employed to the bettering and amending of the principal part, which distinguisheth him from brute beasts? Surely for my part I confess frankly unto you, and protest I speak truly, I have found more quietness and satisfaction in this small time that I have lived to myself, and enjoyed the conversation of my books, when the care of my little building and husbandry hath given me that ordinary intermission which it must have, than I did before in all the time that I spent in service about the State: the toil whereof was far too high a price for the profit I might make of my place, and the expectation which was left me of rising to any better. Which nevertheless, suppose it had been much greater than ever I conceived, or then you have seemed to make the same: so free am I from ambition or covetise (howsoever M. Smith would have me to frame my mind thereto) as I am not only content not to flatter myself with the show of good, which the best hopes might have presented unto me; but resolved also to put from me and tread under foot whatsoever desire or inclination, that either nature, ill custom, or daily example might urge me unto, or stir up within me. It is a perilous thing for men of weak brains to stand in high places, their heads will so soon be giddy, and all cilmbing is subject to falling. Let men of great spirits, of high birth, and of excellent virtues, possess in God's name those dignities and preferments, which the favour of the Prince and their sufficiency may purchase unto them: for it is they, that (as the Poet saith) Posuêre in montibus urbem: and of whom you might justly say, Gravior est culpa etc. For as for me, I am one of those of whom the same Poet said, Habitabant vallibus imis. And so I had rather to do still, then to forsake my studies which I have now begun to renew again: having applied my endeavour to lay hold upon the foretop, which Lady Occasion hath offered me to that effect: for to any other intent, she never yet did so much as once show herself to me a far off, much less present herself to me so near as I might reach to catch her, or fasten my hand in her golden lock. I wish my friends therefore rather to allow, and give their consents to this my resolution, grounded (as I think) upon a reasonable consideration, and an exact weighing of mine own ability and disposition, then to concur with M. Smith in opinion, or with any others that would lay to my charge folly, or lack of judgement for the same. And that generally all men would believe the Italian proverb, which saith, that the fool knoweth better what is good and meet for himself, then doth the wise man what is fit for another man. Not that I would thereby reject good counsel and friendly advice, which I know well enough how beneficial a thing it is to all men in matters of doubt and difficulty: but my meaning is only to reserve to a man's own understanding the judgement of such particular and private determinations, as concern the contentment or discontentment of his mind; the circumstances of which perhaps are not meet to be communicated to others. The example whereof Paulus Aemilius hath given us, with that grave and wise answer he made unto his friends that would needs reprehend him for repudiating his wife, alleging her many good qualities, as her beauty, her modesty, her nobility, and other such like: when putting forth his leg, he showed them his buskin, and said; You see this buskin is well and handsomely made, of good leather, and to your seeming fit enough for my foot and leg, yet none of you knoweth (I am sure) where it doth wring me. Even so myself may haply say to any whom my former answer may not fully satisfy, that although to their seeming my state and condition was better by holding that office, not only in respect of the benefit and commodity myself and my friends might reap thereby; but also in regard of the expectation of preferment & advancement that I might have had by the exercise of the same: yet is it to them unknown what other particulars might move me to conceive thereof otherwise, and to like rather of the private life I now lead, then of all those benefits and commodities which the other could promise unto me.  
Although the reasons by you before alleged, might well enough be answered, quoth sir Robert Dillon, yet this last objection you have made to conclude your speech withal, is such, as I should hold him unwise that would go about to remove you from your determination. For it were a point of overmuch curiosity, to search so far into your mind and drift in that behalf. But since it seemeth that your desire is now bend to the renewing of your studies, and to apply yourself to the bettering (as you say) of that part which is proper unto man, which is the mind, or reasonable power of the soul, from whence indeed all operations worthy commendation do proceed, I pray you let us hear from you what kind of study that is, by which you intent to purchase to yourself this so great a good. For it is not every science that can afford the same, since we see oftentimes men of great learning in sundry professions, to be nevertheless rude and ignorant in things that concern their carriage and behaviour: insomuch as it hath been fitly used for a proverb among us, that the greatest clerks are not always the wisest men. And as I for one, am desirous to know your determination and opinion touching that point: so do I think that the rest of these gentlemen here, will be willing and glad to spend this time which we have all disposed to visit you and keep you company, in hearing you discourse upon so good a Theme, by which there cannot but arise some good and profit to every of us. Because we nothing doubt, but that, as you have maturely debated with yourself the reasons that have induced you to take upon you this resolution; so you can declare the same, and make us partakers with you of so much of your contentment, as the love and good will we bear you, will thereby fasten upon us.  
Sir (said I) you have right well alleged and applied our common proverb, in my opinion: for it is not indeed every kind of knowledge and study that bettereth the mind of man, as daily experience teacheth us: since we see many men use the same as an instrument to work their mischief and wickedness withal the more artificially and the more dangerously. For though nature hath engrafted in every man a fervent desire of knowledge, which discovereth itself in children, even in their infancy; yet have we all from the corruption of her, a disposition likewise to abuse the same, and to turn it rather to evil than to goodness, if special grace, or an excellent education (which cannot be without grace) do not fashion and frame the mind to the right use thereof. The general scope of parents, when they set their children to learning, tendeth only to the enabling of them, thereby to attain some means to live by the profession either of Law, of Physic, or of Divinity: for of the meaner intentions I will not speak. And too common an error it is in scholars themselves, when they are entered into the Arts, which are called liberal, to spend their time in curious searching of subtleties, frivolous, and to no use: or else in purchasing rather an appearance of learning in the science they apply their studies unto, thereby to win the shorter way to profit, than the profound and exact knowledge of sciences themselves; whereof every one nevertheless being thoroughly attained, would yield no small help and furtherance to that bettering of the mind, which I have spoken of.  
But who is he that in the profession of the Law, aimeth at any other mark, then at sufficiency to plead well at the bar, to draw him the more clients, or to rise to such dignities as thereby others climb unto: or in Physic, then to have a reputation of skill, to procure him much practice to enrich himself: or in Divinity, then to be accounted a good Preacher, whereby he may get a fruitful benefice, or be invested with some Bishopric and title of honour? Or which of them do we see, that when he hath hit the mark he shot at, and is come to the height that his profession can raise him unto, doth show himself sincere, or incorrupt of mind, or so master over his own passions, as either through covetousness, or ambition, or love, or hatred, he will not forget the duty which he oweth to that place, whereunto he is called, and to him that hath given him the gift as well of the mean as of the thing itself?  
To answer you therefore directly what kind of study I affect or think may most better my mind, I will say that it is none of these before mentioned: for albeit I acknowledge the true study of Divinity to include all that knowledge, which may any way be required for the perfection of man's life: yet because there is a more special calling thereunto, then to any other, and aught to be applied in a more reverent manner, and to a further end, then that every man might presume to take it in hand, I dare not venture to make myself a professor of it. As for the profession of the Law, I will not in these years, and with this mind, alienated from troubles and business, give myself to the same, it being the principal mean and high way to lead me again into the labyrinth which I desire most to eschew and void. To Physic I was by my father's choice appointed; for the performance of whose will, as became me in duty and obedience, all the time I spent by his direction in study, I employed in the knowledged of the principles thereof: and sithence, as well for the use thereof to mine own behoof, as for the delightfulness, which the discovery of the secret operations and effects of nature worketh (I suppose) in every man as it doth in me, I have (when time and leisure would permit) bend my most study and reading to the authors of that science; but intention to profess it, or to practise it, in very deed as yet had I never none. For how soever the providence of my father, or mine own industry had fashioned me to be meet to make a Physician, yet the higher providence had otherwise determined, making me to take another course of life, which before was never so much as once thought of by either of us, and made me of a scholar to become a servant. By which occasion being drawn into this country, and left my studies, I have so many years led my life here in such sort as you have seen. But having now withdrawn myself from the toilsome place I held, and gathered myself into a little compass, as a snail into his shell, my purpose is (if God shall please to give me his gracious assistance) to spend my time in reading such books, as I shall find fittest to increase my knowledge in the duties of a Christian man, and direct me in the right path of virtue, without tying myself to any particular kind. And as I have (God be thanked) some store of all sorts; so shall I dispense my time accordingly, sometime in perusing such as may instruct me more and more in the true manner of serving God; sometime in reading of histories, which are as mirrors or looking-glasses for every man to see the good and evil actions of all ages, the better to square his life to the rule of virtue, by the examples of others; and sometimes, and that for the most part (as thus advised) in the study of Moral Philosophy, which frameth men fittest for civil conversation, teaching them orderly what moral virtues are, and particularly what is the proper action of every one, and likewise what vice is, and how unseemly a thing, and how harmful to a good mind the spot and contagion thereof is. To this have I ever had a special inclination, and a greedy desire to instruct myself fully therein; which hitherto, partly through the course I held whiles I was a scholar (as before I said) I could not well do, and ever sithence my continual business and attendance about mine office, have diverted me therefrom. And to profess plainly the truth, not any one thing hath so much prevailed to make me resolve the giving over that place, as the longing I had, and have to return to the course of reading Moral Philosophy, which I was even then newly entered into, when I was called to be employed in that office; and the delight whereof was so great unto me, for that little which I had begun to read, and the expectation such, which I had conceived of the use thereof (as by which a man learneth not only to know how to carry himself virtuously in his private actions, but also to guide and order his family, and moreover, to become meet for the service of his Prince and country, when occasion of employment may be offered unto him) that I was half doubtful when I was summoned to come and take the place, whether I should accept thereof or no.  
Then said M. Dormer, Yea but it seemeth to me that these your words imply a contradiction, when saying that you have so earnestly desired to withdraw yourself from the exercise of your office, wherein you had so good means, not only to make show of your own sufficiency and virtue, and to do your Prince and country service, and withal to pleasure many of your friends, you seem nevertheless to direct your studies to such an end, as aimeth not only at the knowledge of virtue, but also at the practice thereof, whereby a man is made fit and enabled for such employments as the Prince or State shall lay upon him. For indeed it is an approved saying among Philosophers, Virtutis laus, actio: and you know what Tully saith, and Plato before him, Non nobis nati sumus, partem patria, partem parents, partem amici sibi vendicant. So as M. Smith's accusation (for aught I see) may be held as yet very reasonable against you, unless you can allege us some better reason in your defence then hitherto you have done.  
In faith (quoth I) if you be all against me, I shall have much ado to defend myself, since the old proverb is, that, Ne Hercules quidem contraduos: and how can I then resist so many? But I hope that some of this company will take my part, though he have forestalled me of the two chief men, whose patronage might best have served me, having gotten you two lawyers to plead for him. Yet because I suppose you have not been entertained by him for that purpose with any fee, and that you are here, not as lawyers or advocates to maintain his cause, but rather as indifferent judges, to determine who hath the best right on his side; I hope that upon better information, you will be drawn to judge uprightly, and not be carried away with appearances, which oftentimes hide and cast a cloud over the truth. And to answer therefore to your objection, which carrieth with it some probability, I would easily confess myself in fault, if this resigning of my office had been an absolute retiring myself from action, or that I had (as they say) forsworn any employment for the service of the State or my Prince. But if you please to consider how this my resolution hath been grounded upon a desire to be freed only from a place of such continual toil and attendance, as suffered me to have no time to spare, wherein I might almost breath, or take any reasonable recreation; and not to live idle, or sequestered so from action, as I should only spend my time in reading or contemplation, I doubt not but you will find my words to agree well enough without any contradiction, and my course of life well enough fitting a man that meaneth not to live to himself alone. For if such had been my purpose, I would have sought out a meeter dwelling than this so near the city, and I could well enough have devised to have been far from such controllers as M. Smith, and to have avoided this judgement that I am now subject unto, not without hazard of my reputation, having two such persons to assist my accuser, and bear up his cause. You see that I have not so estranged myself from all employments, but that I can be content to take pain in the increasing of her majesties revenue, by the care I have of her impost: I refuse not any other ordinary employments, as of traveling in such commissions as the Lord deputy and Council oft times direct unto me for the examining of sundry causes: neither do I so give myself to be private, but that you and other my friends, who vouchsafe of their courtesy sometimes to visit me, find me apt enough to keep them company, either here at home, or else abroad: so as though I desire to know how to do these things as perfectly well as I might, and to that end frame myself as much to study as conveniently I can, yet do I not therein contradict the reasonable and just disposition I have to employ myself for the service of her Majesty, when occasion serveth: neither doth my endeavour in that behalf any way oppose itself to my desire, of retiring from a painful employment to a more quiet life, which now (I thank God) I enjoy: wherein I may frankly and truly protest unto you, I find more sweetness and contentment in one days expense, than I could taste in seven years before, whiles I was Clerk of the Council. And were it but in regard of that same contentment, I know not what man of reasonable sense and understanding, would not esteem the purchase thereof at a far higher rate than any office in Ireland whatsoever. M. Smith therefore may well enough put up his pipes, and hold his peace henceforth, and I hope not only ye two, but all the rest of this company will hold him sufficiently put to silence, and begin to allow of this my resolution, especially seeing it aimeth at so high a mark as human felicity.  
At which word the Primate seemed as it were to start, & said, what sir? though we can be content to admit your reasons against M. Smith, and to allow of your resolution, as having chosen (as our Saviour said to Martha of her sister) the better part; yet must you not think that we will let every thing go with you which you say: but by your leave, pluck you a little back by the sleeve, when we see you press forward presumptuously, as now in my opinion you do, when you seem to shoot at such a mark as human felicity, which is without, not your reach only, but all men's, whiles they are here in this low and muddy world: for I wis that is no where to be found but above the stars: man's felicity is placed only in heaven, where God of his mercy hath appointed it for him to be found, and not here on earth. I say of his mercy, because albeit he had ordained the same for man from before all ages; yet our first father by his disobedience depriving himself and all his posterity of all possibility thereof, the same was eftsoons by the infinite goodness and mercy of God purchased to him again at a dear price, even the precious blood of his dearest Son, which he was content to shed for the ransom of mankind, entrapped by the devil, and taken captive, whereby he might return into his heavenly country again, to enjoy that happy inheritance prepared there for him. Whosoever therefore shall seek to get his felicity here in this world, will find himself deceived: and although it be said to some purpose fitly, that he that shooteth at a star, aimeth higher than he that shooteth at a furbush: yet well ye wot, that to shoot up to the stars, is but mere folly and vanity; and no less do I hold your aiming at so high a mark to be, which is so far out of your reach.  
I cry you mercy, my Lord, quoth I, if I have stepped into your marches before I were aware. But I may the better be excused, because I had no intention or purpose so to do; but simply, and after the common manner of speech have used the general word in stead of the particular. For though I said I aimed at the high mark of human felicity, yet for so little as I have read in Moral Philosophy, I have learned that Plato hath made mention of two distinct felicities of man (and others besides him) the one a contemplative felicity (which some men haply draw near unto, but cannot perfectly attain in this life;) the other an active or practic felicity, consisting in virtuous actions, and reducing of a man's passions under the rule of reason. Which practic felicity may not only be achieved here on earth by man's endeavour, assisted with God's grace and favour: but is also a great help and mean for such as obtain the same, to bring them after this life unto the other in heaven. Of this latter, the rules whereof are to be taken from you Churchmen and Divines; I meant not when I said, I aimed so high, at the leastwise my purpose was not properly to say, that I shot at that mark by my study, for than I should have contradicted my former words, when I protested I durst not presume to the study of Divinity, which (I well understood) required a particular calling. But only my meaning was to get your approbation, in that I had resolved by the study of Moral Philosophy to compass, so far forth as my endeavours could prevail, that human practic felicity, which of all men in all ages hath been so highly esteemed; and for the directing of men whereunto, so many great learned Philosophers have taken so great travel and pains to find out the ready way unto it, and by their writings to make the same known to others: whereby not only particular persons might in this life attain to live happily, but also purchase the same happiness to their families, yea to whole Cities and Commonwealths. This felicity (I think) every well disposed man is to labour for in this life; & the better he is borne, the more ought he to bend his study to learn by what means the same is to be attained: and by working accordingly, to prepare himself to be fit and capable of that other when soever he shall be called out of this world, knowing how assured promises thereof are given to them that in this life live virtuously; and how certain he may be, that the further that good which his virtuous actions shall extend to the benefit of others in this life, the greater shall be his reward in the life to come, where that felicity is prepared for them, that by the treading down of their passions and sensual appetites, shall endeavour to reduce their soul to that pureness and cleanness which is required in them to whom that everlasting bliss and felicity is promised. For my part, the thing which I most earnestly desire, is to learn the shortest way to compass the same: and happpie should I think myself if I could find any man whose knowledge and learning might help me to direct my study to that end; because I know right well how hard it is for a man by his own labour to search out the ready way to understand those precepts, which have been set down in the learned writings of Philosophers that have treated of that matter, especially in the Greek and Latin tongues, in which it hath been substantially handled. For although I cannot truly pretend ignorance in the Latin, in which the works of Plato and Aristotle are to be read: yet I confess that I do not find that facility in the conceiving of their writings, as I could wish, or as the greediness of my desire to apprehend might overtake. For Plato hath couched his sense thereof so dispersedly in his dialogues, as I think he must be a man of great learning and exact judgement that shall pick them out, and sever them from the other parts of Philosophy, which he indeed most divinely discourseth upon. And Aristotle is not to me so clear nor so easily understood without deep study, as my mean capacity would require; specially without the interpretation of some better scholar than myself. And herein do I greatly envy the happiness of the Italians, who have in their mother-tongue late writers, that have with a singular easy method, taught all that which Plato or Aristotle have confusedly or obscurely left written. Of which, some I have begun to read with no small delight, as Alexander Piccolomini, Gio. Baptista Giraldi, and Guazzo, all three having written upon the Ethick part of Moral philosopy both exactly and perspicuously. And would God that some of our countrymen would show themselves so well affected to the good of their country (whereof one principal and most important part consisteth in the instructing of men to virtue) as to set down in English the precepts of those parts of Moral Philosophy, whereby our youth might without spending of so much time, as the learning of those other languages require, speedily enter into the right course of virtuous life. In the mean while I must struggle with those books which I understand, and content myself to plod upon them, in hope that God (who knoweth the sincereness of my desire) will be pleased to open my understanding, so as I may reap that profit of my reading, which I travel for. Yet is there a gentleman in this company, whom I have had often a purpose to entreat, that as his leisure might serve him, he would vouchsafe to spend some time with me to instruct me in some hard points which I cannot of myself understand: knowing him to be not only perfect in the Greek tongue, but also very well read in Philosophy, both moral and natural. Nevertheless such is my bashfulness, as I never yet durst open my mouth to disclose this my desire unto him, though I have not wanted some heartening thereunto from himself. For of his love and kindness to me, he encouraged me long sithence to follow the reading of the Greek tongue, and offered me his help to make me understand it. But now that so good an opportunity is offered unto me, to satisfy in some sort my desire; I think I should commit a great fault, not to myself alone, but to all this company, if I should not enter my request thus far, as to move him to spend this time which we have now destined to familiar discourse and conversation, in declaring unto us the great benefits which men obtain by the knowledge of Moral Philosophy, and in making us to know what the same is, what be the parts thereof, whereby virtues are to be distinguished from vices: and finally that he will be pleased to run over in such order as he shall think good, such and so many principles and rules thereof, as shall serve not only for my better instruction, but also for the contentment and satisfaction of you al. For I nothing doubt, but that every one of you will be glad to hear so profitable a discourse, and think the time very well spent, wherein so excellent a knowledge shall be revealed unto you, from which every one may be assured to gather some fruit as well as myself. Therefore (said I) turning myself to M. Spenser, It is you sir, to whom it pertaineth to show yourself courteous now unto us all, and to make us all beholding unto you for the pleasure and profit which we shall gather from your speeches, if you shall vouchsafe to open unto us the goodly cabinet, in which this excellent treasure of virtues lieth locked up from the vulgar sort. And thereof in the behalf of all, as for myself, I do most earnestly entreat you not to say us nay. Unto which words of mine every man applauding most with like words of request, and the rest with gesture and countenances expressing as much, M. Spenser answered in this manner.  
Though it may seem hard for me to refuse the request made by you all, whom, every one alone, I should for many respects be willing to gratify: yet as the case standeth, I doubt not but with the consent of the most part of you, I shall be excused at this time of this task which would be laid upon me. For sure I am, that it is not unknown unto you, that I have already undertaken a work tending to the same effect, which is in heroical verse, under the title of a Fairy Queen, to represent all the moral virtues, assigning to every virtue, a Knight to be the patron and defender of the same: in whose actions and feats of arms and chivalry, the operations of that virtue, whereof he is the protector, are to be expressed, and the vices & unruly appetites that oppose themselves against the same, to be beaten down & overcome. Which work, as I have already well entered into, if God shall please to spare me life that I may finish it according to my mind, your wish (M. Bryskett) will be in some sort accomplished, though perhaps not so effectually as you could desire. And the same may very well serve for my excuse, if at this time I crave to be forborn in this your request, since any discourse, that I might make thus on the sudden in such a subject, would be but simple, and little to your satisfactions. For it would require good advisement and premeditation for any man to undertake the declaration of these points that you have proposed, containing in effect the Ethicke part of Moral Philosophy. Whereof since I have taken in hand to discourse at large in my poem before spoken, I hope the expectation of that work may serve to free me at this time from speaking in that matter, notwithstanding your motion and all your entreaties. But I will tell you, how I think by himself he may very well excuse my speech, and yet satisfy all you in this matter. I have seen (as he knoweth) a translation made by himself out of the Italian tongue, of a dialogue comprehending all the Ethick part of Moral Philosophy, written by one of those three he formerly mentioned, and that is by Giraldi, under the title of a dialogue of civil life. If it please him to bring us forth that translation to be here read among us, or otherwise to deliver to us, as his memory may serve him, the contents of the same; he shall (I warrant you) satisfy you all at the full, and himself will have no cause but to think the time well spent in reviewing his labours, especially in the company of so many his friends, who may thereby reap much profit, and the translation happily far the better by some mending it may receive in the perusing, as all writings else may do by the often examination of the same. Neither let it trouble him, that I so turn over to him again the task he would have put me to: for it falleth out fit for him to verify the principal part of all this Apology, even now made for himself; because thereby it will appear that he hath not withdrawn himself from service of the State, to live idle or wholly private to himself, but hath spent some time in doing that which may greatly benefit others, and hath served not a little to the bettering of his own mind, and increasing of his knowledge, though he for modesty pretend much ignorance, and plead want in wealth, much like some rich beggars, who either of custom, or for covetousness, go to beg of others those things whereof they have no want at home.  
With this answer of M. Spensers, it seemed that all the company were well satisfied: for after some few speeches, whereby they had showed an extreme longing after his work of the Fairy Queen, whereof some parcels had been by some of them seen, they all began to press me to produce my translation mentioned by M. Spenser, that it might be perused among them; or else that I should (as near as I could) deliver unto them the contents of the same, supposing that my memory would not much fail me in a thing so studied, and advisedly set down in writing, as a translation must be. And albeit I alleged for mine excuse, that I had done it but for mine exercise in both languages, not with purpose to have it seen, nor so advisedly, as had been needful to come under their censures: yet would they have no nay, but without protracting time in excuses, I must needs fulfil their desires; and so with a courteous force they made me rise from where I sat to go fetch my papers. Which being brought before them, I said: Lo, here you may see by the manner of these loose sheets, how far I meant this labour of mine should come to light: and the confused lying of them, and the blots and interlinings which you see, may give you well enough to understand, how hard a thing it is to have it read before you, as you pretended. Besides that, it is of such a bulk and volume, as you may easily understand, it cannot in a short time be run over. And therefore since you have so easily acquitted M. Spenser of that charge which you all with me seemed so desirous to impose upon him: you may do well in like courteous manner to discharge me of the like burden that you would lay upon me.  
Then said sir Robert Dillon, though it appear indeed unto us, that the lose and disorderly placing of the papers with the interlinings, do make it unfit to be read as we desired, and that the often interrupting of the sense to find out and match the places, would take away the best part of the delight which the subject might yield us: yet because we know that you, having translated the whole, may easily with your memory supply the defects of the papers; I for my part do think, and so I suppose do the rest here present, that it is no sufficient reason to free you from so profitable a labour, as this, whereby you may acquaint us with those worthy conceits in our own language, which you have in the Italian found to be so delightful, and fit to be communicated by your travel to others. Therefore if you shall not think it good to read it unto us as it is set down in the translation precisely; at the least yet this we will urge you unto, that you will be content to deliver unto us the general points of the same, marshalling them in their order, though in the circumstances of the dialogue and persons you follow not exactly the form of the author; and our dispensation in that case shall serve to deliver you from the blame, that otherwise as an interpreter you might be subject unto. For being done to us, and at our request, we shall be your warrants, notwithstanding any law or custom to the contrary. Be you only willing to gratify us, and for the rest fear you no danger; since we sit not here as in the courts, to examine whether there be as well due form, as sufficient matter in bills & plead that are brought before us: but are here to pass the time with you in honest and virtuous conversation. And the drift of our speeches having grown to this issue, that we should spend this short space which we may be together, in the discoursing upon the Ethick part of Moral Philosophy, and you having the subject so ready at hand, in God's name we pray you, delay us not by losing time in frivolous excuses, but begin to open to us this treasure, which you would so fain hide from our eyes.  
Here they began all to second his speeches, and so importunately to entreat me to accomplish their desire, that being no further able to say them nay: I answered.  
Since such is your will, I can no longer resist you: only thus much I must protest unto you, that you are guilty, not only of whatsoever fault or error I shall commit against the laws of an interpreter, but also of breach of the law of hospitality, in overruling me in mine own house. And as for this I may justly complain of violence, yet perhaps find no redress, so if any shall find fault with me for not observing the precise rules of a translator, let him impute the same not to me, but unto you, having some compassion upon me, that besides being constrained to produce that which I purposed to have kept to myself, I am also forced to do it, not according to mine own choice, but in such sort as it hath pleased you to compel me. Well then, to gain as much time as may be, I will omit the introduction of the author to his dialogue, as a thing depending upon former matter and occasion, by which the persons introduced by him are fitted for his purpose, & supposing this present company to be as apt to conceive the reasons by him set down, & to make as pertinent objections as they did, I will begin even there where he, following the course of most others that have written upon that subject, maketh entry into his discourse. But with this proviso, that, because this day will not serve us to run over the whole, you will be content, that, as he hath divided his whole work into three dialogues, so we may meet here three several days, to give every several dialogue of his one day to explain the same: for so much (I think) may well be performed every day. To which they all agreeing, I took my loose papers in hand, and began in this manner following. I must now presuppose that ye, whom I esteem to be as those gentlemen introduced by this author, have likewise moved the same question, which they did, to wit, what manner of life a gentleman is to undertake and propose to himself, to attain to that end in this world, which among wisemen hath been, and is accounted the best; beginning from the day of his birth, and so guiding him therein until he be meet to purchase the same end. And likewise where any occasion of doubt or question, for the better understanding may happen in the discourse, that some one of you desiring to be resolved therein, will demand such questions as shall be needful. Wherein you shall find this author plentifully to satisfy your expectations, not tying himself absolutely to follow neither Plato nor Aristotle, but gathering from both, and from other excellent writers beside, so much as may yield you the greater and fuller satisfaction. Give ear therefore unto his words.  
THe end in all things that men do in this world, is the first that is considered, though afterwards it be the last to be put in execution. And as, when it is brought to perfection, it beareth the name of effect, so is it the cause that moveth all other to bring it to effect. And therefore to treat of that end, which is now the motion inducing us to discourse hereupon, we must come to the first principles which may be the causes to bring a man to this end. In which respect it were needful for me first to speak of the generation of man, since as all seeds bring forth their fruit like to themselves; so falleth it out for the most part in men: for such as are the father and the mother, such are most commonly the children. I should likewise declare, how he that will be a commendable father, aught to have a special care, not of himself only (for him we will suppose to be a man endued with all the ornaments required for a well composed body and mind) but of the mother also. For albeit she receive the seed of generation from the man; yet howsoever it be, the children when they be once conceived, take their nourishment from the mother, and in her womb, until the time of their birth: whereby we see the children very often to retain the vices of the mother. Also that in regard hereof, every man that intendeth to take a wife, aught to be very careful in the choice of her; so that she may not be base of parentage, vicious, wanton, deformed, lame, or otherwise imperfect or defective: but well borne, virtuous, chaste, of tall and comely parsonage, and well spoken; to the end that of father and mother, by kind gentle, virtuous, modest, and comely of shape and proportion, like children may between them be brought forth. For from wise men hath proceeded that warning to men, that such wives they should choose as they wished to have their children. And Archidamus King of Sparta, was condemned by his citizens to pay a fine, for having taken to wife a woman of very low stature; because (said they) she is like to bring us forth no kings, but dandiprats. Thereby declaring how they accounted no small part of the majesty of a king, to consist in the comely presence and stature of his body; and not without cause. For it is written, that the goodly show and appearance of a man, is the first thing worthy sovereignty. But because in the request made to me, I am required to begin only at his birth, I think it shall suffice, if I declare unto you in what manner he ought to be nourished, and brought up, and instructed, till he come to such ripe years and judgement as he may rule himself, and be his own guide to direct all his actions to that same end, which in all human things is the last and best. Nevertheless before I begin therewith, I would have you to understand, that the first gift which the father bestoweth on the son after he is borne, is his name, by which he is all his life time to be called. Which name, is to be wished, may be decent and fit, so as it may seem the life of the child is marked with a sign or prognostication of good hap, and of being framed to the course of virtue: for some are of opinion, that the name oftentimes presageth the qualities and conditions of the child. And therefore they are not to be commended that name their children by the names of brute beasts, as in some countries is used; where the names of Leo, of Orso, of Astore, of Pardo, of Cane, and such like are in use: as if their desire were that their children should resemble those wild and bruit beasts in their conditions. Let men therefore in God's name be entitled with names meet for men, and such as may signify or carry with them dignity, or rather holiness and religion, and leave to bruit beasts their own possession.  
Then, said sir Robert Dillon, before you proceed any further, I pray you let us understand whether that point be clear or no, of the nourishing all manner of children. For among Lycurgus his laws, there was one, whereby it was ordained, that such children as were borne unperfect in any part of their bodies, crooked, misshapen, of ill aspect, should not only, not be fostered up, but also be thrown down from the top of a high rock, as creatures condemned by God and nature in their conception; and so marked by them, to the end that men might know, that such (if they were through ignorance bred & nourished) were likely to bring harm and ruin to the houses and commonwealths wherein they should live. Let us therefore hear your author's opinion concerning that law.  
There is no doubt (said I) but that such was the opinion of Lycurgus, and such his law, though cruel and unjust. Nevertheless though the felicity of man be a perfection of all the good gifts of body and mind, and he that is so borne, cannot indeed be properly termed happy in the highest degree of worldly happiness: yet much more prudently have those wise men determined, who say, that the imperfections of men's bodies which are borne with them, are not to be imputed to them as hurtful or shameful, because it is not in their power to avoid them. And who is he that can be so hard hearted as to slay an infant so cruelly, only because nature hath shaped him unperfect in any of his limbs? The mind of any good man abhorreth to think such a thing, much more to put it in execution.  
Indeed (replied sir Robert Dillon) pity aught always to be before the eyes of all men, as a thing natural to them, and without which they are unworthy the name of humanity: yet must not this pity extend so far for any particular compassion, as thereby to confound the universal order of things. The pity which Hecuba had of Paris (as Poets have taught us) was the cause that Troy was burnt, and Priamus with all his worthy family destroyed: which things (say they) had never happened, if contrary to the direction of the Gods (who by her dream forewarned her of those evils) she had not saved him. If then it were true, as Lycurgus affirmed, that the marks or tokens, so brought into the world by children from their mother's womb, should foretell such to be likely to bring ruin or calamity to their cities or countries; were it not better that he that is so brone, should rather die in his cradle, then be nourished to become the overthrow and desolation of a whole people? We know that by the opinion of the wisest, it is expedient rather one should die to save a multitude, then by sparing his life a number should perish.  
That opinion (said I) is not unworthy wise men, but it is deeply to be considered, and their meaning to be looked into, for so shall we find no such sense therein, as you infer: for those men spoke not of children newly borne, who are not able, either by speech or deed, to give any sign or token, whereby it may be gathered, that they will prove either good or evil; but of such, as being commonly heads and ringleaders of factious and seditious people, do make themselves authors of the destruction of noble families and whole cities: such as were both the Gracchis in Rome, and sundry others in Greece. And so it is to be applied, to wit, that such a man shall rather die, then for the saving of his life, a whole city or people should go to wrack. Or otherwise, when in time of war, by the joining of two armies in battle, a great multitude were likely to be slain, it were far better that one, or two, or more, in certain number on each side should fight and hazard their lives in stead of the rest, than their whole powers to meet, and venture the slaughter of the most part of them. As in the beginning of the State of Rome, the Horatij and the Curiatij did to keep from hazard of battle both people, which were ready armed and prepared to fight together. In like manner may that saying be applied, in case a whole city be in danger of desolation, & that the death of one man may redeem the same. As by Curtius the same city of Rome was preserved: who with so great courage threw himself armed on horseback into that pestilent pit which infected the whole city, to the end that by his death he might save the people from that mortality and infection. And the same effect (but far more excellently) did our Saviour likewise work, who to redeem mankind from the bands of hell, took upon him all our sins, through which we were become thralls to Satan; and for our salvation yielded himself willingly to a most bitter death. But as in such cases it is to be allowed, that one should die for the people: so is it much more to be discommended than I can declare, that an infant newly borne should be killed, though by defect of nature, want of seed, or any strain or mischance of the mother, or through abundance of ill humours, or any other strange accident, it be borne imperfect, or marked as is said.  
Well, said sir Robert Dillon, it is true indeed that the law of Lycurgus was too cruel and unjust. But Plato in his books de Repub▪ devised a more mild and reasonable way: for he allowed not that such children should be killed, as holding it inhuman, yet he ordained that they should be brought up in some place appointed out of the city, and that they should be debarred all possibility of bearing any rule or magistracy in the Commonwealth. For it seemed, he thought that through the intemperance and disordinate living of the parents, children came to be engendered no less deformed and corrupt in mind then in body: and therein the excess of drinking wine to be a principal cause. In which respect he forbade as well to the man as to the woman the use of wine at such times as they were disposed to attend the generation of children.  
Plato (said I) must not be left unanswered, neither will I spare to say (by his leave) that his law, though it be milder than the other, was never the more allowable for the causes above specified. For it is not always true, that the imperfections of the body are likewise in the mind: or that a fair body hath evermore a fair mind coupled unto it. Have we not seen men of misshapen bodies that have had divine minds, and others of goodly personages that have been very furies of hell? as Plato himself constrained by the force of truth and daily experience could not but confess. The good or bad shape of the body therefore, must be no rule for us to bring up, or not to bring up our children, though it be to be esteemed a great grace to be borne with seemly and well proportioned members: and that it is a special point of happiness to have a fair mind harboured in a comely body, because both together bear with them a natural grace, pleasing and grateful to the eyes of men, constraining in a sort the love of all that behold them: which thing Virgil well understanding, when he spoke of Euryalus, said,  
Gratior & pulchro veniens in corpore virtus, Adiwat, etc.  
For although virtue of itself be lovely and to be highly esteemed, yet when she is accompanied with the beauty of the body, she is more amiable (whatsoever Seneca the Stoic, more severe than need, please to say) and with more affection embraced of all them that see her. Which thing appeared in Scipio Africanus, when he met with Asdrubal his enemy in the presence of king Syphax: for as soon as the subtle African had beheld the comely presence and grateful countenance of Scipio, he forthwith conceived that, which afterward fell out, to wit, that Scipio would draw Syphax to join with the Romans, against the Carthaginians. But for all this we are not in any wise to esteem a person in body misshapen or deformed, less worthy to be nourished, or to be admitted to magistracy, if he be virtuous, than the other that is of grateful presence. For though Aristotle think the deformity of the body to be an impediment to the perfect felicity of man, in respect of exterior things; yet he determineth, that it is no hindrance to the course of virtue. To conclude therefore this point, though children be borne weak, crooked, misshapen, or deformed of body, they are not therefore to be exposed, but as well to be brought up and instructed as the other, that they may grow and increase in virtue, and become worthy of those dignities which are dispensed in their commonweals. And, me thinketh, Socrates that wise man spoke very well to his scholars, and to this purpose, when he advised them, that they should often behold themselves in looking-glasses: to the end (said he) that if you see your faces and bodies comely and beautiful, ye may endeavour to set forth and grace the gifts of nature the better, by adjoining virtues thereunto: and if ye perceive yourselves to be deformed and ill-favoured, you may seek to supply the defects of nature, with the ornaments of virtue, thereby making yourselves no less grateful and amiable than they that have beautiful bodies. For it is rather good to see a man of body imperfect and disproportioned endued with virtues, than a goodly body to be nought else but a gay vessel filled with vice and wickedness. Children are to be bred, such as nature giveth them unto us, and we are to have patience to abide their proof, and to see what their actions will be: and if theirs that be of deformed body, do prove good and virtuous, they are so much the more to be commended, as they seemed less apt thereunto by their birth. And on the contrary side, they that being beautiful of body, are lewd and vicious, deserve to be driven from the conversation of civil men; yea chased out of the world, as unthankful acknowledgers of so great a gift bestowed upon them, and as unworthy to live among men. These how fair soever (be they children or men) that carry one thing in their tongue, and another in their heart, be they that deserve to be hunted out of all civil society, that are ingrate for benefits received; who hurt, or seek to hurt them that have done them good, and hate them, only because they cannot but know themselves to be bound unto them. These be they that in very truth are crooked, misshapen and monstrous, and might well be condemned to be buried quick: not simple innocent babes, who, having no election, can yield not tokens either of good or evil; against whom to pronounce sentence of death before they have offended, is great injustice and exceeding cruelty. And this (lo) is the sentence of this author touching the doubt proposed, wherein (if you rest satisfied) I will proceed.  
All the company assented to the same: and then Master Dormer said; Now then (I pray you) let us hear you declare what this end is, whereof you were discoursing when this doubt was proposed, and withal we must expect that you shall show us and set us in the way wherein we are to travel for the attaining thereof, and give us precepts whereby that perfection may be purchased, unto which all men desirous to become happy in this life, direct their actions and their endeavours.  
Of this expectation (quoth I) you need not fear to be frustrated, for here shall you have enough (I assure myself) to fulfil your desire: and therewith, perusing my papers, I thus followed. The end of man in this life, is happiness or felicity: and an end it is called (as before was said) because all virtuous actions are directed thereunto, and because for it chiefly man laboureth and traveleth in this world. But for that this felicity is found to be of two kinds, whereof one is called civil, and the other contemplative: you shall understand that the civil felicity is nothing else then a perfect operation of the mind, proceeding of excellent virtue in a perfect life; and is achieved by the temper of reason, ruling the disordinate affects stirred up in us by the unreasonable parts of the mind, (as when the time shall serve will be declared) and guiding us by the mean of virtue to happy life. The other which is called contemplation, or contemplative felicity, is likewise an operation of the mind, but of that part thereof which is called intellective, so that those parts which are void of reason, have no intermeddling with the same: for he which giveth himself to follow this felicity, suppresseth all his passions, and abandoning all earthly cares, bendeth his studies and his thoughts wholly unto heavenly things; and kindled and inflamed with divine love, laboureth to enjoy that unspeakable beauty, which hath been the cause so to inflame him, and to raise his thoughts to so high a pitch. But forasmuch as our purpose is now to entreat only of the human precepts and instructions, and of that highest good, which in this vale of misery, may be obtained▪ ye shall understand that the end whereunto man ought to direct all his actions, is properly that civil felicity before mentioned; which is, an inward reward for moral virtues, and wherein fortune can challenge no part or interest at all. And this end is so peculiar to reason, that not only unreasonable creatures can be no partakers thereof, but young children also are excluded from the same. For albeit they be naturally capable of reason, yet have they no use of her, through the imperfection of their young age, because this end being to be attained by perfect operations in a perfect life, neither of which, the child, nor the young man is able to perform, it followeth that neither of them can be accounted happy. And by the same reason it cometh to pass, that though man be the subject of felicity, yet neither the child nor the young man may be said properly to be the subject thereof, but in power and possibility only: yet the young man approacheth nearer thereunto than the child. And thus much may suffice for a beginning, to satisfy the first part of your demand.  
Then said Captain Carlisle, seeing you have proposed to us this end, which is the mark (as it were) whereat all civil actions do level, as at their highest or chiefest good, we will now be attentive to hear the rest, and how you will prescribe a man to order his life, so as from his childhood, and so forward from age to age, he may direct his thoughts and studies to the compassing of this good, or summum bonum, as Philosophers do term it.  
That shall you also understand, quoth I, but then must the discourse thereof be drawn from a deeper consideration. Those men that have established laws for people to be ruled by, aught to have framed some among the rest for the foundation of man's life, by which a true and certain form of life might be conceived, and such, as beginning to lead him from his childhood, might have served him for a guide, until he had attained to those riper years, wherein he might rather have been able to instruct others, then need to be himself instructed. For the foundation of honest and virtuous living, beginneth even in childhood: neither shall he ever be good young man, that in his childhood is nought; nor a wicked young man lightly prove good when he is old. For, such as are the principles and beginnings of things, such are the proceedings. Whereupon the wisest men of the world, have ever thought, that the way to have cities and commonwealths furnished with virtuous and civil men, consisted in the bringing up of children commendably. But among all the laws of our time, there is no one that treateth of any such matter. There are orders and laws both universal and particular, how to determine causes of controversy, to end strifes and debates, and how to punish malefactors: but there is no part in the whole body of the law, that setteth down any order in a thing of so great importance. Yet Plato held it of such moment, as knowing that the well bringing up of children, was the spring or wel-head of honest life: he thought it not sufficient, that the fathers only should take care of nurturing their children, but appointed beside public magistrates in the commonwealth, who should attend that matter, as a thing most necessary. For though man be framed by nature mild and gentle, yet if he be not from the beginning diligently instructed and taught, he becometh of human and benign that he was, more fierce and cruel than the most wild and savage beast of the field. Whereas if he be conveniently brought up, and directed to a commendable course of life: of benign and human that he is, he becometh through virtue in a sort divine. And to the end the cause may be the better known, why so great diligence is needful and requisite, you must understand, that although our soul be but one in substance, and properly our true form, yet hath it not one only part, power, or faculty, or virtue (as we may call it) but divers, appointed for divers and sundry offices. For we being participant of the nature of all things living, and those being divided into three kinds; it is necessary that man should have some part of every of those three. There is then one base and inferior kind of life of less estimation than the rest, and that is the life of trees and plants, and of all such things as have root in the earth, which spring, grow, bloom, and bring forth fruit: which fruit Aristotle saith, cometh from them in stead of excrement, together with their seed. And these trees and plants, and such like growing things, have only life, devoid of feeling (though Pythagoras thought otherwise) or of any knowledge: but by the benefit of nature only, they spring, they grow, and bring furth fruit and seed for the use of man, and for the maintaining of their kind. There is another kind of life, less imperfect than that, which is the same that perfect living creatures have (for of that life, which is in manner a mean between the life of plants and this of sensible creatures, we need not now to speak; or if it were, we should resemble it to that which Physicians call Embryo, and is the creature unperfect in the womb, whiles it is between the form of seed, and of the kind whence it cometh) which life of perfect living creatures, hath in it by nature power to feel, and to move from place to place. For we see they stir and feel, and have power to desire those things that are meet for the maintaining of their life and of their nature. And by natural inclination, and for the increase and continuance of their kinds, they covet the joining of their bodies, to yield unto nature that, which of nature they have received, that is, to engender the like unto themselves. But this power of the soul, cannot use that force and virtue which naturally it hath, if it have not withal that former part which is proper (as is said) to plants, & is called vegetative (you must give me leave to use new words of Art, such as are proper to express new conceits, though they be yet strange, and not denizened in our language) because it giveth life and increase to growing things, and without it the power of feeling doth utterly fail. Next after this, cometh that excellent and divine part of the soul, which bringeth with it the light of reason, containing in it the powers, faculties, or virtues of the other two. For it hath that life which proceedeth from plants; it hath sense or feeling, & motion from place to place, proper to the second kind; and it hath beside that other part, whereby it knoweth, understandeth, discourseth, consulteth, chooseth, and giveth itself to operation, and to contemplate things natural and divine: and this part is proper only to man. And as by the two other faculties before mentioned, we are like to plants and to bruit beasts: so by this last, we do participate of the divine nature of God himself. Wherefore Aristotle said, that man was created upright, for no other cause, then for that his substance was divine, whose nature and office is to know and understand. And truly this gift is given unto us by the maker and governor of all things, because we might know ourselves to be of a nature most perfect among earthly things, and not far inferior to the divine. And that we have received so singular a gift from Almighty God for no other cause, but only to the end we might perceive how all other things that grow and live on earth, are corruptible, and do resolve into their first principles or beginnings, and cease any more to be, as soon as the soul of life departeth from them: but that our minds are immortal and incorruptible, whereby we may rest assured of an eternal life. Since then these three faculties of the soul are in us, it is clear, that as the plants, among things that bear life, are the most imperfect; so that part of the soul is most unperfect which is proper to their kind: but it is so necessary to all other kinds, as without it there is no life, and with it the rest of the faculties that are joined therewith, though they be worthier, decay and fall. And this necessity of nature, that without it she giveth no life, maketh the same to be most base and ignoble. For among natural things, those, which are so necessary, as without them nothing can be done, are always held and reputed the most unworthy. Which thing we may see in that we call Materia prima: which though it be in nature before the form, yet because of the necessity thereof, it is esteemed of no nobility in comparison of the form. And even so likewise among the senses, that of feeling is held the basest, because no perfect living creature can be without it, nor yet the rest of the senses, unless that be present. And therefore Aristotle said, that the other senses were given to man, that thereby he might live the better; but the sense of feeling was given him, because without it he could neither be, nor live. Now for so much as life may be without sense, because the sensitive soul is not of such necessity as is the vegetative, therefore is that of more nobility than this somewhat, yet inferior to the intellective, which can no more be without the sensitive, than the sensitive without the vegetative. And because the intellective soul is not of necessity serving to any other faculty or power, therefore is she as Lady, Mistress, and Queen over all other the powers, faculties, or virtues of the soul; so as there is none proper unto man, but that whereby he may be either good or bad, happy or unhappy: and the same is it, whereby we understand and make choice rather of one course of life then of another. This great gift hath God bestowed upon us, to show his great grace and goodness, and for this purpose, that, as he hath invited us through virtue of our understanding to the knowledge of truth, and by this knowledge to become like unto himself; so we should bend all our study and endeavours thereunto, as the end and scope of our life in this world. Of which, the occasion of this our present speech did first arise.  
Here I pausing a while, as to take breath, and withal to order some of the papers, the Lord Primate spoke, saying: Having treated thus far of the powers, faculties, virtues, or parts of the soul, I think it not impertinent to move a question, whether they be in man separate, and in several places; or whether they be united all together, and seated in one place?  
This question (quoth I) is very pertinent to this place, and by the author here resolved as a doubt, not lightly or easy to be answered. First, for that there have not wanted some, who would needs have that these three powers of the soul, were three distinct souls, and not joined in one soul, appointed for several offices. But because that opinion hath been esteemed but vain, it needeth not to be insisted upon; but briefly that I declare, what Aristotle and Plato, with their followers, have held. The first, with his scholars, affirm the reasonable soul to be in substance indivisible: and albeit they assign unto her divers virtues, yet will they not have them to be indeed several and divers, but that the diversity should proceed & consist only in the manner of understanding them: supposing them to be in the soul after such a sort, as in the line of a circle, the inner part which is hollow or embowed, and the outward which is bended. Which two parts, though we understand them diversly, yet are they but one line, and not several. Neither do they assign unto her divers places: but say that she is all and whole in all our body, and in every part of the same, and apt there to exercise all her functions, if the parts were apt to receive them. But because every part is not disposed to receive them, therefore she maketh show of them only in such as are made fit instruments to execute her powers and faculties. So giveth she virtue to the eye to see, to the ear to hear, and to the rest of the members that are the instruments of our senses. But Plato and his sect, have given to every power of faculty of the soul, a peculiar seat in man's body: for though they held the soul to be but one, endued with several virtues or powers; yet they affirmed that every one of those had a several seat appointed in man's body. To the vegetative (from which, as from a fountain, they said, the concupiscible appetite doth flow) they appointed the Liver for her place. To the sensitive, whence cometh (say they) the fervent passion of anger, they gave the Heart. But the reasonable soul (as being the most divine thing under heaven, they assigned to hold her seat, like a Queen in a royal chair, even in the head: unto which opinion, all the Greek authors of Physic have leaned, and specially Galen the excellent interpreter of Hypocrates, who hath not only attributed three several seats to the three several faculties of the soul, in respect of their operations; but hath also showed with what order those members are framed, that must be the receptacles of those faculties. For he showeth how the first member, that taketh form after the conception, is the liver, from whence spring all the veins, that like small brooks, carry blood over all the body. And in this member doth he place the living or nourishing soul, which we have termed vegetative, affirming it to be most approaching to nature. Next unto this, he placeth the heart, wherein all the vital spirits are forged, and receive their strength: for the generation whereof, the liver sendeth blood thither, where it is refined, and made more pure and subtle; and from thence by the arteries (which all spring from the heart) the same spirits are spread throughout the whole body. And these two principal members, are the seats of the two principal appetites, the irascible and the concupiscible; of that the heart, of this the liver. And because all this while the creature hath yet no need (as being unperfect) of sense or motion, it is busied about nothing but receiving of nourishment. Somewhat further off from the heart, beginneth the brain to grow, and from it do all the senses flow; and then (lo) beginneth the child to take form and shape of a perfect creature, the face, the hands, and the feet being then fashioned, with the other parts of the body, apt for feeling and voluntary moving: and from thence be derived the sinews, the bands or ligaments, and muscles are framed, by which the motions of the members are disposed. This part is the seat of the reasonable soul, by virtue and power of which, we understand, we will, we discourse, we know, we choose, we contemplate and do all those operations which appertain unto reason. And as nature hath placed the brain a good distance off from the other two principal members; so hath she framed a cartilege, or thin rind, or skin to sever the heart from the liver and other inward bowels, as with a fence or hedge between them and the other base parts that are less pure. For the heart is purer, and so is that blood which conveyeth the spirits from it throughout the body, than the liver; or the blood which is engendered in the same. And in this respect was Aristotle justly reprehended by Galen, in that he gave to the heart alone, that which appertained to all three the principal members aforesaid. For though he assigned divers virtues or powers to the soul, yet he placed them all in the heart alone; from which he said (contrary to that which common sense and experience teacheth) that all the veins, arteries and sinews of the body were derived. But because we should go too far astray from our purpose, if I should discourse particularly all that which may be said in this matter, I will return (if you so think good) to our former purpose, which I left to satisfy your demand.  
Thus much (said the Lord Primate) hath not a little opened the understanding of this matter, and therefore you may proceed, unless any other of the company have any other doubt to propose. But they all being silent, and seeming attentive to hear further, I said; Now that you have understood what the powers and faculties of the soul are, it followeth to be declared, how the ages of man's life have similitude with the same. As the soul of life therefore, called vegetative, is the foundation of the rest, and consequently of the basest: so is the age of childhood the foundation of the other ages, and therefore the least noble, for the necessity which it carrieth with it. And because upon it, the other ages are built, there ought the greater diligence to be used about the same, to make it pass on towards the other more noble than itself: so as we may reasonably conceive a hope, that from a wel-guided childhood the child may enter into a commendable youth, and thence pass to a more riper age, by the direction of virtue. But first ye must understand, that Aristotle will in no wise yield, that this inferior soul should be capable of reason; and therefore placeth in the sensible soul, both the concupiscible and the irascible appetites. And chose, Plato (as before is said) distinguisheth these two affects, into both these faculties of the soul, giving to the first the concupiscible, and the irascible to the other. And because Plato his opinion hath generally been better allowed than Aristotle's, I will speak thereof according as Plato hath determined. This base soul then, being that, whereby we be nourished, we grow, we sustain life, and receive our body and being; about whose maintaining and increase, she useth continually, whether we wake or sleep, without any endeavour of our own, her virtue and operation (if food and nourishment fail not) is in her full force, chiefly in childhood: and as soon as the child is borne, stirreth up the desire of food, to the end that by little and little it might gather strength of body, to become apt for the use of the soul, whose organ or instrument it is, for the accomplishing of the more noble operations meet for man. And because the milk of the mother, or of the nurse, is the first fit food for the infant; it were to be wished, that it should receive the same rather from the mother, then from any strange woman: for, in reason, the same should be more kindly and natural for the babe than any other. In consideration whereof, the instructors of civil life, have determined and taught, that it is the father's office to teach and instruct the child, but the mothers to nourish it. For wise men say, that Nature hath given to women their breasts, not so much for defence of the heart, as because they should nourish their children: and that she hath given them two paps, to the end that they might nourish two, if by chance they should be delivered of two at once. And truly it cannot be, but that would much increase both the love of the mother to the child, and likewise that of the child to the mother. Nevertheless, if it fall out (as oftentimes it doth) that the mother cannot give suck to her child, or for other considerations she give it forth to be nursed to another woman; yet is there special regard to be had, in getting such a nurse as may be of good complexion, and of loving nature, and honest conditions, that with milk it may also suck a disposition to a virtuous and commendable life.  
By your licence (said M. Dormer) let me ask you a question, whether you think that the mind taketh any quality from the nutriment of the body: for if the mind be divine, me seemeth it is against reason, that it should not be of greater power, then to receive corruption from the nutriment of the body.  
You say very well, quoth I, and here shall you be resolved of that doubt. That the mind is a divine thing, cannot be denied. And if the virtue of the mind (which is reason) could be freed from the company of those other two faculties of the soul, void of reason, in respect of themselves, it would doubtless remain still in perfection of one nature, and not receive any vice from that nutriment, which yieldeth matter to the basest faculty of the soul to maintain and increase the body, but evermore practise her proper operations and virtue: but because it happeneth too often, partly by the ill quality of the nutriment, and partly for want of care in the education, that the part wherein the vegetative power lieth, getteth overmuch strength, and alured by the delights of the sensible part, giveth itself wholly to follow the pleasures of the senses, the mind being oppressed, cannot perform the offices and functions pertaining thereunto. And for this cause Plato affirmed, that unhealthful bodies make the minds weak. And the body can never be sound or healthful, when it is given to follow that base part of the soul, and the lusts and sensualities of the same, whereby it forceth the mind prevailing against reason. Not but that the mind is nevertheless divine, but because the body being the necessary instrument of the mind, when it is wrested and drawn to an ill habit, the mind cannot use it as it would, and the light of reason is darkened & hindered, not through any defect of the mind, but only in respect of the instrument that is become rebellious. Even as if a candle should be put into a close vessel, that the light thereof could not appear: for the not yielding of light, should not proceed from the defect of the candle, but of the vessel that enclosed the same. To the end therefore that the child receive not any vicious habit by the quality of his first food and nourishment; wise men have advised, that the nurse to be chosen for a child, should not be base or of vile condition, that the child might be the apt to be brought up to virtue: that she be not of strange nation, lest she should give it strange or unseemly manners, unfit or disagreeable to the customs and conditions of the house or city wherein it is borne, and wherein it is to live: and lastly, that she be of good and commendable behaviour, to the end that with the milk it may suck good conditions, and an honest disposition to virtuous life. And because the nurse may be kept in house, or suffered to carry the child to her own dwelling place; of the two, it is to be wished that the parents should rather keep her in their own house, to the end that even from his infancy it might learn to know the father and mother, and the rest of the family, and take by little and little the fashions and manners of the house. For the minds of children, whiles they be young, are like to the young tender slips of trees, which a man may bend and straighten as he list; and are fashioned to such customs and conditions as may best beseem them. For look what behaviour they first learn, the same they retain and keep a long while after. Wherefore Phocilides said right well: 
Whiles yet in tender years the child doth grow,  
Teach him betimes conditions generous.   
Great is the care then that fathers ought to use in framing the manners and disposition of their children, when they be young and tender in their own houses, and are yet in their nurse's laps. Having regard not to use them either over-curstly, or over-fondly: for as the first over-aweth them, maketh them dull and base, and vile minded, by taking away the generosity of their minds; the other bringeth them to be wantoness and wayward, so as they will never be still, but ever crying and wrawling for they wot not what. For being yet but new in the world, and not acquainted with those things, the images whereof are presented to them by the senses of hearing and seeing; they easily give themselves to waywardness and crying, when they see any strange sight or images, or hear a fearful sound or noise, the rather by reason of the melancholy humour, which they bring with them from the mother's womb, (reason having yet little or no force in them, and their judgements being too weak to distinguish good from evil, or what is hurtful, from what may do them good:) not that naturally they be so, for that tender age is rather sanguine and aerial; but through the remnant of that blood, from which they received their nutriment in their mother's belly: unto which their crying, the usual remedy is the moving them from place to place, the rocking of them in their cradles, & the dandling of them; for such motions do divert them from those fearful impressions, and make them the less wayward and cumbersome, quieting the inward passions of the mind. Besides that, such stirring of them, wakeneth and kindleth in them that natural heat which helpeth the digestion of humours in them, and maketh them apt to be well nourished and strengthened against those outward fears, which cause their waywardness and crying. Hereunto may be added the singing of their nurses, whereby they commonly still them, using it, as taught by nature only: which some men think cometh to pass, by reason that the soul is (as they say) composed of harmony, and therefore is delighted with that which is proper and natural to itself. Others (haply of better judgement) say, that children are stilled by the singing of their nurses, because one contrary expelleth and driveth away another, when it is the stronger: so as the nurses singing being louder than the child's crying, therefore it prevaileth. But the most effectual reason is, that the vegetative power or faculty being of most force in that age, and it taking pleasure in things delightful, and abhorring those that are displeasant and noisome; when with crying it findeth itself annoyed, it doth more willingly admit the nurses singing, and becometh calm and still by hearing the numbers and sweetness of the voice delighting them. Thus then are children drawn from way wardness to be still, from crying to mirth, and become thereby the more lively and fuller of spirit, and stirred up to a better kind of life; growing by little and little apt to understand, and to speak as nature may permit them. In which time specially, great diligence is to be used, that they neither hear any dishonest or unseemly speeches, unfit for a generous mind to conceive, nor see any sights that be shameful or undecent to behold. For these two senses, of all the rest, are of most importance in this life; for that the images of things are represented to the mind by the eyes, and by the ears do the conceits and words enter into the same. And of these two senses, do the ears so much the more help us towards the learning of a civil life, as the sentences of wise men pass thereby into our understanding. And whereas the things which we learn by the eyes, are but dumb words: so do the ears hear the lively voices, by which we learn good disciplines, & the true manner of well living. And therefore Xerxes said, that the mind had his dwelling in the ears, which were delighted with the hearing of good words, and grieved at the hearing of unseemly. And the ancient wise men considering the great profit which the ears yielded towards the attaining of knowledge, accounted them as consecrated to Prudence and to Wisdom. In which respect also, when they met their children, they kissed them on the ear, as if they meant to make much of that part chiefly, by which they hoped their children were to learn wisdom. And for this cause ought they that have the care of bringing up children to be very circumspect, never to pronounce any word before them, but such as are modest, and may tend to the instruction of a good life. For though it seem not, that young children mark such things; yet what they hear and see, doth secretly enter into their tender minds, and there take insensible roots: which, when men think least of any such matter, bringeth forth fruit agreeable to the seed was sown. And of ill seed, the fruit cannot but also be evil. Let fathers than take great heed to the modesty of speech and honest behaviour of all his family, and specially of the nurses, in whose bosoms their children are ever held, and in whose faces their eyes are always fixed; because they note and observe most what they do or say, having less regard to others. And thus, understanding, increasing in the child with years, as soon as he is come to be capable of any precept, before all other things it is expedient that care be had to make him conceive a knowledge of that simple, pure and omnipotent nature, the most high and everliving God, and that the same be so imprinted in his heart, as he may learn God to be the Creator of all things, the giver of life, and maintainer thereof, the disposer of all gifts & graces, and the only dispenser of all goodness: so as he may be made to understand, that he receives all goodness from his divine Majesty. Therefore they that give unto him any thing, how small soever a trifle it be, or a toy, shall do well to offer it unto him, as a thing sent unto him, or made for him by God, by little and little to acquaint his mind, and to fashion it to the knowledge of God, and of his divine power and goodness. For by this means shall there be a sure and firm foundation laid, whereupon a strong and never-failing frame of good manners and godly instructions may be built: and without this foundation, all other care will be spent but in vain. For he that is void of religion, and of that fear of God, which is in effect but a due reverence unto his Majesty, can never in all the whole course of his life, do any thing worthy praise or commendation. Whereas on the other side, he that hath this holy fear fixed in his mind, will always abstain from doing any thing unfitting or dishonest, or that may offend God, and bring him to his wrath and indignation. And if perhaps through the frailty of our nature apt to offend, by reason of the spot of sin, wherein we are conceived, through the disobedience of our first father Adam, he happen to fall sometime into any sin, he is forthwith strucken with that same religious fear and reverence, and being ashamed of himself, seeketh to make reconciliation therefore, to the end he may not dwell in the wrath and displeasure of Almighty God, from whom he acknowledgeth as well his life and being, as whatsoever good besides he hath in this mortal life. To the attaining of this religion, will the example of the father greatly further the child, if to him he show himself such, as he wisheth he should become. For though the children of Socrates (as it is written) proved not capable of good discipline, though the father were a pattern or fountain of honest and virtuous life, yet are we to assure ourselves, that the example of the father's life is the true and perfect mirror for the child to fashion himself by, that he may attain a commendable course of life. For if the dumb and senseless images of excellent men, which the ancient Romans held in their houses, were sufficient to stir up in young men, when they beheld them, a desire to follow their steps, and to resemble those noble personages of their ancestors, whose resemblances they beheld; endeavouring themselves not to degenerate from the virtues and the nobility of their parents: how much more, may we think, that it will move the child to see in his father's lively face, and in his actions virtue imprinted, and daily represented. I know right well, that sometimes the contrary is seen, through the inconstancy of human things: but if we consider what happeneth for the most part, we shall find that good examples commonly are causes of good, and bad examples causes of evil. Since the child therefore is chiefly to learn of the father his form of life, it is the father's part to be to him in his tender years a lively pattern of virtue, as we have said, whereby he may (as it were) engrafted into his child's mind that good and commendable kind of life, which may bring him by virtuous actions to honour and estimation. But because it cometh oftener to pass then were requisite, that the father being busied about other matters concerning the order of his house and family, or else in the managing of the affairs of the commonwealth, he cannot attend the bringing up of his child with that care that he ought, therefore must he provide for his education, so as the same be not neglected. For as the true images of virtue are easily imprinted in the minds of children whiles they be tender: so do they quickly wear out and vanish, if they be not refreshed and revived by the discretion and industry of some meet person appointed for that purpose, and their contraries as soon engraved in their places. The father therefore ought in any wife to make choice of some such man, to whom he may commit the charge and instruction of his child, when he is past the age of three years, as may be meet to give him good example of life, and season him with such doctrine, as he may not degenerate or decline from that virtuous course of life which he hath endeavoured to put into the babes mind, even whiles he was yet in his nurse's arms, and under the charge of women. For if in those first days of infancy, when yet he had almost no understanding, so great care was to be taken (as we have said) to lay a good foundation, how much more diligence is there now to be used, when he beginneth to have some knowledge and judgement, that the building may rise answerable to the same. Wise men have wisely said, that nature is the best mistress we can have: and the custom of virtuous behaviour and wholesome doctrine being taken in tender years, is converted not only into an habit, but even into nature. Wherefore let the father at those years give his child in charge to some virtuous and godly man to be trained and instructed, who must be neither too mild nor too severe; but such, as may in some things agree with the manner of the nurses bringing up, to the end he may gently turn to other manners and behaviour than he had learned when he was most among women. For to take a child from the breast, and from his nurse's bosom, and to put him suddenly under the hard government of a cursed master, would be too violent a change, and force that tender nature overmuch. But if he that shall then have the ruling of him, shall discreetly win him with mildness from being fond after the nurse, and by little and little draw him to a more firm kind of behaviour, in such sort as he scarce perceive that he hath forsaken his nurse's lap: the child will quickly delight to be with him as much as with his nurse, yea or with his father or mother: and prattling or childishly craving, now one thing, than another of him, there will soon spring in his mind a desire of knowledge: which desire, though indeed it be natural & borne with us, yet hath it need to be holpen and stirred up to come forth and put itself in action; for else will it lie hidden and covered with the unworthiest part of the soul, like to the fire which is covered with ashes: which though it have naturally virtue to give light and heat, yet unless that impediment be taken away, it will do neither of both, nor be apt to work his natural effect. And therefore (as before is said) he which shall take the charge of the child after the nurse, must be very discreet to win him to his discipline without bitterness or stripes, which do rather dull and harden the child's mind, then work any good effect. And the servile fear which the oversharp and unadvised usage or beating of the child bringeth him unto, (not fit for a generous mind) maketh him to hate the thing he should learn, before he can come to know it, much less to love it. It is also a thing very profitable for his better instructing, that there be others of like years in his company to learn with him; for so will there arise a certain emulation among them, through which, every of them will strive to step before his fellow: besides that the conversation of such as are like in age and quality, well bred and brought up, is a very fit occasion to make them all well mannered and of good behaviour, those young years being (as before is said) apt for the simplicity thereof, to take whatsoever form is given unto them. And for this cause was Merides King of the Egyptians greatly commended among the ancient wise men, for that as soon as his son Sisostres was borne, he caused all the children that were borne in the city that same day, to be gathered together, and brought up with his said son, where they were instructed in all those disciplines and noble arts, that in those days were in estimation, and meet to direct to a commendable life. And that the manner of good education is to proceed by degrees, it appeared by the order which the Kings of Persia held in the bringing up of those who were to succeed them in their Empire. But because our discourse tendeth not to the instructing of Prince's children, but only of such gentlemen of meaner quality as may be fit instruments for the service of their commonwealth or country: it will be best to pass that over in silence.  
Whiles in this place I was pausing a while, as to take some breath, Captain Carlisle said in this sort: I hope your author giveth not over so this matter. For howsoever his purpose was to discourse of the civil life of private men, yet the declaring of the order which was held in the instructing and training up of the children of those Princes, cannot but be as well profitable as delightful. Therefore let us (I pray you) hear what is said by him touching the same.  
That shall I willingly do, said I, for that the like request was made to him by one of that company; and thus he proceedeth, saying, that though it might suffice to refer them to what Xenophon in his Ciropaedia hath left written of that subject, having learnedly and diligently under the person of Cirus, framed an idea or perfect pattern of an excellent Prince: yet he meaning to follow Plato and Aristotle in his treatise, will therefore report what he hath gathered out of Plato to that purpose, and add thereunto briefly as much out of Aristotle as may serve for the better understanding of the rest. You shall understand then that the custom among these kings, was to give the child who was to succeed in the kingdom, soon after he was borne, into the hands of those Eunuches that were esteemed of best life in the court: whose care was chiefly to fashion his body with all diligence, that it might be strait and most comely of shape and proportion; because the first thing that is offered to the sight in a King, is the grace and comeliness of his person, which maketh him to be reverenced of his people, and beloved of his Peers. His infancy being past, he was given in charge to others, that exercised him in handling his weapons, horse-manship, and feats of arms; and likewise in hunting, as a meet exercise to frame him fit for military discipline. And this the father did, because he was persuaded that the knowledge of war was one of the surest foundations for the upholding of a State or kingdom. When he was come to the age of 14. years, than was he delivered over to four other excellent personages, who were called the royal schoolmasters, the one most wise and prudent, the other most just, another most temperate, and the last most valiant. The first instructed him to know and honour God, and taught him the knowledge of things divine and eternal, and withal, such as appertain to the life of a good Prince: by which he became learned, as well in things contemplative, as in things concerning the actions necessary and convenient for a King. For they exercised him daily in the understanding of sciences, and in the knowledge of good and virtuous behaviour, as two most necessary things to human life, and which should lead him the ready way to his felicity and happiness in this world; making him to know, that nothing was more miserable in man then ignorance, and how by the general consent of the most wise men, he that is ignorant is esteemed an ill man. To which purpose it is said by Cicero, that there is no greater evil can befall a man then to be ignorant. And Plato (from whom the other drew his sentence) saith, that all ignorant persons were in that respect also miserable. For Temperance being the rule and measure of Virtue, upon which dependeth man's felicity; the opinion of this divine Philosopher was, that he that was ignorant could not know temperance, and consequently must be to seek in the way of virtue: the defect whereof estrangeth a man from God, even as the having of this singular virtue of temperance (whereof we shall speak hereafter more at large) doth draw him near unto his Majesty, to his great comfort and satisfaction. Ignorance therefore being a mortal infirmity unto man's mind, and such a one as suffereth him not to enjoy his felicity, to which (as to the mark proposed) he leveleth all his actions: it is written that they of Mitilene intending severely to punish certain of their confederates, who being armed with them in the field, had forsaken them, made a decree against them, that from thenceforth they should not set their children to school to learn arts or sciences. This first schoolmaster teaching him thus, Religion and the fear of God; and training him in the manners and behaviour appertaining to a King, did so long hold him under his governance, till it appeared he had taken well and perfectly that discipline. Then the second master taking him in charge, taught him that which in consequence next followeth to religion, that is, that there is nothing more fitting for a King than truth and verity; that special care was to be taken so to embrace the same, as he should never have one thing in his mouth, and another in his heart, as wicked and deceitful men have, who are borne for the destruction of virtue, and of honest and well-disposed persons: and that those, who were to be taxed therewith, were not only deceivers, but worthy the name of traitors. In regard whereof (as Philostratus writes) among the Indians, if any man bearing magistracy, were detected of a lie, he was presently deprived of his magistracy, and disabled for ever after to bear any. And this did they, because they conceived (and that rightly) that he which respected not truth in matters of moment, destroyed as much, as in him lay, the society and civil conversation of men, since no man can trust or beware of a liar. Therefore (as Plutarch reporteth) Epenetus affirmed, that all injuries and wickedness proceeded from a liar. This schoolmaster gave him to understand, that as the nature of God is pure and simple, never deceiving us, whether we sleep or wake: so, seeing there was no dignity under God so great as the Kings, he ought first, and above all things, to conform himself and his actions unto that high and eternal truth, the fear & knowledge of whom, had been formerly taught him. And as it seemed to them, that by truth he attained a resemblance of God himself: so did they think that by lying, a man was worthy to lose the title of a man. Which thing haply he meant, who devised Pan to be the son of Mercury, the inventor of speech, as Poets have feigned; signifying by the shape of Pan, under which is comprehended as well the false speaker as the true; that the upper part of his body bearing human shape, betokeneth truth (than the which nothing is more proper to a man of virtue) but by the lower parts being crooked, and of shape like a goat, false and untrue speaking was signified: inferring that man by speaking untruth, becometh monstrous, and of a reasonable creature falleth to be a bruit beast: whence also proceeded that among the Persians, a lie was reputed a most heinous offence. And we see that even now among us, it is reputed so great a shame to be accounted a liar, that any other injury is canceled by giving the lie; and he that receiveth it, standeth so charged in his honour and reputation, that he cannot disburden himself of that imputation, but by striking of him that hath so given it, or by challenging him the combat▪  
Captain Norreis hearing thus much spoken of truth, and of the lie, interrupting me, said; God grant your author follow this theme a while, that we soldiers may also have some instruction from him. For this matter of the lie giving and taking, is grown of late among us to be confused and dangerous, so as a man can hardly tell, how to carry himself in so many occasions, and sundry cases, as daily happen in companies, wherein perhaps the authority and reasons of such a man may yield us no small light.  
Your wish therein (quoth I) shall not be frustrate, for the matter is by him handled at large: but let us hear what be the points that you would specially be resolved in; for it is not unlikely but that they will jump with the question proposed by one of those persons supposed in his dialogue.  
Marry sir (said he) I would gladly know, since he hath spoken of truth and untruth, and declared how the injury received by taking the lie, cannot be canceled, but by striking or challenging the party who gave it; whether this kind of challenging and fight man to man, under the name of Duellum, which is used now a days among soldiers and men of honour, and by long custom authorized, to discharge a man of an injury received, or for want of proofs in sundry causes, be ancient or no? whether it concern honour or no? and whether it appertain to civil life, and that felicity which we are discoursing upon or no?  
You have (said I) moved your question very right, and to the purpose; which to answer at full, would require along speech: so deep roots like an ill weed, have the opinions of men taken concerning the same in this our age; which to cut down or root up, many scythes and howes would scarce suffice. But as briefly as may be, you shall be satisfied in part; and he will make it appear unto you, that the reasons which are set down in defence of this foolish custom and wicked act, are false and absurd. And first of all you shall hear him say, that this manner of combating, which through the corruption of the world hath taken strength, and is permitted of some Princes, is nothing ancient at all. For in histories it is not to be found, that for revenge of injury, for want of proofs, for points of honour, or for any such like causes, this wicked and unlawful kind of fight, was ever granted or allowed in ancient time. For when any difference or controversy fell out among men of honour, which might concern their credit and reputation for matter of valour, they never tried the quarrel by combat between themselves, but strove to show which of them was most worthy honour, by making their valour well known in fight against their common enemies, as in Caesar's Commentaries we have a notable example. And the singular fights or combats, that are mentioned in the Greek or Latin histories, or feigned by the Poets, happened evermore between enemies of contrary nations, or otherwise in time of public war, though perhaps the quarrel might be private between some of the chief men of both camps, as between Turnus and Aeneas, Paris and Menelaus. Turnus labouring that Aeneas might not have Lavinia to his wife: and Menelaus seeking to recover his wife whom Paris had taken from him. Or else they fought for the public quarrel, one to one, or more in number on each side, for preventing of greater bloodshed, as did the Horatij and the Curiatij before Rome. Or by the ordinance of some public games, as those called Pithij and Olimpici among the Greeks, and those called Circenses among the Romans, whether they were celebrated in honour of their Gods, or at the funerals of their dead, or for other causes. In which games or spectacles were produced certain men, named by the Romans Gladiatores, and by the Greeks Monomachi, to fight together; the first invention whereof, appeareth to have come from the people of Mantinaea. But other private combats for causes above mentioned, was never so much as heard of among them, much less received or allowed in their commonweals, which were well ordered and maintained by honest and virtuous laws. The name of Duellum was given by the Latins, not to singular fight between man and man, but to the general war between two nations or States, as may be seen by Plautus, Horace, Livy, and other authors. And as for them that say, the name of Duellum was unproperly applied to an universal war, they are not to be heard or believed, because they that so used it, were the fathers of the Latin tongue, who knew better the propriety of the words of their own language, than these fellows now do. But rather they are to be blamed for wresting that ancient name to so wicked a fight, which they rightly gave to the general war allowed by the laws, and by all civil and politic constitutions.  
The Primate, who had been attentive to this speech, said, as concerning the Latins, it is true that hath been alleged: but it seemeth, the Greeks knew very well this combat, as may be gathered by the word Monomachia, which signifieth the fight of one man against another. And I remember Plato in his dialogue entitled Laches, maketh mention of this same singular fight, which showeth, that in his days the combat of body to body was known and used.  
Two things (said I) the author hath said, the one, that this sort of battle or fight which is now in use, and called Duellum, was not known to the ancient Greeks nor Romans in their well-ordered Commonweals, and that therefore they gave no such name unto the same: the other, that the Romans gave that name of Duellum to the public war between two people or nations, being enemies. But that the Greeks gave not the name of Monomachia to those singular fights which were used among them, that hath he not said. But though the name of Monomachia were used among them, yet was it not meant of this kind of combat which we speak, but of that only which was sometimes used in their public games and spectacles, or else might fall out sometimes accidentally in their wars. And that same place of Plato which you have alleged, doth sufficiently declare it. For if my memory fail me not, he saith there, that when the general battle ceaseth, and that it is requisite either to fight with them that resist, or to repulse those that would assault, in such a case the Monomachia, or fight of man to man was meet to end all strife. Which word of Monomachia, nevertheless I remember not to be used by Aristotle in any place of all his works, from whom nevertheless these men that defend this folly, seem to fetch their arguments, as hereafter I shall declare. But by this you may perceive that the use of Monomachia, was a fight between two men in their public games and shows, not for private quarrel or hatred, nor for want of proofs, or for points of honour. And further I will say, that in well ordered martial discipline, and wars lawfully enterprised, after the fury of the battle was ceased, it was not lawful to kill or hurt the public enemy. Which thing is clearly set forth by Xenophon in the person of Chrisantas, who although he had cast down his enemy, and fastened hold in the hair of his head, ready to have stricken it off; yet hearing the trumpet sound the retreat, forbore to strike him, but let him go: holding it not fit to offend his enemy after the time of fight was past, signified by the retreat sounding. This sort of fight was likewise suffered against public enemies by the Romans when their state flourished. For we read in their histories of sundry that have in the wars fought hand to hand with their enemies; but yet could not the Roman soldier, though he were provoked by his enemy to singular battle, fight with him without the licence of his General or Captain. And this was so religiously observed among them in that Commonweal (which was the pattern of all others) that the father spared not to condemn and slay his own son, who had gotten a notable victory in his absence, because he had without his father's licence attempted to fight with the enemy. True it is, that for contention of valour, we read that Alexander granted a combat between Diosippus and his adversary, both being his soldiers and in his camp, though the one were a Macedonian, and the other an Athenian; which Diosippus unarmed, having only a club for weapon, overcame the Macedonian armed with spear and sword, and other armour on his body. But this was not for quarrel of injury received, for revenge or want of proofs. Neither from this one example, is any conclusion to be drawn, that for strife of valour the combat should be granted. For the not admitting it afterwards in well-ordered commonweals, nor by any other general that we can read, above once, doth plainly show that it was rather a toy of Alexander's head, then grounded upon any reason: who among so many virtues as he had, wanted not other disordered motions, which stained his noblest and most glorious actions, as that of the death of Calisthenes and some others. By this than you may understand that among the Greeks our manner of combat was unknown, & that it was not that which they call Monomachia. But this wicked and detestable custom of the combat sprung first among the Longobards, a barbarous people; & much more barbarous is the thing itself grown, by the abuse thereof in our days. For though they in some cases granted the combat, yet suffered they not their champions to fight with weapons of steel or iron, but only with staves & targets, unless it were in cases of treason. But now upon every quarrel they come to fight with swords & daggers, and other like sharp weapons, and with minds cruelly bend to murder and mischief like most wild and savage beasts. And thus much concerning the first question may serve, since time will not permit to treat of every one at large.  
Yea but, I think, said captain Carlisle, that if the combat be lawful in cases of treason or injury to the Prince, the same reason should make it lawful also for other causes.  
Not so, said I, for treasons or offences against the Prince's persons, offend the public State, which reposeth upon the person of the Prince, and therefore the injuries of private men are not to be compared unto them. And as touching the second point, whether it concern honour or no: my author saith, that he that taketh so unjust a course to revenge his private wrong, is so far from getting honour thereby, as he rather looseth whatsoever honour or reputation he had before; the combat being a thing odious and offensive unto God. For it is said, that he reserveth revenge unto himself; which, they that by combat seek to wreak themselves, take upon them to do by their own power and strength, against all laws divine, natural and positive, in contempt of magistrates, contrary to the orders and constitutions of all wel-founded Commonweals: and finally contrary to all equity, and all civil and honest conversation. Howbeit I know there want not some, who with their confused arguments go about to make men believe, that so great an injustice should be equity: not knowing, or feigning not to know, that equity is the tempering or mitigating the rigour of the law, which otherwise (like a tyrant) condemneth without mercy; being far from favouring the rigour of so unreasonable and so sharp a conflict, than the which, none can be imagined more furious or contrary to the nature of man. Yet forsooth to equity do these maintainers of the combat seek to draw this cruelty; arguing that of two evils, it is the lesser; and that the lesser evil is to be reputed in lieu of a good, if not truly, yet respectively. Which argument is no way to be admitted, since that (God be thanked) without this lesser evil, so many good Commonweals have ever been ruled, and at this day are ruled with good and politic government; and the same never permitted, but where men forsake to follow reason, and like mad and desperate people are transported by rage and fury. For what commonwealth, either ancient or modern, well framed upon honest and godly laws, hath ever admitted this lesser evil? And yet, Iwis, in all places and in all ages have injurious words and deeds passed between men. Nay, the same hath evermore been forbidden utterly, and the inquiry and punishment of the wrong-doers been reserved to the magistrates. Neither doth their allegation of being included within the kind of war general, serve to their purpose. For the combat is not contained under war, as the particular under the universal: for those things that are contained under any universal, are of the same nature that the universal is: as we see man hath the nature of the living creature, under which he is contained, even as is the bruit beast; but the combat is clean contrary of nature to the universal war, as shall be declared. First great Lords and Princes who make war, have no magistrates over them to decide by justice, and to end their controversies, as private men have. Besides that, when war is moved against any Prince, the State and Commonweal is offended, public orders are perverted, honesty put in danger, the way laid open to all injury to the offence of Almighty God, and finally, whatsoever is good or honest in city or country, brought into confusion. And man being borne for the behoof of his country, his Prince, his kindred and friends, and for the defence of religion, public honesty and of virtue; it is the duty of every man of virtue and honour, to oppose himself against the fury of the enemy for the defence of all those things above specified. Furthermore, the universal war is allowed by the laws of all those who have been founders of famous Commonweals, to take away seditions, and reduce such as were rebellious to obedience, and to maintain temperance and order among all subjects. And God himself is called the God of hosts, but not the God of combats: for they are none of his works, but of the devil himself. Whereupon it is also said in the Scripture, that the strength of war consisteth not in the multitude of soldiers, but that it cometh from heaven. And S. Augustine saith, that war is not unjust, unless it be raised with purpose to usurp or to spoil: and S. Ambrose in like sense affirmeth, that the valour of those men that defend their country from barbarous people, is full of justice. By all which may clearly be seen how far they are astray, that would bring this kind of combat to be comprehended under the kind of war universal. And if in all ages, civil wars have been odious and accounted cruel, what praise or commendation can be justly given to two gentlemen of one city or country that fight together with purpose to kill one another? whereas than the circumstances above mentioned make the universal war just and lawful: this wicked kind of private fight or combat, is void of them all, and cannot therefore be but most unjust and unlawful. With like wrong do they also labour to make it seem commendable, affirming that men thereby show their valour and fortitude. For valour or fortitude being a principal virtue, how can it have place in so unjust and so unnatural an action, proceeding only from anger, rage, fury, and rashness? Finally, these men that will needs have Aristotle to be their warrant, might (if they list) see that he in his ethics, where he directeth man unto virtue, and to civil felicity, putteth not among those whom he calleth forts, or men of valour, such men as are delighted in revenge, but giveth them the title of warlike or bellicosi. And in the same books he saith, that whosoever doth any thing contrary to the laws, is to be accounted unjust. And (I pray you) what can be more directly contrary to the laws than this kind of combat or private fight? And if by taking justice from the world, all virtue must needs decay, because she is the preserver and defender of virtue; how can this so excellent a virtue of fortitude be in them, that despising the laws and the magistrates, and neglecting all religion, and good of their country and weal public, do practise this wicked combat.  
Moreover, they perceive not, that Aristotle in his ethics (from whence the rules of civil life are to be drawn, and not from his rhetorics, out of which these men fetch their doughty arguments, because elsewhere they can find none for their purpose) saith, that to fight for cause of honour, is no act of fortitude. Whereupon ensueth, that such as come to the combat upon points of honour, as men do now a days for the most part, make not any show of their fortitude, but only of their strength and ability of body, and of their courage: whereas true fortitude, is to use these gifts well and honestly, according to reason. And what honesty or reason can there be in this so mischievous and wicked a fight? which nevertheless these men so far allow and commend, as they are not ashamed to say (moved surely by some devilish spirit) that a man for cause of honour may arm himself against his country, the respect whereof is and ever was so holy; yea even against his father, and with cursed hands violate his person, unto whom (next after God) he must acknowledge his life and being, and what else soever he hath in this world. This cannot be but a most pestiferous opinion, and a speech hardly to be believed could come out of the devils own mouth of hell; who though he be the author of all evil, yet scarce think I that he durst father so abominable a conceit or sentence. But it is a world to see how solemnly men will become stark mad, when they once undertake to defend a mad cause. For to make their frantic fancy to seem reasonable, they utter such absurdities as are not only detestable to men, but even bruit beasts also abhor. For among beasts, many there are, that by natural instinct, not only fear and respect their begetters, but do also nourish them diligently when they are waxen old, and not able to purchase food for themselves, repaying thankfully the nurture which themselves received whiles they were young, as it is certainly known the Stork doth. But here to colour their assertions, they say, that so ought children to do to their parents, and citizens to their country, so long as the one ceaseth not to be a father, and the country forgetteth not her citizens: a saying no less foolish than the other. For when can that come to pass? what law of nature, or what civil constitution hath taught us this lesson? or out of what school of Philosophy have they learned it? what injuries can a father or a man's country do unto him that may make him not to acknowledge his country, which ought to be dearer unto him than his life, or to cast off the reverence due to his father? Good God what else is this but to invite men, and as it were to stir them up to parricide, a thing odious even to be mentioned. It is no marvel therefore, if such as attribute so much to points of honour, & will needs defend the combat in that respect, fall by God's sufferance (as men blinded of the light of natural reason) into such absurd opinions, fit for senseless men: which opinions, in very truth, are no less to be condemned then wicked heresies, and the authors of them worthy sharp punishment to be inflicted upon them by such as have authority in that behalf. And this do they the rather deserve, because they seek to mask and disguise the good and commendable opinions of the best Philosophers, and to wrest them in favour of their damnable and wicked doctrine. But I should digress too far if I should say all I could to confute this impiety, and these wicked writings and cruel opinions: and therefore returning to our purpose of honour, whereof we were speaking, you may understand by that which I have already said, that honour there is none to be gotten by the combat; yet because among other things they say the combat hath been devised for cause of honour, I must let you know that in true and sound Philosophy, they that respect honour as the end of their actions, are not only unworthy to be accounted virtuous men, but deserve blame and reproach. But hereof I shall have occasion to speak more amply in a fitter place. Only this I will now add, that no actions are commendable but those that are honest, and where honesty is not, there can be no honour. And honesty in truth there is none (as before hath been said) in such a fight contrary to all virtue, odious to all laws, to all good magistrates, and to God himself; though the folly of the favourers of this devilish device seek most wrongfully to draw the sum of all virtues to this injustice. Furthermore, either the offences done to men, may be avouched before Princes and magistrates in judgement, as no wrongs, but lawful acts, or not. If they may be so avouched and proved, than a thousand combats cannot take them away: neither is there any cause of combat if so wicked a custom were allowable. If not, than he that hath done the injury, is already dishonest and dishonoured; and the victory over such a man, in faith what honour can it purchase? Plato the divine Philosopher, and Aristotle his disciple after him, considering the nature of injury, and finding that it carried with it always vice and reproach, affirmed that it was better to receive an injury then to do it. And Plato concludeth, that he that doth injury, cannot attain to happiness: both which sayings are most agreeable to Christian religion. Aristotle affirmeth, that the magnanimous or great minded man, utterly despiseth all injuries, for that an ill man cannot by any injury he can do unto him, blemish those virtues wherewith he must be adorned to be truly magnanimous. With these worthy men therefore I conclude, that injuries are to be contemned and light set by, specially of magnanimous men. For, as Seneca saith, a magnanimous man will never think that a vicious man hath done him injury, though his meaning were to do it; but refer the punishment of his ill intention to the magistrate, and the revenge to God. And whosoever doth otherwise, entering into this revengeful humour of the combat, he doth not only not purchase any honour to himself thereby, but heapeth on his own head God's wrath and indignation, and shame of the world in the judgement of wise men, who know what is honest, and what not, what things deserve praise, and what blame; and how, when, and wherefore a man of virtue ought to venture his life. For he that thinketh by the combat to right himself, taketh upon him the office of God, and of the magistrate, as if himself were superior to them both, and were able of himself (as sovereign Lord) to do justice: which thing how dangerous it is in a well-ordered Commonweal, all laws, and reason itself doth plainly teach us.  
But yet these goodly defenders of this abuse say, that a man, both by order of nature, and by the opinion of Philosophers, may well repulse an injury by his own virtue, and not by law. And I say (as before) that if the injury be done unto a man of magnanimity; the way to shake it off, is to despise it, because the excellency of his virtue is greater than any injury that can be done unto him: and if it be done to him that is not come to that degree of virtue as to be magnanimous, he may perchance at the instant repulse the same, or revenge himself in hot blood without any great reproach. But to reserve a malice or hatred any long time, and thereupon to come to the combat with a revengeful mind, as bruit beasts do; will always be esteemed of wise men, a vicious action, and contrary to all laws and civil order. And they that are of such revengeful minds, are termed by Aristotle bitter and sharp men, as if he would say without reason. In which respect he judgeth them to be (as hereafter shall be showed) men unworthy of civil conversation. And by him it is esteemed the part or office of a virtuous civil man, and a point of magnanimity to pardon and forgive offences and injuries. For Plato and his followers were ever of opinion, that magnanimity was given to man, not because he should dispose himself to hatred, fury, revenge and wrath, but to honesty and virtue. Wherefore Seneca also said, that it was a kind of revenge to forgive. And the temple of the Graces (according to Aristotle's opinion) was placed in the midst of the city of Athens, because all men might thereby understand, that they were to render good for good, not ill for ill. For as by the first, cities are the better preserved and maintained: so by the other, they are destroyed and brought to ruin. Yet if the magnanimous man would wish him chastised that hath offended him, he will not vouchsafe himself to file his hands upon so base and vicious a person as those be (by Plato and Aristotle's judgement) who are injurious to others; but suffereth the magistrates according to the order of law to revenge his cause by the punishment of the offender, according to his desert, to the end the virtue of the one, and the vice of the other may be manifested, and the one chastised, and the other honoured thereby. And what more glorious revenge can a man desire, or what more notable testimony of his virtue, then to have him corrected, and rest infamous by the punishment which law shall inflict upon him who hath done him injury? Or what else do these furious minded men seek in fine by their combat? But yet they allege further (as wiling to maintain their wrong opinions with some show of reason) that combats are sought only in cases of injuries, not determinable by law. Which answer is as inconsiderate as the rest. For what kind of injuries can grow between man and man, whereunto the authority of the Prince and of the Magistrates doth not extend? who indeed are not to regard the obstinacy of the parties, but to punish them by imprisonment, and such other means as law doth allow and permit; to bridle the insolency and disobedience of such as will not obey and be ameinable. For if in civil actions that course be held, wherefore should not the same rigour be the rather used in this so unlawful and beastly a debate? Neither is there any reason in that they speak of public and private injuries, since the cases are far unlike. For public injuries come from lawful enemies, such as offend or offer wrong to States or Cities: but they that are privately injuried in their person, cannot call them their lawful enemies that so have done them injury: rather they themselves are to be esteemed lawful enemies to their country, whiles in following their rage and furious appetite of revenge, they oppose themselves against the public and civil government, and deserve in that respect to be severely punished by the magistrate, as men that esteem more their private injustice then public justice. And thus much for the second part of your question. Now touching the last point, whether it appertain to civil felicity or no: you may easily gather by that which is already said, that there can be nothing more contrary to good discipline in a well-ordered commonweal, than this wicked and unjust kind of fight, which destroyeth, so far forth as it beareth sway, all civil society. For it breedeth the contempt of God and his commandments, of Religion, of laws, constitutions and civil government, of Princes, of magistrates, and finally of country, parents, friends and kindred: to all which men are bound by reason natural and civil, and for defence of them to spend their lives in manner aforesaid: but not at their own appetite, instigated by rage and fury to be prodigal thereof, or for revenge of private quarrels or injuries. Will you see how absurd and senseless a thing these men maintain, that set up and magnify this glorious combat? then take but this one instance. They say, in good sooth, that if two gentlemen, subject to the self and same laws, stirred by this furious conceit, have challenged the one the other to the combat, and that their sovereign Lord or Prince forbid them to proceed therein, that they are not to obey him, but to seek to accomplish their challenge elsewhere out of his jurisdiction. And can any reasonable man, or a good subject endure to hear such a proposition maintained without stomach or displeasure? That which among the paynim and Gentiles was not lawful without special licence of the superiors to be attempted against a public enemy, armed to the ruin of their State and Commonweal: will these jolly politicians have now to be lawful among Christians in despite of their natural and lawful Lords and Princes, upon whom the foundation of well pollicied States is laid, and in the obedience towards whom, civil felicity itself doth rest? But we need not to marvel, if such men contemn human laws and ordinances, when they stick not to disobey God himself; unto whom they knowing manifestly this kind of fight to be odious and displeasing; yet are they not ashamed by public writings to maintain it, and thereby to draw soldiers and men of valour into their error of a wilful madness and mischievous mind. It is a more mockery, and a thing worthy to be laughed at, to see how busily such fellows build upon a false foundation, as if their building were like to stand. For leaving and forsaking the pattern and true rules of virtuous behaviour, of policy and states, and of good laws written by that excellent Philosopher Aristotle, they take hold (forsooth) of some fragments or parcels of his rhetorics to work upon: as though from thence men were to take the precepts of civil conversation or politic government, whence only the rules and method of well speaking are to be taken, and not of civil felicity. Out of his rhetorics they have culled out namely this place, where he saith, that God helpeth those that are wronged, not understanding, or seeming not to understand, that Aristotle in that place speaketh of civil judgements or criminal; and not of battles or combats, such as this that he never knew, ne yet ever heard spoken of: and if he had, would have sought to have driven it out of the frantic fancy of all men. It is not to be denied, but that in good and godly judgements managed by men desirous to maintain justice, God is always at hand to help and uphold the right, and to tread down and overthrow the wrong. For by him have judgements been appointed and ordained, and magistrates to rule and oversee them, not only for the common benefit of men, but also for the defence of truth and righteousness, and for the punishment of untruth and wickedness. Moreover it is to be understood, that only such places in Aristotle's rhetorics are to be approved and allowed in civil or politic life, as are by him confirmed in his ethics and Rhetorikes: as that it is lawful for a man to repulse an injury, and to defend himself, and such other like. For, as himself affirmeth, the drift of his book of rhetorics, is to instruct a man how to frame his speech to perswàde, and how to move the minds of judges to anger, hatred, revenge, compassion, and such like other affects, which oftentimes wrest the truth, and make wrong to prevail. So as if the Orator prevail, and attain the end he seeketh, which is to persuade, or use the means to attain it artificially, he hath done his duty. By which it appeareth, that Rhetoric is ordained for judgements and controversies, but not for instruction of civil life and manners. But let us see what they get by this place taken out of the Rhetorikes. For my part, I see not wherefore any man should look or hope for any help or favour at God's hands in this so unjust, unlawful and wicked an action, most offensive to his divine Majesty, as contrary to his express commandment, and a work most pleasing and acceptable to the devil, by whose instigation the same is wholly set forward. Nay rather may the prevailing of them that have the wrong cause to defend, as oftentimes we see it happen in the combat, serve for a most clear argument, that it falleth out by God's special permission to unseele the eyes (if it were possible) of such as are so wilfully blinded, to the end they might see how unjust the conflict is, which these men say, was first invented (among other causes) that truth might be known, and right from the wrong. But how is truth or right found out, if he which hath right on his side be overcome, as oftentimes it falleth out? Forsooth they answer, that it so happeneth by reason of some other offences of him that is overcome, and that God will have him so punished for the same. By which reason it should follow that God (who is truth itself) suffereth in this fight (which they say was devised for trying out of the truth) that in respect of punishing him for other offences that maintaineth the truth, the other who hath the wrongful cause in hand, should triumph in his unjust victory, and truth should be borne down and defaced. Then which reason, what can be imagined more contrary to the goodness, justice, and power of God? as if he could not otherwise punish sinners, then by a mean that should spot and overthrow truth, in which he is so well pleased. It is therefore a most evident sign & certain testimony, that this kind of proof or trial of truth is most uncertain, and the fight to that end unjust and wicked. And that it is no other than the work of the very devil, who being the author of all discord, hatred, debate, falsehood, seditions, unjust wars, of death, & mortal enemy to truth, rejoiceth when he seeth right overwhelmed with wrong, reason oppressed by injustice, truth defaced by falsehood, and by means thereof, men drawn to everlasting damnation. And when it doth come to pass, that he which maintaineth the right doth prevail (if any right or reason may be supposed in so wicked and unlawful an action) even that itself is to be imputed to the subtlety of the devil, to draw men on as with a bait, because he is loath to lose the great gain of souls which he maketh by the humour of this detestable combat. By which, not only the champions themselves, but they that having power, permit them or grant them liberty to fight; all they that counsel them thereunto, & all they that give them the looking on in so damnable an action, become subject unto him, and enemies to God their Creator and Redeemer. And indeed there is no vice or sin in the world, whereby he winneth more to his kingdom, then by this; because at once he purchaseth thousands of souls: so foolishly do men flock to be the beholders of a bloody spectacle, with inhuman desire to see the spilling of man's blood. But now to conclude this matter, it is a lamentable thing that any Christian Prince, or other general commander, should permit so pernicious and so damnable a thing, and consent, that under their authority it should be lawful for one man to kill another for private quarrel, and they to sit themselves protribunali, to behold so unjust and cruel a fight. For they ought rather to consider, that they are Gods ministers, and by his divine providence called to so high and so eminent a place, not to favour or give reputation to the devils works (among which there is none more wicked than this) but to execute his will, to which the combat is directly and expressly contrary, though it have been accepted and allowed by ill use, or rather abuse, and been entitled by the name of a custom by such as defend the same: who consider not that custom is to be observed in good and commendable things, and not in wicked and unlawful, as this is. And if it happen that any abuse do grow and shroud itself under the name of a custom, the same aught to be taken away and abolished; and thereto do all Philosophers agree. Of which kind, this combat being manifestly one, it should be rooted out, and not suffered to continue under that name. For good customs are agreeable to Nature, in which respect it is said, that custom is another nature. But that which is contrary to nature (as this is) ought not to be named a custom, but a vile abuse, be it never so much cloaked with the name of custom: the rule whereof is prescribed by Aristotle in his second book of politics, and should therefore not only not be permitted or maintained, but being crept in, be removed and banished as a most pestilent and dangerous thing. And whereas Aristotle in his rhetorics saith, that revenge is better than pardon, that is to be ruled according to the civil orders and constitutions of good commonweals. For he saith not so universally, but only in respect of an Orator, and (as is said already) he in his rhetorics teacheth but what is requisite for an Orator to consider, to persuade, and not what is meet in civil life, as he doth in his ethics.  
And thus much this author having said effectually to the purpose of your demand, I may, if you please, proceed to the former matter, from which this question hath occasioned him and us to digress.  
All the company agreed thereunto, and having well allowed of the discourse, framed themselves attentively to hear the rest.  
Wherefore I said, You remember well (I doubt not) that the next was to speak of the third master of the King's son; who after the good instructions given by the former two to their disciple, taught him that his appetite was in all things to be subject to reason, and that he ought never to suffer himself to be drawn from that which was honest by any enticement: for that honesty was the end and scope of all virtue. He sought to persuade him, that the chiefest thing that maketh a King to be known for a King, was to know how to rule himself before he ruled others, and to master his own appetites rather than other men's. So the first having fashioned him to Religion, and the second to truth, this third framed him to be temperate and just. Whereby it came to pass, that although he know himself to be above the law, yet did he not only not seek to overrule the law, but became a law to himself: so as he was never led, either by love or hatred, in his judgements (whether he punished or rewarded, nor by anger, or desire to benefit any man) from that which was just and honest. Thus holding under reasons awe the disordinate appetites of his mind, with the direct rule of justice, (under which, Plato saith, all virtues are contained, because it is grounded upon truth) he always directed his actions to the mark of honesty, ever doing good, but never harming any. And knowing, that who so is subject to his own appetites, deserveth not the title of a free man, much less of a King: he framed himself to be most continent, and showed in himself an example of honest life and behaviour to all his subjects. His benignity he declared to them by his liberality, and by showing more care of the public good then of his own; and that he would rather give of his own, then take from them their goods. With his mildness and affability he made himself singularly beloved, and won their hearts, and with gentleness in word and deed, and with love towards his people, & truth in all his actions, he made them understand that indeed he approached as near to God in these excellent qualities, as a mortal man could do. By means whereof, no man fearing harm from him, he was beloved and reverenced as a God among them. Now having learned of his three first masters, Religion, Prudence and Wisdom, Truth, justice and Temperance, with those other virtues belonging unto them; the fourth than taught him all that appertained to Fortitude, and made him understand, that only he is to be esteemed a man of fortitude and valour., who can hold a mean between fury and fear. And that when occasion of peril and danger is offered unto him, bearing with it honesty, and wherein he might make show of his virtue and courage, did readily embrace and take hold of the same. And that albeit he were dear to himself, in respect of those virtues which he knew himself to be possessed of; yet esteeming more an honest and a glorious death than a natural and reproachful life, he would make no difficulty to hazard his life for the benefit of his country, knowing that an honourable end would be crowned with immortal fame. And forasmuch as it is seldom seen, that men can use this princely virtue as it ought to be used, and when it should be used, with such other circumstances as are requisite thereto; therefore did his master instruct him and make him understand, that he which matcheth not his natural courage with Prudence, and those other virtues, which the former masters had taught him, could not rightly be called a valiant man. And how that this virtue, being stirred up by magnanimity, stoutly pursued honest things without respect of difficulties: and that though things formidable and terrible be naturally shunned of men, yet the valiant man despiseth them, and feeleth them not in respect of justice and honesty, whereby such men became equal to the Gods, as Poets feigned. And that if Prudence and Temperance were not joined with this royal virtue of Fortitude, the same was turned into foolish hardiness. And because his disciple should know how to avoid this vice, he declared to him how such men as, to avoid infamy, only exercised their valour, and exposed their lives to peril, or only to purchase honour, were not to be called properly valorous men; but they only who for honesties sake made trial of their valour, because honesty is the only end of virtue, by which human felicity is to be achieved. And that he likewise was not to be accounted valiant, who for fear of pain or punishment, took in hand fearful and dangerous enterprises, nor yet they that through long experience in warfare, or because they have been often in the brunt and danger of battles, went cheerfully or courageously into the wars to fight, as it were by custom, for that they did it rather by art and practise then by free election, without the which can be no virtue. Neither he that by rage and fury suffered himself to be transported to attempt any danger; since there can be no virtue, where reason guideth not the mind. And for this cause wild beasts (though they be terrible and fierce by nature) cannot be termed valiant, because they being stirred only by natural fierceness, wanting reason, do but follow their instinct, as do the Lions, Tigers, Bears, and such other like. Nevertheless he denied not but that anger might accompany fortitude; for that it is rather a help unto it, than any let or impediment, so long as reason did temper them, and that it served but for a spur to prick men forward in the defence of just and honest causes. Moreover he declared unto his scholar, that there is a kind of fortitude that hath no need of any such spur of anger: which kind concerned the bearing of grievous and displeasing accidents, and the moderating of a man's self in happy and prosperous successes. And this is that blessed virtue which never suffereth a man to fall from the height of his mind, being called by some men patience: who will not only have her to be a virtue separate from the four principal virtues, but also that she should be above them. But this opinion of theirs is not well grounded, since in truth she is but a branch of fortitude: through which (as Virgil saith) men bear stoutly all injuries, whether they proceed from wicked persons, or from the inconstancy and changeableness of fortune; but remaineth always invincible and constant against all the crosses, thwarts and despites of fortune. This virtue is fitly described by Cicero, where he saith, that it is a voluntary and constant bearing of things grievous and difficult, for honesties sake. And in the Scriptures it is said, that it is better for a man to bear with invincible courage such things, then to be otherwise valiant, or to hazard himself, how, where, & when it is fit. For who so beareth stoutly adversities, deserveth greater commendation and praise than they which overcome their enemies, or by force win cities or countries, or otherwise defend their own, because he overcometh himself, and mastereth his own affects and passions. Having respect to these things, this wise schoolmaster showed his disciple, that the valiant man was like a square solid body, as is the die, whereunto Aristotle also agreeth, which in what sort soever it be thrown, ever standeth upright: so he being still the same man, which way soever the world frame with him, or the malice and envy of wicked men, or the freaks of fortune toss him; which fortune, some call the Queen of worldly accidents, though, as a blind cause, she always accompanieth herself with ignorance. Moreover he added that hope of gain or profit ought not to move a man to put his life in apparent danger: for if it chanced (as often it doth) that the hope began to quail, forthwith courage failed withal, and the enterprise was abandoned, because vain conceived hope, and not free choice of virtue had guided him. A thing which never happeneth to them that in honest causes hazard their lives. For though any unexpected terror chance unto them, so as on the sudden they cannot deliberate what were best to do: yet even by habit which they have made in the virtue of fortitude, they lose not their courage; but the more difficult and fearful the accident appeareth, the more stoutly will they resist and oppose themselves against the same. Likewise he declared to him, that it was not true fortitude, when men (not knowing what the danger was which they entered into) did undertake any perilous enterprise: for it must be judgement, and not ignorance, that shall stir men to valorous attempts. Neither yet that they were to be esteemed properly valiant, who like wild savage beasts, moved by rage and fury, sought revenge, and to hurt them that had provoked them to wrath: for such were transported by passion, and not guided by reason. Last of all he concluded that he was justly to be accounted a man of valour, who feared not every thing that was perilous, yet of some things would be afraid. So as true fortitude should be a convenient mean between rashness and fearfulness: the effect whereof was to be ready and hardy to undertake dangerous actions, in such time, place, and manner as befitted a man of virtue; and for such causes as reason commanded him so to do: and because the doing thereof was honest and commendable, and the contrary was dishonest and shameful. All these points did this worthy schoolmaster seek to imprint in the young Prince's mind, that he might become stout and haughty of courage, to the end that he (who was borne to rule and command) might not through any sudden or unlooked for accidents be daunted with fear, or become base and cowardly minded: nor yet by overmuch rashness or fury wax fierce and cruel; but with mild, yet awful behaviour, govern and command the people subject unto him. These were the seeds of virtue, which these wise and worthy masters did cast into the tender minds of those young Princes, from whence (as out of a fertile soil) they hoped to reap in their riper years fruit answerable to their labour and travel. And this is all (said I) that this author hath discoursed upon this matter, and as much (I suppose) as is needful for the education of children, till they come to years of more perfection, wherein they may begin to guide themselves.  
And then sir Robert Dillon (who as well as the rest had given a very attentine ear to the whole discourse) said: Truly these were right good and worthy documents, and meet to train a Prince up virtuously; neither could any other than a glorious issue be expected of so virtuous principles and education. And though this diligence and care were fitting for so high an estate as the son of a mighty monarch, yet hath the declaration thereof been both pleasing and profitable to this company, and may well serve for a pattern to be followed by private gentlemen, though not with like circumstances; since the same virtues serve as well for the one as for the other to guide them the way to that civil felicity, whereof our first occasion of this days discourse began. But evening now hasting on, and the time summoning us to draw homeward, we will for this present take our leaves of you; having first given you hearty thanks for our friendly entertainment, especially for this part thereof, whereby with your commendable travel in translating so good and so necessary a work, you have yielded us no small delight, but much more profit; which I am bold to say as well for all the company as for myself: whereunto they all accorded.  
But, said the Lord Primate, we must not forget one point of your speech, which was, that you tied us to a condition of three days assembly; that as the author had divided his work into three dialogues, so we should give you three days time to run over every day one of his dialogues. Supposing therefore that you have finished his first, we will to morrow (if this company please to give their consent thereunto) be here to understand whether he have as sufficiently set down rules for the fashioning a young man to the course of virtue, as he hath done for the education of his childhood. Therefore you may look for us, & prepare your tongue, as we will bring attentiveness to hear his doctrine by your study made ready for our understanding. And so they departed all together towards the city.   

The second days meeting, and discourse of Civil life.  
WHen the next morning was come, which appeared fair and clear, the company (which the day before had been with me) came walking to my house, all, save only M. Smith the Apothecary, whose business being of another sort, was not so desirous to spend his time in hearing discourses of that nature, which brought no profit to his shop. And being entered into the house, they found me ready to go walk abroad to take the sweet and pleasant air: wherefore though they had already had a good walk from the city thither, being somewhat more than a mile; yet were they not unwilling to bear me company, and would needs go with me. So I led them up the hill to the little mount, which standeth above my house, along a pleasant green way, which I had planted on both sides with young ashes: from whence having the prospect not only of the city, but also of the sea and haven, we there sat us down, and some commending the air, some the delightfulness of the view, we spent the time in sundry speeches, until one of the servants came to summon us to walk home to dinner. Whereupon returning home, and finding the meat on the table, we sat us down; I telling them that they found a Philosopher's dinner, for so I would now begin to take upon me to entitle myself, since they had made me (at the least) the trucheman or interpreter of one that was worthy that name. And that I had the rather prepared no greater store of meat for them, because I would imitate the temperance of a Philosopher, as we were in number a convenient company for a Philosophical dinner.  
Why, said the Lord Primate, what mean you by that? is there any determinate company appointed for such meals as are fit for Philosophers?  
Yea sir, quoth I, if my memory fail me not, I have read that to such refections as might as well feed the mind as the body, there would not be any such great company of guests invited, as by the confusion of their talk and communication, the serious and yet delightful discourses that might be proposed, should not be imparted to all, nor yet so few, as for want of matter the same were to be omitted. Therefore it was determined that the number should be between the Graces and the Muses, that is to say, not under three, nor above nine. We are therefore a fit company for a Philosophical dinner., and your entertainment shall be according for your cheer.  
Well, said sir Robert Dillon, you shall need no shifts with us, for as we will not commend your cheer (which is the thing is commonly begged by the excusing of want of meat) so shall you not need to take any care, either for the satisfying of our appetites with dainty fare, or to entertain us with Philosophical discourses at dinner: for we expect such a at your hands after dinner in that kind, as we shall the better pass over our dinner without them, which we desire in that respect may be the shorter, to the end that our bodies being fed temperately, our minds may be the sharper set to fall to those other dainties which you have prepared for us.  
Yea but let not our dinner I pray you (said Captain Dawtrey) be so temperate for sir Robert dillon's words, but that we may have a cup of wine: for the Scripture telleth us that wine gladdeth the heart of man. And if my memory fail me not, I have read, that the great banquet of the Sages of Greece, described by Plutarch, was not without wine; & then I hope a Philosophical dinner may be furnished with wine: otherwise, I will tell you plainly, I had rather be at a camping dinner then at yours, howsoever your rerebanket will haply be as pleasing to me as to the rest of the company  
Whereat the rest laughing pleasantly, I called for some wine for Captain Dawtrey; who taking the glass in his hand, held it up a while betwixt him and the window, as to consider the colour: and then putting it to his nose, he seemed to take comfort in the odour of the same.  
Then said the Lord Primate, I think (Captain Dawtrey) that you mean to make a speculation upon that cup of wine, you go so orderly to work, as if you were to examine him upon his qualities; whereof two principal you have already resolved yourself of, by the testimony of your two principal senses. The colour, we all determine with you is good, the smell seemeth not to mislike you: it is consequent therefore that when you have drunk it up, you will also resolve us whether all three the qualities concurring together, it may deserve the title of vinum Cos or no: for such was the wine wont to be entitled among the ancient Romans, that carried the reputation to be the best.  
And what (I pray you, said I) might be the cause that their best wine was so called? for I have heard that question sundry times demanded, but I could never hear it yet answered sufficiently to my satisfaction.  
It is no marvel (said the Lord Primate) for although the matter have been long in controversy, and debated by many full learned men, and among them some that loved wine so well, as their experience might make them believe that their verdict should be very sound; yet for aught I find, we may say adhuc sub judice lis est. Some say it should be taken for vinum Cossentinum, as coming from a territory so named, which commonly bore the best wines near about Rome. Others interpret it by letters, saying that Cos is to be taken for corpori omnino saluberrimum. But they that presume most to have hit the mark, say that it is so to be understood, that Cos should signify the wine to be best by these three qualities, which Captain Dawtrey seemeth to insist upon, that is to say, coloris, odoris, and saporis; which three recommending a wine, it cannot but be called very good. And this is as much as I have read or heard, and will be content to be of the jury with Captain Dawtrey to give my verdict whether this of yours be such or no.  
In good faith (said Captain Dawtrey) if I be the foreman of the jury, as I have been the first to taste the wine, I will pronounce it to be indeed singular good, and well deserving the title of Cos: for all three those qualities which you have said wine is to be commended for.  
If the wine be good (said I) you may be sure I am right glad, as well because I have it to content such my good friends, as because I have made my provision for myself so well; whereby I hope you will all think me worthy to be a taster for the Queen's advantage, and my office to be well bestowed upon me, since I can taste a cup of wine so well; for it is indeed of mine own choice.  
Marry sir (said M. Dormer, who had even then finished his draft) me thinks it fareth not with you according to the common proverb, which saith, that none goeth worse shod than the shoemakers wife: for in good sooth this is a cup of wine fit to recommend your taste, and consequently yourself to be employed in your office. But since you asked my Lord Primate the meaning of vinum Cos: and withal said that you never heard that question answered to your contentment; let us (I pray you) hear what is your conceit therein, and whether you can give any more probable sense thereof then those which he hath told us.  
Nay in good faith, said I, that will I not presume to do; for I am not so affected to mine own conceits, as to prefer them before other men's. A better interpretation I will not therefore offer unto you: but if you will needs have me tell you how I, among others, conceive of that vinum Cos: which is read of, I think that it was so called for that the custom being in those days, that wheresoever the Roman Consul came, when he went in his journey towards his government, or else within his province, they of the good towns or cities presented him with such dainties as the place afforded, and specially with the choicest wines that were there to be had, thereupon the best and most excellent wine was termed vinum Consulare, to wit, such as of choice was taken for the Consul himself. And the common abbreviation of Consul being written in all ancient authors with these three letters Cos: so cometh vinum Cos: to be understood (as I have said) for vinum Consulare, which was the best. And this is my opinion, which if it be worthy to be admitted to go in company with the rest, I will not desire it should go before them: and if you will be pleased to accept of this my interpretation of vinum Cos: together with the wine which you say is so good, and let the same supply the badness of your fare, (wherein my wife hath the greatest fault) I shall go the more cheerfully to the rest of my task, which I am comforted by your speeches, you are so well disposed unto, as it maketh you hasten to make an end of your bad dinner. Fruit therefore being brought, and the table taken up, sir Robert Dillon said; It is an approved opinion of all antiquity, that after dinner a man should sit a while, and after supper walk a mile: we must not therefore so suddenly rise from dinner to go to our rerebanket; yet may we gather up some of the crumbs of yesterdays feast, how full soever our bellies be with the good meat we have eaten here. I remember then that the substance of a child's education, that was to be set in the right way to his civil felicity, was yesterday declared by the example of the order held by the Kings of Persia, in the training of their sons, which were to succeed them in their kingdom. Which order, though it were both pleasing and profitable to be understood, and that with change of circumstances it might well serve for the direction of a private gentleman how to bring up his child: yet I for my part think that it would have been very good that there had been set down a course more particularly, in what learning or study of the liberal arts the child should have been exercised. For I have found by experience, that the care and diligence of parents may advance very much the forwardness of their children, so as some being well plied, shall not only read perfectly, but be also well forward in his Grammar, when the other of like wit and capacity shall for lack of plying drag and come very far behind.  
That is (said I) most true, and I can verify it in myself; for such was my father's care (who not only in the education of his children, but also in the ordering of his household, was second to no man of his degree that ever I knew) as before I was full five years of age, I had gone through mine Accidence, & was sent to school to Tunbridge, 20 miles from London, and if either the air of the place, or some other disposition of my body had not hindered my health by a quartain ague that took me there, I might have been a forward scholar in my grammar at 6 years old, and have been ready to have accompanied my learning with those corporal exercises which by some are set down as fit to be used by children between the years of five and ten, as well to harden their bodies and to make them apt for the wars (if their disposition be thereunto) as for health. But by that unhappy accident, not only the health and strength of my body, but my learning also met with a shrewd check, which I could never sithence recover sufficiently. Nevertheless as much as my father could perform, he omitted not to have me trained both to my book and to other exercises agreeable to his calling & ability, following (as I suppose) such precepts as he had found set down by some worthy authors treating of that matter. The exact form of which education perhaps is hard to be observed, but by such as have together with a fatherly and vigilant care, wealth and means answerable to find in their own houses schoolmasters to instruct and fashion their children according to those rules and precepts. For by them, before the child attain the age of 14. years, he should not only have learned his Grammar, but also Logic, Rhetoric, Music, Poetry, drawing and perspective, and be skilful at his weapons, nimble to run, to leap and to wrestle, as exercises necessary upon all occasions where fortitude is to be employed for the defence of his country and Prince, his friends, and of his faith and religion. And this is that which I conceive your meaning was, when you said, that you thought it had been needful there had been some more particular course set down for the dispensing of the child's time in his learning. All which Piccolomini hath so exactly set down in his learned book of Moral institution, written first in the Italian tongue, as it may seem he rather proposed or set forth a perfect child, as Cicero hath a perfect Orator, and Castiglione a perfect Courtier, then that it were easy to bring up or train any in that sort or according to that pattern. And therefore since that which our author hath said of the education of the King's children of Persia, seemeth enough if it be fitly applied for the instruction of any children during their childhood, we may (if you please) now proceed to his second dialogue, treating of the instruction of a young man from his childhood forward: for I have made ready my papers, so as I hope without much interruption I may in English deliver unto you his mind, set down in his own language, though not with like smoothness of style. But since yesterday I heard you find no fault, I may the better be encouraged to go on this day with my plain manner of penning, though it be unpolished.  
Yea marry, answered sir Robert Dillon, very willingly: and all the company assenting thereunto, I arose, entreating them not to stir, for that I would presently return unto them with my books.  
Which being done, and every man lending an attentive ear, thus I began: As yesterday the infancy or childhood of man was resembled unto that part of the soul which giveth life, and is called vegetative, being the foundation of the other parts: so must youth now be likened to that part which giveth sense and feeling, and is named sensitive. And as it is harder to rule two horses to guide a coach or charet than one: so is there far greater difficulty in guiding a young man then a child: for he is stirred much more with passions then the simple age of a child, and is more violently carried away with things that delight him; because he hath now the second power of the soul in force to draw him, which for the most part is much more contrary to reason then the first. For whereas that first coveted only that which was profitable, and which might nourish the body without any great regard of that which was honest, as whereof it had no knowledge at all; this other being wholly bend to delight, respecteth little any other thing: which delight having greatest force in young minds, draweth them sundry ways, and by allurements maketh them so much the more greedy to attain the things they take pleasure in, as the spurs wherewith they be pricked are more sharp and poignant. This appeareth by their actions most manifestly. For hunting eagerly after pleasure, they are never quiet until they compass their desires: and albeit that their desires be vehement in every thing they fancy, yet do they most of all discover themselves in the lusts of the flesh, which in them are fiery, by reason of the abundance of blood and natural heat that is in them, increasing those their disordinate desires beyond measure, yea they grow infinite in them, and variable, as themselves are inconstant misliking this day that, which yesterday they liked; which proceedeth only because their said desires are not forged in that part of the mind where reason hath her firm seat, and proper dwelling. To this imperfection of lust, is also added the violent motion of anger, to which they are subject, and thereby soon drawn from the course of reason and justice. By this passion are they provoked to enter in to debate and quarrels upon every light occasion, and as people desirous of honour and reputation, as soon as they think they receive any injury, they fear no peril nor danger of their lives, but boldly and rashly undertake to fight, led by a desire of revenge, and hope to have the victory over their enemies. Of money or goods they make small reckoning, through lack of experience, because of their youth, and want of prudence, which groweth from experience: and therefore little know they, how necessary the goods of fortune are to human life, and into what inconveniences they fall that are without them. So as they spend and consume without discretion, not regarding the time to come, but supposing the world will always be at one stay. They be easily deceived, not knowing the saying of Epicarmus, that not to believe rashly was the sinews of wisdom, And because they consider not how variable are the resolutions of this world and human affairs, they are ever full of good hope, seldom fearing that any thing may befall them other then well: which hope layeth open the way to such as lie in wait to entrap them and deceive them. They seem likewise to have a touch of magnanimity, by reason of the heat of their youth, which stirreth them up to undertake great matters, but yet inconsiderately, as folk moved rather by nature then by election: and so are they inclined rather to attempt things seeming honourable, than things profitable. They love their friends much more fervently than any other age, because they delight more in company, and measure not friendship by profit or by honesty, but only by their delight, as they find them conformable to their appetites. They fly easily into that which is in all things vicious, that is, too much; which too much, is harmful even in justice itself: whereupon is grown (I think) our English proverb, that too much of a man's mother's blessing is not good: not considering the precept of Chilo, who with three words taught the sum and effect of all virtue, Ne quid nimis. Whereby we may understand, that virtue consisteth in the mean between two extremes, which on either side are too much or too little, wherein young men do most incline to that extreme of too much: for they love too much, they hate too much, they hope too much, they fear too much, they trust too much, they spend too much, they believe too much, they presume too much: and by presuming too much, they build more than they ought to do upon the uncertain and variable chances of fortune, without setting before their eyes those good courses by which men through virtuous and commendable acts do attain a happy life. And this is the cause why they give so deaf an ear to friendly admonitions, and to wise & grave advice & counsel. For they, not knowing their own ignorance, think they know all things, such is the quickness and vehemency of spirit which reigneth in them, and giveth them a certain shadow of nobility of courage, by which they presume they are able to do all things of themselves well and commendably; but they find themselves far deceived when they come to the trial. They do oftentimes injury to others, rather unadvisedly then maliciously of purpose to harm or offend. And having generally a good opinion of all men, simply measuring others words by their own heart: they are soon moved to compassion and pity. They delight exceedingly (as void of care) to laugh, to sport, and to be merry: and with quips and biting speeches to taunt their fellows, and such as converse with them: and hear more willingly pleasant conceits and merry tales, then grave sayings or ancient admonitions of wise and learned men.  
In faith (said Captain Norreis) you have painted or described a young man in so strange a figure, as to me it seemeth, I see a monster before mine eyes, with more heads than the ancient Poets said that Hydra had, the same that gave Hercules so much to do to overcome her: and it is to be marveled, that all young men are not soon weary of that age, which bringeth with it such variety of imperfections, and all contrary to reason and virtue. You make us almost to conceive an opinion, that there can be no Art nor prudence sufficient to deliver us from such a multitude of errors that environ us on every side.  
If there were cause of complaint that youth should be thus described, said I, yet am not I the man you should complain of, but rather of mine author, or of Aristotle, who long before described the same even as he hath done: and of Horace in like sort, who taking the matter out of Aristotle, concluded it in substance much like, though in fewer words, saying: 
The young man on whose face no beard yet shows,  
When first he creepeth out of others charge,  
Delights to have both horse and hound at will,  
With them to hunt, and beat the woods and fields,  
Like wax to vice is easy to be wrought,  
And sour to them that tell him of his fault:  
Too late he learns his profit for to know,  
And in expense, aye too too lavish still,  
His heart is high, and full of hot desires,  
And soon he loathes that erst he loved dear.   
And truly the nature of a young man is very perilous, and unapt of itself to be ruled and directed to any good course; partly because of the ignorance accompanying that age, and partly for that following the vanities and delights which the worse part of the soul or mind doth set before him, he respecteth not that which is honest and virtuous, as a thing he never knew or tasted. And therefore being intent only to pleasures and delights, he considereth not any thing but what is present before him. For wanting (as is said) experience, meet to foresee accidents to come, he believeth much more them that entice him & flatter him, by praising all he doth, than those men that reprove or check him for doing ill, or show him the way to virtue, by telling him the truth. Neither is there any thing that more setteth a young man astray from the course of virtue, than flattery: and specially are young Princes to take heed thereof, about whom are continually flatterers to win their favour, and by harming them with that subtle engine, to purchase to themselves as much gain & profit as they can. These, who (as Aristotle saith) bend all their wits to evil, with continual lying and soothing, make young men believe that they are excellent in all things above course of nature; whereunto they (simple) giving a readier ear than they should, become so blind and foolish, that they discern not their own good: but pricked forward with those false praises, apply themselves to that only which is pleasant and delightful, and become a prey unto their flatterers, who like Parasites affirm all that they hear their master say, and deny whatsoever he denieth. In which respect Diogenes did right well say, that flatterers were worse than crows, who feed but on the carcases of the dead, but these jolly companions devour the minds of men alive, making them become (as Seneca saith) foolish or mad. Fron whose conceit Epicarmus varied not much, who said, that crows pick out the eyes but of dead carcases, but flatterers pick out the eyes of the mind, whiles men are yet alive. And to say truly, this cursed generation, with their leasings and soothing, induce such as hearken to them and believe them, to be their own foes, and to bar themselves from the attaining of true glory, whiles they make them glory in the false praises of wicked flatterers. Who to the end they may be the better believed when they flatter, use all art possible to show themselves affectioned (though counterfeitly) to them, in whose hearts they seek to pour their poison. For they kill in them all seeds of virtue, and they take from them the knowledge of themselves, and of all truth: to which, flattery is a most pestilent and mortal enemy. And happy might indeed Princes think themselves, if they had about them men that would frankly and resolutely resist the attempts of flatterers, such as was Anaxarcus Eudemonicus about Alexander the Great. This Anaxarcus misliking that Alexander through the flattery & false praises of such as magnified his acts, grew so proud, as he would needs be esteemed a God, & seeing on a time his Physician to bring him a potion to ease the grief of his disease when he was sick, said, Is it not a woeful case, that the health of our God should consist in a draft of liquor and drugs composed by a man? Words full well beseeming the sincere mind of a free hearted man. As on the other side it was vile adulation which Demades the Athenian used, who being at an assembly of Council, proposed a decree, by which he would have had Alexander to be reputed for the thirteenth of the great Gods. But the people perceiving his flattering purpose and small reverence to divine things, condemned him in a fine of an hundred talents. If Princes, and such as manage States, would follow this example, and have an eye to such fellows, there would not be such store of Sycophants as now a days there are; and the virtues and merits of honest men, worthy honour and favour, would be better known and regarded than they are; and rewards and recompenses would be given to such men, and not to flatterers, who seek to put them beside themselves. This I say of such as suffer themselves to be seduced by these charmers, but not of wise Princes, who give no more ear to their enchantments, then doth the serpent to the charmer; because they know that their praises and soothe are but strangling morsels smeared over with honey. Philip of Macedon, the father of Alexander, had a flatterer in his Court, called Cisofus (or as some say Cleophus) who did not only affirm and deny all that Philip said or denied, but also on a time when Philip had a sore eye, and ware some band or scarf before it, he in like manner came before the King with the like: and another time when Philip having hurt one of his legs, limped upon it, and had clothes wrapped about it, the flatterer came likewise with his leg so wrapped and halting into the Court; seeking thus not only by his words as other Parasites do, but also with his gestures and whole body to transform the King, and put him beside himself. But although Philip took delight in this skim of men, yet could they never draw him by their charming to incur those vices which his son ran into: who albeit he was of a most noble nature and mind, yet did he so much attribute to these bad companions, and was so carried away with their flattering praises, that he could not endure the truth that Calisthenes told him, but miserably slew him, spotting with so cruel and barbarous a fact, all that ever he did before or after, were it never so noble and worthy of glory. But chose, Agesilaus did so despise and hate all flatterers, that he would never give any man leave to commend his virtues, but only such as had authority to reprehend his vices. Whereas Alexander was so distraught & ravished with the delight of such flatterers, that he not only suffered himself to be persuaded by them that he was the son of jupiter, but became also so foolish as to endure sacrifices to be made unto him, and to be worshipped like a God. From which folly he could never be brought, until such time as he was grievously wounded in an encounter with an arrow. Out of which his wound Deposippus the Athenian wrestler seeing the blood to run abundantly, said, to tax Alexander's vain glory; Why then, do the Gods immortal bleed as we mortal men do? which his words Alexander hearing, and feeling the pain and smart of his wound, he perceived himself to be mortal and no God; opening thereby in such sort the eyes of his mind, as when Anaxander the Philosopher (though unworthy that name because he was a flatterer) standing once by Alexander when it thundered, asked him, whether it were he that had caused that thunder-cracke, as the son of jupiter? No, said he, mildly rejecting his flattery, I will cause no such terror unto men. And another time when a medicine which he had taken troubled him grievously in the working, and Nicesias had said unto him, What shall we mortal men do, if ye Gods endure such pain and agony? he looking angrily upon him, answered, What Gods? I fear me rather that the Gods do hate us. This noble King likewise, after sickness and hurts had made him know himself, did a worthy and noble act towards Aristobulus the Historiographer. For this Aristobulus having written a book of the deeds of Alexander, and being with him in boat upon the river Hidaspe in India, he besought leave that he might read his book unto him: which when he had obtained, and that Alexander perceived, by the untrue reports made in his praise beyond all measure, that he was a flatterer, and no Historiographer: despising his shameless flattery, he took the book out of his hands, in a rage throwing it into the river, and fiercely turning to him, said, Thou wretch, thou hast thyself deserved to be thrown after thy book, since thou hast not been ashamed to set down to the memory of posterity the reports of my acts in such a false and flattering manner. By this, which we have said, may easily be gathered, that they, who once give ear to flattery, cannot discern the harm and deceit of flatterers towards them, until some bitter storm or cross of froward fortune befall them, to open their eyes, and to give them to understand how they have been deceived by such lying companions, and harmed more than by their mortal enemies. Which thing this wicked generation well considering, lest Princes should perceive their flattery, they never cease, as soon as they have gotten trust and credit by their lies, to use all means and devices possible, to put into their disgrace and hatred all such as they think may be like to discover their subtleties, and to make known the harm which they procure. To which purpose of inventing false and colourable causes, they labour to remove them from being about the Prince, that they may the better turn topsy-turvy all at their pleasure. By this means they so blind the eyes of those poor Princes whom they possess, that whiles they are in prosperity they not only love them and hold them dear, but also bestow upon them offices, lands, and great Lordships. As by Philip before named it appeared, who made Thrasideus the flatterer, Lord of his country, though otherwise he were a man of little worth and wisdom. And that Philip who was the last King of Macedon overcome by the Romans, had a flatterer in his Court, whose name was Proclides: who albeit he were a stranger (to wit, a Tarentine) and a very vain fellow, yet crept he so far into the said King's favour, that he was able to breed great broils and troubles in the kingdom. These and such like inconveniences would not happen, if the ignorance of young men (not discerning themselves) did not open the way to flattery, and lead her as it were by the hand into the presence of Princes, inducing them to delight in her. Hereof I have spoken the more, because, the number of flatterers being infinite, and very many those that by them are blinded and seduced to esteem them and raise them into reputation, all young gentlemen, and Princes specially might be forewarned of the harm they may do unto them, if before they offer their poison of lies and soothing praises, they be not armed to repulse their practices, and advertised of their snares. Which thing the Thessalians considering, when they had taken a city called Melia, they razed it, only because it bore the name of flattery in the Greek language, so much did they hate and abhor even the name of so abominable a vice. And where some Princes haply think themselves wise enough to take heed of such caterpillars, and therefore care not to rid their Courts of them: let them assure themselves that therein they do like men that will feed on hurtful meats, and presume they shall not offend their stomachs. For these gallants can so cunningly watch and espy their times to work their feat, that in the end they cast out their poison, and infect their minds with some fawning device or other before they be aware: so as there is no other means to avoid this mischief, but only to keep it far off, and not to suffer it to approach. True it is nevertheless, that if Princes (having flatterers about them) would look well into themselves, and learn the precept of Nosce teipsum (which only precept is of such importance, as without it no man can be happy) they might reap profit by their flattery: not by delighting in it, but by using it as a rule or a square to examine their minds and their actions by. For when they shall find themselves praised and magnified by any flatterer, they will endeavour themselves to garnish their minds with those virtues, for which they were by him commended and extolled, and were not before in them; to the end they might afterwards be truly and deservingly praised for the same by men of virtue and honesty, whose property is to exalt and celebrate the actions of worthy and famous men, and not to lie and flatter, to purchase favour to themselves, and to draw ruin upon the heads of those that they shall have put besides their wit, as flatterers do. Diogenes was so great an enemy to flattery, that he chose rather to live in his tub, then in the courts of mighty Princes, who offered him favour and entertainment, disdaining to have abundance of things gotten by so vile a vice. chose Aristippus, though he were one of the disciples of Socrates, did so degenerate from the doctrine and behaviour of his master, that he became a parasite to Dionysius tyrant of Sicily, esteeming more the profit he got that way, then the reputation he might have won by the profession of Philosophy: and grew in the end to be of so base a mind, that although the Tyrant did spit in his face, yet would he not be angry; but being rebuked for enduring so vile a disgrace, he laughing at them that rebuked him, said: If fishermen to take a small fish can be content to go to sea, and to be washed all over with the waves; shall not I endure that the King with a little spittle wet me, to the end I may catch a Whale? This same Aristippus seeing Diogenes on a day to wash a few herbs which he had gathered for his supper, he said to him: Go to sirrah, if you would frame yourself to follow the humour of Princes, you should not need to feed upon herbs. Neither thou (said Diogenes) if thou knewest thyself to be (I will not say) a Philosopher, but a man, thou wouldst not be (as thou art) the dog of Dionysius. For dogs for their meat fawn upon their masters; and so did this Philosopher show how base and vile a thing it is to be a flatterer. Which, by this digression, my author hath in like sort laboured to make apparent by reasons and examples. But now returning to his former matter, because he hath rather showed the harm that comes by flattery, and how it increaseth vice in young men's minds, then instructed them which way to root it out, you shall hear how he goeth about to pull up the ill weeds that choke the natural good seeds in their minds, that by the increase of the good, they may have sufficient store to furnish them in the way of their felicity. It is already declared what bad qualities and conditions the two worse powers of the soul stir up in young men's minds, for that they be mighty and vehement, and apt to oppose themselves against reason, and to resist her. And how reason in young folks is scarce felt or perceived, such is the force of the two foresaid faculties, which draw them to lustful appetites and disordinate passions. The cause whereof, Heraclitus ascribeth to the humidity, wherewith these two ages abound: for it seemed to him that dryness was the cause of wisdom, and therefore said, that the wisest mind was nothing else but a dry light. To which opinion Galen leaning, thought the stars to be most wise because they be most dry. But leaving them with their opinions, and imputing the cause only to the worse powers or faculties of the soul, let us follow our two first choose guides, Aristotle & Plato. They say then, that the soul which giveth sense or feeling, and containeth in it the other that giveth life, is not yet so rebellious against reason, but that she maybe subdued, and brought to be obedient. So as you must not think, but that youth, though it be encumbered with those passions and desires before mentioned, may nevertheless be directed to that good course which leadeth man to his most perfect end in this life, and for which all virtues are put in action. For above or over these two powers or faculties, is placed a third, like a Lady or Queen to command if she be not hindered in the execution of her charge. And if these two unruly and wild powers, which are the spring and fountain head of all disordinate affections, be once well tamed and broken, they do no less obey her commandments, than the well taught horses obey the coachman. For we are all drawn as it were by two unbridled colts in this life, by these two base powers of the soul. Whereof the one showeth itself in most vigour and strength in childhood, and the other in youth. Concerning the first of which, Aristotle and his master do disagree. But when they both are joined together, and strong, they become the more unruly, unless the former (as was said yesterday) be well tamed and made meek by good instruction and diligent care of education. For if childhood be fashioned according to the good precepts of the learned; that first power cometh humble & obedient to be coupled with the other, and thereby is there the less labour requisite for him that shall have the guiding of them both in youth. But in youth described even now, as you have heard, in whom both these faculties are rude and undisciplined, the passions are altogether incited and ruled by the natural powers. For though nature (if she be not hindered) bring forth her effects perfectly in respect of their substances; yet are they often unperfect in regard of the accidents. And for this cause is Art and industry needful to induce virtuous habits, to supply that wherein nature accidentally may be defective. Whereby it cometh to pass, that although the virtues and faculties of the soul have all that which nature can give unto them; yet have they need of man's wit and discipline to bring forth laudable and perfect operations. And this is done by that part of Philosophy which is called Moral, because from it we do draw the form of good manners, which being actually brought into the mind of a young man, as well as by the doctrine and wise instruction of others: and so by long custom, converted into an habit, do break and make supple those parts which by nature are rebellious to reason. And of so great importance is the well training up of childhood, even from the first, that it may be assuredly believed, that the youth succeeding such a childhood as was yesterday prescribed, must needs be civil and well disposed: and on the contrary side, that the life of such youths will be wicked and disordered, as having been ill brought up in their childhood, do enter into so hopeless a course, as may be likely to be the foundation of all vice and wickedness during the whole life to come. And hopeless may they be thought indeed, who by ill doing begin even from their tender years to induce an ill habit into their minds: for from age to age after it increaseth and taketh root in such sort, as it is almost impossible to be rooted out or taken away. Neither can there be any greater evil wished to any man, then that he be ill-habituated, which thing by Aelianus report, the Cretans were wont to wish to their enemies whom they hated most extremely, and not without cause. For he that is fallen into an ill habit, is no less blind to virtuous actions, than he that wanteth his sight to things visible. And as the one is ever plunged in perpetual darkness: so doth the other live in everlasting night of vice, after he hath once hardened himself to evil. And this is the worst kind of youth that may be, which Aristotle advised should be driven out of the city, when neither for honesties respect, nor for admonitions, nor shame, nor for love of virtue or fear of laws, they could possibly be reclaimed to virtuous life.  
I pray you (said Captain Norreis) let me interrupt you a little, so shall you the better take breath in the mean while. I noted not long sithence a saying of your author, which me seemed somewhat strange, and that is, that the substance of the soul should be made perfect by the accidents.  
You say right, quoth I, but let not that seem strange unto you: for it ought rather to seem strange unto you if it were otherwise; because the substance of every thing is so called, by reason that it is subject unto accidents; neither can there be any accident (to which it is proper to be in some subject) but it must fall into some substance: and hardly would the substance perhaps be discerned by sense, but that the accidents do make it to be known. Yet hath nature given to the substance all that she could give to enable the same, to wit, that it might by nature be of itself alone, having no need of any other thing in respect of being; and that it should be so necessary to all things else that is not a substance, as without it they should be nothing. Therefore the nature of the soul is such, as the parts thereof have their virtues and faculties perfect: but in that concerneth the directing of them to civil life, man cannot by nature only compass it, nor attain to that end of which we treat.  
Then said Captain Norreis, If it be so, as by nature we cannot have that wherewith we should compass our felicity, it must belike be in us contrary to nature. And, all things contrary to nature, being violent, and of no continuance; I cannot perceive how this felicity of ours may stand.  
Sir (said I) it followeth not, that whatsoever is not by nature, must needs be contrary to nature. But most true it is that the means to guide us to this felicity; or our felicity itself, is in us not by nature: for if it were so, all men should naturally be happy, and by nature have the means to purchase the same, because all men should of necessity work after one sort. For things natural, unless they be forced or hindered, do always bring forth the same effects, wheresoever they be; and the powers which nature bestoweth, are indifferently dispensed to all alike. Which thing is to be understood by the vegetative part of the soul, which in plants and in creatures sensible attendeth only by nature, without counsel or election, to nourish, to increase, to procreate, and to preserve: ne ceaseth at any time from those offices, but always produceth like effects in all things that have life. And the sensible soul evermore giveth the power and virtue of feeling to creatures sensible, and never altereth her operation, nor ceaseth to yield the same whiles life endureth, except by some strange accident she be forced. Seeing therefore the diversity of man's will, the variety of his operations, and how differently they use the faculties of the soul, we must needs conclude, that in respect of civil life, they work not according to nature. But we must not therefore say, that their working to purchase their felicity, and the end we speak of, is contrary to nature. For such things are properly said to be contrary to nature, as are violently forced to that which is not natural, and whereunto they have no aptness or disposition at all. As for example, if a stone (which is naturally heavy, and therefore coveteth to move to the centre of the earth) be cast upward into the air by force, it is to be said, that the motion of that stone so forced upward is contrary to nature; because it hath no instinct or moving from nature to go upward: and though it were thrown up ten thousand times, so often would it fall down again, if it were not retained otherwise from falling. And if fire, which is light, & covets to ascend, should be forced downward, that force would be contrary to nature, and the force ceasing, it would by nature ascend again, because it hath not any virtue, or principle, or motion to descend, but only to ascend, by which it striveth to come to the place which is proper to it by nature, as it is fire, and by which it is fire naturally. For the elements have always their essence most perfect, when they are nearest to the place assigned them by nature. But man being a creature capable of reason, and thereby apt to receive those virtues, the seeds whereof nature hath sown in his mind, it cannot be said, that the means (by which he is to be led to so noble an end as his felicity) should be in him contrary to nature. For never any thing worketh contrary to nature, in which is the beginning of that operation that it is to do.  
Why, said Captain Norreis again, since you say that the seeds of virtues are in our minds naturally, it seemeth strange to me that they should not bring forth generally in all men their fruit; as the seed which is cast into the earth, springeth, buddeth, flowreth, and lastly in due season yieldeth fruit according to kind.  
Marry (said I) and so they do. For if man's care and industry be not applied to manure the earth diligently, and to weed out the ill weeds that spring among the good seed which is sown, they would so choke the same as it would be quite lost. And even so, if the seeds of virtue be not holpen with continual culture, and care taken to pull up the vices which spring therewith, and whereof the seeds are naturally as well in our mind, as those of virtue, they will overgrow and choke them, as the weeds of the garden overgrow and choke the good herbs planted or sown therein. For so grow up the disordinate appetites, unreasonable anger, ambitions, greedy desires of wealth, of honour, wanton lusts of the flesh, and such other affections spoken of before, which have their natural roots in those two base parts of the soul devoid of reason. And as we see the earth, without manuring to bring forth wild herbs and weeds more plentifully than other good seed, which by industry and labour is cast into the same: so do those passions, affects, and appetites of those base parts of the soul, spring and grow up thicker and faster than the virtues; whereby (for the more part) the fruit of those good seeds of virtue is lost, if the mind be not diligently cleaned from them by the care of others. And these ill qualities are in young men the worse, when they suffer themselves to be transported without regard of reason or honesty, and their right judgement to be corrupted, and their crooked to prevail. Which crooked judgement is in effect the cause of all vices and ill affections, & turns the brain, making them like drunken men, much like as coccle doth to them that feed thereupon. But this happeneth not unto that youth which succeed a well fashioned childhood, such as yesterday was spoken of; though it be not sufficient to have a child either well brought up or well instructed. For a new care must be taken, and new diligence be used to cherish the growth of the good seeds bestowed & manured in the mind of the child: which made Aristotle say, that education only was not enough to make a man virtuous. For though the child be so well bred as hath been prescribed, yet unless some care be had to bridle it (so unpleasing a thing it is for youth to live within the compass of modesty and temperance) it is easily turned to that part, to which pleasure and delight doth draw it. Nevertheless that first culture bestowed upon childhood, doth so much avail, as the young man that is disposed to hearken, to good admonitions, shall have the less to do to live virtuously, and to tame that sensitive part which he hath only to strive withal, and to make obedient to the rule of reason.  
Captain Carlisle then said, I pray you (before you go any further) let me ask this one question, why until now your author having spoken of this moral science, hath all this while made no mention of the speculative sciences, wherein me thinketh a young man hath special need to be instructed? for they also (I suppose) are necessary to happiness of life.  
That doubt the author answereth thus, said I: Virtues are generally divided into Speculative and Practic; or we may say, into Intellective and Active. The speculative habits are five in number, viz: Understanding, called by the Latins Intellectus, Science, Wisdom, Art, and Prudence. And because hitherto he hath spoken only how men in civil life may attain to be good, or decline from being evil; and that the speculative sciences declare, but how wise, how learned, or how prudent they be, and not how good or virtuous they be: and that these two first ages are not of capacity sufficient to embrace them, therefore he reserveth the treating thereof until a fitter time, which the course of our speech will lead us unto.  
Yea but Aristotle saith (quoth the Lord Primate) that young men may be Arithmeticians and Mathematicians, and finally therein wise, but yet he affirmeth that they can not be prudent.  
That place of Aristotle (said I) is to be understood, not of this first degree of youth, whereof the author hath spoken hitherto, but of the perfection and ripeness that in time it may attain, as after shall be declared when time doth serve.  
That time (said Captain Carlisle) we will attend. But because we see both virtues and sciences are to be learned, and that I have heard question and doubt made of the manner of learning them, I pray let us▪ hear whether your author say aught thereof, and specially whether our learning be but a rememorating of things which we knew formerly, or else a learning a new.  
This is indeed (said I) no light question which mine author handleth also even in this place: and there are on either side great and learned authors, as Plato and Aristotle first, whereof the one was accounted the God of Philosophers, and the other the master of all learned men: and each hath his followers, who with forcible arguments seek to defend and maintain the part of their master and captain. But before we enter into that matter, you must understand that Plato and Aristotle have held a several way each of them in their teaching. For Plato from things eternal, descended to mortal things, and thence returned (as it were by the same way) from the earth to heaven again; rather affirming then proving what he taught. But Aristotle from earthly things (as most manifest to our senses) raised himself, climbing to heavenly things, using the mean of that knowledge which the senses give, from which his opinion was, that all human knowledge doth come. And where sensible reasons failed him, there failed his proofs also. Which thing, as it happened to him in divine matters, so did it likewise in the knowledge of the soul intellective (as some of his interpreters say): which being created by God to his own likeness, be hath written so obscurely thereof, that his resolute opinion in that matter cannot be picked out of his writings; but that reasons may be gathered out of them, in favour of the one part and of the other: as though the treaty of a matter so important and necessary to our knowledge, were (as schoolmen say) a matter contingent, about which arguments probable may be gathered on both sides: yet had he before him his divine master, who (as far as man's wit could stretch without grace) had taught him clearly that which was true, that man's soul is by nature immortal, and partaker of divinity; howsoever some of the peripatetics seem out of Aristotle to affirm that Plato was contrary to himself, as making the soul somewhiles immortal, and otherwhiles not: which in truth is not in Plato to be found, if he be rightly understood. But to the purpose. The opinion of Aristotle was, that our soul did not only not record any thing, but that it should be so wholly void of knowledge or science, as it might be resembled to a pure white paper: and therefore affirmed he, that our knowledge was altogether newly gotten; and that our soul had to that end need of sense; and that sense failing her, all science or knowledge should fail withal. Because the senses are as ministers to the mind, to receive the images or forms particular of things: which being apprehended by the common sense, called sensus communis, bring forth afterwards the universals. Which common sense, is a power or faculty of the sensitive soul, that distinguisheth between those things that the outward senses offer unto it; and is therefore called common, because it receiveth commonly the forms or images with the exterior senses present unto it, and hath power to distinguish the one from the other. But as those senses know not the nature of things; so is the same unknown also unto the common sense, to whom they offer things sensible. Wherefore this commonsense being (as we have said) a faculty of the sensitive soul, offereth them to the faculty imaginative, which hath the same proportion to the virtue intellective, as things sensible have to the sense aforesaid. For it moveth the understanding after it hath received the forms or images of things from the outward senses, & layeth them up material in the memory where they be kept. This done, Aristotle and his followers say, that then the part of the soul capable of reason, beginneth to use her powers; and they are (as they affirm) two: the one intellectus possibilis, and the other intellectus agens: these latin words I must use at this time, because they be easy enough to be understood, and in English would seem more harsh; whereof the first is as the matter to the second, and the second as form to the first. Into that possible faculty of the understanding, do the kinds or species of things pass, which the fantasy hath apprehended, yet free of any material condition: and this part is to the understanding, as the hand is to the body. For as the hand is apt to take hold of all instruments; so is this power or faculty apt to apprehend the forms of all things, from whence grow the universals: which though they have their being in the material particulars which the Latins call individua; yet are they not material, because they are not (according to Aristotle) yet in act. In which respect it is said, that sense is busied about things particular, and that only things universal are known, because they be comprehended by the understanding, without matter. It is nevertheless to be understood, that the kinds of things are in this possible part thus separated from matter, but blind and obscure: even as colours are still in substances, though the light be taken away; which light appearing and making the air transparent which before was darkened, it giveth to things that illumination, by which they are comprehended and known to the eye, whose object properly colours are. And the Sun being the fountain of light, wise men have said, that the same Sun giveth colours to things; for that by means of his light they are seen with those visible colours which naturally they have nevertheless in themselves, though without light they could not be discerned, and remain there as if they were not at all. This part of the soul then, wherein reason is, worketh the same effect towards things intelligible that the Sun doth towards things visible; for it illumineth those kinds or forms which lie hidden in that part possible, dark and confused, devoid of place, time, and matter, because they are not particular. And hence it cometh that some have said this possible understanding (as we may term it) to be such a thing, as out of it all things should be made, as if it were in stead of matter; and the other agent understanding to be the worker of all things, and as it were the form, because this part which before was but in power to things intelligible, becometh through the operation of the agent understanding to be now in act. And for this cause also is it said, that the understanding, and things understood, become more properly and truly one self same thing, then of matter and form it may be said. For it is credible, that both the forms of things and the understanding being immaterial, they do the more perfectly unite themselves, and that the understanding doth so make itself equal with the thing understood, that they both become one. To which purpose Aristotle said very well, that the reasonable soul, whiles it understandeth things intelligible, becometh one self same thing with them. And this is that very act of truth, to wit, the certain science or knowledge of any thing: which knowledge or science is in effect nought else then the thing so known. And this knowledge is not principally in man, but in the soul, wherein it remaineth as the form thereof. This is briefly the sum of the order or manner of knowledge, which those that follow Aristotle do set down: who therefore affirm that his sentence was, that who so would understand any thing, had need of those forms and images which the senses offer to the fantasy. From which sentence some (not well advised in my opinion) have gone about to argue, that the soul of man should be mortal, because Aristotle assigned no proper operation unto her, as if such had been his opinion. But they consider not that Aristotle in his books de Anima, spoke of the soul as she was natural, and the form to the body, performing her operations together with the body, and as she was the mover of the body, and the body moved by her, but not as she was distinct or separate from the body. And right true it is, that whiles she is tied to the body, she cannot understand but by the means of the senses: but that being free and loosed from the body, she hath not her proper operations, that is most false. For than hath she no need at all of the senses, when being pure and simple, she may exercise her own power and virtue proper to her, (which is the contemplation of God Almighty, the highest and only true good) nor yet of any other instrument but herself. And in this respect, perchance the better sort of peripatetics following their master's opinion, have said, that the soul separated from the body, is not the same she was whiles she was linked thereunto, as well because then she was a part of the whole, and was troubled with anger, desire, hatred, love, & such like passions common to her with the body; as because being imprisoned in the body, she had need of the senses; but now that she was freed from that imprisonment, nor any way bound to the body, she might use herself and her virtue much more nobly and worthily then before. And therefore Aristotle said, that the soul, separated from the body, could no more be called a soul, but equivocally. But here is to be noted, that it is one thing to speak of the intellective soul which is divine and uncorruptible, and another thing to speak of the soul, simply. For doubtless, the vegetative and sensitive souls, which cannot use their virtues and operations but by mean of the body, die with the body. But the intellective soul, which is our only true form, not drawn from the material power, but created and sent into us by the divine majesty, dieth not with the body, but remaineth immortal and everlasting. And thus much touching the manner of our learning, according to Aristotle's opinion may suffice. But Plato doubtless was of opinion that our soul, before it descended into us, had the knowledge of all things; and that by coming into this mortal prison (which his followers have termed the sepulchre of the soul) she was plunged as it were into profound darkness from a most clear light, whereby she forgot all that erst she knew. And that afterwards by occasion of those things, which by means of the senses come before her, the memory of that she knew before being stirred up and wakened, she came to resume her former knowledge, and in this sort by way of rememorating, and not of learning a new, she attained the knowledge of sciences; so as we learned nothing, whereof before we had not the knowledge. In conformity of which their master's sentence, the Platonikes say, that since the body bringeth with it the seeds that appertain unto it by nature, it is to be believed, that the soul likewise, being much more perfect, should bring with it those seeds that appertain to the mind. And to this reason they add, that men even from their first years desiring things that are good, true, honest and profitable: and since no man can desire a thing which he knoweth not after some sort, it may be concluded, that we have the knowledge of those things before. But because it would be too long a matter to rehearse all the arguments which Plato his followers bring to prove this, by our desiring of things, by seeking them, by finding them, and by the discerning of them; it may suffice to refer you to what Plato hath left of this matter written under the person of Socrates, in his dialogues entitled Menon and Phoedon, and divers other places. And likewise to that which his expositors have written, among whom Plotinus, though he be somewhat obscure, deserveth the chief place, as best expressing Plato his sense and meaning. But let our knowledge come how it will, either by learning anew, or by recording what the soul knew before; she having need (howsoever it be) of the ministry of the senses, and seeing it is almost necessary to pass through the same means from not knowing to knowledge: we shall ever find the like difficulties, whether we rememorate or learn anew. For without much study, great diligence, and long travel, are sciences no way to be attained. Which thing Socrates (who haply was the author of Plato his opinion) showed us plainly. For when the courtesan Theodota scoffing at him said, she was of greater skill than he: for she had drawn divers of Socrates scholars from him to her love, where Socrates could draw none of her lovers to follow him: he answered, that he thereat marveled nothing at all: for (said he) thou leadest them by a plain smooth way to lust and wantonness; and I lead them to virtue by a rough and an uneasy path.  
Here Captain Norreis said, Though this controversy between two so great Philosophers be not (for aught I see) yet decided, and that if we should take upon us to discern whose opinion were the better, it might be imputed to presumption: yet would I for my part be very glad to know what was the reason that induced Plato to say that our soul had the knowledge of all things before it came into the body; and I pray you, if your author speak any thing thereof, that you will therein satisfy my desire.  
Yes marry doth he sir, said I, and your desire herein showeth very well the excellency of your wit, and your attention to that which hath been said: and both may serve for a sufficient argument, what hope is to be conceived of a gentleman so inclined and desirous to learn. Thus therefore he saith to your question. That whereas we according to truth believe, that our souls are by the divine power of God, incontinently created and infused into our bodies, when we begin to receive life and sense in our mother's womb. Plato contrarily held, that they were long before the bodies created, and produced in a number certain by God, and that they were as particles descended from the Gods above into our bodies: and therefore he thought it nothing absurd, that they should have the knowledge of all things that may be known. For that they being in heaven busied in the contemplation of the divine nature, free from any impediment of the body: and that divine nature containing in it (as he said) the essential Ideas of all things, which Ideas (according to his opinion) were separate and eternal natures remaining in the divine mind of God, to the pattern of which, all things created were made, they might (said he) in an instant have the knowledge of all that could be known.  
If this opinion were true, said Captain Norreis, happy had it been for us, that our souls had continued still, after they were sent into our bodies, to be of that sort that they had been in heaven, for than should we not have needed so much labour and pain in seeking that knowledge which before they had so perfectly. And being so perfect to what end did he say, they were sent into our bodies to become unperfect?  
His opinion (said I) was, that the souls were created in a certain number, to the end they might inform so many bodies: and therefore if they should not have come into those bodies, they should have failed of the end for which they were created. In which bodies, the Platonikes say further, that they were to exercise themselves, and were given to the bodies, not only because they should give them power to move, to see, to feel, and to do those other operations which are natural; but to the end that they should in that which appertaineth to the mind, not suffer us to be drowsy, and lie (as it were) asleep, but rather to waken and stir us up to the knowledge of those things that are fit for us to understand: and this was the most accomplished operation (said they) that the soul could give unto the body whiles it was linked thereunto.  
I cannot see (said the Lord Primate) how this hangeth together. For I have read that these kind of Philosophers held an opinion, that our souls all the while they were tied to our bodies, did but sleep: and that all, which they do or suffer in this life, was but as a dream.  
It is true (said I) that the Platonikes said so indeed; and that was, because they knew that whatsoever we do in this life is but a dream, in comparison of that our souls shall do in the other world, when they shall be loosed from those bands which tie them to our bodies here: through which bands they are hindered from the knowledge of those things perfectly which here they learn. In regard whereof Carneades, Arcesilas, and others the authors of the new Accademie said constantly, that in this world there was no certain knowledge of any thing. And Nausifanes affirmed, that of all those things which here seem to us to be, we know nothing so certainly as that they were not. Unto which opinion Protagoras also agreed, saying, that men might dispute of any thing pro & contra; as if he should say, that nothing could be assuredly known to us whiles we are here, as our souls shall know them whensoever they shall be freed from our bodies, and lie no more enwrapped in these mortal shadows, because than they shall be wholly busied in the contemplation of truth: neither shall they be deceived by the senses, as in this life they are oftentimes, who offer unto them the images of things uncertainly, not through default of the senses, but by reason of the means whereby they apprehend the forms of things. For the sense by his own nature (if he be not deceived or hindered in receiving of things sensible) comprehendeth them perfectly, nay becometh one self same thing with them. And this is the cause why it is said, that our soul's sleep whiles they remain in this life, and that our knowledge here is but as a dream. According to which conceit, the enamoured Poet, speaking of his Lady Laura, said very properly upon her death in this sort: 
Thou hast (fair Damsel) slept but a short sleep,  
Now waked thou art among the heavenly spirits,  
Where blessed souls intern within their maker.   
Showing that our life here is but a slumber; and seeming to infer that she was now interned or become inward in the contemplation of her maker, being wakened from her sleep among those blessed spirits, as she had been, before she was enclosed in this earthly prison. And likewise he seemed to lean to Plato his opinion in another place, when speaking of her also, he said she was returned to her fellow star. For Plato thought the number of souls created, was according to the number of the stars in heaven: and that every soul had a proper star to which it returned after this life. But as for our knowledge, in truth it is but a shadow in respect of the knowledge our souls shall have by the contemplation of the divine essence. Whereupon Socrates, one of the wisest and most learned men that ever were, yet evermore affirmed resolutely, that the only thing he knew, was, that he knew nothing. And to say truly, this his knowing of nothing, might well be termed a learned ignorance.  
Well (said the Lord Primate) captain Carlisle and captain Norreis have by their demands ministered a very fit occasion unto you, to discourse out of your author the considerations of the manner of our knowledge, and consequently of the soul of man, and to declare withal the opinions of two so excellent Philosophers and of their followers. But though both agree in this, that whether the soul learn of new, or by rememorating, she hath always need of the senses as her ministers to attain knowledge: yet is it to be believed, and that assuredly, that the soul of man being created by God Almighty to his own image and likeness, she hath also some proper operation or action resembling his; to the accomplishment whereof, she hath no need of the senses. And that being dissolved from the body, or after, when he shall be reunited to the same in the resurrection, she having then the same image and likeness of God still in her, she shall everlastingly be wholly and only intent to the contemplation of his divine majesty, who is the only true and perfect good and happiness. The perfection of which divine majesty, is the knowledge of himself; and knowing himself to know all things by him created and produced. But it is time now for you to return to the matter you had in hand, when you were drawn by their demands to make this digression.  
And even so will I, since you be so pleased, quoth I, and so proceeded in this manner. In the beginning of youth, the young man is fitly to be resembled to a traveler that is arrived in his journey to a place where the way is divided into two parts, and standeth in doubt which of them he shall take: for in either of them he seeth a guide standing ready to lead him; whereof, the one inviteth him to pleasure, and the other to virtue. The first proposing to him his delights and ease, and the other labour and travel. And forasmuch as that age is inclined naturally to pleasures, and enemy to paine-taking and labour, it is greatly to be doubted that the young man leaving the way that leads to virtue, will betake himself to the other guide to follow the way that leadeth to delight. Wherefore if at any time it be needful for the father to have a watchful eye upon his son, it is then most important when his child is to make his passage from his childhood into his youth: and at that time to set before his eyes continually instructions, whereby he may conceive how honesty and good behaviour, with civil conversation, are the foundation of good and happy life: and this chiefly is he to do by his own example. For though it be very good, that his son in those years, and at all other times, should see the whole family so ordered, as he may learn nothing therein but virtue and honesty; yet must he not think but that his son will better believe and follow what he shall see himself do or say, than all the family beside. And if Aristotle advise masters to endeavour themselves to give good example to their servants and slaves; how much more ought the father to be careful to do the like to his own children, who are dearer to him then his servants, being his own lively images. For as it is the mother's care and office to breed and nourish her child; so is it the father's duty to see him well instructed and taught in virtues and good behaviour: and the speeches and demeanour of the father in his household or family, are to his children as laws in a city to the citizens, and do assuredly enter into the minds of children with far greater force than men would think. Which made Xenocrates to say, that the stopping of young men's ears was more needful than the arming of their bodies against the strokes of their enemies; because the danger was greater which they incurred by hearing an unseemly speech, specially from their parent's mouth, then that which they might fear by fight with their enemies. The father therefore must be very circumspect that his son hear him not speak any word undecent or dishonest: for nature with a certain hidden virtue persuadeth youth, succeeding a weltaught childhood, to bear great reverence and respect to the grave and ripe years of their parents, and of all aged persons; who even in the first view represent unto them virtue, prudence, and all good and grave behaviour. And such is he to show himself to his son, as even in his countenance, gestures and words he may as in a table behold therein the laws of honest life. And that his actions may be in all points to his son a pattern and example of civil conversation and virtuous living.  
It is a very necessary and important instruction and advertisement (said M. Dormer) that you have last mentioned for fathers to observe. But I would feign that you should tell me, whether you have not seen (as I oftentimes have done) wicked children begotten of very good and honest parents.  
Yes (quoth I) oftener than I would. Neither can it be denied, but that as there are some young men by nature and through their happy constellation wholly bend to virtuous and honest conditions; so are there others naturally disposed to vice and lewd behaviour: yet since it seemeth not credible, that of good parents ill children should come; and that diligent care in bringing them up should not pluck up (if not wholly, yet in part) those evil weeds which choke the good seeds, so as the fruit might in due season be expected: seeking to find the reason hereof, I have called to mind the precept of Hypocrates given to the Physicians, to wit, that it is not sufficient for recovery of the sick patient, that the Physician be well disposed to cure him, and employ his diligence to that effect: but that other things must likewise concur for the recovery of his health, as the care and solicitude of such as watch and tend him, with other exterior things. For even so me thinketh, that to the good proof of a young man, besides the example of the father, and of the rest of the family, be it never so virtuous, there must also concur the goodness of his conversation abroad, to make his domestical familiarity work due effect: since many times I have seen it fall out, that the haunting of ill company from home, hath done a young man much more hurt, than all the good instructions or virtuous examples domestical could do him good. So soft and tender are the minds of young men, and apt (as was formerly said) to be wrought like wax to vice. And this cometh to pass, by reason that the sensitive part calling youth to delight, and diverting it from the travel and pain which learning and virtue require, is hardly subdued and brought under the rule of reason, by which it esteemeth itself forced, when it is barred from that it desireth. And if by any exterior occasion it be pricked forward, it fareth as we see it oftentimes do with young hard-headed colts, who take the bit in the mouth, and run away with the rider, carrying him, will he, nill he, whether they list. It ought therefore to be none of the least cares of the father to provide, that the foreign conversation of his son may be such as shall rather help then hinder his care and home-example. To which effect, it would be very good, if it might be possible, that the young man were never from his father's side. But forasmuch as many occasions draw men to attend other weightier affairs, as well public as private, whereby they are driven to have their minds busied about exterior things, and to neglect their children who are their own bowels. Therefore is it their parts in such cases to appoint for their children, when they are passed their childish years, some learned and honest man of virtuous behaviour to govern them and take care of them, whose precepts they may so obey, as they shall fear to do any thing that may breed reproach or blame unto them. For such things are mortal poison to young men's minds, and not only put them astray from the path that should lead them to virtue, but imprint in them also a vicious habit that maketh them unruly and disobedient to all wholesome admonitions and virtuous actions. This man so chosen to have the charge of youth, must be careful among other things to foresee, that his disciples may have such companions, as the Persian Princes had, provided for them, to wit, equal of age and like of conditions, with whom they may be conversant & familiar. For such similitude of age and conditions doth cause them to love and like one another, if some bar or impediment fall not between them. The ancient wise men assigned to youth the Planet of Mercury, for no other cause (as I suppose) but for that Mercury being (as Astronomers say) either good or bad, according as he is accompanied with another planet good or evil: even so youth becometh good or bad, as the companies to which it draweth or giveth itself. And therefore ought not young men to have liberty to haunt what company they list, but to be kept under the discipline of wise men, and trained up in the company of others of their age well bred, until it may be thought, or rather found by experience, that they be passed danger, and become fit to guide themselves: having brought their mind obedient to reason so far, as it cannot any more draw him to any delights, but such as are honest and virtuous. This delight in virtue and honesty, is best induced into a young man's mind by that true companion of virtue that breedeth fear to do or say any thing unseemly or dishonest: which companion Socrates sought to make familiar to his scholars, when he would tell them how they should endeavour themselves to purchase in their mind's prudence, into their tongue's truth with silence, and in their faces bashfulness, called by the Latins verecundia, deriving it from the reverence which young men use to bear to their elders. This we call shamefastness, and is that honest red colour or blushing which dieth a young man's cheeks when he supposeth he hath done or said any thing unseemly or unfit for a virtuous mind, or that may offend his parents or betters: a certain token of a generous mind, and well disciplined, of which great hope may be conceived that it will prove godly and virtuous. For as a sure and firm friend to honesty and virtue, like a watch or guard set for their security, it is ever wakeful and careful to keep all disordinate concupiscences from the mind, whereby (though of itself it be rather an affect then a habit) nevertheless she induceth such a habit into a young man's mind, that not only in presence of others he blusheth, if he chance to do any thing not commendable, but even of himself he is ashamed, if being alone he fall into any error. For though some say, that two things chiefly keep youth from evil, correction, and shame, and that chastisement rather than instruction draweth youth to do well; yet I for my part never think that young man well bred or trained up, who for fear of punishment abstaineth from doing things shameful or dishonest: punishment being appointed but for them that are evil: which made the Poet say: 
For virtues sake good men ill deeds refrain:  
Ill men refrain them but for fear of pain.  For the wickedness of men hath caused laws to be devised and established for the conservation of honest and virtuous society, and civil life, whereunto man is borne: which laws have appointed penalties for the offenders, to the end that for fear thereof, as Xenocrates was wont to say, men might fly from ill doing, as dogs fly harm doing for fear of the whip. And because Plato form his Commonweal of perfect and virtuous men, therefore set he down no laws in his books the Repub. because he supposed the goodness of the men to be sufficient for the government thereof without a law, either to command good order, or to punish offenders. Nevertheless the same divine Philosopher considering how the imperfection of man's nature will not suffer any such Commonwealth to be found: he wrote also his books of laws to serve for the imperfection of other Commonweals, which were composed of men of all sorts, good and bad, mean or indifferent, in which both instruction and punishment were needful, as well to make the evil abstain from vice, as to confirm the good, and to reduce those that were indifferent to greater perfection. laws therefore have appointed punishments, that virtue might be defended and maintained, civil society and human right preserved. But young men bred as our author would have them, are by all means to be framed such, as for virtues sake, for fear of reproach, for love and reverence to honesty, and not for fear of punishment to be inflicted on them by the magistrates or their superiors for doing of evil, they may accustom themselves never to do any thing, for which they should need to blush, no not to themselves alone. Which thing they shall the better perform, if they use to forbear the doing of any thing by themselves, which they would be ashamed of if they were in company. It is written, that among the ancient Romans one julius Drusus Publicola having his house seated so as his neighbours might look into it, a certain Architect offered him for the expense of five talents to make it so close as none of his neighbours should look thereinto, or see what he was doing. But he made him answer again, that he would rather give him ten talents to make it so, as all the city might see what he did in his house; because he was sure he did nothing within doors whereof he need be ashamed abroad, though every man should see him. For which answer he was highly commended. True it is that Xenophon esteemeth this blushng to a man's self, to be rather temperance than bashfulness: but let it be named how it will, it is surely the property of a gentle heart so to do. And therefore Petrarke said well: 
Alone whereas I walked mongs woods and hills,  
I shamed at myself: for gentle heart  
Thinks that enough, no other spur it wills.  Yet would I not neither, that our young man should be more bashful than were fit, as one overawed or doltish, not able to consider perils or dangers when they present themselves, not yet to lose his boldness of spirit. For Antipater the son of Cassander through the like quality cast himself away, who having invited Demetrius to supper with him at such a time, as their friendship was not sure but stood upon doubtful terms, and he being come accordingly: when Demetrius afterwards as in requital of his kindness invited Antipater likewise to supper, though he knew right well what peril he thrust himself into if he went, considering the wily disposition of the said Demetrius: yet being ashamed that Demetrius should perceive him to be so mistrustful, would needs go, and there was miserably slain. This is a vice, named in the Greek Disopia, and which we may in English call unfruitful shamefastness, wherewith we would not wish our young man should be any way acquainted, but only with that generous bashfulness that may serve him for a spur to virtue, and for a bridle from vice. But because Plato saith, that though bashfulness be most properly fit for young men, yet that it is also seemly enough for men of all years. And that Aristotle chose thinketh it not meet for men of riper years to blush: it may therefore be doubted to whether of these two great learned men's opinions we should incline. For cleared hereof, you must understand that the Platonikes say two things among others are specially given to for a divine gift unto man: Bashfulness the one, and Magnanimity the other: the one to hold us back from doing of any thing worthy blame & reproach: the other to put us forward into the way of praise and virtue; whereby we might always be ready to do well only for virtues sake, to the good and benefit of others, and to our own contentment and delight. Of which course, the end is honour in this world, and glory after death. But because the force of the Concupiscible appetite is so great, and setteth before us pleasure in so many sundry shapes, as it is hard to shun the snares which these two enemies of reason set to entrap us, and that the coldness of old age cannot wholly extinguish the fervour of our appetites; for my part I think that as in all ages it is fit that Magnanimity invite us to commendable actions; so also that we have need of shamefastness to correct us whensoever we shall go beyond the bounds or limits of reason in what years soever, and to check us with the bridle of temperance. For though Aristotle say, that shame ought to die red in a man's cheeks, but for voluntary actions only: yet Plato considering that none but God is perfect without fault; and that every man, even the most virtuous falleth sometimes through human frailty, thought (according to Christianity) that ripeness of years or wisdom should be no hindrance to make them ashamed, but rather make them the more bashful whensoever they should find in themselves, that they had run into any error undecent or unfitting for men of their years and quality. Not intending yet thereby that the errors of the ancienter men were to be of that sort that young men's faults commonly are, who through incontinency run oftentimes into sin wilfully: whereas men of riper years err or aught to err only through frailty of nature. Much better were it indeed for men of years not to do any thing of which they might be ashamed, if the condition of man would permit it, then after they had done it to blush thereat: and much more reproachful is his fault, if he offend voluntarily then the young man's. But since no man (though he have made a habit in well-doing) can stand so assured of himself, but that sometime in his life he shall commit some error: it is much better (in what age soever it be) that blushing make him know his fault, then to pass it over impudently without shame. And accordingly Saint Ambrose said in his book of Offices, that shamefastness was meet for all ages, for all times, and for all places. And for the same cause perhaps have wise men and religious held, that an Angel of heaven assisteth every man to call him back from those evils, which the ill Angel with his sugared bait of delight and disordinate appetite enticeth him unto, only for his ruin. For they thought that our forces were not able to resist so mighty provocations. As for Plato and Aristotle, seemeth they differed in opinion, for that, the one considered human nature as it ought to be, and the other as it commonly is indeed. Which may the better be believed, because Aristotle in his book of Rhetoric, restrained not this habit of shamefastness so precisely to young men, but that it may sometimes beseem an aged man's cheeks also, though so far as grace and wisdom may prevail, it would best beseem him never to do the thing whereof he need be ashamed, as before was said. And the same rule ought young men also to propose to themselves, whereby they shall deserve so much the more commendation, as the heat of their years beareth with them fiery appetites, and they the less apt to resist so sharp and so intolerable pricks. The way to observe that rule, is to strive in all their actions to master themselves, and to profit in virtue: whereunto will help them chiefly, that they endeavour themselves to bridle such desires as they find most to molest them, not suffering them to transport them beyond the limits of honesty. But because the day goeth away, and that to treat particularly of all that might be said concerning the direction of youth to virtue, which leadeth him to his felicity, would require more time than is remaining, I will briefly knit up the rest that concerneth this matter. Young men have natural heat so much abounding in them, that they cannot rest, but be still in motion as well of body as of mind. The one with running, leaping, and other exercises, and when all they fail, the tongue ceaseth not, which by reason of their age is the more bold and ready. The other with passing from one discourse to another, and from one passion to another; now loving, now hating, now boiling with anger and choler, now still and quiet, with such like motions of the mind. And because the motions of the body, and the affections of the mind must have their measure and their rule, and the one and the other convenient exercise and moderate rest: therefore did the ancient wise men devise two special Arts, most apt and fit for both these purposes. Whereof, the one they called Gymnastica, which is a skilful and moderate exercise of the body; and the other Music, by which name it is well known in all languages. And when they had caused their youth to spend part of the day in learning those sciences and disciplines which they thought fit for that age (for of all other things they abhorred the training them up in ignorance, because seldom can an ignorant man be good, and that men without knowledge and learning are but figures of men, and images of death without soul or life) then would they draw them to honest exercises of the body by degrees. For they held it a thing most necessary for the wel-founding of a Commonwealth, to be continually careful of the framing youth both in body and mind; because they knew right well that good education maketh young men good: and that such are Commonwealths and States, as are the qualities and conditions of the men which they do breed. Touching the body therefore, they did devise to strengthen and harden it with convenient and temperate exercises: as the play at ball, leaping, running, dancing, riding, wrestling, throwing the bar, the stone or sledge, and such like. For the mind, they thought best to stay and settle itself with the harmony of Music: and from these two they resolved, that two great good effects did ensue: From the first, strength of body and boldness of spirit; and from the latter, modesty and temperance, inseparable companions for the most part unto fortitude. For some of them were of opinion, that our souls were composed of harmony; and believed that Music was able so to temper our affects and passions, as they should not far or discord among themselves, but be so interlaced the one with the other in a sweet consent, as well guided and ordered action should proceed from the same, even as sweet and delightful Music proceedeth from the wel-tempering of tunable voices, or well consorted instruments. Neither would they have the one to be exercised, and the other omitted: for that they thought, if young men should give themselves only to the exercises of the body, they would become too fierce and hardy; and so be rather hurtful to their commonweals then otherwise. And if they should follow only Music, which is proper to rest and quietness, and used as a recreation of the mind, as Aristotle saith, they would become soft minded and effeminate. But by joining both these faculties together in one, they sought to make a noble temper, and to induce a most excellent habit, as well in the mind as in the body. So that if valour were required for the defence of their country, or vanquishing of their enemies, they were made fit and apt thereunto by the exercises of the body; but with such measure and temper as should not exceed. Which measure and temper, they obtained from that harmony which Music imprinted in their minds: under which they comprehended not only the ordering of the voice and sounds of instruments, but all other orderly and seemly motions of the body; which upon their stages, or Scenes in the acting of Tragedies, was chiefly to be discovered. And that all orderly motions were comprehended under Music, was held so certain by Pythagoras, Archetas, Plato, Cicero, & other famous Philosophers, that they were of opinion, that the orderly course and motions of the heavens could not be such as it is, or continue without harmony, though Aristotle do oppose himself to their opinion. And for this cause did Lycurgus devise that Music should be conjoined with the military discipline of the Lacedæmonians, not only to temper the heat and fury of their minds in fight; but also to cause them to use a certain measure in that marching, and other occasions of war. In which respect they were wont to battle without certain pipes, according to the times whereof they understood how to use their bodies and weapons: from which respect also cometh our using of drums and trumpets to give soldiers knowledge when to march, when to stand, when to assault, and when to retire: and consequently how to join order and measure with their valour against the enemy: and the Lansknight and the Swisser use also the fife at this day with the drum. And to say truth, great is the force of Music skilfully used to stir up or to appease the mind. For we read, that Pythagoras finding a wanton young man enraged with lust, ready to force the door of an honest woman, he so calmed his mind, only by changing the Phrygian tune and number into the Spondean, that he gave over his wicked purpose. And Therpander, when a great sedition was raised among the Lacedæmonians, he with his music so quieted their minds bend to fury, that he reduced them to a perfect peace. It is also written of the great Alexander, that he was so moved by that tune and number of Musics, which the greeks called Orthios nomos, which was a kind of haughty tune to stir men to battle, that he rose from the board to arm himself, as if the trumpet had sounded the alarm. But what talk we of the ancient opinions concerning the force of Music to move men's minds, when we find they believed that their Gods were forced by the virtue of Music to appease their wrath? For, the Lacedæmonians being infested with a great pestilence, Thales of Candia was said by music to have mitigated their anger, and so to have delivered them from that mortality. The which thing Homer also signified, when he said, that the youngmen of Greece with their songs did appease Apollo his wrath, and caused the plague to cease which had infected their camp. And the Romans likewise being annoyed with a great pestilence, received then first the singing of Satyrs into the City though but rudely tuned then, as a remedy for that infection. The force & efficacy of music then being such as I have declared, it is no marvel that the Egyptians, after they had once received it into their Commonwealth, as meet for the instruction of their youth, would never after allow that it should be altered or changed, but such as it was when they first admitted it, such they continued it without altering the space of ten thousand years, according to their manner of contemplation, having a conceit or rather a firm opinion that they could not alter music but with danger to their State. Which opinion the Lacedæmonians likewise so embraced, that when Timotheus an excellent Musician in Sparta, had presumed to add but one string to the Cyther, they banished him out of the city and territories, as a violater of laws, and a corrupter of honest discipline. Albeit with Phrine they dealt more mildly, who having added to the Cyther two cords, one sharp, and another grave or flat, they only caused him to take them away again, supposing that seven strings were enough to temper the sound thereof, as a number comprehending all music; and that the increasing thereof was but superfluous and harmful. These ancient examples & considerations, are not slightly to be passed over: for though many other occasions of corruption in our age may be assigned; yet one of the principal, in the judgement of wise men, may well be imputed to the quality of that corrupted music which is most used now a days; carrying with it nothing but a sensual delight to the ear, without working any good to the mind at all. Nay, would God it did not greatly hurt and corrupt the mind. For as music well used is a great help to moderate the disorderly affections of the mind: so being abused it expelleth all manly thoughts from the heart, and so effeminateth men, that they are little better than women: and in women breedeth such lascivious and wanton thoughts, that oftentimes they forget their honesty, without which they cannot be worthy the name of women. Not that I would hereby infer, that music generally were to be misliked, or unfit for women also: but my meaning is of this wanton and lascivious kind of music, which is now a days most pleasing, and resembleth the Lydian of old time, which Plato so abhorred, as he would not in any sort admit it into his Commonweal, lest it should infect the minds of men and women both. And from him may we learn what kind of music he would have men to embrace, to stir their minds up to virtue, and to purge the same from vice and error. Like as also from Aristotle in his 8. book of politics, taken perchance out of the writings of his master. But if that ancient kind of music, framed and composed wholly to gravity, were now known and used, which kind was then set forth with the learned and grave verses of excellent Poets, we should now also see magnifical and high desires stipped up in the minds of the hearers. Which verses contained the praises of excellent and heroical personages, and were used to be sung at the tables of great men and Princes, to the sound of the Lyra; whereby they inflamed the minds of the hearers to virtue and generous actions. For the force of Music with Poesy, is such, as is of power to set the followers and lovers thereof into the direct way that leadeth them to their felicity. Socrates demanding of the Oracle of Apollo, what he should do to make himself happy: he was willed to learn Music; whereupon he gave himself forthwith to the study of Poesy, conceiving with himself, that verses and Poetical numbers are the perfectest Music, and that they enter like lively sparks into men's minds, to kindle in them desires of dignity, greatness, honour, true praise and commendation, and to correct whatsoever is in them of base and vile affection. In ancient time therefore men caused their children to be instructed in Poesy before all other disciplines, for that they esteemed good Poets to be the fathers of wisdom, and the undoubted true guides to civil life, and not without cause. For they raise men's thoughts from humble and base things, such as the vulgar and common sort delight in, and make them bend their endeavours wholly to high, yea heavenly things. As who so list to attend diligently the excellency of the Psalms and Hymns composed by the Kingly Prophet David, and others called the singers of the Hebrew Church, shall easily discern. But since our music is grown now to the fullness of wanton and lascivious passions, and the words so confusedly mingled with the notes, that a man can discern nothing but the sound and tunes of the voices, but sense or sentence he can understand none at all; even as it were sundry birds chanting and chirping upon the boughs of trees: young men are much better in the judgement of the wise, to abstain from it altogether, then to spend their time about it. For as good disciplines are the true and proper nourishment of virtue: so are the evil the very poison of the same.  
Then said Captain Carlisle, as concerning the difference between the ancient music and ours in this age, I do easily agree with you, and wish it were otherwise, that we might see now a days those wonderful effects of this excellent Art, which are written of it in ancient authors. But where you so highly extol the study of Poesy, you make me not a little to marvel, considering how Plato, being so learned a man, did not only make small estimation thereof, but banished it expressly from his commonweal.  
Let not that seem strange unto you, said I: for Plato condemned not Poesy, but only those Poets that abused so excellent a faculty, scribbling either wanton toys, or else by foolish imitation taking upon them to express high conceirs which themselves understood not. And specially did he reprehend those Poets, who in their fictions did ascribe to the Gods such actions as would have been unseemly for the most wanton and vicious men of the world: as the adultery of Mars and Venus, those of jupiter with Semele, with Europa, with Danaë, with Calisto, and many more. Though some have under such fictions sought to teach moral and marvelous senses, which Plato likewise in his second Alcibiades declareth. But he blamed not those Poets, who frame their verses and compositions to the honour of God, and to good examples of modesty and virtue. For in his books of Laws he introduceth Poets to sing Hymns to their Gods, and teacheth the manner of their Choruses in their sacrifices, and to make prayers for the Commonweal. Howbeit, to say truth, though he so do, he would not have it lawful for every man to publish any composition that he had made, without the allowance and view of some magistrate elected in the city for that purpose. Which magistracy he would have to be of no fewer in number then fifty men of gravity and wisdom: of such importance did he hold the compositions of Poets to be. Which regard if it were had now a days, we should not see so many idle and profane toys spread abroad by some that think the preposterous turning of phrases, and making of rhyme with little reason, to be an excellent kind of writing, and fit to breed them fame and reputation. Supposing (as men blinded in their own conceits) that they exceed all other writers, and that from them only others that write in that kind should take their rules and example. So drowning their corrupted judgements in their ignorance, that where they be worthy blame, they esteem themselves comparable to the most famous and excellent Poets that ever wrote, and that they ought to be partakers of their glory and greatest honours. But to men of judgement, and able to discern the difference between well writing and presumptuous scribbling, they minister matter of scorn and laughter, when they consider their disjointed phrases, their misshapen figures, their shallow conceits lamely expressed, and disgraced, in stead of being adorned, with unproper and unfit metaphors, well declaring how unworthy they be of the title of Poets. Such are they, who being themselves full of intemperance and wantonness, write nothing but dishonest and lascivious rhymes and songs, apt to root out all honest and manly thoughts out of their minds that are so foolish as to lose their time in reading of them. These indeed ought to be driven out, and banished from all Commonweals, as corrupters of manners, and infecters of young men's minds: who may well be compared to rocks that lie hidden under water, amid the sea of this our life, on which, such young men as chance to strike, are like to suffer shipwreck, and sinking in the gulf of lust and wantonness, to be drowned and dead to all virtue. But true Poesy well used, is nothing else but the most ancient kind of Philosophy, compounded and interlaced with the sweetness of numbers and measured verses. A thing (as saith Musaeus) most sweet and pleasing to the mind, teaching us virtue by a singular manner of instruction, and covering moral senses under fabulous fictions: to the end they might the sooner be received under that pleasing form, and yet not be vulgarly understood, but by such only as were worthy to taste the sweetness of their inventions. For so did the Philosophers of old write their mysteries under similitudes, to the end they might not be strait comprehended by every dull wit, and lose their reputation, by being common in the hands and mouth of every simple fellow. This manner first began among the wiser Egyptians, and was afterwards followed by Pythagoras and Plato. And Aristotle, though he wrote not by similitudes and allegories, yet wrapped he up his conceits in so dark a manner of speech and writing, as hardly were they to be understood by those that heard himself teach and expound his writings. But to make an end with Poets, he that marketh those fictions which Homer hath written of their Gods, like as those of Virgil, and other of the heathen Poets, though at the first they seem strange and absurd; yet he shall find under them natural and divine knowledge hidden to those that are not wise and learned: which neither time nor occasion would, that I should here insist upon. Let it suffice that young men are to make great account of that part of Music which beareth with it grave sentences, fit to compose the mind to good order by virtue of the numbers and sound; which part proceedeth from the Poets, whom Plato himself called the fathers and guides of those that afterwards were called Philosophers. But this that by variety of tunes, and warbling divisions, confounds the words and sentences, and yieldeth only a delight to the exterior sense, and no fruit to the mind, I wish them to neglect and not to esteem.  
Indeed (said captain Carlisle) I agree with you, that our music is far different from the ancient music, and that well may it serve to please the ear: but I yield that it effeminateth the mind, and rather diverteth it from the way of bliss and felicity, then helpeth him thereunto. But are there not other disciplines, besides these two which you have specified last, wherein young men are to be instructed to further them to the attaining of that end, about which all this our discourse is framed?  
Yes marry (said I) and so far as youth is capable, it might well be wished that he had knowledge of them all. But of these our author hath first spoken, supposing that from Grammar, and such other the liberal Arts, as those first years could reach to understand, he should be strait brought to the excercise of the body and to Music. Nevertheless it is requisite withal, that, as his years increase, he should apply himself without loss of time to learn principally Geometry and Arithmetic, two liberal arts, and of great use and necessity for all human actions in this life; because they teach us measure and numbers, by which, all things man's life hath need of are ordered and ruled. For by them we measure land, we build, we devise Arts, and set them forth, all things are directed by number and measure, as occasions serve: and without the help of these two faculties, all would be confused and disordered. And therefore did the Egyptians set their children carefully to learn them: for that by them they decided the discords and differences growing among the dwellers along the banks of the river of Nile, which with her inundations, and breaking of their meres and limits did give them often cause to fall at variance and strife among themselves. For navigation likewise how needful they are, all men do know, that know the necessity of the use thereof for human life, since all that nature produceth to all people and nations in the world particularly, is thereby made common to all, with the help of commutation and of coin. From these two also cometh the exact knowledge, not only of the earth and of the sea, but of the heavens likewise and of their motions, of the stars and course of time, of the rising and setting of the planets: and to conclude all in few words, of the whole frame and order of nature, and of her skill, by which she knitteth and uniteth together in peace and amity things in themselves most contrary. All done so cunningly by number and measure, as a whole years discourse would not serve to display the same at large. The Art of war in like manner, so needful for States and Commonweals, to keep in due obedience stubborn and rebellious subjects, and to repel the violence of foreign enemies, if it were not directed by measure and number: what would it be but a confusion, and a most dangerous and harmful thing, which would soon fall from the reputation it hath and ever had. For these considerations therefore and others, is youth, that bendeth his course to virtue, to exercise itself in Geometry and Arithmetic, which in ancient times men would acquaint their children withal, even from their childhood: as Arts that have more certainty than any other. But they are not to be attained without Logic, because from it are gotten the instruments and the manner to divide, to compound, to invent and find out reasons and arguments; and finally to discern and judge of truth and falsehood. But here I must tell you, that he meaneth not of that Logic which is used now a days most in schools, standing for the most part upon brawlings and contentions, and propounding of frivolous questions, serving to nought else but subtleties, and inextricable knots, fitter to nourish arguments then to teach or explain the truth. Which abuse Antisthenes misliking, said, it was meeter to instruct him that contended, then by contention to overcome him. For Logic being indeed the way and mean to instruct and teach, and (as before is said) the proper instrument of sciences, such as learn it only to contend, forsake the right end and scope of that Art, and are as fruitless to their followers or scholars, as mire is to the way faring man, which besides the defiling of his garments, doth oftentimes make him also to fall. Therefore Plato in his time cried out upon the same, judging it not without cause to be a mere folly that hindered the knowledge of truth, and the learning of those things which the soundest and wisest Philosophers taught as well touching virtuous and civil actions, as natural and divine sciences: from which, this vain science putteth men astray, so long as it teacheth only to argue and to contend. Whereby it cometh to pass, that whiles they are more intentive to the words and circumstances then to the matter, the more they strive to seem learned and subtle, the less they show themselves to understand. Next to Logic is Rhetoric to be placed, or the Art of Oratory, which Leontinus did prefer before all other, because it maketh itself Lady over men's minds, not by force or violence, but by their own consents and free-will. And as Zeno expressed the difference between these two Arts, by resembling the former to his hand closed, and the latter to his hand stretched out. So doth Rhetoric use arguments with less force and efficacy than Logic; yet fetcheth them from Logic, as from a fountain or well head, not to seek out the truth exactly, but only to persuade or dissuade with them that, which he thinketh most profitable for the speaker, or the person for whom he speaketh. And of this Art, have all public and private actions appertaining to civil life need to persuade what is good and profitable, and to dissuade what is hurtful or unprofitable, to appease tumults and dissensions, to treat of leagues and pieces, to stir up the minds of men to the defence of their friends, their parents, their Prince and country, and their Religion: to search out and investigate the truth of all things, to assist the innocent and oppressed in courts of judgement, to accuse the faulty and offenders: and finally to give unto virtue her due praise and commendation; and unto vice due blame and reproach. By these means and studies which we have briefly touched, rather than perfectly declared, ought a young man to be framed to civil conversation, and instructed with all carefulness, that he may learn to bridle his concupiscible desires, his angry and disordinate motions, occasioned by the senses, and stirred up by those two parts of the mind, which are rebellious and contrary to reason: whereby he may give himself wholly to honest and virtuous endeavours. And because store of wealth oft times causeth young men (when they possess it) to turn aside from virtue, because riches is the nurse of wantonness in those years, great regard is to be had, that as the father, so far as his state requireth, is not to suffer his son to want any thing that is necessary for his calling; so must he take heed that he be not so fed with money, as feeding thereby his lusts and sensual appetites, he may abandon the good thoughts of virtue, and receive in steed of them the seeds of unruly and disorderly affections, which of themselves are by nature in youth much more mighty than were fit, and need not to be holpen by plenty of riches. For to give a young man money at will, to dispose as he list (unless the father find, as in some young men it happeneth, that he hath prevented his years with staidness and discretion) is even as much as to put a sword into the hands of a furious or mad man.  
By this the Sun was so far declined towards our horizon, as all the company thought it time to depart, that they might before sunset reach to the city.  
Wherefore sir Robert Dillon rising up, said: Howsoever the lateness of the day call us away, yet the desire to hear on further the discourse of so good a matter, hath drawn us on in such sort, as we have scarce perceived how the time is past. And for your second feast, you have right daintily and plenteously entertained us. We must now expect the third, which to morrow (God willing) we will not fail to come and accept: in hope that though we be cumbersome & troublesome unto you, yet as well in regard of discharging your promise, as of accomplishing the desire of so many your friends, you will not think it much to afford us your patience and your breath in delivering to us the substance of your authors third dialogue of Civil life; by which we may learn as much as he hath written of the Ethic part of Moral Philosophy, teaching the ready way for every man in his private course of life to attain his felicity, and that end, of which all this discourse of yours hath had his beginning. And so taking their leave all together they departed.   

The third days meeting, and discourse of Civil life.  
I Was not yet fully appareled on the next morrow, when looking out of my window towards the city, I might perceive the company all in a troop coming together, not as men walking softly to sport, or desirous to refresh themselves with the morning dew, and the sweet pleasant air that then invited all persons to leave their sluggish nests; but as men earnestly bend to their journey, and that had their heads busied about some matter of greater moment than their recreation. I therefore hasted to make me ready, that they might not find me in case to be taxed by them of drowsiness, and was out of the doors before they came to the house: where saluting them, and they having courteously returned the good morrow unto me; the Lord Primate asked me whether that company made me not afraid to see them come in such sort upon me being but a poor Farmer: for though they came not armed like soldiers to be cessed upon me, yet their purpose was to coynie upon me, and to eat me out of house and home. To whom I answered, that as long as I saw Counsellors in the company, I need not fear that any such unlawful exaction as coynie should be required at my hand: for the laws had sufficiently provided for the abolishing thereof. And though I knew that among the Irishry it was not yet clean taken away, yet among such as were ameynable to law, and civil, it was not used or exacted. As for soldiers, besides that their peaceable manner of coming freed me from doubt of cease, thanked be God the state of the realm was such as there was no occasion of burdening the subject with them, such had been the wisdom, valour and foresight of our late Lord Deputy, not only in subduing the rebellious subjects, but also in overcoming the foreign enemy: whereby the garrison being reduced to a small number, and they provided for by her Majesty of victual at reasonable rates, the poor husbandman might now eat the labours of his own hands in peace and quietness, without being disquieted or harried by the unruly soldier.  
We have (said sir Robert Dillon) great cause indeed to thank God of the present state of our country, and that the course holden now by our present Lord deputy, doth promise us a continuance, if not a bettering, of this our peace and quietness. My Lord Grey hath ploughed and harrowed the rough ground to his hand: but you know that he that soweth the seed, whereby we hope for harvest according to the goodness of that which is cast into the earth, and the seasonableness of times, deserveth no less praise than he that manureth the land. God of his goodness grant, that when he also hath finished his work, he may be pleased to send us such another Bailie to oversee and preserve their labours, that this poor country may by a well-ordered and settled form of government, and by due and equal administration of justice begin to flourish as other Commonweals do. To which all saying Amen, we directed our course to walk up the hill, where we had been the day before; and sitting down upon the little mount awhile to rest the company that had come from Dublin, we arose again, and walked in the green way, talking still of the great hope was conceived of the quiet of the country, since the foreign enemy had so been vanquished, and the domestical conspiracies discovered & met withal, and the rebels clean rooted out, till one of the servants came to call us home to dinner. Where finding the table furnished we sat down, and having seasoned our fare with pleasant and familiar discourses, as soon as the board was taken up, they solicited me to fetch my papers that I might proceed to the finishing of my last discourse of the three by me proposed. But they being ready at hand in the dining chamber, I reached them, and laid them before me, and began as followeth. Hitherto hath been discoursed of those two ages, which may for the causes before specified, be well said to be void of election, and without judgement, because of their want of experience. For which cause have they had others assigned to them, for guides to lead them to that end, which of themselves they were not able to attain, that is, their felicity in this life. And now being to speak of that age which succeeds the heat of youth; we must a little touch the variety of opinions concerning the same. Tully saith, that a citizen of Rome might be created Consul (which was the highest ordinary dignity in that city) when he was come to the age of 23. years. Pliny in his Panegyric saith, that it was decreed lege Pompeia, that no man might have any magistracy before he were thirty years old. And Ulpian, lege S. Digest. treating of honours, writeth, that under the age of 25. years no man was capable of any magistracy. Among these three opinions, the last of the civil lawyer holdeth the medium, and is therefore the fittest to be followed: for than is a young man's mind settled, and he is become fit (being bred and instructed as hath been before declared) to be at his own guiding and direction: and then doth the civil law allow him liberty to make contracts and bargains for himself, which before he could not do, being in pupillage and under a tutor. Howbeit our common law cutteth off four years of those, and enableth a young man at 21. years of age to enter into his land, and to be (as we term it) out of his wardship. Which time being (I know not for what respect) assigned by our laws, may well be held not so well considered of, as that which the civil law appointeth, if we mark how many of our young men overthrow their estates by reason of their want of experience, and of the disordinate appetites which master them: all which in those other four years from 21. to 25. do alter to better judgement and discretion. Whereby they are the better able to order their affairs.  
Why, said Captain Dawtry, I have known, and know at this day some young men, who at 18. years of age are of sounder judgement and more settled behaviour, than many, not of 25. years old only, but of many more, yea then some that are grey-headed with age.  
Of such (said I) there are to be seen oftentimes as you say some, that beyond all expectation, and as it were forcing the rules of nature, show themselves stayed in behaviour, and discreet in their actions when they are very young, to the shame of many elder men. Of which company, I may well of mine own knowledge, and by the consent I think of all men, name one as a rare example and a wonder of nature, and that is sir Philip Sidney; who being but seventeen years of age when he began to travel, and coming to Paris, where he was ere long sworn Gentleman of the chamber to the French King, was so admired among the graver sort of Courtiers, that when they could at any time have him in their company and conversation, they would be very joyful, and no less delighted with his ready & witty answers, then astonished to hear him speak the French language so well, and aptly, having been so short a while in the country. So was he likewise esteemed in all places else where he came in his travel, as well in Germany as in Italy. And the judgement of her Majesty employing him, when he was not yet full 22. years old, in Embassage to congratulate with the Emperor that now is his coming to the Empire, may serve for a sufficient proof, what excellency of understanding, and what staidness was in him at those years. Whereby may well be said of him the same that Cicero said of Scipio Africanus, to wit, that virtue was come faster upon him than years. Which Africanus was chosen Consul being absent in the wars, by an universal consent of all the tribes of Rome, before he was of age capable to receive that dignity by the law. But these are rare examples, upon which rules are not to be grounded: for Aristotle so long ago said, as we do now in our common proverb, that one swallow makes not summer. Among young men there are some discreet, sober, quick of wit, and ready of discourse, who show themselves ripe of judgement before their years might seem to yield it them: so are there among aged men on the other side some of shallow wit and little judgement; of whom the wisest men of all ages have esteemed, that to be old with a young man's mind, is all one as to be young in years. For it is not grey hairs or furrows in the face, but prudence and wisdom that make men venerable when they are old: neither can there be any thing more unseemly, than an old man to live in such manner as if he begun but then to live; which caused Aristotle to say, that it imported little whether a man were young of years or of behaviour. Nevertheless, because daily experience teacheth us, that years commonly bring wisdom, by reason of the variety of affairs that have passed through old men's hands, and which they have seen managed by other men: and that commonly youth hath need of a guide and director, to take care of those things which himself cannot see or discern. Therefore have laws provided tutors for the ages before mentioned, until they had attained the years by them limited, & thenceforth left men to their own direction, unless in some particular cases accidental, as when they be distraught of their wits, or else through extreme old age they become children again, as sometimes it falleth out. Knowledge then is the thing that maketh a man meet to govern himself; and the same being attained but by long study and practise, wise men have therefore concluded, that youth cannot be prudent. For indeed the variety of human actions, by which, from many particular accidents, an universal rule must be gathered; because (as Aristotle saith) the knowledge of universalities springeth from singularities, maketh knowledge so hard to be gotten, that many years are required thereunto. And from this reason is it also concluded, that human felicity cannot be attained in young years, since by the definition thereof it is a perfect operation according to virtue in a perfect life: which perfection of life is not to be allowed but to many years. But the way unto it is made open by knowledge, and specially by the knowledge of a man's self. To which good education having prepared him and made him apt, when he is come to riper judgement by years, he may the better make choice of that way which shall lead him to the same, as the most perfect end and scope of all his actions. And this by considering well of his own nature, which having annexed unto it a spark of divinity, he shall not only as a mere earthly creature, but also as partaker of a more divine excellency, raise himself, & have perfect light to see the ready way which leadeth to felicity. To this knowledge of himself, so necessary for the purchasing of human felicity, is Philosophy a singular help, as being called the science of truth, the mother of sciences, and the instructor of all things appertaining to happy life: and therefore should young men apply themselves to the study thereof with all carefulness, that thereby they may refine their minds and their judgements, and find the knowledge of his well-nigh divine nature, so much the more easily. And as this knowledge is of all other things most properly appertaining to human wisdom; so is the neglecting thereof the greatest and most harmful folly of all others: for from the said knowledge (as from a fountain or well head) spring all virtues and goodness; even as from the ignorance thereof slow all vices and evils that are among men. But herein is one special regard to be had, which is, that self love carry not away the mind from the direct path to the same: for which cause Plato affirmed, that men ought earnestly to pray to God, that in seeking to know themselves, they might not be misled by their self love, or by the overweening of themselves.  
M. Spenser then said: If it be true that you say, by Philosophy we must learn to know ourselves, how happened it, that the Brachmani men of so great fame, as you know, in India, would admit none to be their scholars in Philosophy, if they had not first learned to know themselves: as if they had concluded, that such knowledge came not from Philosophy, but appertained to some other skill or science.  
Their opinion (said I) differeth not (as my author thinketh) from the opinion of the wise men of Greece. But that the said Brachmani herein showed the self same thing that Aristotle teacheth, which is, that a man ought to make some trial of himself before he determinate to follow any discipline, that he may discern and judge whether there be in him any disposition whereby he may be apt to learn the same or no. And to the same effect in another place he affirmeth, that there must be a custom of well-doing in them that will learn to be virtuous, which may frame in them an aptness to learn, by making them love what is honest and commendable, and to hate those things that are dishonest and reproachful. For all men are not apt for all things: neither is it enough that the teacher be ready to instruct and skilful, but the learner must also be apt of nature to apprehend and conceive the instructions that shall be given unto him. And this knowledge of himself, is fit for every man to have before he undertake the study of Philosophy, to wit, that he enter into himself to try whether he can well frame himself to endure the discipline of this mother of sciences, and the patience which is required in all those things beside, which appertain to honesty and virtuous life. For he that will learn virtue in the school of Philosophy, must not bring a mind corrupted with false opinions, vices, wickedness, disordinate appetites, ambitions, greedy desires of wealth, nor wanton lusts and longings, with such like, which will stop his ears that he shall not be able to hear the holy voice of Philosophy. Therefore Epictetus said very well, that they which were willing to study Philosophy, ought first to consider well whether their vessel be clean and sweet, lest it should corrupt that which they meant to put into it. Declaring thereby withal, that learning put into a vicious mind is dangerous. But this manner of knowing a man's self, is not that which I spoke of before, though it be that which the said Indian Philosophers meant, and is also very necessary and profitable. For to know a man's self perfectly, according to the former manner, is a matter of greater importance than so. Which made Thales, when he was asked what was the hardest thing for a man to learn, answer, that it was, to know himself. For this knowledge stayeth not at the consideration of this exterior mass of our body, which represents itself unto our eyes, though even therein also may well be discerned the marvelous and artificial handiwork of God's divine Majesty, but penetrateth to the examination of the true inward man, which is the intellectual soul, to which this body is given but for an instrument here in this life. And this knowledge is of so great importance, that man guided by the light of reason, knoweth that he is, as Trismegistus saith, a divine miracle, and therefore not made (as bruit beasts are) to the belly and to death, but to virtue and to eternal life, that thereby he may unite himself at the last with his Creator and maker of all things, when his soul shall be freed from these mortal bands and fetters of the flesh. Towards whom nevertheless, it is his part of raise himself with the wings of his thoughts even whiles he is here in this world, soaring above mortal things, bending his mind to the contemplation of that divine nature, the most certain root of all goodness, the infallible truth, and the assured beginning and foundation of all virtues. And therefore said Aristotle, that the science of the soul was profitable to the knowledge of all truth. Whereunto may be added that which Plato and his followers have affirmed, to wit, that the soul knowing herself, knoweth also her maker; and disposeth herself not only to obey him, but also to become like unto him: whereof in another place occasion of further speech will be ministered. Moreover, a man by knowing himself, becometh in this life sage and prudent, and understandeth that he is made not to live only, as other creatures are, but also to live well. For they that have not this knowledge, are like unto bruit beasts: and he seeth likewise, that nature, though she produceth man not learned, yet she hath framed us to virtue, and apt to knowledge. And that a man is placed as a mean creature between bruit beasts and those divine spirits above in heaven, having a disposition to decline (if he list) to the nature of those bruit beasts, and also to raise himself to a resemblance of God himself. Which things he weighing and considering, he reacheth not only to the knowledge of himself, but of other men also. And by the guiding of Philosophy, to direct himself and others to the well governing of himself, of families, and Commonwealths, to the making of laws and ordinances for the maintaining of virtue and beating down of vice; and finally to set men in the way to their felicity, by giving them to understand, that they only are happy which be wise and virtuous, and meet to be Lords and rulers over other men, and over all things else created for the use of mankind. Of all which things when they shall consider man only to be the end, marveling at his excellency, they are driven to acknowledge how much they are bound to the heavenly bounty and goodness, for creating him so noble a creature, and setting him so direct a course to everlasting joy and felicity. Hence groweth a desire in them of what is good, beautiful, and honest, and of justice, and to make themselves like unto their maker: who (as the Platonikes say) is the centre, about which all souls capable of reason turn, even as the line turneth about the mathematical point to make a circle: and so by good and virtuous operations to purchase in this life praise and commendation, and in the life to come eternal happiness. These were the men whom the Lacedæmonians accounted divine, and the Platonikes called the images of God.  
Then said Captain Carlisle, this your discourse, whereby you have showed the importance and right meant of knowing ourselves, hath been very wise & fruitful, and fit to declare how we ought to frame our life in this world. But I make a doubt, whether all this that you have laid before us to be done, be in our power or no? for it seemeth strange, that, if it be in our power to give ourselves to a commendable life, there be any (as we see there are many) so perverse, and of so crooked judgement, as to bend themselves to wickedness and naughty life, who, when they might be virtuous, would rather choose to be vicious. And this maketh me oftentimes to think that the doing of good or evil is not in our power; but that either destiny (which as Thales was wont to say) ruled and mastered all things, or the stars with their influences doth draw us to do what we do.  
To this demand of yours, said I, you shall have an answer, such as mine author maketh, who, as a Philosopher naturally discoursing of the actions of the soul, delivereth his mind according to the sentence of all Philosophers. But because some part of your question toucheth a point now in controversy concerning Religion, it is good we have a safe conduct of my Lord Primate, that his sense as a Philosopher may have free passage without danger of his censure.  
That shall you have (said my Lord Primate) with a good will: for since we are here to discourse of Moral Philosophy, we will for this time put Divinity to silence, so far forth as your author say not any thing so repugnant to the truth, as that it may breed any error in the minds of the hearers.  
Then (said I) the demand of Captain Carlisle hath three several points or articles: the one is, whether virtue and virtuous actions be in our power or no? Another, that it seemeth strange, if vice & virtue be in our power, that any man should be so senseless as to apply himself to vice and forsake virtue. The last is, whether the good or evil we do, proceed from the influence of the heavens, or from necessity of destiny, and not from our own free election. And my author beginneth with the last, which he affirmeth to be most contrary to truth, and to the excellency of man's nature, proceeding thence to the second, and lastly to the first. Therefore he saith, that whosoever holdeth man's will and election to be subject to the necessity of destiny, destroyeth utterly (according to Aristotle's saying) all that appertaineth to human prudence, either in the care of himself or of his family, or in the ordering of laws, and the universal government of Kingdoms and Commonweals, as well in peace as in war: for if it were so, what need have men to do any thing, but idly to attend what his destiny is to give him or to deny him, or to provide for any of those things whereof our human life hath need. What difference were there between the wise man and the fool, the careful and the reckless, the diligent and the negligent? The punishment of malefactors, and the rewarding of wel-doers, should be unjust and needless. For every thing being done by the order of fatal disposition, and not by election, no man could either deserve praise, or incur blame. Besides, nature should in vain have given us the use of reason, to discourse or to consult, or the ability to will or choose any thing; for whatsoever were appointed by destiny, should of necessity come to pass; and if of necessity, than neither prudence, counsel, nor election can have any place. And the use of free-will being so taken from us, we should be in worse state and condition than bruit beasts; for they guided by instinct of nature, bend themselves to those things whereunto their nature inclineth them: whereas we notwithstanding the use of reason, should be like bondslaves, tied to what the necessity of destiny should bind us unto. This was the cause why Chrysippus was worthily condemned among all the ancient Philosophers, for that he held destiny to be a sempiternal and unevitable necessity and order of things which in manner of a chain was linked orderly in itself, so as one succeeded another, and were fitly conjoined together. By which description of destiny appeareth, that he meant to tie all things to necessity. For albeit he affirmed withal, that our mind had some working in the matter, yet did he put necessity to be so necessary, that there could no way be found, whereby our mind might come to have any part. For to say that our mind or will concurred, by willing or not willing whatsoever destiny drew us unto, was nought else but a taking away of free choice from our understanding or will, since our mind like a bondslave was constrained to will, or not to will, as destiny did invite it, or rather force it. And like to this were the opinions of Demetrius, of Parmenides, and of Heraclitus, who subjecteth all things to necessity, and deserved no less to be condemned then Chrysippus' Prince of the Stoikes. Among which, some there were, who seeing many things to happen by chance or fortune; whereby it appeared that it could not be true, that things came by necessity, lest they should deny a thing so manifest to sense, they supposed the beginnings and the end of things to be of necessity, but the means and circumstances they yielded to be subject to the changes and alterations of fortune. And of this opinion was Virgil (as some think) in the conducting of Aeneas into Italy. For it should seem that he departed his country to come into Italy by fatal disposition, that he might get Lavinia for his wife: but before he could arrive there, and win her, he was mightily tossed and turmoiled by fortune; which nevertheless could never cross him so much, but that in the end he obtained his purpose, which by destiny was appointed for him. But howsoever Virgil thought in that point, which here need not to be disputed, sure I am, that he in the greatest part of his excellent Poem, is rather a Platonike then a Stoic. Howbeit some Platonikes (as I think) were not far different in opinion from the stoics: for they say, that fortune with all her force was not able to resist fatal destiny. Though Plotinus thought otherwise, and indeed much better, who answering them that would needs have the influence of stars to induce necessity, proved their reasons to be vain only by an ordinary thing in daily experience: which is, that sundry persons borne under one self same constellation, are seen nevertheless to have divers ends and divers successes, which they could not have, if those influences did work their effects of necessity. And as for Epicures opinion, which was, that the falling of his motes or Atomies should breed necessity in our actions; he rather laughed at, then confuted. Yea he was further of opinion, that not only human prudence, and our free election, was able to resist the influences of the stars, but that also our complexion, our conversation and change of place might do the like: meaning that the good admonitions, and faithful advice and counsel of friends, is sufficient to overcome destiny, and to free our minds from the necessity of fatal disposition. Wherefore though it be granted that there is a destiny, or that the stars and heavens, or the order of causes, have power over us to incline or dispose us more to one thing then to another; yet is it not to be allowed that they shall force us to follow the same inclination or disposition. For though the heavens be the universal principle or beginning of all things, and by that universality (as I may call it) the beginning of us also according to natural Philosophy; yet is it not the only cause of our being and of our nature: for to the making man, a man must concur, and so restrain this universal cause to a more special. And as the heaven, or the order of higher causes, cannot engender man without a man (speaking according to nature): so can they do nothing to bind the free election of man without his consent, who must voluntarily yield himself to accomplish that whereunto the heaven or the order of causes doth bend and incline him. And if we have power to master our complexion, so, as being naturally inclined to lust, we may by heed and diligence become continent; and being covetous, become liberal (though Aristotle say, that covetise is as incurable a disease of the mind, as the Dropsy or phthisic is to the body): what a folly is it to believe that we cannot resist the inclinations of the stars, which are causes without us, and not the only causes of our being; but have need of us, if they will bring forth their effects in us? The beginning of all our operation is undoubtedly in ourselves: and all those things that have the beginning of their working in themselves, do work freely and voluntarily. And consequently we may by our free choice and voluntarily give ourselves to good or to evil, and master the inclination of the heavens, the stars, or destiny, which troubleth so much the brains of some, that in despite of nature they will needs make themselves bond being free: whom Ptolemy doth fitly reprehend, by saying, that the wise man overruleth the stars. For well may the heavens or the stars, being corporal substances, have some power over our bodies, but over our minds which are divine, simple, and spiritual substances, can they have none: for between the heavens & our minds is no such correspondence, that they may against our wills do aught at all in our minds which are wholly free from their influences, if any they have. And therefore do the best of the Platonikes say very well, that man must oppose himself against his destiny, fight to overcome the same with golden arms and weapons, to wit, virtues, which is (as Plato saith) the gold of the mind. For he that behaveth himself well, that is to say, ruleth well his mind or soul, which is the true man indeed, as we have formerly showed, shall never be abandoned to destiny or fortune: against which two powers man's counsel and wisdom resisteth in such sort, if he set himself resolutely thereunto, as it may well appear that he is Lord and master over his own actions. Neither without cause did Tully say, that fatal destiny was but a name devised by old wives, who not knowing the causes of things, as soon as any thing fell out contrary to their expectation, strait imputed it to destiny; joining thereunto such a necessity, as it must needs (forsooth) force man's counsel and prudence. A thing most false, as hath been declared. Is it not said in the Scripture, that God created man, and left him in the power of his own counsel? How then doth Menander say, that men did many evils compelled by necessity? I mean not by necessity, as commonly we do, want or poverty, but by necessity of destiny. We may then conclude, that our will and election is free, and that it is in our power to follow vice or virtue. Nevertheless true it is that man may abuse this his liberty, and of a free man make himself bond if he will: and therefore do the Platonike say, that a good and a well-minded man doth all his actions freely; but that if he give himself to do evil, forsaking the light of reason, he becometh a bruit beast, and looseth the divine gift of his liberty: for thenceforth doth he work no more freely of himself, but yieldeth his mind, which ought to be the Lord of our liberty, slave to the two basest parts of the soul, and then reigneth no more the reasonable soul, but the brutish, which maketh him abandon the care of the mind, and only to attend the pleasures of the body, as brute beasts do.  
Hitherto (said my Lord Primate) I find nothing to be misliked in your discourse, which (as a Philosopher) is declared according to moral reason. But, as a Christian, what saith your author to God's predestination? Is it not necessary, that whatsoever God hath determined of us from the beginning in his foreknowledge (being the most certain and true knower of all things) shall come to pass?  
This is (said I) no small question to be fully answered, and being also not very pertinent to the matter we have in hand (being merely moral) my author meddleth not with the particular points of the same: only hereof he saith, that Euripides had little reason to say, that God had care of greater things, but that he left the care and guiding of the lesser to fortune. For we are bound by holy writ to believe (and some of the ancient Philosophers have likewise so thought) that there moveth not a leaf upon a tree, nor falleth a hair from our heads, but by the will of God. Whereupon the holy Prophet David said, that God dwelleth on high, and beholdeth the things that are humble in heaven and in earth. And the peripatetics seemed to consent thereunto, when they said, that the heavenly providence foreseeing that the particulars were not apt to preserve themselves eternally, had therefore ordained that they should be continued in their universalities, which are the several kinds or species, containing under them the particulars, which of themselves are mortal and perishable, but are made perpetual in them through generation. He saith also, that predestination is an ordinance or disposition of things in the mind of God from the beginning, of what shall be done by us in this life through grace. But he thinks not that it tieth our free will, but that they go both together; that our well doing is acceptable and pleasing to God, and our evil deeds displeasing and offensive to his divine Majesty: and that for the good we shall receive reward, and punishment for the evil. The further discussing whereof appertaining rather to Divines then Moral Philosophers, he thinketh fit to refer unto them, and to believe that this is one of those secrets which God hath laid up in the treasury of his mind, whereunto no mortal eye or understanding can reach or penetrate, humbling ourselves to his holy will, without searching into that which we cannot approach unto. And if Socrates in that time of darkness and superstition of the heathen could exhort men to assure themselves, that God having created them, would have no less care of them, than a good and just Prince would have of his subjects: how much more are we to believe that our heavenly Lord and God Almighty, who hath sent his only begotten Son to redeem us from the bondage of Satan, doth dispose and ordain of us as is best for us, and for the honour of his divine Majesty. For as they are to be commended that refer themselves humbly to whatsoever he hath determined of them, doing their best endeavours to purchase his grace and favour: so are they to be misdoubted, who over-curiously will needs take upon them the judgement of God's predestination or prescience. And that sentence cannot but be very good, which sayeth, that he that made thee without thee, will not save thee without thee. For were a man certain to be damned, yet ought he not to do otherwise then well, because he is borne to virtue and not to vice: which the very heathen by the only light of reason could well perceive. Besides, it is thought, that all they, that are signed with the character of Christ in baptism, may steadfastly believe that they are predestinated and chosen to salvation: not that our predestination giveth us a necessity of well doing, but because we having the grace of God to assist us, dispose ourselves by the same grace to keep his commandments for our salvation, and for the honour and glory of his majesty: whereas by doing otherwise it is our own wickedness that excludeth us from that bliss. And further mine author saith not.  
In good sooth (said sir Robert Dillon) this seemeth to me to be well and Christian like spoken. For he that acknowledgeth not so great a gift from God, being a special mark or token by which we are distinguished from brute beasts, who wanting the use of reason, can have no free election, is not only unthankful, but doth foolishly thrust himself into the number of unreasonable creatures, while he will needs deprive himself of that he hath specially different from them. Neither doth the reverent regard to God's providence impeach our free will: which providence the Platonikes partly understanding, affirmed (as I have heard) that it did not alter or change the nature of things, but guided and directed destiny: imposing no necessity of doing good or evil upon us. And if any it did impose, it should be only to good, and never to evil. For what is divine must needs work divinely, and divine working can produce none but good effects. Wherefore they concluded that our election was not constrained by God's providence. This they confirmed by common experience. For (said they) if providence tie things to necessity, than chance or fortune can have no place in the actions of men. But we see daily many things maturely debated, which should by the natural and ordinary course of causes have a determinate and certain end, yet miss their effect whereunto they are ordained, and another produced which was never intended, which is the proper work of fortune. I have also heard some Divines say, that it should seem strange, if wise & prudent men in this world by their providence and foresight, seek evermore to bring perfection to those things which are under their government, God chose (who is the fountain of all wisdom & prudence, and the true and absolute preserver and conserver of all things by him produced) should not give perfections and continuance through his providence to so singular a gift given unto man above all other creatures of the earth, but should suffer it to perish, to bind us to servitude. And that if his providence should tie our free will to necessity, he should do that which is contrary to his own nature: for that thereby he should take from us the reward of virtue, since doing well by necessity, we could deserve neither praise nor recompense; he should also take from us all counsel and deliberation, which is needless and superfluous in all things, that of necessity must come to pass: and lastly justice itself, whereby malefactors are punished, if constrained by necessity they did wickedly, for than were their punishment unjust: which made S. Augustine say, that God would never damn a sinner, unless he found that he had sinned voluntarily. We may therefore (as I think) conclude, that being created by God, and endowed with so excellent a gift, as free choice and election, which, besides the place of Scripture above mentioned, is confirmed by another, where it is said, that God set before man life and death, good and evil, that he might take whether he list to choose; he by his divine foresight doth rather give perfection thereunto, then take it from us. Yet the particular consideration and debating of this matter being fitter for Divines then for us, let us leave the scanning of it to them, and be content like men seeking by the rules of Moral Philosophy to find the ready way to human felicity in this life, to refer ourselves in that point to the merciful goodness of Almighty God. And therefore (I pray you) proceed to the rest of your discourse, and show us the cause why so many give themselves rather to vice then to virtue, when they may do otherwise, which your author said he would declare in the second place.  
So shall I (quoth I) and for the resolving of the same, you shall understand that Plato was of opinion, that no man willingly was wicked, because the habit of vice was not voluntarily received by any man. And for confirmation of this his opinion, this reason he made: as virtue (said he) is the health of the mind, so is vice the infirmity of the same: and as the body receiveth willingly his health, and sickness against his will; even so the mind receiveth willingly virtue as his health, and vice unwillingly; knowing that thereby it becometh sick and infected. But Plotinus assigned another reason, not needful here to be rehearsed. Now Aristotle was of another mind, for he affirmed that man had free will by his own choice and election.  
How can man voluntarily embrace vice (said M. Dormer) which of all things is the worst, since the same author saith, that all men covet what is good, and since without virtue there can be no good.  
These two sayings (said I) are not contradictory: for the most wicked man alive desireth what is good: and if vice should show itself in his own proper form, he is so ugly and so horrible to behold, that every man would fly from him: therefore knowing how deservedly he should be hated and abhorred, if he were seen like himself, he presents himself under the shape of goodness, and hiding all his ill favoured face, deceiveth the sensitive appetite; which being enticed by the false image of goodness, is so seduced, and through the corruption of his mind and judgement, by the ill habit, contracted from his child hood, he embraceth that which (if his judgement were sound) he would never do. Wherefore Plato his meaning was (as it may be thought) that no man was willingly vicious, since, evil covering itself under the cloak of goodness, he was induced to do evil, thinking to do good: and so the opinions of both Philosophers concur. But Pythagoras by the report of Aristotle, lib. 8. Ethicor. assigneth another cause, to wit, that ill doing is an infinite thing, and that by a thousand ways men are led to wickedness and vicious actions, all easy to be taken: but to virtue there is but one only way, and the same so environed and crossed with the by-paths that guide men to vice, as it must needs be hard to keep it without entering into some of the by-ways leading to vice and error. For the eye that is not made clear sighted by Philosophy, is not able to discern that way from the rest.  
It should seem (said M. Dormer) by this, that ignorance is the cause of well doing, and not man's choice or election: for where ignorance is, it may be said there is no election.  
Not so (said I) if Aristotle be to be believed, who saith that ignorance so far forth as it concerneth men's actions, is of two sorts: the one is, when a man doth ill, not through ignorance, but ignorantly: the other is, when he doth it of mere ignorance, because he neither knoweth nor might know that such an action was evil. In the first case, are those that are hasty & choleric, and drunkards: for though they knew before, that hastiness and drunkenness be evil, yet when the heat of choler, or the disordinate appetite of wine blindeth them, they err ignorantly, but not of ignorance. In the latter are they that fall through mere ignorance, not knowing that what they do is evil. As if a Prince make a restraint or prohibition, that no man upon pain of death shall enter into his Forest to hunt there, and a stranger not knowing this restraint, cometh thither with his hounds to hunt, as in former time haply he had done. This stranger breaketh the will of the Prince, and committeth a fault, but altogether through ignorance, because he had no knowledge of the prohibition. But if a hasty man knowing of the restraint, pursuing his enemy in his rage, or a drunken man, when wine hath made him not to discern his way, entering into that forest, have his dog following him, and the dog kill a Dear; his fault though it be ignorantly committed should not be through ignorance. And as the stranger, being sorry for his offence, and thereby showing that he meant not to break the Prince's commandment, were worthy pardon: even so the other were justly to be punished, since knowing the penalty threatened to the offender, he would not bridle his fury, or abstain from wine, but by following his passion or unruly appetite, incur the danger of the same. And as the one may well be judged to have made a fault against his will; so may the other be deemed to have wilfully broken the commandment. In which latter case of ignorance are all they that be vicious or wicked, who through the ill habit which they have made in vice, do any act contrary to law and the civil society of men, for which they deserve to be adjudged wilfully evil, and by their own free choice and election. For all men ought to know those things that generally are to be known, touching honest and civil conversation; and if they do not know them when they do ill, it is because they choose not to know that which is necessary for them to know. In which respect it is determined, that who so for want of knowing this generality will do amiss, should be esteemed wicked by his own free will and election. Seneca said very fitly, that such men did in the mids of the clear light make darkness to themselves. And this is that ignorance which Plato calleth the defiling of the soul. Let us suppose that there may be one that knoweth not adultery to be sin or vice, and that in ignorance committeth adultery; shall we say he deserveth to be excused? God forbid: for he is cause of his own ignorance, since it is in his power and in the power of all reasonable men to know what is fit and honest for virtuous life; and that the same is made known, as well by God's law, as by the ordinances and customs of man, to all those that will not wittingly hoodwink themselves. Wherefore it is a wilful sin committed by free election, and worthy punishment as a voluntary offence. And S. Augustine said not without cause, that all ignorance was not worthy pardon, but only that of such men as had no means to attain knowledge or learning: but they that have teachers to instruct them, and for want of study and diligence abide in their ignorance, and so do evil, are not only unworthy excuse, but deserve also sharp punishment. So in another place he saith, that no man is punished for that which naturally he knows not: as the child for that he cannot speak, or because he cannot read. But when he will not set his mind to learn as he ought, being of years, and urged thereunto, he deserveth to be chastised, because it is in every man's power to be able to learn all that is necessary for him to know how to live well, and what things are to be embraced as good, and what to be eschewed as evil: and he that will not learn them, remaineth wilfully in his ignorance.  
Yea but if I should chance (said Captain Dawtrey) to be abroad with my bow and arrows, and perceiving somewhat to stir in a bush, should shoot thereat, supposing it to be a Deer or some other game, and should so kill my wife that were hidden there, as Shafalus did, should not my ignorance in that case excuse me?  
This case (said I) appertaineth to the second part of ignorance, already spoken of, which is about the circumstances of the particular things, the ignorance whereof deserveth excuse, and so should this. But this ignorance should become wilful wickedness, if when you saw you had slain your wife, intending to kill a Deer, you were not heartily sorry therefore, but rather glad to be so rid of her: and so far should you then be from excuse, that you should deserve to be severely punished for the fact. Much like to the case of Shafalus was that of Adrastus, but more miserable, in slaying of Atys the son of Croesus' King of Lydia. For Croesus having given in charge to Adrastus his son, and they being one day gone to hunt a great wild Boar that did great harm in the country, accompanied with many young gentlemen of Lydia, whiles the Boar was rushing forth, Adrastus threw a dart at him, and Atys coming by chance in the way, the dart hit him and slew him. Now though Atys were the only son of Croesus, and were slain by the hand of him that had him in charge; yet finding that it was done by mere mischance and through ignorance, and knowing how grievously Adrastus sorrowed for the same, he not only freed him of any punishment therefore, but frankly pardoned. him. And the repentance of the fact might have sufficed the doer; but he overcome with extreme grief slew himself at the funeral of the dead young Prince, being unable to bear with a stout courage the anguish and vexation of mind that his mishap did breed him. But this showed Adrastus to be rather fainthearted and weak of mind, than otherwise: for the purchasing of death to avoid grief or any other annoyance of the mind, is not the part of a valorous and courageous man, as the best among the ancient Philosophers have always held. And because we know by the rule of Christ, that it is no matter disputable, it needeth not that thereof any further words be made.  
You say well (said my Lord Primate) and I know that Aristotle is of mind, that it is a vile act for a man to kill himself to avoid ignominy or afflictions. But to omit the judgement of the ancient Romans, who held it the part of a stout heart, for a man to kill himself rather then to suffer shame or servitude, as we read that Cato did, and Cassius and Brutus: yet it seemeth that Plato, whom your author determined to follow as well as Aristotle, maketh Socrates (in his dialogue entitled Phoedon) to say, that a Philosopher ought not to kill himself, unless God lay a necessity of doing it upon him. Out of which words it may well be gathered, he thought that not only the common sort, but even Philosophers themselves, when necessity constraineth them, might rid themselves of their life.  
That place (said I) is advisedly to be examined: for Socrates there meant not that any man willingly should lay violent hands upon himself; but if there be no remedy but that die he must, and that divers kinds of deaths are proposed unto him, he may choose that kind which is less noisome to him or less grievous: as Socrates chose to die with the juice of hemlocks, and Seneca by the opening of his veins.  
You may haply construe that meaning out of that place (said my Lord Primate): but what will you say to that which is in his books of the Commonweal, where he writeth, that a man sick of any grievous or long infirmity, when he shall see himself out of hope to procure remedy, he should then make an end of his life.  
To that place I say (quoth I) that it is to be considered how Plato sought to frame his Commonwealth in such sort as it should be rather divine then human: and therefore as the citizens of the heavenly Commonwealth live in continual happiness and contentment, without feeling any annoyance or molestation at all: even so was his purpose, that the citizens of his Commonwealth should have no grievance, pain or molestation among them: but in an ordinary human Commonwealth he would not have set down any such precept.  
You have salved that sore reasonable well also (said my Lord Primate) though there might be objections made against your answer. But how will another place of his be defended, which is in his book of Laws, where he saith, that whosoever hath committed any offence in the highest degree, and findeth, that he hath not power to abstain from the like eftsoons, aught to rid himself out of the world.  
The answer to that (said I) is easy: for Plato his meaning therein is, that whosoever is wickedly given, and of so evil example as there is no hope of his amendment, should rather kill himself, then by living invite so many others to the like course of life: not unlike to the opinion already recited, that it is better one die for a people, then that his life should be the occasion of the death of many. For Plato aimed evermore at the purging of all cities from such caterpillars; which appeareth manifestly by the pain he would have inflicted upon parricides. But that it was abomination to him for a man to kill himself, he plainly showeth in his ninth book of Laws, by the sentence he setteth down against such men. Nevertheless this indeed may be found in Plato, that vice was so odious unto him, that he would rather have a man to die, then to undertake any vile & vicious action, which might breed him perpetual infamy. And Aristotle in this point agreeth with his master (though in many he delight to carp him) that a man ought to choose rather to die then commit any abominable or grievous fact, or do that which might be for ever reproachful unto him. And Plato his express sense of this matter, is to be understood in the same dialogue which you first spoke of, where Socrates is brought to say, that the Lord and Ruler of this whole world having sent us into this life, we are not to desire to leave it without his consent: and who so doth the contrary, offends nature, offendeth God. And this is the mystery of that precept of Philolaus, which forbiddeth a man to cleave wood in the high way: meaning that a man should not sever or divide the soul from the body, whiles he was in his way on this earthly pilgrimage; but should be content, that as God and nature had united and tied the soul to the body, so by them it might be unloosed again: therefore the peripatetics also thought, that they which die a violent death, cannot be thought to have ended their days according to the course of time and nature. And with this my Lord Primate rested satisfied. I turned me to Captain Carlisle, and said: Now (sir) concerning your doubts proposed, you may have perceived, that whatsoever destiny be, neither it, nor the divine providence of Almighty God imposeth any necessity upon us: that virtue and vice are in our power, virtue growing in us by the right use of our free choice, and vice by the abuse of the same, when through corruption of the judgement to do that is in appearance good, it chooseth the evil: and lastly what kind of ignorance is excusable, and which not.  
Concerning my demands (said Captain Carlisle) I am resolved. But since I see our doings proceed from election, I would gladly know of you what manner of thing it is; for I cannot perceive whether it be a desire, or an anger, or an opinion, or what I should call it.  
None of all these (said I) but rather a voluntary deliberation, following a mature and advised counsel: which counsel by Plato was termed a divine thing. For election is not made in a moment; but when a thing is proposed either to be accepted or refused, there must first be a counsel taken, respecting both the end of the action, and the means by which the same is to be compassed: so as there is required a time of consultation: and therefore it is said, that hast is enemy to counsel, and that oftentimes repentance follows them that resolve without discussing or debating of matters. Next unto counsel cometh judgement, and after judgement followeth election, and from election issueth the action or the effects that are resolved upon, and accepted as the best. And because fortune (though she be a cause rather by accident then of herself) hath no small part in most of our actions, the wisest men have said, that counsel is the eye of the mind, by help whereof, men of prudence see how to defend themselves from the blind strokes of fortune, and eschewing that which may hurt them, take hold of that which is profitable.  
Why then (said my Lord Primate) it should seem that our counsel were wholly in our power. But Xenophon is of a contrary opinion: for he sayeth, that good counsel cometh from the Gods immortal, and that their counsels prosper who have them to be their friends, and theirs not, who have them to be their enemies.  
To have God favourable unto us (said I) in all our doings, is not only desirable, but that it may please him to grant his grace so to be, ought all men to crave by humble prayer at his hands. But that God is the author of our counsels otherwise then as an universal cause, is to be doubted: not that the singular gift of the mind, and the power thereof to deliberate and consult, cometh not from him; for the not acknowledging thereof, were not only a gross ignorance, but also an express impiety, & an unexcusable ingratitude. Howbeit since it hath pleased him to bestow upon us so great and liberal a gift as the mind, we may well believe that he will not take from us the free use thereof. For to say that God were the immediate cause of our counsel, were as much as to take from us the use of reason, without which we are not any more men, as of late was said. And therefore besides Aristotle's authority, grounded in that point upon good reason, we find in the Scripture, that after God had made man, and given him (by breathing upon him) the spirit of life, which is the soul of understanding, he left him in the hand of his own counsel. Whereby it appeareth, that counsel cometh from ourselves, and that election is the office of prudence, which is called the soul of the mind, and the Platonikes call the knowledge of good and evil: whereunto it seemed that Tully agreed, when he said, that prudence was the science of things desirable, or to be eschewed: which sentence S. Augustine reporteth. And Fabius Maximus said, that the Gods through prudence and our virtues, did grant us prosperous successes in our affairs: as if he should have said, that though God (as an universal cause) concurred to accomplish our deliberations; yet we were to endeavour ourselves, and to sharpen our wits to consult on the best means to compass our good purposes, if we desire to have his favour, and not to sit idle, expecting what will fall out. And to end the discourse hereof, the ancient Philosophers of the best sort held, that the Gods seeing us employ our virtues and faculties of the mind (which hath a resemblance unto them) well and wisely, become our friends, and the rather grant us their help and favour. According to which opinion Euripides said, that the Gods did help them that were wise. But because we shall have occasion to speak more largely hereafter of Prudence, we will now return to that which we left long sithence to speak of, by the interposing of the doubts moved: and that is the knowledge of ourselves, as the thing that must guide us to that best and most perfect end; the inquiry whereof is the occasion of all this discourse. And because we are not of a simple nature, but compounded of several qualities, and (as we may say) lives, according to that which in our first days discourse was declared: it is also necessary that these powers & faculties of the soul which are in us, and by which we participate of the nature of all things living, should have their ends and several goods, as I may term them: and that those ends should orderly answer each to his several power or faculty of the soul, though Aristotle think otherwise. These ends or goods are first profit, which respecteth the vegetative power: next, delight or pleasure, peculiar to the sensitive power: and lastly honesty, proper to the reasonable part or faculty of the soul. Wherefore Zeno may well be thought to have been astray, when he assigned one only end or good to nature, and the same to be honesty. For albeit I cannot, nor mean to deny, but that honesty is not only a good, but also the greatest good among all those that concur to our felicity; and without which, there can be no virtue: yet to say it is the only good, I cannot be persuaded. For perusing every thing that hath life, common sense itself showeth us, that each kind of life hath his peculiar and several end and good; and that honesty is the only proper good of creatures capable of reason, and not of other sensible creatures, or of plants and vegetables. And because it is a greater good, and containeth both the other, therefore is it more to be prised and valued than they. And man being the most perfect creature of the earth, is by nature framed to have a desire and an instinct unto them all, and to seek to purchase them all three for the perfection of his felicity in this life. Now forasmuch as all these three powers are in us, to the end we may enjoy the benefit that redoundeth from them, we cannot sever them one from another, if we mean to be happy in this life: neither yet ought we so to apply ourselves to any one, or two of them less proper unto us, that therefore we forsake or neglect that other which is of most worth and proper to our nature; and that is honesty, which never can be severed from virtue. For that is it that giveth to us dignity and excellency, not suffering us to do any thing unseemly, but still directing us in all our actions, which proceed from reason. For he that stayeth himself only upon profit, or upon pleasure, or upon them both, showeth plainly that he knoweth not himself: and therefore suffereth those things that are not proper to his nature, to master and overrule him. And not knowing himself, he cannot use himself, nor take hold of that which is his proper good and end. Thus following (through the not knowing of himself) that which is good to other natures, he looseth his own good, and falleth into evil, by the desire of profit, or disordinate appetite to pleasure. The consideration hereof perhaps caused some of the ancient Poets to feign, that men were turned into brute beasts, and into trees; to signify under that fiction, that some proposing to themselves only profit, some only delight, without regard to reason and their own proper good, had lost the excellent shape or form of men, and were transformed into beasts or trees, having made the most excellent part of man, which is the mind and reasonable soul, subject to the basest and sensual parts and pleasures of the body. And this ignorance, concerning the knowledge of a man's self, is the cause that he cannot tell how to use himself. For these unreasonable affections do so darken the light of reason, that he is as a blind man, and giveth himself over to be guided, as one that hath lost the right way, to as blind a guide as himself, and so wandereth astray which way soever his bad guide doth lead him. For he hath lost the knowledge of truth, which Plato sayeth, is the best guide of men to all goodness, and is comprehended by the mind only, which (according to the saying of Epicarmus) doth only see & hear, all the rest of the parts of man being blind and deaf. They then which follow profit only, live the basest life of all, & may well be resembled to flies & gnats, the most imperfect among living creatures, or like to the shel-fishes that cleave to the rocks, as these men do to their pelf; and so having proposed to themselves the basest end of all others, they may worthily be esteemed the basest sort of men.  
Nay, in good faith sir (said Captain Dawtry) not so, for I see them only honoured and esteemed that are rich; and I have known, and yet know some of very base and abject condition, who being become rich, are cherished and welcome in the best companies, & accepted among honourable personages: therefore (me thinketh) he spoke advisedly that said, 
Honour and friends by riches are acquired,  
But who is poor shall each where be despised.   
And I remember I have read, that sometime there was a citizen in Rome, who was commonly held for a fool, and therefore in all companies his words were little regarded, the rather because he was also poor; but after that by the death of a rich man to whom he was heir, he possessed wealth, he grew to be had in great estimation, even in the Senate, and his opinion evermore specially required in matters of greatest moment.  
Yea marry (said M. Dormer) and Aristotle also affirmeth, that the end of the father of a family's care is, the purchasing of riches; which being so, they are not so slightly to be regarded, as your author says.  
Did I not tell you (said I) that truth being gone, the true light and knowledge of things is taken out of the world; for it is she only that giveth us light to know, what and of what price all things are. And even as if the Sun were taken away from the earth, there would remain nought but darkness and blindness among men: so truth being taken away, man is blinded from discerning any thing aright. This I say, because rich men only for their wealth are esteemed worthy honour and dignity by such chiefly as want the light of truth, which is the vulgar sort, whose judgement is so corrupt and crooked, that they cannot discern what true honour and dignity is. For they being weak minded and imperfect, admire shows and shadows, being dazzled with the bright glistering of gold and precious stones, and cannot distinguish between things necessary and superfluous. Which ignorance of theirs, Bias, one of the seven sages of Greece, considering answered one of those base minded fellows, who would needs persuade him, that they were happy that could compass great wealth: My friend (quoth he) much more happy are they that do not desire the same. The judgement of the wiser sort, hath ever been far different from this vulgar opinion. For they understand, that riches is none of those goods which alone make men happy; and that they do but go and come, as tides flow and ebb, even at the pleasure of fortune, who giveth and taketh them as she list. And therefore they are no otherwise to be esteemed, then as they are necessary for the sustaining of life, nature being content with little, and the desire of having being infinite; never content with what it hath, but ever coveting what it hath not. Therefore right wise men have held that Alexander the Great was in truth poorer and needier than he that said 
Let others hardly seek to hoard up wealth  
For me I force not, though that poverty  
Chase from me idleness, and breed me health, etc.   
For that man's desires had their determinate stint, whereas Alexander's increased still, the more he enlarged his dominions, being grieved that he had not conquered one world, because he had heard say, that Democritus was of opinion there were many. And although Epicurus in many things hath deserved blame, because he placed the highest good of man in pleasures proceeding from the senses; yet deserved he praise in that he said, that they to whom a little seemeth not enough, a great deal will seem but a little. Much to the like effect Curius, having conquered the Samnites, and for recompense of his great service the Romans purposing to give him a far larger portion of the conquered land, then to the rest of the soldiers: he who had taught his desires to be bridled, and could cut short the superfluity of his appetites, would in no wise take any more than a like share or portion, as was allotted to the rest of the soldiers, that were waxen old in the wars, for their living and maintenance; saying, that he that could not content himself to live with that which sufficed others, could not be a good citizen. This worthy man made it appear, that he indeed is to be accounted rich who desireth not to have much: and that in respect of what is needful for man's life, every man may be rich; but in regard of our desires, every man is poor, and cannot be rich, because they be infinite. Socrates (according to the saying of Bias before rehearsed) said that it was far better not to desire any thing, then to compass what a man desireth. For it was not unknown to that grave wise man, that from immoderate desires cometh greediness of the mind, whereby it is made unreasonable, and disposed to think a great deal to be but a little; whereas not to desire, maketh a little to seem much. The way therefore to quiet the mind, is not to increase wealth, but to pluck from a man's desires, which otherwise will still increase as riches increaseth: for it is the honest and necessary use of riches that causeth them to be had in consideration among wise men, who esteeming them accordingly, are easily contented with a little; and where others admire those that have their coffers full of gold and pelf, they little regard them, but despising superfluities, turn their minds to better thoughts, meet to make them purchase that felicity which none of them can have, who amid great abundance of wealth & worldly riches, are void of virtue. For this respect did Crates the Philosopher (considering how the great care of gathering them withdrew the mind, which of it own nature is excels and high, from the knowledge of sublime matters, sinking it into the depth of base and vile cogitations) gave over his patrimony, which was in value near fifteen hundred pounds, and betook himself to those studies which he thought were aptest to set him the right course of getting (in steed of exterior riches) the true gold of the mind, which is virtue. And in truth happy is that man that can get store of that gold, by means whereof he may compass his felicity, which the other can never purchase, and are not to be coveted but for human necessity, as being of no value, or little among wise men in respect of happiness. For to say truly, what happiness can there be in any thing that alike disquieteth as well them that have it, as them that have it not. Since he that wants it, by desiring it, keepeth his mind in continual anguish and trouble; and he that hath it, is evermore tormented with fear of loss of it: and if he happen to lose it indeed, is miserably crucified for the loss thereof. Which thing made Democritus to say, that man was in his estimation so far from being made happy by his riches, as he could not in truth account them to be to him any good at all. So Solon being with Croesus' King of Persia who accounted himself of all men in the world the most happy, because of his excessive treasure; when the King had caused his treasury to be be showed unto him, seemed to make slight estimation of the same: whereupon the King, as one dazzled with the glittering show of his gold, held him but for a fool. But foolish indeed was he himself, & not Solon, who knew very well, that such things came to him by his great power and sovereignty, not by his virtue, and therefore could they not make him happy. Nevertheless Croesus yet desirous to understand what Solon's opinion was touching happiness, asked him if he ever knew any man more happy than he: who answered him, yes; and among many, one named Pellus a citizen of Athens, who being a virtuous man, and having begotten children like himself, was dead in the field, fight valiantly against the enemy in defence of his country, leaving after him an immortal fame of his valour. So much more did this wise man esteem virtue then riches, that he thought so mighty a Monarch with all his treasure not comparable to a mean citizen of Athens furnished with virtue. For he held them as needless and superfluous to him that had them without using them, as to them that did admire them and could not enjoy them. Let us therefore conclude, that plenty of wealth makes not any man happy: and that they who hunt after profit to become rich, are of all others the most base and ignoble, though the vulgar sort deem them otherwise. And when Aristotle said, that the end of Oeconomie (for so he calleth the orderly distributing of things for household) was riches, he spoke according to the common understanding and phrase: for in his ethics he showeth plainly, that riches is but a certain abundance of necessary instruments for the use of a family. Whereby it may be understood, that for themselves they are not desirable, but as they are directed to a better end, which end is human felicity. As for the Senator you spoke of, whom the whole Senate grew to esteem when he was grown rich: you may be sure that it was not for nought that Cicero scoffed at them, when he asked one day in the assembly, whose that inheritance was, which was called Wisdom. And thus much may suffice for such as follow profit only. Now for those that apply themselves wholly to their pleasures and delights, it is to be held, that they neither can be accounted happy, because forsaking their proper end and good, which is honesty, they bend themselves to the sensitive part only which is common with them to brute beasts.  
Here M. Dormer interrupting me, desired that I would stay a while to resolve him of one doubt, which my former words had bred in his mind, which was, that having said riches were of small account among wise men, and could not make men happy, it might seem that nature had in vain produced them.  
That followeth not (said I) of any thing which I have spoken. For I have not said, that they were not necessary for the use of them: for common sense, experience, and the want of things behoveful to man's life, would say the contrary. Besides that, Aristotle in his tenth book of ethics affirmeth, that not only to the attaining of civil felicity, but also for the contemplative life, these exterior goods are needful, because a man may the better thereby contemplate when want distractetth not his mind: though among the Platonikes, some say the contrary; alleging that men are better disposed to contemplation without them, then with them. But thus much indeed I said, that they are not the true end or good of man, nor could yield him happiness of themselves, or make him worthy honour. And that they, that bend their minds only to scrape and heap together muck and pelf, are of all others the basest and unworthiest: yet being used as they ought to be, for the behoof and maintenance of man's life, and not as an end, or the proper good of man, I do not only not discommend them, but do also esteem them in their quality so far forth as the infirmity of man's nature hath need of them; whereof, since we shall have occasion to speak more hereafter, let us in God's name proceed to speak of the life of them that have subjecteth their minds to that part of the soul which is wholly bend to sensuality and delight. These men are like unto brute beasts wanting reason, and worse: for brute beasts following their natural instinct and appetite, pass not the bonds of nature, and though they get no praise thereby, yet incur they not any blame in that behalf. But man, who setting reason aside, chooseth vain pleasures as his scope and end, and so plungeth his mind in them, that reason cannot perform her office and duty, can in no wise escape from exceeding blame and reproach for the same. Of which sort of men, the Platonikes opinion was, that they were so far from being happy, as they were not to be reputed among the living, but the dead: not only in respect of the body, but of the soul likewise. For they held that the soul being drowned in delights, might well be reckoned as dead, because beastly delight (like an ill weed) spreadeth itself in man's mind, till it overgrow all goodness, and so taketh away the use of reason, as it depriveth him of the quality proper to man, and draweth him into the pure quality of unreasonable creatures: which, how grievous and hateful a thing it is, need not be declared. Aristotle resembleth them to wild young Stiers, that must be tamed with the yoke. But to show you how this disordinate or tickling itch of delight proceedeth, in this sort it is: whereas man is composed of two principal parts, the body, and the soul or mind: the latter to rule and command, the former to obey and serve. They, which propose to them their delight and pleasure, only take a clean contrary course, making the body to command and rule, and the mind to serve and obey. And as in a household or family, all would go to wrack, if the master or father of the family being prudent and careful, should be constrained to obey his son or servant, who were foolish and negligent: even so must it of necessity be in him, that by vice maketh his mind subject to the body, making it serve only for the delighting thereof, and neglecting that which he should most earnestly study to maintain and cherish; whence cometh (as Socrates saith) all evil and ruins among men. For from these disordinate pleasures, which spring from the senses of the body, through that power which the faculty of the soul ministereth unto them, do all wicked affections take their beginning, as angers, furies, fond loves, hatreds, ambitions, lusts, suspicions, jealousies, ill speaking, backbiting, false joys, and true griefs; and finally the consuming of the body and goods, and the loss of honour and reputation. And oftentimes it is seen, that whiles a man spareth nothing so as he may purchase the fulfilling of his appetites, how unruly soever they be, he looseth by infirmity or other unhappy accidents, his own body, for whose pleasures he so earnestly traveled. For so it is written of Epicurus, who being grown full of sickness through his disordinate life, died miserably tormented with pains & griefs: the like whereof we may daily see in many, if we consider their life and end. In respect hereof, some wise men have thought that pleasures are not in any wise to be accounted among the goods that are requisite for the attaining of human felicity: and Antisthenes so hated them, that he wished he might rather become mad, then to be over mastered by his sensual delight. And in very deed they are no otherwise to be esteemed then mad men, who set their delights and pleasures before them as their end, not caring what they do, so as they may compass the same. Plato therefore not without good cause said, that pleasure was the bait which alured men to all evil. And Architas the Tarentine was of opinion, that the pestilence was a lesser evil among men than pleasure of the body: from whence came treacheries, and betraying of countries, destructions of commonweals, murders, rapes, adulteries, and all other evils, even as from a spring or fountain. The cause whereof Pythagoras desiring to find out, said, that delight first crept into cities, than satiety, next violence, and lastly the ruin and overthrow of the Commonwealth. And to this opinion Tully in his first book of Laws seemeth to lean, where he saith, that this counterfetter of goodness, and mother of all evils (meaning pleasure) intruding herself into our senses, suffered us not to discern those goods which are natural and true goods indeed, and carry not with them such a scab and itch, which pleasure evermore hath about her; who finally is the root of those principal passions, from which (as from the main root) all the rest do spring, as hope and fear, sorrow and gladness. For we receive not any pleasure, but that some molestation hath opened the way for it into our minds: as no man taketh pleasure to eat until the molestation of hunger call him thereunto, nor yet to drink, if the annoyance of thirst go not before: to show that the unnoblest and basest power of the mind must minister unto us the matter of those pleasures which we seek. And as we have said that molestation goeth before vain and unruly delight, so doth displeasure and grief follow, as if it should finally resolve into his first principle and beginning. The fear whereof diminisheth part of the hope a man might have to live still contented, & disturbeth the joy which he feeleth in his unruly pleasures and delights. But to those pleasures and delights which accompany virtue, which are pleasures of such a kind as they never carry with them any displeasure or annoyance at all: whereas the other that are unruly, begin with pleasure and end with bitter pain. And this moved Aristotle to say, that the right judgement of those pleasures is to be made at their farewell, not at their coming; for that they leave behind them evermore sadness and repentance. So said Theocritus, that he that strove to fulfil his pleasures and delights, prepared to himself matter of perpetual grief and sorrow. There was a Sophist called Ileus, who though he had spent his youth wanton in pleasures, yet he so called himself home when he was come to riper years, that he never after suffered any vain delights to tickle him, neither beauty of women, nor sweetness of meats, nor any other such pleasures to draw him from a sober and temperate life. To which sobriety and temperance of life Lycurgus being desirous to draw the Lacedæmonians, by his laws he forbade them all those things that might turn their minds from manly thoughts, and make them soft and effeminate: for he said, that wanton pleasures were the flatterers of the mind. And as flatterers by their devices and arts, draw men that give ear unto them besides themselves, as hath been already declared: so pleasures through their sweetness corrupt the sense, together with the mind to whom they are the ministers. And Agesilaus being once asked what good the laws of Lycurgus had done to Sparta: Marry (said he) they have brought our men to despise those delights which might have made them to be no men. There are so many wise and grave sayings to this purpose, that to repeat them all, the day would be too short. It may therefore suffice what is already said, and confirmed by the consent of all the wise men in the world, to show you manifestly, that the true & proper end of man is not to be achieved by this sensual kind of life. And since that which is truly proper to any thing, cannot be common with any other (as to laugh is so proper to man, as no other creature can laugh but he) and pleasure is common to other creatures besides man, therefore it cannot in any wise be proper to him.  
It cannot be gainsaid with any reason (said my Lord Primate) and therefore no doubt but every man ought to apply himself to follow that which is most proper to his own nature; for that is his best: and pity it is, and marvel eke, to see such numbers, that neither for love of virtue, nor fear of God, will frame themselves to a good and commendable course of life, but follow their vain delights and pleasures insatiably.  
Pity indeed it is (said I) but no great marvel, because perfect judgements are rare; and many there be, who though they know the truth of things, yet suffer themselves to be carried away with appearances. For their delight proposing to them certain figures or images of what is good and fair, they are content to be deceived, and to become bondslaves to their senses, or rather charmed by them, as by some witch or enchantress, and by them to be guided. But this notwithstanding I must advertise you, that I have not so absolutely spoken against pleasures, that you should therefore infer that virtues should be without their pleasures also. For albeit pleasure be not virtue, nor yet man's true good, yet doth it follow virtue, even as the shadow followeth the body. And though virtues have difficulties and travels before they be gotten; yet when they are gotten, pleasure is the inseparable companion unto them; not such as keepeth company with lascivious and wanton affections, and is soon converted to grief and repentance, but a delight that is permanent and stable: insomuch as some of very good judgement, have thought there is no pleasure worthy the name of delight, but that which proceedeth from virtue, and maketh our actions perfect. For this cause did Aristotle say, that most perfect was that delight which was comprehended by the most perfect part of the soul, which is the understanding. And this delight is so perfectly perfect in God, that he is far from any annoyance or molestation: for delight is not in God a passion, as in us our delights are, which never come to us without molestation, it being (as hath been said) the beginning of them. Therefore the pleasures of the mind are esteemed so much the more perfect, as the understanding is more perfect than the sense: which understanding delighteth only in that pleasure that is accompanied with honesty, and this pleasure he esteemed to be so excellent, that he wished some new excellent name to be found for the same. But we having no other name to give it, call it by similitude with that name which is fit for the delightfullest thing that the senses can yield us: and therefore we call as well the imperfect delight of the senses, as that most perfect of the understanding, by the name of pleasure, though the one of them consist in extremes which is vicious, and the other in the mean where virtues have their place.  
Here Captain Norreis spoke, saying; We have heard you sundry times say that virtues consist in the mean between two extremes, but how that mean is to be found, you have not yet declared to us: therefore (I pray you) let us be made acquainted with the way to compass the same, that we may learn to take hold of virtue, and not be deceived with the false semblance thereof to fall into vice.  
This mean (said I) is found, when a man doth what he ought to do, when time serveth, in manner as he should, for such as becometh him to do, and for causes honest and conveniet. And whosoever setteth this rule to himself in all his actions, which being so conditioned, shall be far off from the extremes, and near unto virtue.  
Yea (said Captain Norreis) this is soon said, but not so soon done: for it is not so easy a matter to hit upon these conditions, but that a man may more easily miss them. But since by your words, neither delight alone, nor profit only can work human felicity, it should seem (the quality and trade of the world considered) that it may well be gathered, that they which have them both linked together, are worthy to be esteemed happy: since plenty of wealth may yield them all their desires, and fulfil their delights. And this haply may be the cause why Kings and Princes are so accounted in this life.  
Of the happiness or unhappiness of Princes, this is no place to treat (said I) neither appertaineth it to our matter: only thus much I may remember by the way, that Antigonus affirmed it to be but a kind of pleasing servitude to be a King. And Phalaris the cruel tyrant considering well his estate, said likewise, that if he had known before he made himself tyrant of his country, what trouble, care and danger followed rule and signory, he would rather have chosen any state of life then to be a King. Nevertheless no sort of men place their felicity more in pleasure then Princes do, when they have not due regard to their charge: for than they think that whatsoever may nourish their delight and pleasure, is lawful for them to do. But miserable are the people over whom God hath set such to reign, as put their pleasure or their profit only, before all respects, as the end of their government: though Almighty God who is the King over Kings, oftentimes in his justice plagueth them, even with those things wherein they placed their greatest felicity. Dionysius the younger being borne in wealth and plenty, setting all his thoughts upon his pleasures, was therefore in the end driven out of his kingdom. For he thinking it lawful for him to take all that he would have, even in his father's life time began to deflower certain virgins of honest families: which thing his father understanding sharply reprehended him for the same; and among other things told him, that howsoever himself had taken upon him by tyranny the kingdom of Sicily, yet he never had used any such violences. But his wanton son made him this answer: It may well be (quoth he) for you were not the son of a King. At which word the father grieving, replied unto him; Neither art thou like to leave thy son a King, unless thou change thy conditions. Which prognostication was verified, in that the son following his lewd course of life, shortly after his father's death was chased out his kingdom by his subjects, and driven to get his living by keeping a school in Corinth: where on a time one seeing him live so poorly, asked him what he had learned of his schoolmaster Plato, that he could no better behave himself in his royalty; taxing him that for not applying himself to Plato his doctrine, he had been the cause of his own ruin. But his answer was better than his former carriage, for he said, that he had learned more than haply he could imagine. And what is that (quoth the other) I pray you teach it me. I have (said he) learned to bear this my adverse fortune patiently, & with a frank courage. And had he learned to observe that worthy sentence of Agesilaus, who was wont to say, that Kings and Princes ought to endeavour to exceed other men in temperance & fortitude, and not in wantonness & pleasures, he had never brought his high estate to so base a fortune as to keep a school. But omitting to speak of Kings, I will tell you that they are greatly deceived that think that profit joined with delight may make men happy: for the more that profit and delight are knit together, the more doth wanton lust and unruly desires swell and increase, if they be not tempered by the rule of reason. Which made Ovid to say, 
From out the bowels of the earth is fet  
That cursed pelf, men's minds on ill to set.   
And Plato in his books of laws saith, that a very rich man is seldom seen very good. Which saying you know our Saviour Christ confirmed when he said, it was harder for a rich man to enter the kingdom of heaven, than a cable to pass through a needle's eye. And though Aristotle in one place saith, that riches are necessary to make up a perfect human felicity: yet in another he calleth them but a foolish happiness. Yea Plato affirmeth, that great riches are as harmful in a city as great poverty, by reason of the deliciousness & wantonness which they breed. For which reasons it may be very well concluded, that neither wealth nor pleasure, nor yet they both together, aught to draw any man to propose them to himself for his end: but the more he hath of wealth, and useth it but for his pleasure, the further he goeth astray from his felicity and his proper end. And that riches in a wanton lascivious man's possession, are like a sword in a mad man's hand. Pythagoras' said, that as a horse cannot be ruled without a bit: so riches are hardly well used without prudence, which will in no wise dwell with them, who abandon themselves wholly to vain delights. If to the vulgar sort therefore such men seem happy, yet are they in very truth most miserable and unhappy. For these disordinate pleasures are intestine enemies, which never cease working till they overthrow a man, and breed him dishonour and shame: neither do they fail to bring him to an evil end, that suffers them to master him, and useth his wealth to the pleasing of his appetites. As by Dionysius aforesaid may appear, and also by Sardanapalus, who being a mighty Monarch, swimming in wealth and pleasures, and sparing nothing that might glut his lascivious appetites, grew so effeminate thereby, that as soon as he was assaulted by contrary fortune, he was driven to consume himself, his treasure, and all his filthy lusts at once in the fire. Which two examples among infinite more that might be mentioned, shall for this time suffice to verify that which hath been said, to wit, that God's judgements light for the most part upon such Princes, as, forgetting the great care and charge which is laid upon them, give themselves to care for nothing but their own vain appetites and delights. To whom Antisthenes spoke, when he said, that riches were no goods if they were not accompanied with virtue that might instruct men how to use them well. And Chilo the Lacedaemonian likewise, who was the first author of that grave sentence, Magistratus virum indicat, whereunto he added riches also, because they both together draw him the more easily to discover himself. Socrates wisely wished that he might have the grace to esteem no man rich but him that was given to the study of wisdom and knowledge: for such (he said) had the true gold, which is virtue, a thing much more precious than all the gold in the whole world, and that which leadeth man the right way to his felicity.  
Then, said Captain Norreis, since by your discourse, all they are unhappy that tread the steps which lead to either of those two ends before mentioned of profit or pleasure; or to them both joined together: it must of force follow, that happy be they that direct their actions to that end which is proper to man, whereof I hope your next speech will be.  
So must it (said I) for there remaineth nothing else to be treated of. And if mine author mistrusted his eloquence (as he doth) in a matter meet to be set forth so effectually as this; what may I say of myself, that am tied to declare to you in our language, inferior much to the Italian, all that he hath set down touching the same? Sure it is, that if I were able to set before the eyes of your minds a lively image of this excellent end, you would be so delighted therewith that in regard thereof you would contemn and set light by all other pleasures in the world. But howsoever my utterance be, which I will do my best to fit as well as I can to so high a subject, you shall hear what he in substance saith thereupon; and I assure myself that the quality of the matter will easily supply whatsoever defect you may find in my phrase or manner of speech. You are therefore to understand, that as they whose judgements are corrupted, and minds informed with an ill habit, to make them live after the manner before mentioned, do serve from the nature of man so much, as they become like brute beasts or insensible plants void of reason: even so are they among men, as divine creatures, who apply themselves to live according to reason. And such have anciently been called Heroes, because they approached in their actions nearer to God than others that lived not so. For they put all their endeavours to adorn and set forth that part of man which maketh him like unto the divine nature, or rather partaker of the same; teacheth him what is good, comely, honest, and honourable; and inviteth him continually to that which may conduct him to the highest and supreme good. This part is the mind, with the use of reason proceeding from it, as from a root. But because two special offices appertain to the use of reason (so far forth as serveth to this purpose) the one contemplation, and the other action. Touching the first, it raiseth us by the means of Arts and sciences (which purge the mind from base and corrupt affections) to the knowledge of those things that are unchangeable, and still remain the same, howsoever the heavens turn, time run on, or fortune or any other cause rule things subject unto them. By means of which sciences, the mind climbing by degrees up to the eternal causes, considereth the order & manner wherewith things are knit together, & linked in a perpetual band. And thence it comprehendeth the form of regiment, which the Creator and mover of all things useth in the maintaining and keeping them everlastingly in their several offices and duties. And out of the consideration hereof we learn, that he that directeth not his course of government by this rule, as near as he can, to guide himself, his family, and the Commonwealth, can seldom or never attain a good and happy end. Wherefore he draweth the celestial government to the use of human and civil things, so far as man's frailty will permit. As Socrates did, who was said to have drawn Philosophy from heaven to the earth, to reform the life and manners of men. Thus turning himself to the knowledge of his own nature, and finding that he is composed of three several natures, whereof each hath her several end, yet seeketh he to draw the ends of the two less perfect, to the end of that which is most perfect and proper to him. But finding that continual contemplation of higher things, would be profitable only to himself and to none other, in that he should thereby purchase no happiness to any but to himself. And because he knoweth that he is not borne to himself alone, but to civil society and conversation, and to the good of others as well as of himself, he therefore doth his endeavour with all care and diligence so to carry himself in words and in deeds, as he might be a pattern and example to others of seemly and virtuous speeches and honest actions, and do them all the good he could in reducing them to a good and commendable form of life. For the performance whereof, he perceiveth how requisite it is, that honesty and virtue be so united with profit and pleasure, that by a just and equal temper of them, both himself and others may attain that end which is the summum bonum, and the thing whereupon all our discourse hath been grounded. This end is not to be attained but by the means of moral virtues, which are the perfection of the mind, & settled habits in ruling the appetite which ariseth out of the unreasonable parts of the soul: for virtues are grounded in those parts which are without reason, but yet are apt to be ruled by reason. He therefore seeing moral virtues are not gotten by knowing only what they be, but through the long practice of many virtuous operations, whereby they fasten themselves so to the mind, as being converted once into an habit, it is very hard afterwards to lose the same: even as of vicious actions on the other side the like ensueth: therefore with all carefulness and diligence possible he laboureth to embrace the one, and to eschew the other; evermore striving to hold himself in the mean, and to avoid the approaching of the extremes: to which, profit and delight under deceitful masks of good, would entice and allure him.  
I pray you (said Captain Norreis) tell us (since you say that virtue is in the mids between two extremes) whether that mean you speak of, wherein virtue sits, be so equally in the midst, as the extremes which be vicious, be alike distant from the same or no?  
No (said I) they are not in that manner equidistant, for oftentimes virtue approacheth nearer to one of the extremes, then to the other. As for example, Fortitude, which consisteth in a mean between fearfulness and foolhardiness, hath yet a nearer resemblance to foolhardiness then to cowardice, and consequently is not alike distant from them both, and is in this manner to be understood, that albeit virtue consist in a mean between two extremes, whereof the one is a defect, and the other a superabundance, yet she is neither of them both, as by our example of Fortitude appeareth, which is neither foole-hardines, nor yet cowardice, but only a commendable mean or temper between them both. And therefore Aristotle said right well that the mean of virtue between two extremes, was a Geometrical mean which hath a respect to proportion, and not an Arithmetical mean which respecteth equal distance: so as you must understand that virtue is not called a mean between two extremes, because she participateth of either of them both, but because she is neither the one nor the other.  
And why (said Captain Norreis) is the Geometrical proportion rather to be observed therein, than the Arithmetical?  
Because (said I) though virtues are in the mean, yet do they bend oftentimes towards one of the extremes more than to the other, as hath been said already: and by proportion Geometrical they are in the midst, which by Arithmetical would not be so. For thereby they must be in the just midst, and equally distant from both the extremes. As for example, let us suppose 6. to be the mean between 4. and 8; for 6. hath two more than 4, and so hath it two less than 8, and in respect of itself standeth just in the midst between 4. and 8, and equally distant from them both. And this is your Arithmetical mean. But the Geometrical proportion is after another manner. For suppose 2. and 8. to be the extremes, and 4. to be the mean: here you see that 2. & 4. have a double proportion, and so hath 4. and 8. the one to the other, and so 4. participateth of that double proportion as well with 8. as with 2, and yet is nearer to 2. then to 8; which it doth likewise in another respect: for if the two extremes be multiplied together, as 2. with 8. they make 16: and so much doth 4. likewise being multiplied in itself, for four times 4. makes 16. And thus you see what difference is between Geometrical and Arithmetical proportion. Now though every virtue have peculiar extremes between which it is placed: yet Philosophers say, that they consist all generally about matter of pleasure, or the contrary.  
How can that be (said M. Dormer) when you have told us already, that virtue is not pleasure?  
It is (said I) one thing to say virtue is pleasure, and an other to say that it consisteth in matter of pleasure or annoyance. And true it is that pleasure is not the matter of virtue, neither meant I so to say; but only that virtue is busied about these two passions of pleasure and displeasure, whereof the fittest example may be taken from temperance. For as the temperate man embraceth the delight of the mind, so taketh he pleasure to abstain from the unseemly delights of the body. And chose, the intemperate man is sad, because he hath them not.  
Well (said M. Dormer) that matter is soon answered: but because I have heard the stoics were of opinion, that virtue was true felicity, and that Plotinus said, that a man endued with virtue was sufficiently furnished for his felicity, as being possessed of all the good that could be among men, I pray you what is your author's opinion in that point?  
If I well remember (quoth I) it is a good while sithence I told you that man's felicity is attained by virtue; but that virtue is his felicity, that saith not mine author. And sure the opinion of Aristotle is better in that matter then that of the Stoikes. For reason itself telleth us that those things which are ordained to an end, cannot be the end itself to which they be ordained. And since virtues are ordained for the attaining of man's felicity, which is (as hath been said) a perfect action according to virtue in a perfect life. It is plain, that virtue cannot be felicity, though he that is virtuous approacheth near to his felicity.  
You say true (said M. Dormer:) I remember you expounded the clause of a perfect life to be intended a long life, yet the same stoics held that a young man might be happy: alleging felicity was not to be measured by quantity, but by quality; and that not length of time, but perfection only is to be respected, which (they say) may be as well in a young man as in an old. And they give the example of hunger and thirst: for suppose (say they) that two hungry or thirsty folk be called to eat or to drink, and the one to assuage his hunger or thirst be satisfied with a little, and the other require much meat or drink to be satiated, yet is he as well satisfied with the little whose nature requireth little, as he that requireth a great deal: even so (say they) in human felicity, the length of time or number of years is not to be respected, but happiness itself; and as happy is the young man who in a few years hath attained his felicity, as the old man that hath been many years about it. For Plotinus saith, that the happy man cannot reckon upon the years passed of his felicity, but only on the present.  
The stoics held strange opinions (said I) in many things. But if experience be needful (as hath been formerly said) and many actions, to make an habit in virtue, so as a man may by custom be brought to that pass as he shall not do any thing but according to virtue, then is length of life necessary for the attaining of virtue, which must first be gotten before a man can hope for any felicity. Moreover, if Prudence be the very knot and band of all the moral virtues, and that the young man cannot be prudent, how can he then have perfect virtue? Wherefore the definition of human felicity to be a perfect operation according to virtue, hath need of this addition in a perfect life, which must be long and have a happy end. For though a man have run through many years in continual prosperity, and afterwards fall into grievous calamity, though he cannot be thereby made miserable (which vice only and not adversity may bring him unto) yet may he not be rightly entitled happy. Youth therefore hath this defect in it, that albeit man be the subject of felicity▪ yet a young man cannot be properly and actually the subject thereof, and the child much less, because he is further off from prudence, and because neither of them can have either perfect life or perfect virtue. And as for the opinion of Plotinus, he (as a Platonike) considered the soul simple and pure, freed from the other two powers that are rebellious to reason: and meant him only to be happy, who separating the virtues of the mind from the senses, from worldly delights and concupiscences, did so intern himself with his thoughts in the contemplation of his Creator, as he despiseth riches, dignities, and honours, with all transitory and frail commodities: still looking to that good which is the highest and perfectest among all goods, which is God Omnipotent. And this he called the chief action of the understanding, and highest felicity. And because he supposed that the mind should never depart from that action, he said that the time past was not to be accounted of in man's felicity. By which it may appear, that he spoke not in that place of human or civil felicity, whereof our discourse is now according to Aristotle's opinion, neither doth the authority of Plotinus help the stoics any whit at all, whose opinion is in that point to be rejected.  
Since we are resolved (said Capt. Carlisle) that virtues are but the mean to purchase felicity, and not felicity itself, we would be glad to hear you declare how many they are, and of what quality, that we may know them, and make ourselves happy by the purchase of them.  
To answer you to this question (said I) according as I find the matter set down by mine author, would perhaps not satisfy you so fully as you would desire, or I could wish: for that (in my opinion) he hath treated of some of these moral virtues somewhat too briefly, and confusedly: I have therefore to help mine own understanding had recourse to Picolomini when I came to this place, in whom having found a more plain and easy method in the description of them, I have for the more perspicuity of the translation, added somewhat taken from him, and (as well as I could) interlaced it with this discourse, where mine author seemed to me too brief, or too obscure. And if it may work the same effect in you, that it hath done in me, to make you the better understand how many and of what quality those virtues are, I hope you will not mislike my attempt therein, but excuse me, though it be not so fully accomplished as I desire it were. There are then by the general consent of all men four principal virtues appertaining to civil life, which are, Fortitude, Temperance, justice, and Prudence; from which four are also derived (as branches from their trees) sundry others to make up the number of twelve, and they are these ensuing, Liberality, Magnificence, Magnanimitic, Mansuetude, Desire of honour, Verity, Affability, and Urbanity: of every of the which virtues, I will speak particularly, following chiefly mine author; but where need or occasion shall require, I will for the clearer understanding of the matter, supply out of Picolomini what I think is wanting. And to begin first with Fortitude. This virtue standeth in the mean between foolhardiness and cowardice; which two passions may justly be termed matter of Fortitude: and this virtue is exercised in things terrible and fearful, which are also difficult, causing grief and pain, which the valiant man is willing to endure for virtues sake. For though his life be dear unto him, as it ought to be to every man of virtue, in respect of himself, of his friends, and of his country; and will not therefore upon small occasions expose himself to peril: yet when time and occasion require it, and that any honest cause call him thereunto, he will undertake cheerfully whatsoever dangerous enterprise, and with a stout courage, and readily perform the same. Neither shall labour or travel, hazard, nor death itself dismay him; but esteeming more his reputation then his life, he will resolutely adventure himself for honesties sake. But among all the actions of Fortitude, to fight for our country, and (if need be) to die for defence of the same, deserveth the greatest praise & commendation: as on the other side, to quarrel, & put a man's life in danger upon every trifling occasion, is not the part of a valiant man, but of a foolhardy. Cato the elder therefore said very well, that to know a valiant man, it imported much, to understand whether he made more account of his life or of his virtue, because not the aptness to quarrel for every occasion, but the venturing his life for virtue & honesty maketh a man to be accounted valiant among wise men, who hold such men to be fools & miserable that thrust themselves rashly into quarrels, as many do, through the corruption of our age, upon fantastical points of honour, as if they were weary of their lives. Nevertheless there are some kinds of death, which a virtuous man abhorreth, as to die by tempest at sea, by thunder, by earthquake, and such other violent deaths where virtue can have no place. All which deaths, though they cannot dismay a virtuous mind, yet he cannot but be sorry that he is brought to such an end, as affordeth him no means to make of his valour. There be sundry vices which have a resemblance of this virtue: but because we have in our first days discourse spoken of them sufficiently, we shall not need at this time to say any more concerning the same. It is also to be considered, that this is a virtue as well of the body as of the mind: for to the exercise of fortitude, a man must have a strong body, & of a good complexion, his limbs well framed, and thereto a stout and a constant mind fitly coupled, that it may rule and guide the body prudently. For (as Isocrates said to Demonicus) unless strength of body be matched with wisdom, it is doubtless harmful to him that hath it. The mind must be so disposed & armed against fortune, be she froward or favourable, it may stand always invincible against all misfortunes and adversities, and yet not raise itself for prosperous successes. For it is as true a token of a base mind to be proud & insolent in prosperity, as to be daunted and fainthearted in adversity and affliction. Amid which afflictions, that part of Fortitude which is called patience hath place, of which Plato hath written largely, and among other things this he saith, that the valiant man hath gotten such a habit in his mind of Fortitude, that amid pleasures or amid calamities, he is always the same man; resisting the assaults of fortune with the virtue of his mind. But the Christian writers have much more extolled this virtue than any other; yet Aristotle toucheth it, where he saith, that the virtue of Fortitude is clearly discerned by the voluntary enduring of grievous accidents, which in effect is that same habit which we call patience. Alexander Mamea (as Herodian reporteth) was wont to say, that valiant men, and modest or temperate men, aught to wish for prosperous estate: but that if things fall out contrary to their desire, they are to bear them with an invincible courage. And Plotinus defining the said virtue, said that it was a habit of the mind, which was not subject to passions: as in another place he describeth the valiant man to be he, that is not moved from the virtuous habit of his mind, neither by pleasing or delightful accidents, nor yet by grievous or displeasant; yea he so abhorred that a man should be mastered by happy or unhappy accidents, that he sticked not to affirm, that from this baseness of mind proceeded that opinion which would take from us our free election. For their cowardice, who suffer themselves to be overcome by such passions, persuades them that such things happen of necessity, and through the immutable order of things: and so they make themselves wittingly slaves where they were free, wanting either will or power to use that liberty of their mind, either in the one fortune or in the other. For who so is armed with true fortitude, outward things whatsoever they be, neither give nor take aught from them. But they that cannot temper themselves in prosperity, nor bear adversity stoutly, make it apparent that fortune mastreth them. Whereunto S. Ambrose alluding, saith to Simplician, that virtuous men become neither greater nor meaner by the change of mortal successes, because by this virtue they overcome both fortunes. Such a man was Socrates, whose wife said of him, that whatsoever had befallen him, he never came home but with one and the self same countenance, never altered or changed. To the same effect Seneca said, that a well disposed mind holdeth evermore one course howsoever the world fare; whether fortune bestow her gifts plentifully upon him, or frowardly take them away. For the valiant man never grieveth at any thing that happeneth in this life to other men, Fortitude being a sure shield for human weakness, which maketh all the darts of fortune how sharp soever they be, to turn point again, without once so much as rasing, much less entering thereinto. There is nothing in the world that ought to be more dear to a man then his children, who are his true and lively images, and after a sort the ministers of his immortality: wherefore the loss of them (especially when they are virtuous) should of all other things be most grievous unto him. Nevertheless Anaxagoras when news was brought him that his only son was dead, answered the messenger, It is no new thing that thou tellest me, for I having begotten him, know right well that he was mortal. So well had Philosophy taught him to bear the freaks of fortune, and armed his mind in such sort, as it could not be surprised with any sudden passion. Our very birth hath death fastened unto it: therefore the Poet said right well: 
Whiles borne we are we die, so that our ending  
From our first being taketh his beginning.   
And to conclude touching this virtue, we must have such an habit thereof in our minds, and so accompany the same with Prudence, as Fortune either good or bad may not prevail against us; never thinking our victory over her assured, until we have clean daunted and beaten her down. Carneades in this behalf advised well, that in time of prosperity we should forethink some adversities, and suppose them to be already fallen upon us, whereby we might be the better prepared in mind to bear them if they came indeed. And Zeno when he received advertisement that a ship wherein he had great wealth was wracked and cast away, showed himself far from being grieved thereat: for he thanked fortune, that by taking again those goods which she had given him, he had gotten so good an occasion to forsake the care of enriching himself temporally, & to betake himself wholly to the study of Philosophy.  
Next followeth the virtue of Temperance, whose subject is that power of the soul whence cometh the concupiscible appetite; and she is exercised specially about the senses of tasting and feeling, but chiefly about the wanton lusts of the flesh: for though the taste ill used, be a cause of intemperance, yet is it by the mean of the sense of feeling. In which respect it may be said, that the disordinate lust of the body that maketh men intemperate, is in the sense of feeling, not over all the body, but only in those parts which serve for those delights. And they being most mighty, are by temperance to be restrained with the bridle of modesty, and kept within due terms. For which cause Plato called her the guardian or safe keeper of all human virtues. For she with sober and advised language telleth us, that nothing is comely that is not honest, nor nothing honest that is not comely: far from the disordinate appetites persuasion, which saith, whatsoever pleaseth is lawful, and that all is lawful that pleaseth. But Temperance with her wholesome advertisements withdraweth us from all that is unfitting or undecent, if we give ear unto her. Which undecency or unfittingnes cometh neither from the senses of seeing, nor yet of hearing or smelling. For men by delighting beyond measure in the objects of those senses, are not called Intemperate, but run into other lesser defects, not needful here to be spoken of. But Intemperance groweth principally (as we have said) out of the taste and the feeling, two senses that make us most like unto brute beasts, if we suffer ourselves to be led by them, following our delights as they do: for they corrupt man's prudence, put his mind astray, & take away from him the light of reason, which from other creatures they cannot take. I remember that among the Grecians it was reported, how under the images of Anacarsis a most continent Philosopher was ever written, that temperance was to be used in the tongue, in the belly, & in the privy parts, thereby giving us to understand in which senses principally Temperance should be used. And though all other creatures have their exterior senses as well as man, yet none take delight in them, but accidentally. For the hound delighteth not in the sent of the hare, but insomuch as he hopeth to feed upon her: nor the wolf delighteth in the bleating of a Lamb, but as he intendeth to devour it: neither doth the sight of a bullock please the Lion for any respect, but that he expecteth to slake his hunger on the carcase of it. All their principal delight is in the taste and in the feeling: and because they have no light of reason, but are guided only by natural instinct, therefore they are not called temperate or intemperate, as having no free choice, which proceedeth from reason only. But men who have the gift of the mind from God, and are capable by their judgement to discern and choose what is good, and to eschew what is evil, unless they be misled by their appetite, deserve, when they choose that which is just and reasonable, to be called temperate. And to such men Plotinus was wont to say, that delight of the senses was given for a refreshing and lightning of the heavy burden of cares and troubles, which this mortal life bringeth upon us. Showing thereby that such delights are not in themselves evil, but only when they be ill used. Which thing Aristotle before him signified, when he said, that every man was not to be called intemperate, that sought for some pleasure; but that to such only, as hunted after dishonest and unlawful delights, that name was to be applied: for honest delights for recreation of the mind are not to be disallowed; joining therein with Anacarsis, who said, that the continuance of travel, without intermission, was a thing impossible: wherefore it was requisite for men sometime to sport themselves, that they might return the fresher to their honest labours. Whence Ovid took his verses, saying, 
Long cannot last the labour that doth want  
An interchangeable repose somewhile:  
For it restores the forces languishant,  
And doth refresh the members spent with toil.   
And Cicero the father and light of Roman eloquence, saith, that games and sports were permitted for the refreshing of the mind, even as meat and drink for the restoring of the body; especially after the attending of grave and weighty affairs. But such as have made an ill habit, and suffered their judgements to be corrupted, making choice of dishonest delights to follow their senses only, are rightly called intemperate, because they procure only the pleasures of the body, without regard of the mind. And they are so much worse than incontinent men: as these feel yet sometimes a remorse of their ill actions, and thereby correct themselves; whereas the other persevere in their ill choice (if we may properly call that a choice which proceedeth from a corrupted judgement) and care not to amend themselves; and are like to a man full of dropsy: for their viciousness is as hopeless of recovery, as is the dropsy when it is full grown within the body. And therefore they may well be accounted of a lost life, who have contracted so ill an habit, that they still keep reason subject to their passions & appetites, which is called by Plotinus the infirmity of the mind. But where Temperance ruleth & bridleth the inordinate delights, it is not so: for this virtue which is the mean in all actions, and a seemliness in all things appertaining to civil life, doth increase man's praise and commendations, multiplieth honour upon him, lengtheneth his life, and lighteneth the burden of all his troubles: finally it so fashioneth a man, as whether he be alone or in company, whether he be in public or in private, he never undertaketh any thing but that which carrieth withal reputation, dignity & honour. For it withholdeth him from all that is unseemly, and leadeth him to all that is honest and commendable. Neither is this virtue exercised only in things appertaining to the appetite, but (as Aristotle saith) she is the conserver of prudence: and by Plato his opinion, she stretcheth her power to those actions that appertain to Fortitude also. For she teacheth man to know the mean of fearfulness in cases of danger apparent, & in what measure pain or trouble is to be endured. Pythagoras said she was the mean of all things: and therefore as the beauty of the body is a meet & seemly disposition of the members, breeding grateful sweetness, and being tempered with fresh colours, draweth the eyes of men to behold it with wonder & delight: even so this virtue causeth all the actions of a temperate man with her bright shining light to be admired and extolled; for she is called by Pythagoras the rule of all decency & comeliness. Of her hath youth more need (according to Aristotle) then old age, because young men are much more stirred with concupiscence and unruly affections then old men. And the Philosophers have assigned her for companions, shamefastness (which holdeth men from doing any filthy act) honesty, abstinence, continency (which bridleth the concupiscible passions that they overrule not the will) mansuetude or mildness (which tempereth the fury of anger) modesty (which is the rule of decent motions of the body) and to be short, all those gifts of the mind which accompany seemlines and decency, of which we shall particularly say somewhat as briefly as we may. And because this virtue stretcheth her branches so far, Plato said it was hard to define her, and more hard to use her: the one because she is hardly discerned from other virtues: the other, because we bring with us from our mother's womb the desire of delight, whereby we are nourished, grow, & draw out the line of our life: for which cause Arist. said, that it was harder for a man to resist the pleasures of the body, than pain.  
Next follows the excellent virtue of Liberality, which is busied about giving and receiving conveniently, and is placed between two extremes; the one Avarice, which taketh more or giveth less than is meet: the other Prodigality, which gives more than is convenient: and he that can carry himself even between these two extremes, may justly be called a liberal man; giving where, when, to such persons, and in such sort as is fit, for respect of honesty. Unto liberality is joined magnificence, which is a virtue concerning riches also; which the magnifical man useth in great things, and such as are to have long continuance, & are done in respect of virtue, as sumptuous buildings, rich furnitures, and the like: therefore a poor man cannot actually attain to be either magnificent or liberal. The liliberall man is not magnificent, because magnificence is more than liberality: but the magnificent man is liberal.  
Arm in arm with Magnificence goeth Magnanimity, waited upon by Mansuetude, desire of honour, verity, affablity & urbanity. All which virtues appertain to civil conversation, & are very profitable, breeding decency, honesty, dignity and honour. And though honour be reckoned in the number of those things that are called exterior goods yet is it highly to be prised among all other, because it is the certain token of virtuous life, and is the due reward of virtue. For virtue hath two sorts of rewards: the one that is outward, and that is honour (which cometh from others that honour virtue, and is not in the virtuous man himself): the other inward, which is felicity, the true and perfectest end of all our virtuous actions whiles we are alive. And man having all these virtuous habits in him, gotten by continual well doing, which consisteth in particulars: he hath also need of the conversation of other men, lest the occasion of doing virtuously should fail him. For though a man have never so perfect a knowledge of all the virtues, unless he put them in action, he can never be happy. And specially therefore is friendship necessary for him, which either is a virtue, or fast linked to virtue, and groweth out of the love which men bear, first to their parents and kinsmen, next to their citizens or countrymen, and lastly to strangers. For as concerning civil felicity, man cannot, nor ought not to be alone: in which respect conversation and friendship are necessary for the accomplishment of the same. Some therefore have said, that it were as hurtful to take the bright shining beams of the Sun from the world, as to deprive men of the benefit of friendship: since without friends, a man is so far from being happy, as it may be said, he cannot live, or be at all. This friendship is a communion and knitting together of minds, which neither length of time, distance of place, great prosperity, nor great adversity, ne yet any other grievous accident may sever or separate. And Plotinus, though all his drift were to raise man from all base affects of the mind, and to settle him in contemplation, yet he thought friendship necessary no less for the mind then for the body. Aristotle said, that he that lived alone could be none other than either a God or a brute beast. Solitariness then is evil for all sorts of men, but most of all for young men, who wanting experience in themselves, have great need of the good instructions and admonitions of others. Therefore Crates the Philosopher seeing a young man alone, went unto him, & asked of him what he was doing so all alone: and the young man answering, that he was discoursing with himself: take heed (said Crates then) that thou talk not with an ill man. Considering wisely, that a man void of prudence (as young men commonly are) is like to busy his head with ill thoughts, which will provoke him to ill deeds also. Conversation therefore and friendship are necessary for the accomplishment of civil felicity, which without love cannot be. And that friendship is firm and durable which groweth out of virtue, and from similitude of behaviour and conditions. Plato saith, that beauty beareth the greatest sway in friendship, but that is the beauty of the mind, which virtue brings forth: but if to the beauty of the mind, that of the body also be joined, they both do the sooner and the faster tie together the minds of virtuous men. For the exterior beauty of the body prepareth the way to the knowledge of the other inward of the mind, which (as hath been said) is indeed the true man: but he that loveth but the body, loveth not the man, but that which nature hath given him for an instrument. And if this beauty of the body happen to draw any man to love a foul or dishonest mind, that love cannot be termed rightly friendship, but a filthy and loathsome conjunction of two bodies, too much frequented by young men with naughty women, who are not only unworthy any love, but aught of all men to be eschewed as abominable, and driven out of all well ordered Commonweals. This friendship tieth (though with divers respects) children to their parents, kindred to kindred, the husband to the wife, and the minds of men of valour & virtue fast together, as a thing agreeable to all the qualities which our soul containeth: but this friendship between men of valour and courage, springeth from that faculty of the mind, whence cometh reasonable anger, the heat whereof stirreth & inflameth the minds of such men to valour and fortitude. And though this friendship be good and commendable, yet is that more firm & permanent which groweth out of the that part of the mind which is garnished with reason and virtuous habits: for it bindeth men's minds so fast together, and breedeth so firm a consent in them, that they become as one; in so much as it seemeth that one mind dwelleth in two bodies to guide and rule them. Which made Zeno say that his friend was another himself. Now albeit we see daily friendships to be broken off upon slight occasions, yet is that not to be imputed to any imperfection in the nature of friendship.  
It is marvel (said Captain Carlisle) that friends should so easily break the bonds of friendship, if they were so fast knit as you have said: the cause whereof were worth the knowing.  
That shall I declare unto you (said I:) Many appearances of friendship there are, which be as far from true friendship, as the painted image of a man is from a man indeed: for some are friends for profit, some for pleasure, and some for other respects: which respects failing, love also quaileth; and so the foundation of friendship being gone, it must needs fall to the ground. Others first love, and after begin to judge of the person: and when they find themselves deceived in their expectation whatsoever it were, they untie the knot of friendship faster than they hasted to knit the same before. But if judgement lead the dance, as it ought to do, and that a man choose to love another, because he esteemeth him worthy for his virtues to be beloved; such friendship is sure and firm, never to be dissolved, nay not so much as a mislike can grow between such friends. For Aristotle holdeth, that discord cannot possibly dwell together with friendship. All other friendships are subject to quarrels & dissensions, but especially that which is grounded upon profit: whereas those friends whom virtue coupleth together, as they have but one will, so have they all things common, according to the laws of Pythagoras. Which laws Plato allowed, and Aristotle likewise, though in the communion of goods he were contrary to Plato, affirming that where all things were common, it was not possible that the commonwealth could stand. The steadfastness of friendship therefore consisteth in the communion and equality of minds, between which neither anger, dissension, nor ingratitude can grow; for true friends provoke not one another with contention, anger or unthankfulness. And in regard hereof, the opinion of Plato was, that pleasantness and cheerfulness was fitter among friends than gravity or severity.  
But I pray you (said Captain Norreis) tell us whether this friendship you speak of may be between many or no?  
Sir (answered I) a man cannot in truth be friend to many at once, in this degree of friendship which we are treating of. For since the worker of this fast friendship, is the likeness of minds and conditions. As there is a variety of faces infinite, insomuch as it is a very rare thing to find two altogether like the one to the other: so falleth it out likewise in minds: and the saying is, that one mind ruleth two bodies, and not more; according to which saying, friendship cannot be in perfection between many. The reason whereof may be, that love and true affection being the most excellent thing among the effects of friendship, and things excellent being rare, therefore true friendship is so rare, as not only in our age, but also in all ages past, we find scarce two or three couples of friends to be recorded. Neither can a man indeed divide his love into many shares, without impairing it; nor give like help, use like conversation, or do other friendly offices toward many, which are needful, and required between two fast friends, such as we speak of.  
I cannot tell (said sir Robert Dillon) why you make friendship so rare a matter, when daily example showeth us, that there are many men who have many friends. Let us consider privately or publicly our own acquaintances, and we shall see so many kind offices of friendship stirring, as it may be thought, the ancient times brought forth men more savage & unfit for amity; or else that our times are happier in that point then theirs. I remember yet that I have read of Epaminondas, how he was wont to say, that a man should not come home from the palace until he had purchased some friends. The like is written of Scipio the younger, who affirmed that the firmest and most profitable possession that a man could have in this world, was the having of many friends. Also the Emperor trajan was accustomed to say, that he accounted that day lost wherein he had not gotten one friend.  
All this (said I) is true: but many are friends in name, who when they be put to trial prove nothing so. And therefore was it said, that there were many appearances & sorts of friendship, which properly are not to be esteemed true friendship, but are rather to be termed civil benevolence, or public friendship; being a certain general love, which the nature of man, and the communion of countries breedeth of itself. And this love maketh one man courteous, gracious, and affable to another, if he degenerate not from his own nature which hath framed him sociable; it maketh him apt to help, and ready to defend, and to use all the offices of humanity and benevolence that become him towards all men: but specially towards such as either country, neighbourhood, likeness of exercises or delights, or such like things have united and knit together. All which breed rather an accidental than a sound and true friendship. For among many such, few will be found that will expose themselves to perils or dangers for their friends, or in respect of their friend's safety will set light by their goods, yea their own lives, as these few recorded in ancient writings have done. This made Demetrius Falareus to say, that true friends went willingly to be partakers of their friend's prosperity if they were called thereunto: but that if adversity or misfortune did befall them, they tarried not then to be called, but ran of themselves to offer their help and comfort. And Anacarsis esteemed one good friend worth many common & ordinary, such as we daily see called friends, either for country's sake, or because they keep company together in travel by land or sea, or traffic, or serve together in the wars, or such like occasions: all which are in truth but shadows rather of friendship, than friendship indeed. A friend is not so easily to be discerned, but that a man must (as the proverb saith) eat a bushel of salt with him before he account him a true friend. Whereupon followeth, that there can be no perfect friendship, but after long experience and conversation. Plato respecting this, said, that friendship was an habit gotten by love long time grown: and in another place, that it was an inveterate love, which is all one; to wit, that it must be purchased, and confirmed by long tract of time. Nevertheless though love be the mean to knit friendship, yet is it not friendship itself, but the root rather of the same. And as without the root nothing can prosper nor grow: so without love no friendship can prosper. Thus than you may understand, that true friendship is not gotten by public meetings, walkings or trading, nor in one day or two; and that all sorts of benevolence or mutual offices of courtesy and civility, or every show of love maketh not up a friendship. For once again I will tell you that friendship is so excellent a thing as it cannot be in perfection, but only between two good and virtuous men of like commendable life and behaviour. That it is the greatest external good that can be purchased in this life, and that it is the same which Aristotle said was more needful than justice, and therefore highly to be prised of the man that laboured for civil happiness. Who although he have all those exterior goods which appertain to civil life, as wealth, health, children, and such like, without which Aristotle holdeth that no man can be perfectly happy in this world, yet if he want friends, he lacketh a principal instrument for his felicity; not only in respect of the many benefits which friends bring with them, but chiefly for the delight of his own virtuous operations, and the exercise of the like with them, when they shall be induced by him to virtuous actions: which breedeth an unspeakable contentment. Besides that, solitariness bereaveth a man of the sweetest part of his life that is the conversation among friends, increasing the contentation of a happy man, as he is to be a civil man: for of that other solitariness which appertaineth to contemplation, this place serveth not to speak. We may therefore right well conclude, that without friendship a man cannot have his civil felicity accomplished. But if I should say all that might be said concerning friendship, I should be too long; neither would I have said so much thereof, had it not been to show you, how solitariness cannot serve the turn of him that would be happy in this life. Wherefore company being necessary to felicity, will minister unto the happy man occasions to use his liberality: for sweet and pleasing conversation, and to supply the wants & necessities of friends, is the true & comfortable sauce to friendship. It will make him to show the greatness of his courage in great things, guided always by judgement and reason, and to direct all his actions to the mark of honour, a thing esteemed (as we have said) among all others the greatest external good: not that he shall set honour for his end (for that he knoweth would be unfitting) but honourable and virtuous actions, contenting himself that honour be the reward of them, and virtue be the hire for herself. For to her, others will give honour as to a divine thing, wheresoever they shall see her. But Magnanimity is not a virtue fit for every man, but for such only as are furnished with all other virtues, and among virtuous men are esteemed in the highest degree. And he that is not such a man, and will yet make a show of Magnanimity, will be but laughed at and scorned, because vice and Magnanimity, for the contrariety that is between them, cannot dwell together in any wise; the one deserving all honour, and the other all reproach & blame. For Magnanimity produceth effects agreeable to all the rest of the virtues, which is the cause that so singular a gift of the mind is not attained but with great difficulty: but the more travel is taken in getting it, the greater is the praise to him that hath purchased the same. He that is adorned with this virtue, joyeth when great honours fall upon him, he little esteemeth any peril, when honesty inviteth him thereunto, and not anger, nor fury, nor desire of revenge, nor only respect of honour. In matter of riches he always observeth a due temper as well as the liberal man, whom he excelleth in this, that the Magnanimous man exerciseth his virtue in high matters that bear with them dignity and importance; whereas the liberal man is busied in things of less moment. He hath also a due regard concerning honours, in the purchase whereof he is not injurious or threatening, nor puffed up with pride or ambition, but knowing right well that who so offereth injury to another, cannot be rightly called Magnanimous, he abstaineth from doing any: and if any man have offered him injury, he holdeth it for the greatest and honourablest revenge to forgive, though he have the party in his power, & may satisfy himself; and thinketh that the greatest displeasure he can work to his enemy, is to show himself evermore garnished with virtue. Moreover, he is always higher than his fortune, be it never so great, and be she never so contrary she cannot overthrow him. He will never refuse to spend his life (though it be dear unto him, knowing his own worth) for the defence of his country, of his friends, of his parents, of his religion, or for God's cause, with whom he is continually in thought, though he be bodily here below on earth conversant among men, never busied in base conceits or imaginations. His reputation is so dear unto him, as he will sooner lose his life, then spot it by any vile act: wherefore if he be in the field with his arms for any the causes before said, he never turneth his back to fly, but fighteth with a firm resolution, either to overcome or die. He is much more ready to bestow a good turn or benefit then to receive it; holding that it is more honourable for a man to part with his goods, then to take at any other man's hand: nevertheless if he chance to receive any profit or commodity by any other, he layeth it up carefully in his remembrance, and never thinketh himself out of debt until he hath requited it double at the least. A property well becoming a divine mind rather than an human: for of all others Ingratitude is the vilest & abhominablest vice, which among the Persians was severely punished. A vice that may be accounted not only contrary to honesty, but also a cruel beastliness. The Comike Poet saith, that wicked is the man that knoweth how to receive a benefit, but not to recompense the same. Which sentence is in effect also in Euripides, who saith, that he who forgetteth benefits received, can never be reputed of an honest or generous mind. Our Christian writers have said, that it is enemy to grace, enemy to our salvation, to our life, & all civil society. And accordingly Seneca was of opinion, that no vice was more contrary to humanity, or did sooner dissolve the unity of men's minds then ingratitude, more abominable before God, or more odious to all virtuous & honest minds. But among ungrateful wretches, he that showeth ingratitude towards those that have instructed him in learning and virtue, opening to him the gate by which he must enter to attain to his felicity, is the most beastly of all others: for that to them he ought to have more regard than to his own father, from whom though he hath his being, yet from the other he hath his well being, and is made fit and capable of dignity and honour by the mean of virtue. And as gratitude or thankfulness is the ornament of all other virtues, from which proceedeth the love between the child and the parent, between the scholar and his master, the charity towards our country, the honour toward God, the friendship between men, and the reverence towards our superiors: so no doubt ingratitude cannot be but directly contrary to all these, and therefore the foulest of all other vices; from which all the evils in the world proceed, to the perpetual infamy of him that is unthankful. Neither is it to be wondered, that such men (like infernal furies) cast behind them Religion, piety, love, faith, all goodness, justice, and humanity itself, seeking like ravenous wolves to live and feed upon the blood of other men. Not only from private houses therefore, but from Cities and Commonweals, ought this pestiferous generation to be carefully banished, as an infection among people, & the ruin of all conversation, lest their contagion spread that same evil over all the rest. Pythagoras, who was the first that ever was called a Philosopher (which is as much as to say, a lover of wisdom, and consequently of truth) did forbid all men to lodge an unthankful man under his roof. And because the Swallow (as Plutarch saith) betokeneth ingratitude, he would not have them to be suffered to nestle in a house. And to say truly, such men are worse than the most savage and cruel beasts of the field: for of the gratitude of some of them, even the fiercest, many most notable examples have been recorded; namely this: One Elpi a dweller in the I'll of Samos, who traded into Africa, coming with his ship on that coast, went a shore, where he met a Lion, in whose teeth a bone of some beast stuck in such sort as he could not close his mouth, or make any shift to eat: Elpi pitying the beast, who seemed to crave at his hands relief, took out the bone, and so delivered him of that mischief. But this thankful Lion failed not every day after so long as his ship lay there at road to bring him duly his share of what prey soever he took, which was sufficient to feed him and all his company. Yea even among serpents we read examples of thankfulness: for it is written, that a certain child brought up a young serpent, and fed it familiarly a long time; but when it was grown great, one day following the instinct of nature, it left the child and went to the woods. It happened that some while after that child being become now meet to travel, passing through a wood was assaulted by robbers, who having taken him were purposed to have slain him: but he with pitiful voice entreating and crying to them that they should spare his life, the same serpent (who by chance was then near at hand) heard his cry, and knowing his voice, came suddenly out with such fury upon the thieves, that they were glad to take their heels, and to leave the young man there to save themselves, who by the thankfulness of the serpent was thus saved. But because you may haply make doubt of these histories, supposing them to be old and fabulous, give me leave (besides mine author) to recite unto you a strange example of gratitude in a beast, which I have understood from a person of such credit, as I dare avouch it for a truth, since himself affirmed that he knew the gentleman in the west country of England, to whom the thing happened even of late years. This gentleman had a mastiff, which he made much account of because he was very fair and hardy, and therefore cherished him so as as his neighbours took knowledge of his affection to the dog: in respect whereof, though they received harm from him (for I must tell you he had a quality to worry sheep by night) yet sought they no redress, but by complaint to the master, who in no case could be induced to believe that his dog had that quality, so cunning was he to take his times and to hide his fault. Howbeit upon the renewing of complaints he caused a muzzle to be made, and every night to be put on his dog's head; supposing thereby to be not only assured himself, but to satisfy his neighbours also, that it was not he that committed those outrages. But for all this, neither the harm nor the complaints were stopped; for this dog had gotten the knack with his feet to pull off his muzzle, and then going abroad to do his feat, at his return he would thrust his head into the muzzle again, in such sort as any man would have freed him of any such fact. Yet no other dog being near to do the like but he, and still the harm being freshly done, his master once resolved to watch his dog a whole night to satisfy himself and his neighbours of the truth: which thing he did so discreetly, as he discovered his dog's subtlety, and saw him unmuzzle himself, go abroad, and return so cleaned as no spot of blood could be discerned about him, and thrusting his head into his muzzle to lie him down as if he had been free from any such offence. The gentleman thus resolved of his dogs conditions, went to bed, and slept the rest of the night; and the next morning coming down, he found his dog lying in the hall, and looking somewhat angrily upon him, he spoke these words, Ah thou sheepbiter, thou sheepbiter, thou must be hanged; and so indeed had purposed with himself to have had him executed. But whiles he was busied in some household affairs, the dog stole out of doors and ran away; so as when his master gave order how he should be hanged, he was nowhere to be found. And these circumstances of the tale I have the rather related, that you may wonder at the understanding of this beast. Now for his gratitude, thus it fell out: Some two years after or less that he was thus run away to escape hanging, it was the gentleman's chance upon some occasions to travel on foot through the country, and in a certain wood fit for such purposes, he met two tinkers that set upon him suddenly to rob him: these two tinkers had with them a mastiff that carried their packs, as many in England do; which dog when in the fight (for the gentleman defended himself manfully) he had known either by his voice or otherwise his old master, he ranged himself to his party, and set upon his latter masters so fiercely, that they lost their courages, and being wounded ran away: and then the gentleman also refigured his old servant, by whose means he was delivered from so great a danger; and so took home his dog again, who had in the mean time foregone his naughty quality, and was ever after much made of by his master as he right well deserved. How shameful a thing is it therefore to man, that brute beasts should give him examples of gratitude; and he contrariwise, on whom God hath bestowed so great a gift as reason to discern the good from the bad, should rather follow the example of the worst sort of beasts in doing ill, then of such as by natural instinct show him the way to goodness? For the ungrateful man is of the nature of the wolf, of whom it is written, that being suckled when it was young by an Ewe; when it grew great, in recompense of his nourishment he devoured her: declaring that the wickedness of the unthankful person cannot be overcome by any benefits, be they never so great. But of this abominable vice we have said enough, and more than needed, but that I was willing to give you to understand, how far it ought to be from him that is virtuous, and would be raised to the reputation of a magnanimous man: of whom returning to speak, thus much is to be added, that he useth himself and all his ability evermore with greatness of courage, spending when occasion serveth magnifically, in works worthy admiration, and in helping of others honourably. Towards all men he is courteous, gentle, and affable, never giving occasion of offence or mislike in his conversation: such due regard he hath to place, time, persons, and other circumstances, so as he never doth anything unseemly or unworthy himself. And so he tempereth pleasantness with gravity, benignity with dignity, that to the humble he never seemeth proud, nor to the great ones never base or demisse: but valueing him neither more nor less than he is worth, insisteth still upon truth, discovering himself modestly and decently as he is indeed a man of virtue, and with grave, yet gentle speeches giving satisfaction to all persons of what degree soever. And finally in all his actions and behaviour he taketh great heed that he commit not any thing whereby he may have cause to die his cheek with the purple blush; but evermore deserve of all men praise and commendation.  
If I should not interrupt, or prolong your discourse too much, I would be glad (said Captain Norreis) to learn what is the cause that shamefastness maketh the red colour come into a man's face, and that fear doth make him pale?  
The reason is (said I) because shamefastness springeth in us for some thing that we think blameworthy: and the mind finding that what is to be reprehended in us, cometh from abroad, it seeketh to hide the fault committed, and to avoid the reproach thereof, by setting that colour on our face as a mask to defend us withal. And albeit that shamefastness or blushing seem to be a certain still confession of the fault, yet it carrieth with it such a grace, as passeth not without commendation, specially in youth, as hath been said. But fear which proceedeth from imagination of some evil to come, and is at hand, maketh the mind which conceiveth it to startle, and looking about for means of defence, it calleth all the blood into the innermost parts, specially to the heart, as the chief fort or castle; whereby the exterior parts being abandoned and deprived of heat, and of that colour which it had from the blood and the spirits, there remaineth nothing but paleness. And hereof it cometh to pass, that we see such men as are surprised with fear, to be not only pale, but to tremble also, as if their members would shake off from their bodies: even as the leaves fall from the tree as soon as the the cold wether causeth the sap to be called from the branches to the root, for the preservation of the virtue vegetative. But such fear is unseemly, and a token of a cowardly mind, and is seldom seen in men of valour. For they are never so suddenly overtaken by any human accident, but that they are armed, and know that their virtue is to be made known in fearful and terrible occasions, which are the very matter and subject of their glory. Neither doth fortune with her smiling, so assure them, but that they look for her frowning countenance to follow: and therefore in prosperity prepare themselves for adversity; whereby when others fall under her strokes, they not only fear her not, but courageously fight against her, & overcome her. Yet you must understand that every sort of fear is not reproachful: for that fear which withholdeth men from doing evil, or things that may breed them shame, is worthy commendation: which made Xenophon to say that he was most fearful to do any thing that was dishonest. And much more commendable is that fear which groweth from the reverence and respect we bear to God, to our parents, and our superiors: for that leads a man to goodness, whereas the other bringeth a man to all evil and wickedness. And now having satisfied your demand, let me briefly run through the rest of the virtues before mentioned in their order. Next therefore to Magnanimity cometh the goodly virtue of Mansuetude, being a mean between wrathfulness with desire of revenge, stirred up in the irascible appetite in respect of some injury done or supposed to be done, and coldness or lack of feeling of wrongs when they are offered: which coldness or insensibility of wrongs, is by this virtue kindled or stirred up to feel and mislike the injuries which unruly persons do oftentimes offer to men of virtue. For as it is necessary upon many occasions to be angry, not with intention to offend others, but for the defence of a man's self, and of those to whom he is tied, and specially of his reputation, lest by being too dull and careless in regarding injuries done unto him, he become apt to be ridden and depressed by every ruffling companion: so to be either too sudden or outrageous in anger, and thereby to be incited to do any act contrary to reason, cannot in any sort agree with virtue, or become a gentleman. For to speak of that bearing which is undertaken for Christian humility, or fear of offending God, appertaineth not to this place. This virtue then of Mansuetude, is she that holdeth the reins in her hand, to bridle the vehemency of anger, showing when, where, with whom, for what cause, how far forth, and how long it is fit and convenient to be angry; and likewise to let them loose, and to spur forward the mind that is resty or slow in apprehending the just causes of wrath, with regard of like circumstances: directing the particular actions of the virtuous man in such cases according to reason; to whom she, as all other the virtues, is to have a continual eye and regard in every thing.  
Desire of Honour succeed next, and is a virtue that is busied about the same subject with Magnanimity. For as the magnanimous man respecteth only great and excessive honours: so doth this virtue teach the mean in purchasing of smaller honours or dignities, such as civil men of all sorts are to be employed in. For as there are some that seek by all means possible to catch at every show of honour, at every office or degree that is to be gotten, and spare not to undergo any indignity, or to try any base or unlawful means to compass the same, heaving and shoving like men in a throng to come to be foremost, though they deserve to be far behind: so are there others so scrupulous and so addicted to their ease and quiet, that they cannot endure to take upon them any pains, or any place that may bring them either trouble or hazard; absolutely refusing in that respect, and despising all dignities and offices, together with the honour they might purchase by the same. The first sort of men are called ambitious: the other insensible and careless of their reputation. Between which two extremes this virtue hath her place, to keep the first from seeking, not by virtue, but by corruption, deceit, or other unfit means to compass honours, dignities, or authority, as many do, slandering and backbiting such as are competitors with them; or else most basely flattering, and with cap and knee crouching to those that they think may yield them help, or favour them in their purchase, which they seek and beg to supply their own unworthiness: and to quicken the other, whose minds have no care of their credit & reputation, but live in base companies, and estrange themselves from all civil conversation, like brute and savage beasts. And in this respect is she worthy high estimation, and necessary for all them that esteem true honour (as they ought) to be the most excellent good among exterior things: who nevertheless temper themselves from ambition, so as they are not drawn to commit any vile or base act for the achieving of the same, but strive evermore by virtue to purchase their honour & reputation. Neither is this virtue all one with Magnanimity, because it requireth not so excellent an habit as doth Magnanimity, though they both be busied about the same subject: for between them is the like difference as is between Magnificence and Liberality, whereof we have already spoken.  
Verity is the virtue which followeth in order, by which a man in all his conversation, in all his actions, and in all his words showeth himself sincere and full of truth, making his words and his deeds always to agree, so as he never sayeth one thing for another, but still affirmeth those things that are, and denieth those that are not. The two extremes of this virtue, are on the one side dissimulation or jesting, called in Greek Ironia, and on the other side boasting. For some there are that seek by this vice to purchase reputation and credit, or profit; or else even for foolish delight give themselves to vaunting and telling such strange things of themselves, as though they be incredible, yet will they needs have men forsooth to believe them. Others for the same respects dissemble the good parts that haply are in them, & seem willing to make men believe that their good qualities are not so great as they are; with a counterfeit modesty feigning always to abase themselves in such sort as men may easily discover them to be plain hypocrites, and that under pretence of humility they labour to set pride on horseback: yea some even of merriment, or by long custom of lying, think it sport sufficient never to tell any thing but exorbitant and strange lies, insomuch as in fine, though they wittingly speak no truth, yet themselves fall to believing what they say to be most true. Between these two vices sitteth this bright-shining virtue of Truth (as she is a moral virtue) by which men use the benefit of their speech to that true use for which it is bestowed upon them by God, and purchase to themselves not only honour and praise, but also trust and credit with all men, so as their words are observed as oracles: whereas of the others, no man maketh more account then of the sound of bells, or of old wives tales. This is that excellent virtue that is of all others the best fitting a Gentleman, and maketh him respected and welcome in all companies: which made Pythagoras to say, that next unto God, truth in man was most to be reverenced: whose contrary likewise is of all other things the most unfitting, the very destroyer of human conversation the mother of scandals, and the deadly enemy of friendship: the odiousness whereof may be discerned by this, that albeit we stick not sometimes to confess our faults, though they be very great, to our friends, yet we are ashamed to let them know that we have told a lie.  
The virtue of Affability which succeed, is a certain mean, by which men seek to live and converse with others, so as they may purchase the favour and good liking of all men, not forgetting their own gravity and reputation. And because there are some that think with pleasing speeches and pleasant conceits to be welcome into all companies, they give themselves to flatter, to commend and extol every man, to soothe all that they hear spoken, and still to smile or laugh in every man's face; purchasing thereby in the end to be esteemed but as ridiculous sycophants or base flatterers: and others, holding a contrary course, never speak word that may be grateful or pleasing to any man, supposing thereby to be held for grave and wise men, evermore opposing themselves to what others say, dispraising all men's doings, and finally with frowning countenance making themselves odious in all companies. Therefore is this excellent virtue set as a mean to direct men how to use their words and behaviour in honest and civil conversation, that they may be grateful. For thereby they know how to distinguish the degrees and qualities of persons, of times, of places, and by discreet carriage to make themselves welcome every where, without touch of flattery. And Affability resembleth very much friendship in the particular actions thereof, both having a purpose to please, & never to displease. But between them there is this difference, that friendship doth all things with a special fervent affection interchangeably borne; whereas Affability respecteth not the mutual affection, but only a desire to be generally acceptable and pleasing to all good men, to every one in their several degrees and qualities, and without regard of the conditions before specified. In the exercise of which virtue, among other observations, this is one principal, never to let pass a word out of the mouth before it be considered and examined whether it may offend any man or no. For many men through lack of this consideration have let slip words that they would afterwards have redeemed at a high rate, but could not; whence arise oftentimes great mischiefs, as daily experience showeth us. Lastly, as the body hath need of rest after travel, so hath the mind (overwearied with study or affairs) need of recreation, that it may return the fresher to be busied again. And this recreation is best found in certain pastimes or sports, used by gentlemen when they meet to be merry together, wherein no baseness or unseemliness is seen: and therefore are these sports properly called, recreations of the mind. But because in such meetings where men come to pass the time together, they fail in their conversation two ways by excess, the one contrary to the other; therefore is the mean which teacheth the tempering of those excesses, called the virtue of Urbanity, a Latin name, which in English we cannot better, and therefore must give it pass to be denizened among us. The one excess of too much, is, when men seek in such assemblies or meetings only to make the company laugh, and so they laugh, care not whether the occasion be given of any wanton speech or scurrility, or overbitter taunting, without respect of persons, and if they may break a jest upon any man, either present or absent, they will not forbear it to show their wit, though it be never so much to the shame and ignominy of the party; yea and they will laugh thereat themselves so exceedingly, that they will make others of force to laugh at their laughter, though they mislike their speech. And such men may be justly termed jesters, or knavish fools, specially if to their words they add gestures and countenances undecent for civil men, not sparing also ribald speeches even in the presence of sober and modest gentlewomen. A thing that among honest and virtuous men is most odious, whose conversation ought to be far from uncleanness or malice. Opposite to these are certain persons, who in all companies never let fall any witty speech themselves, or any merry conceit; nor yet when they hear them proceed from others, will once afford to grace them with so much as a smile: but rather bend the brows thereat, or seem not to know or to conceive any delight therein, behaving themselves like rude clowns which want capacity to comprehend the substance of a pithy & pleasant speech. These Aristotle calleth harsh and rustic fellows. Now between this rusticity and this foolish jesting is this virtue of Urbanity the mean, which the Greeks call Eutrapelia, and teacheth a man to frame all his speeches in assemblies and meetings where he chanceth to be for the reviving or recreating of his spirits, so as they may be sharp and witty, and yet not bitter or overbiting to offend, nor yet to tax or reprove any man so, as he may have just cause to complain: though (to say truth) a discreet or witty jest cannot be much worth, or move men to laugh, unless it have a certain deceit or offence intended towards some body, who nevertheless must not be so pricked, as he may have cause to be grieved thereat, but rather be merry at the conceit. For since words and gestures are the true tokens commonly of the quality of the mind, he, that in his conversation causeth not the sweetness of his mind and the candour of his noblest part to shine through all his actions, words and gestures, cannot be esteemed a man of worth and virtue. He must continually have great regard to the time, place, persons, and other circumstances, according to which he is so to order his pleasant conceits and merry jests, not only to move merriment and laughter, but that withal he may keep his gravity & dignity, and eschew above all things licentious & wanton speeches, which in no wise become a man that is desirous to bear up his reputation & credit as a civil man. And thus having given you a taste of every of the virtues assigned to wait upon Magnanimity somewhat more amply than mine author, who hath (in my opinion) a little too briefly touched them in the description of a magnanimous man: I will now return to his discourse again, by which I am come to treat of justice; the efficacy and power whereof is such, that some sages have held her only to be virtue, as if she should contain in her all other virtues: and that the rest that are severally named should be but as parts of her, diversly entitled in respect of the divers objects, about which they are exercised. It is therefore to be considered, that this virtue is to be taken two ways; the one when she is generally considered, and then is she alone all the virtues: in which respect Agesilaus was wont to say, that where justice was, there needed no Fortitude. And Antisthenes and Plato likewise were of opinion, that he that was just needed no laws, because this virtue was sufficient to keep him within the compass of living well and virtuously. The other way is, when she is taken for one of the four principal virtues, and so is she a habit, whereby is known what is just, and the same is accordingly desired and done. This is that incorrupted virgin, which the ancients so termed, because she is such a friend to bashfulness and modesty, by which men are made worthy reverence, by which they learn the measure of distributions and commutations, giving recompense to virtue as much as it deserveth, not by equality of number, but by equality of measure: to much virtue great reward, to mean virtue meaner recompense: and this is the Geometrical proportion which Aristotle speaks of. For where much desert is, though much be given, and less, where less is deserved, and the rewards compared together be unequal; yet as they have severally deserved, they are equally rewarded. With some example we shall make the thing more plain. Suppose here be two vessels, the one greater than the other, and that you fill them both with wine or other liquor, the lesser shall nevertheless be as well full as the greater: and if they both had speech and understanding, neither could the one complain for having too much, nor the other too little, both being full according to their capacity, and so receiving his due. In this sort doth justice distribute to every one that which is his due. She produceth laws, by which virtue is rewarded, and vice punished. She correcteth faults and errors according to their quality. She setteth us in the direct way that leadeth to felicity. She teacheth rulers and magistrates to command, and subjects to obey: and therefore she is the true rule which showeth the inferior powers and faculties of the soul how to obey Reason, as their Queen and mistress. Which command of Reason, Plotinus esteemed to be so important to be exercised over the passions, as he esteemed them only to be worthily called wise men, who subjecteth their passions in such sort to reason, that they should never arise to oppose themselves against her. She instructeth man to rule, not only himself, but his wife, his children, and his family also. She preserveth and maintaineth States and Commonweals, by setting an even course of carriage between Princes and their subjects. She maketh men understand, how the doing of injury is contrary to the nature of man, who is borne to be mild, benign & gentle; and not to be (as wild beasts are) furious, fierce and cruel: for such they are that hurt others wittingly. And when injuries happen to be done, she distinguisheth them, she seeketh to make them equal, or to diminish them, or to take them clean away: evermore teaching us this lesson, that it is better to receive an injury then to do it. It is she that maketh those things that are severally produced for the good of sundry nations, common to all, by the mean of commutation, of buying and selling, and having invented coin, hath set it to be a law, or rather a judge in cases of inequality, to see that every man have his due and no more. Finally she tempereth with equity (which may be termed a kind of clemency joined to justice) things severely established by law, to the end that exact justice may not prove to be exact wrong. And where as laws not tempered by discreet judges, are like tyrants over men: this equity was held by Plato to be of such importance, that when the Arcadians sent unto him, desiring him to set them down laws to be ruled by, he understanding that they were a people not capable of equity, refused flatly to make them any laws at all. Agesilaus said, that to be too just, was not only far from humanity, but even cruelty itself. And trajan the Emperor wished Princes to link equity & justice together, saying, that dominions were otherwise inhumanly governed. The Egyptians also to show that laws are to be administered with equity, expressed justice in their Hieroglifikes by a left hand open, meaning, that as the left hand is slower and weaker than the right: so that justice ought to be advisedly administered, and not with force or fury. And the opinion of some was, that the axes and rods which were accustomably borne before the Roman Consuls, were bound about with bands; to declare, that as there must be a time to unbind the axes before they could be used to the death of any man: so ought there to be a time to deliberate for them that execute the law; wherein they may consider whether that which the rigour of law commandeth may not without impeachment of justice be tempered and reduced to benignity and equity. To conclude, justice is she that maintaineth common utility, that giveth the rule, the order, the measure and manner of all things both public and private, the band of human conversation and friendship. She it is that maketh man resemble God, and so far extendeth her power in the conjunction of men's minds, that she not only knitteth honest men together in civil society, but even wicked men and thieves, whose companies could not continue, if among their injustices justice had not some place. She is of so rare goodness and sincerity, that she maketh man, not only to abstain from taking another's goods, but also from coveting the same.  
Indeed (said M. Dormer) if justice be such a virtue as you have described, me think that we have small need of other virtues; for she comprehendeth them all within herself.  
So doth she (answered I) if she be generally considered as before hath been said. But if we call her to the company of the other virtues, as here we place her, she hath as much need of them as they of her, if she shall produce those effects which we have spoken of. For as one vice draweth another after it, as do the links of a chain the one the other: even so are the virtues much more happily linked together in such sort as they cannot be severed. But though a man be endued with them all, yet is he called a just man, a valiant, a prudent, or a temperate man, according as he inclineth more to this then to that, or in his actions maketh more show of the one then of the other: for our natural imperfection will not suffer any one man to excel in them all; which made me say a while sithence, that it is so hard a thing to be magnanimous, since the virtue of Magnanimity must be grounded upon all the rest. But to excel in justice, is a thing most glorious; for it is said of her, that neither the morning star nor the evening star shineth as she doth. And Hesiodus called her the daughter of jupiter. Whereupon Plato supposing, that who so embraced justice contracted parentage with jupiter the King of Gods and men, accounted the just man had gotten a place very near unto God.  
Verily (said M. Dormer) and not without cause. For it behoveth him that will be just to be void of all vice, and furnished with all other virtues. And therefore me thinketh, he that said justice might well be without Prudence, considered ill what belonged to justice. For Prudence is most necessary to discern what is just from what is unjust; and a good judgement therein can no man have that wanteth Prudence: without which judgement, justice can never rule well those things that are under her government. And as Agesilaus said of Fortitude, so think I of justice, that if she be not guided by Prudence (which is aptly called the eye of the mind) she works more harm than good.  
You think truly (said I) and of this virtue the course of our author draweth me to treat, & to declare of what importance she is to human things, and how beneficial. But let me first put you in mind that hitherto hath been spoken but of those virtues which have their foundation in the unreasonable parts of the mind: of which mind they are the habits, consisting in the mean betwixt two extremes, and busied about the affects & actions of men. Likewise hath been declared how the affects come from the powers or appetites of the soul, to wit, the concupiscible and the irascible, and how all commendable actions proceed from election, before which Counsel must go. And albeit we made mention there of Prudence, yet it was then referred to a fitter place to talk thereof more largely, when the drift of our discourse should bring us thither. Now therefore being come to that place which is proper to her, I am to speak of thereof. But before I proceed any further, you must understand that there be two sorts of virtues: for some are moral, concerning manners, of which we have discoursed hitherto, and showed how they are grounded in those parts of the mind that are devoid of reason. Others are of the mind or understanding, in which respect they are called Intellective; and of them henceforth must be our speech. But you must remember, that though it was said, that those moral virtues were founded in those parts of the mind wanting reason, yet were they guided by the light of reason. And this light of reason (as much as concerneth men's actions) is nothing else but Prudence, which is a virtue of the understanding, and the rule and measure of all the moral virtues concerning our actions and affects: even as sapience or wisdom is the guide and governess of speculation. And forsomuch as reason is capable of two intellective virtues, whereof the one is active, and the other speculative, this latter intendeth always the knowledge of truth: & the first is busied about the knowledge of what is good. Which good, when it is come to the height of his perfection in our actions, is the end of them; and then have we attained that furthest and absolute term or bound, unto which we have directed all our civil actions. Hereupon Plotinus said, that there were in us two principles or original causes of doing; whereof the one is the mind, which calls us to contemplation: the other is reason, guiding us to civil actions; and from her doth that which is good & fair never depart. And though it may be objected, that both these intellective virtues are exercised in or about the knowledge of truth, as indeed they be; yet is it to be advertised, that it is in divers respects that they be so exercised. For that part which is exercised in contemplation, is busied about truth simply; that is to say, about those things that never change, and are always the same; as God first of all; then all the universal things which nature hath produced: about which Prudence hath nothing to do to busy herself, because they are not subject to man's counsel, nor to his election: and of such things properly is truth the subject: which truth (as Plato said) is the guide to lead men to all goodness. But Prudence worketh properly about such things as are subject to change; and may be & not be; may be done or not done; and (when all is said) are fortunable: of which there is no certain and infallible truth, as is of things eternal. Nevertheless Prudence in this inconstancy of things sensible, seeketh always to apply itself to that which is most likely to happen, and doth seem most probable to the discourse of reason. And this also is that truth about which she discourseth, seeking still to choose that which is or seemeth to her best and most fair. Without Prudence can no virtuous operation be brought to pass. For she only foreseeth and knoweth what is convenient and seemly: and withholdeth a man at all times from vice or any voluntary wicked action: so that he that is not honest cannot be prudent. It is neither art nor science, but an habit of the mind, never severed from reason, in the discoursing of those things about which man is to use reason, for private or public benefit. So as it may well be said, that in respect of the subject it is all one with that science which is called Civil: but in respect of the reason of the one & of the other, they be different. For Prudence is in the prudent man principally for his private good and profit, and next for the public weal: but the civil or politic man considereth that which is profitable to the Commonwealth. And though both be busied about the benefit of mankind according to reason, yet so far forth as the prudent man respecteth his private good, it is called in him Prudence. But when it is applied to the universal commodity of the Commonweal, it is called the civil faculty or science. Which faculty without prudence will be of small effect in government: the rule whereof it fetcheth from Temperance, which is called the preserver of Prudence. Nevertheless the prudent man may at once provide both for his private affairs & for the public, though his office be rather to command others to execute things then to do himself. And albeit in that point Socrates was deceived, saying that Prudence was all the virtues together, yet is she so inseparable a companion unto them all, as if she be taken from them, they remain os small value or effect. The office of this virtue, is to consider what is profitable, and to apprehend it: and likewise to eschew all that is hurtful. And to discourse of things sensible and usual, thereby to show what is fit to be chosen, and what to be forsaken. In regard whereof Plato said that Prudenee guided us to happiness of life, and imprudence made us miserable and unhappy: affirming that she only directed us to do all our affairs well, yea & to know ourselves. Among the representations of virtues, Prudence is commonly set with a looking-glas in her hand: which by all likelihood is done to give us to understand, that as the glass being clear showeth a man his face; so Prudence well used shows to him himself, making him to know what he is, and to what end created. The knowledge whereof works in him, that as he travels to attain for himself profit & goodness; so acknowledging himself to be borne for the good also of others, endeavoureth to direct the affairs also of his parents, friends and Commonweal to the same end of profit & goodness. Now although it hath been said, that Pudence is a science of good and evil, yet is it to be understood that she is not properly termed a science; but is (as was said even now) so far from it, that she is busied about things casual which may happen and not happen, whereof there can be no certain science: whereas Science laboureth about things certain & eternal. Prudence considereth what is profitable & good; Science searcheth out truth simply. And as these two be different the one from the other: so is there difference between the wise man & the prudent. For the wise man being still busied about the causes of things, and the marvelous effects which they produce by the means of God's goodness, is as it were out of the world, little respecting any profit, which the prudent hath still regard unto. For the wise man hath his mind always raised to the contemplation of sublime things, whereby these base of the earth seem to him worthy no estimation, the rather because he knoweth right well that nature hath need of very little to sustain her. And although Plato say that those men are called wise, who by the light of reason, know what is profitable, not only for themselves and particular persons, but generally for the commonweal, he there useth the name of a wise man according to the common manner of speech, and not properly. But that you may the better understand my author's meaning, you must give me leave to enlarge a little the ground of this his distinction. You are therefore to consider, that there be three several things in us, to wit, sense and feeling, understanding and appetite. Of which the first is the beginning of no action properly, because it is common to us with brute beasts, who are not said to do any action, for that they want judgement and election. The appetite, so far forth as it is obedient to reason, either followeth or escheweth things presented thereunto: and in this part Counsel hath place and election, as hath been formerly said: which election is the inducement to action, for thereby we work either good or evil; and it is provoked by the appetite, though reason bridling the concupiscible desire be the minister of good election. But the understanding stretcheth further than so. For it travels about things eternal, necessary, and so true as they never change, nor can be any other then as by nature they have been framed. But it is busied about this truth two manner of ways; for either it seeketh the knowledge of principles, from whence true conclusions are drawn; or else of principles that be the orig●ne of things. If we consider the understanding according to the first manner, it breedeth science in us, which cometh from the knowledge of true principles, which are the grounds of true conclusions. And in this sort do we know all things natural and corporal, yet eternal and immutable, as causes natural, nature herself, time, place, the elements, heaven, the first mover, so far forth as he is applied to a movable body (for so far forth as he is a simple substance, unmovable, indivisible, free from all change: and as he is alone by himself infinite, neither body, nor virtue contained in a body, the first of all things naturally moved, yea before the matter itself, & all other the properties attributed to that simple, pure and divine nature, it is a thing not appertaining to the natural Philosopher to treat of him) and generally all other things natural. But taking the understanding according to the second way, it raiseth us up to the knowledge of that divine power, from which all things great and small, mortal and immortal, have their beginning: and this knowledge is called wisdom: which, together with virtue, we attain by the means of Philosophy, the only school-mistris of human and divine learning, and the true guide to commendable life and virtuous actions, being indeed the greatest gift that God giveth to man in this transitory life. Now as these virtues before specified direct us to that perfectest end that man in this world can attain unto by his virtuous deeds: so doth this habit, called wisdom, conduct him to a far more excellent end then this civil or politic end. And if that which virtue guideth us unto, be worthy to be called perfect in this world, this other (which wisdom leadeth us unto) may well be termed most perfect: because this divine habit addresseth us to the knowledge of the most pure, simple, and excellentest nature, which is God eternal and immortal, the fountain of all goodness, and infallible truth, the only and absolute rest and quiet of our souls & minds. For which cause Plato said, that human things, if they were compared to divine, were unworthy the employing any study in them, as being of no price or estimation at all: for they are rather shadows of things than things indeed, evermore fleeting and slippery, as daily experience teacheth us. But being as we are among men, and set to live and converse with them civilly, the civil man must not give himself to contemplation, to stay upon it as wisdom would persuade him, until he have first employed his wit and prudence to the good and profit as well of others as of himself. Giving them to understand, how man is the perfection of all creatures under heaven, and placed as the centre between things divine and mortal: and showing to them how great is the perfection of man's mind, make them know how unworthy & unfit it is for a man to suffer those parts that he hath common with brute beasts to master and overrule those by which he is made not much inferior to divine creatures: and causing them to lift up their minds to this consideration, instruct them so to dispose and rule through virtuous habits those parts which of themselves are rebellious to reason, as they may be forced to obey her no otherwise then their Queen and mistress: and through Fortitude, Temperance, justice, and Prudence, with the rest of the virtues that spring from them, frame their behaviour, and direct all their actions to that end which we have entitled by the name of civil felicity, to wit, that perfect action or operation according to virtue in a perfect life, whereof hath formerly been largely discoursed. Which felicity once attained, is of that nature, that no man which is possessed thereof can become miserable or unhappy. For vice only can reduce man to be miserable, and that is evermore banished from felicity, whose conversation is only with virtue: to whom she is so fast linked and tied in the mind of man, that he hath no power to dissolve or sever the same. And this felicity is not only a degree, but even the very foundation of that other, which we may attain by the mean of wisdom. For after we have once settled and gounded ourselves in the moral virtues, and done well in respect of ourselves, and also holpen others as much as we could, we may then raise our thoughts to a higher consideration, and examining more inwardly our own estate, find that this most excellent gift of understanding hath been given us to a further end and purpose then this human felicity: and therefore bend all our wits to a better use of ourselves, which is to take the way of that other felicity, so to place ourselves, not only above the ordinary rank of men, but even to approach (as near as our frailty will permit) to God himself, the last end of all our thoughts and actions. From this perfect knowledge of ourselves we ascend by degrees to such a height, as leaving all worldly cares, we apply all our studies to the searching of divine things, to the end that by attaining the understanding and knowledge of our maker, and the Creator of all things, we may plainly discern that whatsoever is here among us on earth, is but smoke and dust: and that to be even glutted with all the good that this life can afford, is but a possession of smoke, and a shadow of the true good which is above. And so knowing that the mind is the true man, given unto us of special grace to guide the body, we may turn ourselves to that happiness which maketh us immortal, by raising the mind to the height of that heavenly felicity: the sweetness and delight whereof, is so much greater than that of human felicity, (though without this the other cannot be) as the habit of that excellent power of the virtue intellective, is employed about a more noble object, then that which the virtue active doth intend. For it is evermore busied about things eternal and universal, and about the contemplation of the most high and gracious God. Of this excellent degree of felicity hath Aristotle spoken in his first and tenth books of ethics, declaring how it ought to be the final end of all our operations, and hath attributed this excellent kind of faculty to those men only who are properly called Sages or wise men: because they, by the means of actions and of sciences, finding that these mortal things are not able to bring a man to full and perfect happiness, do so raise themselves from these base cogitations, as they apply their mind and understanding wholly to the knowledge of divine essences. And such men (saith he) as have attained that degree, are rather to be esteemed divine then human. For whiles they live in contemplation, they are not like men living among men, composed of body and soul, but as divine creatures freed from mortal affections arising from the body, and bend only to that which may purchase the never-ending felicity of the soul; which according to Plato and Aristotle, is the true man. And to this opinion did our Saviour Christ (who is the infallible verity) give authority and confirmation, when he said, that we ought to have such care of that soul which is in us according to the image of God, that we should esteem nothing (how great or precious soever the world esteemed it) at so high a rate, as for the purchasing thereof we should hurt or lose the same: for his words are, What availeth it a man to gain all the world and lose his own soul? By this opinion of these two Philosophers, we may plainly understand, that even in that darkness of ancient superstition, God had yet given such light of reason to the minds of men to illumine them withal, that they saw how through sciences and wisdom they were to seek the way that should lead them to their perfect felicity, that is, to God Almighty himself, who is such an end as no other end can be supposed beyond him; but to him all other ends are directed, as to the true and most happy term, bound or limit of all virtues and virtuous actions, and of civil felicity itself. But because that divine part of the Intellective soul which is in us, is to have consideration not only of our present state of life, but also to that eternity, wherein our immortal minds, made to the likeness of God, are to live with him eternally. Therefore did Aristotle fitly teach, that men ought to bend and frame their minds wholly to that true and absolute end: for that the mind being divine, it is his proper office to seek to unite itself to his first principle or beginning, which is God. Neither hath his divine Majesty of his abundant grace bestowed the virtue intellective upon man to any other end, then that he might know it to be his special duty to raise himself to him, as to the author and free giver of all goodness: and as he hath bestowed on him a soul made to his own likeness, so he should therewith bend his endeavour to be like him in all his actions, as far as the corruption contracted by the communion of the body will permit. Which thing the Platonikes considering, have spoken much more largely thereof then Aristotle, following therein the steps of their master. But some will say, that Aristotle spoke the less thereof, thinking that the soul of man, even concerning the understanding, was not immortal; because it seemeth to them, that when the soul hath no more the senses of the body to serve her as instruments whereby she understandeth and knoweth, she should no longer live. For since nature cannot suffer any thing to be idle in the world, and the soul wanting the body can have no operation, therefore they think it is to be concluded, that with the body she must needs fall and die: for that if she should happen to remain after she were separated from the body, yet she should not have any operation, insomuch as having the understanding for her proper operation, and seeing she cannot understand but by the ministry of the senses, from which she can have no help when she is loosed from the body, it followeth that she hath no operation, and then must she be idle in nature, which is in no sort to be allowed. But my author (as afore is said) doth think, that these men mistake Aristotle, not considering that he, speaking as a natural Philosopher of the soul, was not to treat thereof but naturally; and in so doing, was to restrain himself within the bounds of nature: according to which, he is not to consider any form separate from the matter, from which we (as all other natural things) have our bodies. This Aristotle considering and knowing, that as a natural Philosopher he was not to speak of the Intellective soul, said, that understanding being separated from the other powers of the mind, as a thing eternal, severed from the corruptible part, it appertained not to him to treat thereof in that place, where he spoke of the soul as she was the actor of the body, and used it as her instrument. For he saw well enough, that though the understanding took beginning with the body, because it was the form thereof; yet was it not the actor of the body, so as it should use any member thereof as an instrument: but was only aforme that was to exercise all the other powers of the other souls. For it is likewise Aristotle's opinion, that where the understanding is in things corruptible, there hath it also the faculties of all the other souls within itself. Which thing he showed more clearly in his first book de Partibus Animalium, saying, that to speak of the Intellective soul all that might be said, was not the office of a natural Philosopher. And this for two reasons. The one is, that the Intellective soul is no actor of the body, because she hath in her no part of motion, either of herself, or accidentally. For she neither increaseth nor diminisheth the body, she nourisheth it not, nor maintaineth it; for these are functions appertaining to the vegetative soul; she changeth it not, nor moveth it from place to place; for that is the office of the sensitive soul: and these be the motions which the body can have from the soul (saving generation and corruption, which are changes made in an instant): therefore inasmuch as she is intellective, she is not subject to the consideration of the natural Philosopher. The other reason is, for that the natural Philosopher considereth not the substances separated from the matter, and therefore his office is not to consider the excellency of the Intellective soul, which is not the actor of the body, though she be the form thereof. And therefore Aristotle telleth us in his second book of Physikes, that the term or bound of the natural philosophers consideration, is the Intellective soul. For albeit he may consider the soul so far as she moveth and is not moved; as he may also the first mover: yet doth he not consider her essence, nor the essence of the first mover: for this appertaineth to the Metaphysike, who considereth of the substances separated and immortal. And hence cometh it that Aristotle treating in his book of Physikes of nature, as she is the beginning of all movings and of rest; when he is come to the first mover who is immovable, yet moveth all that is moved in the world, proceeded not any further to show his nature: understanding right well, that the natural Philosopher's office was not, to consider any thing that is simply immovable, as well in respect of the whole, as of the parts, as the first mover is. But let us (without questioning further thereupon) hold this for certain, not only by that which Christian Religion teacheth us, but also by that which Aristotle hath held, that our souls are immoral. For if it were otherwise, we should be of all other creatures that nature produceth the most unhappy: and in vain should that desire of immortality (which all men have) be given unto us. Besides that, man, as man, that is to say, as a creature intellective, should not have that end which is ordained for him, which is contemplative felicity. Neither is it to the purpose to say, that such felicity is not attained by moral virtues, but by wisdom only, or that there be but few so wise as to seek this excellent felicity, and infinite the number of those that think but little upon it: for all men are borne apt unto it, if they will apply their minds unto the same. And though among all generations of men there should be but three or four that bent their endeavour to attain it, they only were sufficient to prove our intention, because it is most certain, that the number of foolish men is infinite, who not knowing themselves, cannot tell how to use themselves, & direct their endeavours to that which is the proper end of man. Of whom it is said, People on whom night cometh before Sunset. A wicked generation, whose whole lifetime flieth from them unprofitably, in such sort, as they can scarce perceive that they have lived. For although there be infinitely more such in this world then of quick and elevated spirits, yet ought not we to endure, that their negligence, who know not themselves to be men, should prejudice the minds of such as know what they are, and raise their thoughts carefully to divine things. And therefore leaving their opinions that will needs say, that Aristole impiously and madly hath held the contrary, it shall be best to proceed in our discourse of the felicity that is to be attained by contemplation.  
I pray you (said Captain Carlisle) since there is a contrariety of opinions among Philosophers, concerning the immortality of the soul, and that the knowledge thereof appertaineth to the better understanding of this contemplative felicity, let us hear, if your author give any further light thereunto, since such good fellows seek to cast so dark a mist before our eyes, under the cloak of Aristotle's opinion. For albeit you spoke somewhat of it yesterday, so far as concerned our manner of learning according to Aristotle, yet was it but by the way, and not as it concerned this felicity: and if such a matter as this were twice repeated, it could not but be profitable to us, though it be somewhat troublesome to you.  
Whereupon I said: that which my author was not willing to undertake, you press me unto, as if you were the same persons, and had the same sense that those introduced by him had: and therefore since you also will have it so, I am content to close up this your feast with this last dish; notwithstanding that the evening draw on, and that to speak thereof at large would ask a long time. But knitting up, as well as I can, a great volume in a little room, I will deliver unto you that which the shortness of our time will permit, and pray with mine author his divine Majesty, who hath given us an immortal soul, that he will vouchsafe us his grace to say so much and no more of this matter, as may be to his glory, and to all our comforts. Know ye then that these men, that out of Aristotle's writings gather our intellective soul to be mortal, take for their foundation and ground this; that the soul is the actor of the body, and useth it but after the manner before mentioned. And to maintain this their opinion, they wrest divers places of his untruly, and contrary to the mind of this great Philosopher, as shall be declared unto you. True it is, that while the intellective soul is the form of the body, she hath some need of him to understand. For without the fantasy we can understand nothing in this life, since from the senses the forms of all things are represented unto us, as yesterday was declared. And this did Aristotle mean to teach us, when contrary to the opinion of some former Philosophers he said, that sense and understanding was not all one, although there be some similitude between them. And because the essences of things are known by their operations, according to Aristotle; and that the intellective soul understandeth (which is a spiritual operation;) it followeth that simply of her own nature she is all spirit, and therefore immortal, for else to understand, would not be her property. Whereunto also Aristotle agreeth, in saying, that some parts of the soul are not conjoined to the body, and therefore are separable: and that the understanding and the contemplative power was another kind of soul, and not drawn from the power of matter, as the other two are, whose operations were ordained for the Intellective soul, insomuch as she is the form of the body: which showeth plainly that she is eternal and immortal. And in the twelfth of his metaphysics, making a doubt, whether any form remain after the extinguishing of the matter, he said doubtfully of the other two, that not every soul, but the Intellective only remained. And here is to be noted, that his opinion was not (though some would have it so) that the fantasy was the form of the body, for that dieth with the body, as shall be showed hereafter: but he considered the understanding itself, as a soul, and as the form of the body; and not as a separable intelligence, the lowest of all others, and common to all men, as Theophrastus and Themistius (though diversly) have thought. Neither yet that it was God Almighty, as Alexander supposeth: for God is not the form of our bodies, nor hath any man ever doubted whether God were immortal. So as our understanding is neither God, nor yet a separate intelligence, common to all men, like those that govern an universal sphere, as they above mentioned have thought, & as some of our Christians have dreamt; who being raised to Ecclesiastical dignity, have chosen rather to follow the Greeks vanity and the Arabians, then favour the religious and true interpreters of Aristotle's mind. Whereas they ought rather to have rooted such opinions out of men's minds, as apt to draw them to perdition, and not to mask them with the vizard of natural Philosophers: as if things natural, that may seem contrary to Christianity, were to be set before men in writing, to be confirmed by natural reasons apparent at least, though not true, to persuade their minds amiss. But johannes Gramaticus among the greeks hath declared Aristotle's mind aright; and so hath he that is called the Angelical Doctor in sundry places as a most excellent spirit and a religious man, whatsoever Scotus write against him. And what better testimony need we have of the vanity of these men's interpretations, than Aristotle himself? who most effectually showeth the same, where he saith, that the waxing old of man proceedeth not from the Intellective soul, but from the body wherein she is (which nevertheless is to be understood as she is the form thereof:) and in so saying, declareth, that every man hath his Intellective soul: which soul is a mean betwixt separated substances and corporal; and therefore partly she communicateth with the body to inform the same, and partly she useth (as proper to her) the virtue of the separated substances (as much as her nature may bear) in the use of understanding. And since it is clear, that in nature the most perfect things contain the less perfect, I cannot conceive from whence proceedeth the frenzy of these men, that will rather draw the soul Intellective to be mortal then immortal; seeing that to understand is the most singular operation that the soul hath, and to whom the powers of the other souls are referred, as to the better end, and obey as handmaides to their mistress, in such as propose to themselves to live like men. Neither doth the reason alleged by some serve, who say, that because there is great imperfection in the Intellective soul in comparison of the separate intelligences, it showeth the same to be mortal. For if this reason were true, they might as well by the same conclude, that the separate intelligences were also mortal. For since Aristotle saith, that only the first intelligence (who in his phrase is the first mover) is perfect; and that all the other compared to him are unperfect, (imperfection being in these men's fancy the cause of mortalnesse) it must follow, that as imperfect, they should be mortal: which is as contrary to Aristotle's mind, as any thing can be. Wherefore we must not say, that imperfection in the intellective soul (in respect of the intelligences separated) causeth the same to die with the body, since her office dependeth not on the body: but it is only to be said, that she ceaseth to inform the body through the defect thereof, & not of herself; who being freed from the body, remaineth nevertheless perfect in her being. For albeit she have some respect to the body whiles she informeth the same, yet hath she not her absolute being from it. And therefore said Aristotle, that the virtue of the sense is not equal to the virtue of the understanding; for that a mighty or strong Sensible, weakeneth, and oftentimes corrupteth the sense; whereas from an excellent Intelligible, the understanding gathereth greater virtue: which thing could not be said, if the understanding were as these people suppose, a separate intelligence, whereof the particulars did participate. Wherefore we must needs say he meant of the understanding of every particular man, as of the form of this man, and that man: for he spoke of the understanding of particular men, and not of intelligences, as those men have belike dreamt. And this showeth (howsoever any think the contrary) that as well the Agent understanding and the possible also (whereof this is ordained as matter to that, and both necessary to understand) are essential parts of the soul, and not two separate intelligences, as Themistius would have them. The reason likewise which some allege, is not good, when they argue, that the soul being the form of the body, should ever have a desire, after she were separated from the same, to reunite herself again thereunto: but the body being rotten and corrupted, her desire in that behalf should be vain. For I say, that since the soul hath informed the body, she hath done as much as to her appertained, neither is she to desire any further (to speak naturally) than she hath accomplished: and therefore she remaineth as a separate intelligence. Which hath made the peripatetics to affirm, that the soul separated from the body, is not the same that she was, when she was in the body; because that joined to the body she was the form thereof, but separated she can no more be so. But this difficulty, which natural Philosophers have not known how to resolve as they ought, our blessed Saviour the Son of God hath fully resolved, by rising again the third day (not to say any thing of others raised by him) and promising to us the like resurrection.  
This (said my Lord Primate) all true Christians believe: but since we are debating of Aristotle's opinions, where he saith, that the passable understanding dieth, and some of his Interpreters say, that it is the possible understanding, how shall we make this to agree with the immortality of the soul?  
Well enough (said I:) for they that so interpret him deceive themselves: for there is as great difference (as Aristotle himself teacheth) between the passable soul and the possible soul, as between that which is eternal and that which is corruptible. The passable understanding according to Aristotle is the fantasy, or the imaginative or cogitative power, call it how you please, the which Averroes said was taken at large, but not properly for the understanding; and as an inward sense depending upon the body, receiveth the sensible kinds from the common sense, and presenteth them to the possible understanding, which is the place of the intelligible kinds or forms, as Aristotle in sundry places declareth. And who so shall well consider Themistius, where he speaketh of the multiplication of the understanding, shall find that he supposed it not as our Christian writers do, but took the virtue fantastic for the understanding, multiplied in particular persons. And therefore she being mingled with the body, faileth also with the same: and this is that interior thing which Aristotle saith is corrupted, whereby the understanding loseth his virtue (as shall be showed) which happeneth not to the possible understanding, because it is an essential part of the Intellective soul, not mingled with the body, and free from any passion, as a divine substance. Of which body she useth no part for her instrument to understand, though she have need of the fantasy to receive the Intelligible forms whiles she is the form of the body. And this necessity, which the understanding hath of the fantasy to understand, showeth the contrary of that which these fellows infer, who hold the understanding to be mortal in that respect. For by this it appeareth, that the understanding proceedeth not from the power of the matter: for if so it were, it should have no need of the fantasy, but should itself be the fantasy: and therefore Aristotle right well perceiving that our understanding was not fantasy, nor used any part of the body for an instrument, said, that the understanding came from abroad, as shall be declared. It is therefore no good consequence to say, that because the passable soul dieth, therefore the possible soul likewise is mortal.  
Yea but (said M. Spencer) we have from Aristotle, that the possible understanding suffereth in the act of understanding: and to suffer importeth corruption; by which reason it should be mortal as is the passable.  
Neither is that reason (quoth I) sufficient: for although the name of suffering agree with the possible understanding, and with the passable▪ (leaving the difference between Alexander and Aristotle in that point) the reason and manner in them is different. For the suffering of the passable understanding tendeth to the destruction thereof, whereas the suffering of the possible is to the greater perfection of the same. And for this cause Aristotle telleth us, that the suffering of the senses, and that of the understanding are not both of one nature: because the first breeds destruction, and the later perfection; and that therefore an excellent Intelligible giveth perfection to the understanding, whereas an excellent Sensible corrupteth the sense. But not having any other word meet to express this suffering of the understanding, whiles it is in that act, we use the same that agreeth to the passable, though the reason of them both be very diverse. The possible understanding (as hath been said already) being the place of the Intelligible forms, standeth in respect of the Agent understanding, as the matter in respect of the form: for the first is but in power (for which respect Averroes called it the material understanding:) and this later is in act. And this Agent understanding, by illumining the forms which are in him as blind (even as colours are in things before they be made apparent to the eye by the illumination of light) understandeth the kinds of things, and understanding them understandeth itself. For in spiritual things, that which understandeth and that which is understood, become all one thing: and turning itself about the universal kinds, understandeth withal, things particular. And this is that which the possible understanding suffereth from the Agent, receiving thereby that perfection which you have heard.  
Why (said Master Spenser) doth it not seem, that Aristotle when he saith, that after death we have no memory, that he meant that this our understanding was mortal? For if it were not so, man should not lose the remembrance of things done in this life.  
Nay (answered I) what a silly part had it been of Aristotle rather, if he had thought the intellective soul to be mortal, to say that we remembered nothing after this life, when nothing of us should have remained? And therefore it may serve to prove the immortality of the soul, and not the corruption, as you surmise (only for arguments sake) that truth may be sifted out. But our not remembering then, cometh from the corruptible part, which is the virtue of the fantasy: which being a power of the sensitive soul, that keepeth in store the remembrance of material things, that virtue which should represent them failing in us, we cannot remember them after death. For the memory is no part of the understanding, but of the sensitive soul: and therefore Aristotle said, that memory came from sense, insomuch as creatures wanting reason have memory, though they have not rememorating as man hath: for thereto is discourse required; which according to Aristotle is nothing else but an action of the understanding in the virtue imaginative. Which thing neither in those creatures devoid of reason, nor yet in separated intelligences can have place, because those want discourse, and these are pure acts (as Philosophers call them.)  
Doth not Aristotle (said my Lord Primate) in his ethics say, that the contentments and the troubles of those which live, appertain unto the dead, and breed them grief or delight? And how is it then that he should say, we have no memory after this life?  
Aristotle in that place (said I) spoke in reproof of Solon, who had said, that no man could be accounted happy till after his death: and meant there to show, that although it were granted that man had memory after his death, of things done in this life, yet could he not be happy when he was dead, by reason of the strange accidents which this life bringeth forth: and therefore he said not simply that we remember; but that supposing we did, yet could we not be happy when we were dead, so making good his opinion against Solon by natural reason.  
Yet (said Master Spenser) let me ask you this question; if the understanding be immortal, and multiplied still to the number of all the men, that have been, are, and shall be, how can it stand with that which Aristotle telleth us of multiplication, which (saith he) proceedeth from the matter; and things material are always corruptible?  
Marry (Sir said I) this is to be understood of material things, and not of Intelligible and spiritual, such as is the understanding. And that the understanding might remain after the matter were gone, as the form of the body, he hath (as before is said) declared in his metaphysics, affirming the Intellective soul to be perpetual, though it be separated from the body, whose form it was.  
But how cometh it to pass (replied Master Spenser that the soul being immortal and impassable, yet by experience we see daily, that she is troubled with Lethargies, Frenzies, Melancholy, drunkenness, and such other passions, by which we see her overcome, and to be debarred from her office and function.  
These (quoth I) are passions of the virtue cogitative, fantastic, or imaginative, called by Aristotle (as I have said already) the passable understanding; and not of the Intellective soul. Which passable understanding being an inward sense, and therefore tied to the body, feeleth the passions of the same; whereby it is offended, and cannot perform his office towards the other, but runneth into such inconveniences by reason of his infirmity, and for want of reason's direction. And whereas Hypocrates saith that they that being sick in mind, and touched with any corporal disease, have little or no feeling of pain; it showeth plainly that it is as I have said. For if you mark it well, this word feel explaineth the whole, since feeling is a property of the Sensitive soul, and the understanding feeleth not. And in like manner are the words of Aristotle to be understood, where he saith, that such whose flesh is soft are apt to learn, and they that are melancholy to be wise. For that the Sensitive virtue taketh more easily the forms or kinds of things in such subjects according to their nature, and representeth them to the understanding, from whence knowledge and understanding proceedeth, as yesterday was said. And this happeneth not only in these passions, but also in all other alterations, as of gladness, of sorrow, of hope and of fear, with such like which appertain not to the understanding, to which (said Aristotle) who would ascribe such affects, might as well say that the understanding laid brick to build, or cast a loom to weave.  
Why, (say M. Spencer) doth your author mean (as some have not sticked even in our days to affirm) that there are in us two several souls, the one sensitive and mortal, and the other Intellective and Divine?  
Nothing less (said I) for that I hold were manifest heresy as well in Philosophy as in Christianity. For Aristotle teacheth us, that the Vegetative and Sensitive soul, or their powers, were in the soul Intellective, as the triangle is in the square: which could not be if the sensitive were separated from the Intellective. And speaking of the variety of souls, and of their powers, he saith, that the Sensitive could not be without the Vegetative, but that this latter might well be without the former: and that all the other virtues of all the three souls are in those creatures that have reason and understanding. It cannot therefore be said (according to Aristotle) that the Sensitive soul in man is severed from the Intellective. And because man participateth (as hath been said) of all the three faculties of the souls, I see not why these fellows that mention two, speak not of all three as well, seeing that in man are the operations of all three. For if they say that it sufficeth to speak of the Sensitive, by which man is a living creature, and containeth the Vegetative; why should they not as well say, that the Intellective alone includeth both the other? and than is there no need of severing at all. By which it may appear, that this frantic opinion gathered from the Assyrians, is not only contrary to Aristotle, but to reason itself. For Aristotle saith, that all things have their being from their forms; and that in natural things, the more perfect contain the less perfect, when the lesser is ordained for the more: and that therefore only the Intellective soul which containeth within it the natures of both the others, is the only and true form of man, malgre all such dolts as would have man to be (by reason of divers forms) both a brute and a reasonable creature, who seek to set men astray from the right way with such fanatical devices. Let us therefore conclude with Aristotle, that both the passable and the possible understandings are virtues of the Intellective soul, insomuch as she is the particular and proper form of every man, and that as a human soul she is everlasting, impassable, not mingled with the body, but severed from the same, simple and divine, not drawn from any power of matter, but infused into us from abroad, not engendered by seed: which being once freed from the body (because nature admitteth nothing that is idle) is altogether bend and intent to contemplation, being then (as Philosophers call it) actus purus, a pure understanding, not needing the body either as an object, or as a subject. In consideration whereof Aristotle said, that man through contemplation became divine; and that the true man (which both he and his divine master agreed to be the mind) did enjoy thereby (not as a mortal man living in the world, but as a divine creature) that high felicity, to which, civil felicity was ordained; and attained to wisdom & science, after the exercise of the moral virtues, as means to guide and conduct him to the same. And not impertinently have the Platonikes (following their master in that point) said, that nature had given us sense, not because we should stay thereupon, but to the end that thereby might grow in us imagination, from imagination discourse, from discourse intelligence, and from intelligence gladness unspeakable, which might raise us (as divine, and freed from the bands of the flesh) to the knowledge of God, who is the beginning and the end of all goodness, towards whom we ought with all endeavour to lift up our minds, as to our chief and most perfect good: for he only is our summum bonum. For to them it seemed that the man whom contemplation had raised to such a degree of felicity, became all wholly understanding by that light which God imparteth to the spirits that are so purged through the exercise of moral virtues; which virtues are termed by Plato the purgers of the mind: stirring up therein a most ardent desire to forsake this mortal body, and to unite itself with him. And this is that contemplation of death which the Philosophy of Plato calleth us unto. For he that is come to this degree of perfection, is as dead to the world and worldly pleasures, because he considereth that God is the centre of all perfections, & that about him all our thoughts & desires are to be turned & employed. Such doth God draw unto himself, and afterwards maketh them partakers of his joys everlasting: giving them in the mean while a most sweet taste even in this life of that other life most happy, and those exceeding delights, beyond which no desire can extend, nor yet reach unto the same. So as being full of this excellent felicity, they think every minute of an hour to be a long time that debarreth them from issuing out of this mortal prison, to return into their heavenly country; where, with that virtue which is proper to the soul alone, they may among the blessed spirits enjoy their maker: whose Majesty and power all the parts of the world declare, the heavens, the earth, the sea, the day, the night: whereat the infernal spirits tremble and shake; even as good men on earth bow down and worship the same with continual hymns and praises; and in heaven no less, all the orders and blessed company of Saints and Angels do the like world without end.  
This (lo) is as much as mine author hath discoursed upon this subject, which I have Englished for my exercise in both languages, and have at your entreaties communicated unto you: I will not say, being betrayed by M. Spencer, but surely cunningly thrust in, to take up this task, whereby he might shift himself from that trouble. But howsoever it be, if it have liked you as it is, I shall think my time well spent, both in the translating of it at the first, and in the relating of it upon this occasion in this manner. For as I said before I began, that I would not tie myself to the strict laws of an interpreter: so have I in some places omitted here and there haply some sentences (without which this our Discourse might be complete enough, because they are rather points of subtler investigation than our speech required, though the Author therein perhaps aimed at the commendation of a great reader or absolute Philosopher:) and in the descriptions of some of the moral virtues, added somewhat out of others. And what hath been said concerning civil felicity by him, and delivered in substance by me, I think you will allow to be sufficient. Since therefore my task is done, and that it groweth late, with this only petition, that you will be content to bear with the roughness of my speech in reporting that unto you, which in his language our Author hath eloquently set down, I end.  
Here all the company arose, and giving me great thanks, seemed to rest very well satisfied, as well with the manner as with the matter, at the least so of their courtesy they protested. And taking their leaves departed towards the City.  
FINIS.   

ERRATA.  
PAge 12. line 17. climbing. pag. 16. lin. 32 avoid. pag. 68 lin. 14. speak of. pag. 81. lin. 4. mere. pag. 82. lin. 1. politics. pag. 95. lin. 10. men. pag. 109. lin. 15. Dioxippus. pag. 140. lin. 15. leave out to. pag. 143. lin 13. supposing that etc.▪ pag. 145. lin. 6. their marching. pag. eadem. lin. 7. they never went. pag. 163. lin. 17. flow. pag. 164. lin. 4. determine. pag. 168. lin. 25. hath man. pag. 173. lin. 9 Platonikes. pag. 199. lin. 17. leave out to. pag. ib. lin. 18. leave out which pag. 216. lin. 5. make show of. pag. ibid. lin. 18. that she be. Pag. 238. lin. 14. himself.