THE GHOSTS OF THE DECEASED SIEURS, de VILLEMOR, and the FONTAINES.  
A most necessary Discourse of DVELLS: Wherein is showed the means to root them out quite.  
WITH THE DISCOURSE of VALOUR.  
By the Sieur de CHEVALIER.  
To the KING.  
The third, Edition reviewed, corrected, and augmented in French, and translated by THO. HEIGHAM, Esquire.  
Printed by Cantrell Leg, Printer to the University of Cambridge. 1624.   

TO MY THRICE-HONOURED KINSMEN, THE TWO WORTHY KNIGHTS, Sir WILLIAM HARVY, of Ickworth. and Sir EDWARD SULYARD, of 6Hauley.  
NOBLE Knights: When I had read over this Discourse, and weighed the sincerity of the Author, and how justly in taxing his own Country, he hath laid open the errors of Ours; and not only searched the bottom of our corruptions, but prescribed a diet and a remedy, both to prevent and cure their contagions. And seeing how custom and evil example hath misled all sorts, even of the most peaceable natures, to such impatience, that almost every man thinks himself out of fashion, if he be not incompatible; I thought I could not better employ my idle hours for the general good, then to make this Directory of Honour and Well-living, a free-denizon, and to speak our Country Dialect. If I undergo the censure of a Fool in Print, I care not, my intent is honest: I took the pains partly to please myself, and to avoid worse occupations: And I am sure that all virtuous and good dispositions will make true use of it. For the rest, none can wish them more good, than they will work themselves hurt.  
Now hoping (my most entirely honoured Knights) that you are both of this first, and best Rank; as also true votaries to all other nobleness of mind, I thought it fitting in many respects, to address it to you: And among other good causes, for that you are both Linguists, and can judge of my endeavours; you are in an age, and of an age, fitting to run or be thrown upon these disastrous rocks: you live at ease, with plenty and pleasure, which may produce effects of hot blood. Be pleased to behold from the Port of your felicities, the storms, shipwrecks, torments, and precipitations of them, that had more false courage then good conscience; and I doubt not, but it will make you both good husbands of your Honours, Lives, and Souls: which I thought myself obliged to advertise you of, as a testimony of the serviceable and sincere good wishes of  
Your most affectionate kinsman and servant, Thomas Heigham.   

To the Generous and Well-disposed Reader.  
GEntle Reader, the greatest Command or Sovereignty that a man can have, is to be Monarch of his own Mind: And he that is not so, runs from error to obstinacy, to ruin, and to destruction. This Author hath not done like him, who seeing his friend's house on a fire; because he would not be the messenger of evil news, let the house burn down: but doth (as you may see) ingenuously and ingeniously, piously and passionately (without fear or flattery) reprove and instruct both the King and Nobility. By which also all that are wise, and honest, and have any propension to gain this power over themselves, may attain unto it, by learning (in this Book) what true Honour, Valour, Magnanimity, and Martyrdom is. You may perceive that ignorance, envy, pride, and ambition, which are all offsprings of idleness, were the absolute motives to all these murders. And some will think that God, by the King's bloody end, did show his anger against him for his remissness in these preventions. Give me leave then, out of my affection to all that would do well, to admonish them to shun by all means, this devouring monster Idleness, so odious to God and good men. It was one of the sins of Sodom, it is the mother and nurse of all sins and iniquities. No man can express the infinite mischiefs that it hath produced. But because I think, the false opinions of many (who hold all employments unworthy a Gentleman, but gaming, and sporting) do much hurt, I will set you down examples, and reasons to the contrary. I have read of a Nobleman, that did so much hate Idleness, that when he had nothing to do of greater moment, he would make Butchers-pricks, saying, they might happily be useful to some; at the least (saith he) they will in the making withdraw me from vain thoughts, idle words, and wicked actions.  
There was a Baron of this Realm, a very excellent Goldsmith: myself have scene a fair silver standish of his making. A Knight I knew of an ancient family, that made it his daily exercise to make nets.  
Some worthy Gentlemen there are, that are excellent Painters, some gravers, some perfumers, and the like: all expressing generous spirits, and divine dispositions. For the soul of man is always in action, still imagining or contriving good or evil; and every action that is honest is profitable and laudable, and far from baseness or dishonour. There is no man so noble or free borne, but aught to do somewhat to the service of God, his Prince, or Country; and he that can make that his pastime, pleasure, and delight, is infinitely more blessed than other men.  
These considerations did prick me forward to translate this Book, who being not bred, nor advanced to any vocation of doing good, nor naturally inclined to the faculties above mentioned, or the like; did think this my best remedy against that contagious disease of Idleness.  
It may be, that Critics as well as Christians will read this Book, and as they do the holiest books of all, will deride and traduce both that and the Author: But Solomon saith, It is no sin, but a glory for a man to suffer injury, and that such are to be answered with silence. I do publish it for the good of others, to serve as a Pilot to conduct honest men with honour, and safety to their journey's end; as also upon the importunity of some especial friends of mine. And if I may find that it doth pass with good acceptance, I shall be encouraged to make further trial hereafter. If not, I will make my future endeavours only to content myself, and remain  
Your wel-wishing friend, THO. HEIGHAM.   

❧ TO MY LORD DE SULLY, Duke and Peer of FRANCE, etc.  
My Lord,  
THis Treatise of Duels, is not dedicated to your Fortune, but to yourVertue, which is the principal cause thereof. The most part do run after prosperity, I am none of the great number. My eyes are only set upon your rare merit, by which you shine, by which you govern. It is accompanied with felicity, and favour. For this regard, the present Discourse (made for the Public) hath need of your Fortune: Seeing that the King testifieth so expressly, that he esteemeth your Prudence and Probity (ornaments so known, so admired) you may make it of Validity. Your humour is wholly carried thereunto, by the knowledge, by the sensible apprehension of so great a mischief. It shall be a Christian work, worthy of your zeal to the service of his Majesty, and good of the Estate. You shall anew oblige France, do not frustrate it (if it please you) of the help which it expecteth from your Virtue in so fair an occasion. You are invited thereunto, a man may say obliged, seeing that you are one of the eyes of our great Monarch: You shall get Honour in this affair. Fair actions ought to be produced without design of glory in time to come: But in doing for the Common good, it is not unlawful to increase the reputation of his Name. Let your excellent spirit judge if this action which is hoped for, will not be a relief of all the others, whereof France hath had a true feeling. Whereupon I remain  
MY LORD, Your most humble, and most obedient servant, CHEVALIER.   

To the Nobility of FRANCE.  
IT is long since this Discourse of Duels was made. The Publication hath been hindered for important causes: they cease now, and here it is come into the light. One of the occasions that brought it forth, was the death of two Gentlemen of the Court, who were killed in single Combat, the 3. of january 1602. That ravished me with impatience to this work. They were both full of merit, of Honour, of reputation. I lamented their loss, especially of Sieur de VILLEMOR, whom I knew, whom I honoured for his virtue. He feared God, was courteous, wise, charitable, adorned with all Christian Virtues, especially with those, which are altogether repugnant to the last act of his life. The occasion of their Quarrel was feeble, and very little suitable to so many fair qualities, as all those of this time be. Their ruin is to be lamented, it is deplorable, the Commonwealth hath lost thereby. They were able to do a great service by their Valour, whereof they had rendered so many good testimonies, in just occasions. Their courage was worthy to have been reserved to some better service, then that which rooted them up. Now my intention in this work is altogether Christian, without ostentation, without vanity. The end propounded is, that it may serve. It is indifferent to me whether it be pleasing or not: That is not my reach. If it be profitable to France it will be an unspeakable contentment unto me, it is my only desire. It was made for you. I speak unto you with all freeness. This shall testify my zeal, and my affection, to your good. Receive it with a good heart, if you think good: I do not regard your taste which is sick, but your profit. There is nothing in all the world, for this regard, so rash, so blinded, so transported, as the Nobility of France. He that doth not know it, let him come see here the picture. The design, is the ruin of soul, body, and goods: the action is inconsiderate ambition: the proportion's impatience: the lineaments rashness: the shadows false judgement: the shortnings' presumption: the lively colours do shine by fury, and by despair. Take heed of it, none have so much hurt by it, as you: If you know it not, I advertise you of it. They do in every place deride your frenzies. They which have charges and governements are protected, and play the Romans with your furies, do as they do, be wise: they fight not, and yet have never the less courage. If you think to receive Honour thereby, to be the sooner Dukes, and Peers, Officers of the Crown, Knights du St Esprit, Ambassadors, or governors of places. I tell you that you are very far from your account; you know not why you run so lightly to death. At what good leisure you are, to precipitate yourselves to so many mischiefs, without receiving any advantage, Honour, or profit thereby: either death, the ruin of your houses, or a perpetual quarrel, be the ordinary fruits which hang over your heads. There is all the glory you have thereby: See if you be not in great heat: Though you be not ashamed of your rages, at the least pity the loss of your souls, you cannot do better. To conclude, imitate them which do not fight, you shall be the more perfect. God be with you.   

To the Reader.  
Courteous Reader, there are some faults escaped this 〈◊〉 Book; thou art not to impute the cause thereof to 〈◊〉 Author, whose care and diligence both in translating 〈◊〉 writing may justly deserve commendations; but rather 〈◊〉 the negligence in reading and correcting, the Printe●… that time being drawn away by urgent occasions fr●● his more usual diligence. Thus hoping thy love will me these faults as thou meetest with them in reading, I 〈◊〉  
Pag. 11. lin. I. it is lost put out it. p. 17. l. 4. for Parevine read Poite●● 〈◊〉 l. 24. for prickings read pricking. p. 29. l. 19 for fare read fair. ●… l. 2 ●…. for his read this. p. 32. l. 12. for garden read great garden. p. 35. l. for duly read daily. p. 39 l. 18. for whose frail read who is frail. p. 41. for have read have had. p. 48 l. 25. for mention of read mention made of. ●… l. 19 for none at all read not any. ibid. i 22. for get read go●…t. p. 54. l. ●… and read that ibid. l. 16. for heart and read heart, into. p. 58 l. 20. for co●…read courages. p. 68 l. 10. for the read his. ibid. l 14. for is damnable read damnable. p. 72. l. 15. for lair read fairer. ibid. l. 27. for a throug read the th●… p. 73. l. 4. for would read should. p. 7●…. l. 23. put out the. p. 81. l. 3. for him read thinking. p. 94. l. 20. for philip read fillip. p. 118 l. 8. for workman workewoman. p. 120. l. 2. for to their read to all their. p. 122 l. 13. for a serable read the miserable. ibid. for irresotions read irresolutions. p. 12 ●…. for this the hand read this hath the hand. p. 124. l. ●…. for and contempt read the contempt. p. 126. l. 15. for invite read invitehim. p 127. l. 17 for evil evils. p 123. l 20. for pleasure read pleasures. ibid. l. 23. for oves read ●… p. 129. l. 27. for be clear read be the cleate. p. 136. l. 8. for toiling read●…iings ●…iings. p. 1 38. l. 8. for her justice read her judgement. justice. p. 143. l. 23 belonging read belongeth. p. 147. l. 11. for daaw read draw. p. 149. l. 5 they like read they likeit.   

THE GHOSTS OF VILLEMOR and FONTAINES.  
To the KING.  
WOnder of the World, Mars of Christendom, Great Monarch, whose invincible Heart never found Equal, whose Arm is a Thunderbolt, his Diligence Lightnings, his High Deeds Thunder-cracks; that thunder, which astonish Fortune; You will have no apprehension of our Shadows, seeing you never had any of Death itself, amidst the horror, the terror of Arms; amongst the sulphur, the most thick smokes of Canons and Harquebusses: These obscure appearances, and these dimensions confusedly dilated, will bring you no fear. This is the second time that we do appear; having quitted our repose to come to procure yours, and by the means of our particular harms, to represent those of France in general for this Subject.  
You are a King, the light of Kings; an excellent Title, a holy Title. Seeing that Kings be the lively Images of the greatness of God, and that Truth (an incorruptible Virgin) ought to be their eldest daughter; we do promise ourselves that your Majesty (who have always entirely cherished it, and who in that condition, and a thousand others, have made yourself admirable) will not reject it. Give then (if it please you) some time from your employments to our holy remonstrances, to our advice, to our plaints, for the common safety. Permit us to speak truly, you are obliged thereunto, by this fair quality of King, and by Magnanimity, the capital enemy of untruth. The Subject is of the most important and most notable of the Realm, but yet which regards that, more properly than all the rest.  
Your Majesty gives every day pardons for murders committed in Duel. If we did respire again in mortal bodies, we would crave one of you, which without doubt you would judge equitable, that is, to pardon us, speaking freely thereupon. It is a liberty not insolent, animated only with zeal to the good of the State, and whose motions, do carry nothing but Obedience and justice.  
In the time of Tiberius, they held their finger on their mouths: but Augustus permitted them to tell him his faults. He thanked the Censors, did them good, and which is more, he corrected himself. This Crown hath had no Tiberiusses, but many Augustusses. He which hath begun to make the most magnanimous Branch of Bourbon to wax green, and flourish, will succeed as well in goodness, and justice, as in the Sceptre. A man cannot speak more mildly of so great a mischief. Some have said of old, that Kings must have words of silk: But in this matter there must be words of gall, of wormwood, tart, pricking. And what can be said too sharply, too boldly thereupon. Every one knows, that your Majesty hath found this miserable disorder of Duels, and have gone about to remedy it by holy Ordinances, as your Majesty's Predecessors Henry 2. Charles the 9 Henry 3. have done. Every one knows how your Majesty is displeased at it: Every one knows that this violence is produced by the liberty which so long, and so woeful civil wars (as have been these forty years in this Kingdom) hath brought, which have been sponges sucking all sorts of confusions, especially in these last times, the very sink of times past, and of all humane malice. So we do assure ourselves, that your Majesty will take in good part what we shall present unto you in this behalf, seeing that your Majesty doth desire withal your affection and power to redress it.  
Sir, when any man offends you, he is accused of high Treason, and presently punished, and there is nothing more reasonable. If any Prince of your Realm, or Stranger, would be so presumptuous to give pardons, he had need be stronger to usurp that jurisdiction upon your Majesty, and so he should be a Tyrant. If he were weaker he would be mocked. Yet that is not all, he should be rigorously punished for it. You would be loath, neither were it just, that any should encroach upon your Authority: why? because you are the Image of God, that doth represent his greatness and justice. The symmetries of his Image, and of his principal Type, aught to be observed. In the mean time, you give pardons against the Law of GOD, and Man: against the Divine Law, for the Commandments do expressly forbid them; against the humane Law, for as much as it cuts the knot of public society, and is quite contrary to the order of all the Estates of Christendom.  
We speak that, which your Magistrates, your Confessors, and all the pillars of the Catholic— romish— Church, are bound especially to admonish you of. It is for your service, it is for the common good, it is for the safety of your soul. Pardon, great King, give us leave (if it be your pleasure) to tell you, Your Pardons are grounded neither upon Reason, Example, nor Authority.  
Upon Reason not at all; nay on the contrary, they do destroy, and demolish the magnificent edifice, built by divine justice, in all her proportions and dimensions.  
Upon example? In no wise: for no Kingdoms, no Commonwealths, do suffer these bloody and horrible acts, fitter for the most barbarous heathen, then for them that vaunt themselves to be the most Christian Christians.  
Upon Authority? No: all the Civil and Canonical Laws are directly repugnant thereunto; and these were established for the common good.  
Let us look into the profit of this spiritual madness. Let us inquire of experience what commodity comes of it to the Commonweal. So many houses desolated, wholly ruinated; so many widows, so many orphans, so many suits, so many quarrels, or rather an eternity of Quarrels. These are the fruits of this mortal tree, most bitter fruits, and a lamentable tree, which groweth continually by his loss, flourisheth in his winter, and whose greenness will dry up his roots.  
There is not almost any house in France, where this mark of the wrath of God is not read in great Characters, in Characters of blood. Nothing but tears, mournful lights, sighs and tombs. In what time? even when all the Kingdom else are at quiet. In what age? even in the most flourishing age of life. For what subject? For false imaginations, for fantasies. Every thing is sufficient to make these quarrellers go into the field, be the occasion great or small. They be like the Naphta of Babylon, which takes fire as far off as it is presented. They have their hearts and spirits full of blood. For a glass of water, for gloves, for silk stockings, for a feather, for a crabbed look, for a thing of nothing, they are ready to cut throats. They which have received great hurts, are moved upon the least change of the time: and these wretches be provoked by the least occasion, to go loose their bodies and souls, not knowing how, nor why. Do they not go about to kill one another, for that which is not yet in nature, and which they as little know as the day of judgement? It is an exorbitant frenzy. Whosoever would consider all, should enter into a profound depth; one folly hath so begotten others, what vanity, what presumption, what brabbling language, what bravadoes of ostentation? wherefore is all this good? The words are foolish, and the effects prodigious, we are ashamed to speak it. There have been some, who having their enemy under them, have held their weapon at their throat, and with execrable blasphemies, bidding them pray to God, have therewithal killed them: what Christian virtue is this? call you this Gentility? count you this to be above the common sort?  
The most eager are lost by these light occasions, many times the most valiant, and almost at all times, the most happy, and most at hearts ease. What pity? what desolation is this? After so much care had to bring them up, even when they begin to know the light, and then become more worthy, being made fit to serve their Prince and Country, they root themselves out from the breast thereof, rashly, cruelly, detestably. Men dare marry no more, and they which have children, will not vouchsafe to bring them up carefully as they were wont, to make them capable to serve you. They dare send them no more to your Court, that is the Scylla and Charybdis, where they perish miserably; the Altar where they be sacrificed continually; the mournful School, where they find death, instead of learning ability to defend the life of the Prince, for the maintenance of the Estate. France soiled with the blood of her own children a furious parricide, all horrible with wounds crieth out, casteth herself at your feet, tearing her hair, and craves mercy of you: will you deny it to your Subjects, to your servants, having been so frank of it to your enemies?  
Then are you well grounded, Sir: The Pardons which your Majesty doth so often give, or to speak more properly, which are snatched from you by such importunity, be against the Laws of GOD and Men; against the universal order of Kingdoms and Commonweals. We say so often, and not without cause, that is too well known. We will add in so great a quantity: For in one day only in the voyage of Savoy, your Majesty dispatched sixscore, which is monstrous. It is not simply to tolerate the evil, but to approve, nourish, and command it.  
All Divines with a general accord, and consent, do say, that they which die in these miserable combats are damned: a fearful sentence, and yet true. Yourself do say, Sir, and promise that you will make laws; you do make them, and renew the old ones; but to what end serve they, if they be not observed? There be many springs which play upon this work, many that have the honour to approach your Majesty, do detest quarrels in word, and afterwards oftentimes are the cause of them, taxing them that they do think are not valiant (we say are valiant) for these follies, for these friensies, extreme friensies. Is there any thing so ridiculous as the subject of quarrels? But alas! there is nothing so deplorable as their events.  
Here is a strange mystery. This injustice is acknowledged, and condemned of the most part, and yet if a Gentleman do not go to Duel, he is despised, he is reproached. If he goes, and escapes the iron, he falls upon the pen, he must pass through justice. What a perplexity is this? What shall become of this miserable man? He hath cut off one head, and out of that arised seven others. Such a man is much troubled. There is yet more, and that is, that although they know your Majesty will take order for it, and do make edicts, yet the report runs, that your Majesty do blame them which do not fight. This is it, that pricks most. The judgements of Kings be Oracles, they excite the furics of Orestes; no patience but it is lost, no consideration retained. What is all this? light and darkness, hot and cold. The mischief is, that upon the rocks of these contrarieties, many do rush, and are miserably lost.  
There is not any in the world, that knows what Honour, and Valour is, like you, Sir; none, that makes them better understood, better tasted by discourse, not any that for his own particular, hath so well practised them, nor so exactly observed, and so diligently and gloriously acquired the first rank; and none that makes them less observed, and practised by others in these times. You must of necessity know the efficient cause of so many disasters. And this it is; the two rare pieces, so exquisite and so precious whereof we come to speak, Honour, and Valour. By the one your Nobility will get the other, which being evil understood, doth bring so much desolation, by the means of Valour so ill known, and so brutishly practised. All the world knows, that the number of your trophies, do exceed the number of your years. They are excellent tokens of the greatness of your courage, which hath made you put down the statues of Caesar by so many great exploits. There is nothing that your Majesty can better understand, than these two points, whereof it hath rendered so famous testimonies, & such extraordinary proofs. It belongs then to your Majesty to reform the disorder caused by them, since it knows them so perfectly. You have both will and power, the one from your clemency and justice, the other from your Authority. Your Majesty is moved thereunto by the knowledge of these injust acts, invited, pressed, and as it were reproached by these fit subjects. Your inimitable clemency, hath produced inimitable effects: but who doubts of that, which hath made you the most famous Prince of the world, and of that which hath saved this Estate, having made you expose your life, so often, and so freely, for the conservation thereof. In the mean time here is a bloody disorder, which continueth and increaseth daily. By dispersing these clouds which will obscure the brightness of your glory, bought with so many hazards, you shall conserve and augment that which you have worthily gained. The continuance, and perseverance, in doing well, be the sinews, and reflections of reputation. It is that which moves it, it is that which increaseth it. And the Tomb only ought to be the last line of virtuous actions: what can be imagined more exquisite, more triumphant?  
Let us see the error of men of this time: rashness put on by all the most brutish passions, concupiscence, vanity, pride, revenge, enuic, and other furies, natural to men, they call courage; these are the lime, and sand, but the workman, and subtle Architect is the evil spirit. That this is true, do but consider that even they, who hardly do believe a Paradise, who are so well pleased in the world, not knowing any other, and have such occasion to abide in it, do cast away themselves without cause, against their own knowledge, against their judgement, depriving themselves of the world, with the blindnesses whereof, they are struck as with the falling sickness. And how? by a loose vanity, by frivolous considerations, without reason, without foundation. It is a high secret: we must return to that which we have said, that it is the evil spirit which forgeth all these miseries. Do we not also see, these killers early, or late, end their days with a violent death? Blood is in the end expiated by blood, sin punished by the same sin.  
It is strange, that making the delights of the earth their heaven, respiring nothing but all sorts of pleasures, not testifying in their fashions, in their speech, in their effects, any apprehension of the estate of souls after this frail life (we say the most part) are notwithstanding so forward, so resolute, to hazard that which they hold so dear. But if they do believe a more happy life, after this mortal, judge what their end is, what their judgement, to quit their part thereof, so without purpose. Some say, there is great cunning among these people, that they make subtle shows, but it falls out commonly that they are countermined by a just judgement of God.  
Let a man well and wisely weigh the quarrels of these times, he shall see that pride and vanity, are the two great supporters thereof. Are not these excellent marks of a magnanimous courage? The most part do avow, that that which they do, is to advantage themselves at an other man's cost: a weakness of judgement; for if they whom they offend be not in reputation, there is no glory. If they be naughty fellows (as they say) a man incurs a danger to continue in it. After death there is no more speech of that action; if a man lives, the advantage is not very great, as we will show hereafter.  
They are of opinion, that if they escape they shall be in better estimation with the Prince, and with all others. This false imagination, is one of the mortal poisons which venometh, which bewitcheth their souls, and ravisheth them to this despair. Here is a wonderful consideration: Vanity blindeth them, and carrieth them to Injustice, feeding them most daintily with a hot throat: this is vanity indeed. If the Prince in the most noble assemblies would blame and despise them, they would stay the torrent of their follies: but it happens, that in the presence of him, and others of the greatest, they praise such actions, tell stories of them, they extol them, with applause, with admiration. See, say they, how handsomely he hath challenged him, how freely the other jumped with him, and being hindered, after they had given their faith not to fight (an heroical prowess) see how gallantly they broke it, to go pierce their carcases with joy of heart, without any occasion of quarrel; so they do magnify a thousand ways a beastly barbarism, baptising it with the most specious names of virtue. It is a wind that soundeth within these empty heads, and fills them with false imaginations, which takes away their wits. To be esteemed of the Sovereign Prince, and of the great ones, is a charming flash of lightning which doth penetrate their souls. It is a magic which surpasseth all the characters of the Cabalists, which dazzleth and decayeth their eyes, and judgements, and teareth a man violently from himself.  
We have called these effects Despair, and not greatness of Courage. What will you say of them which do hang themselves, precipitate themselves, poison themselves, run themselves through with a rapier, starve themselves? Do they it not in despite of death? It cannot be denied, some will answer, that all this, is imbecility, blindness, rage, because the punishment doth not make the Martyr, but the cause of the punishment. It is well said, what difference put you between those desperate men, and the others which kill one another without just cause? you cannot find any in the least appearance.  
That it is a rage, proceeding from feebleness of judgement; it may be proved by a thousand arguments, and especially by the combat of two new Patevine Amazons, who six or seven years since, did fight in a list or place railed in for a combat: Oh what an unnatural accident? It should be the Crisis of quarrels of this time; Crysis sent from Heaven, if France would make itself worthy of such a blessing. This History is a shame for both Sexes; but it is a discourse by itself. If it be Courage, it is very common, being practised by imbecility itself: if Desperation, it is come by example, and that example is reprooveable and punishable.  
Yet there are found amongst the jews, the Egyptians, the Persians, the greeks, the Romans, and the French, women of quality generous, bred above the infirmity of the sex, equal to men, by the favour of nature, and of nurture. But to show how vile and abject this desperate action is, it is known that base Porters have been in the field, with the same ceremonies, using like courtesy as they do, that think themselves Samsons. This doth much extenuate the glory of these actions, which the ignorant do so unworthily exalt.  
The Lord de la Nove, in one of his discourses, blames Amadis for deciphering with a lofty, and as it were a magic style, a false Valour, and Chimaeras of Valour. And some which be near your Majesty, and elsewhere, do put forward (upon this matter) things more extravagant and fantastical, than the tales of Melusina, and of the Roman of the Rose. In the mean time, all the dispersion falls upon the Nobility, which is the basis of the Estate.  
Your Majesty, by your excellent Virtue have saved your Kingdom, raised it again, and remitted it by the very same: and now that it is in the harbour, your Majesty lets them suffer shipwreck, who have helped your invincible courage to take land. All the rest of the Kingdom do enjoy the benefit of peace even to the beasts: It is one of the praises that Strangers do give, with admiration to your Majesty's virtue and fortune: And the Nobility, who have so great a share in so fair a Conquest, (at least the greatest number) are only deprived of this good, covered with blood, enwrapped in a war more than civil, or rather in many intestine wars.  
There is more mischief and injustice in these Combats, then in civil wars. Because that in civil wars, they fly, they save themselves, they retire into the forts: in the other, to shun occasions is cowardice, to seek out the least is extraordinary Honour. All is open, all is sure, to them that say, They bear not a word but like a Cavalier. That which is done most commonly in civil wars by chance, is done in these combats of set purpose: likewise the ruin thereby is almost always inevitable. Civil wars be against enemies, the other against friends, neighbours, near kinsfolks, brothers. In brief, in civil wars there is always some honour for the particular; some profit for the general: In the other, there is neither honour nor profit, for one or other.  
When there be any quarrels, all the world runs to hinder the mischief, the King is disquieted with it, his Guard are much troubled. What is all this? It is a very stage-play: for to hinder all these furies, there needs no more but an Edict well observed. To say that they do but counterfeit to hinder them, is against experience. To say likewise that the King doth not desire it, is repugnant to his good nature. What is it then? a senselessness, a madness, which hath seized, and transported the Frenchmen. A senselessness, not to be moved by the consequence of these follies: a madness, to follow with so much fury that lamentable way of misery. From whence comes so great a disaster?  
From Pardons, without which all the World judgeth that this wildfire would soon be extinguished.  
The birth of these Monsters, and their increase, be from the exquisite works of flatterers, which having finely slid, and as it were melted themselves into the souls of Kings, since Henry the 2. have persuaded them, that it is a mark of Sovereignty to give Pardons. It is so without doubt, but they must be conformable to the justice of God, who hath established Laws therein, as is seen by the Towns of Refuge, which were anciently amongst the Israelites; which were for accidents proceeding of ignorance, chance-medley, and other notable circumstances; following which, all Sovereign Princes may justly, and with good conscience give life. But for the Pardons which are forged now a days, there can be found no example, either in holy Books, or in profane.  
But if they take that for a mark of Sovereignty, the Assyrian Monarches, Persians, greeks, and Romans, were by that reckoning no Sovereign's. The Kings of England, of Spain, Swede, Denmark, etc. be then no Sovereigns; they have for all that the marks of Sovereignty common with our Kings. To give letters of Nobility, of naturality, to mint money, to create new Estates, to confirm them, to levy impositions, etc. Be not these fair marks, and well raised? There is no speech of giving Pardons of this quality. It followeth, that Sovereignty is not founded upon that. What is then her foundation? that the Sovereign do depend upon God only, and not to acknowledge any man living for his Superior. So he is inferior to God only. But how say you to this, Sir? He doth absolutely forbid that, which you permit. God will be angry: we speak it for the health of your soul. And (if we did converse still among men, we would beseech you, with knees to the ground, to weigh these words) if you take not a better order, God will be angry.  
We will not speak of Strangers from Spain, Italy, Almanie, England, Poland, Denmark, who hold the French for madmen, and possessed with devils; and do speak of the Kings of France, (for this occasion very strangely) and which is worse, with too great truth. We allege only your Ancestors Clovis, Charlemain, Sr. Lovis, and so many other excellent Princes. A man shall not find, that they have permitted these combats of the Nobility so ill grounded. And if they have permitted them, it hath been twice, or thrice, in a thousand years, and for very important considerations, only capable of offence, and to make a distinction of great and small things. The Subject touched,  

1. The honour of God.  
2. The honour and service of the Prince, and consequently of the Commonwealth.  
3. The honour, the conscience, and the life of every particular man.   
It was also a Gordian knot, a quarrel without any means of atonement, and a mischief without any remedy but extremity, which arriveth very sieldome: for there is not almost any offence, but may be reconciled. These principal points are so pertinently deduced, by a Discourse entitled, of Quarrels, and of Honour, that the Author deserveth much glory thereby, as a man that hath set down the true, and solid foundations of Honour.  
If they say, that it is an inveterate fury, because that quarrels have Honour for their foundation: we answer first of all, that until King Francis the 1. they knew not what quarrels were, in the manner used now adays; and that France before that time, was all heaped with honour, bowed under the burden of glorious victories gotten upon strangers; when as there was no speech at all, of this mortal contagion, nor any imagination thereof. It had as many magnificent Trophies, as Captains; as many triumphant Palms as Gentlemen; and as many crowns of Oak, as simple soldiers; we will mark only one of those times. When Charles the 8. as a wind, a torrent, a thunder, tempestuous, furious, piercing; overthrew, spoiled, vanquished Italy, with so great and fearful a swiftness; was there in all the earth a Nobility like to the French? was there any thing so generous? so virtuous? and then there was no speech of Duel. We forbear to speak of all the other ages past, which have had valiant men, Demigods, so renowned, so redoubted, through all the world, who never knew this folly. Secondly, we say, let there be means found to tie up fools, and desperate men. There hath been no fault but in your modern Predecessors; there will be no fault but in your Majesty: you have the cables, and the chains to stay these frantics: and how? We have already told you,  
Not to give any more Pardons.  
Yet that is not all. You must make known, and publish throughout the Realm your Majesty's intention: make a solemn Oath before God, never to give any, unless they be conformable to the Laws of God, as we have remarked; and let it be a perpetual Edict irrevocable, and another Law Salic for your Successors. There is yet more, and that is the knot of the matter. It must be made known wherein true Honour doth consist, and Laws established therein, and that they which shall violate them be punished, without remission, without exception. Believe, it will be very easy to stay the most ticklish; or to speak better, the most hairebraind. Others will be bridled by apprehension of the confiscations, and mulcts, which weighs them so down, that they be constrained to say, That they which die in Duel, are in better case than the vanquishers. It is a Cadmean victory, a lamentable victory, lamentable for all Christendom; a fearful mark of the anger of God, and an infallible presage of his vengeances near at hand.  
There are not any, how evil soever they be, but would be very well content, that there were Laws for the point of Honour; and that there might be no cutting of throats continually for a flies foot. They dare not speak for fear to be reputed cowards, or that they are provident for themselves; they incline to the corruption of the time: notwithstanding not any of good judgement, and truly generous do esteem, or fear them the more. It is justly a worthy recompense for Hypocrites, and evil Christians.  
Surely, we must particularly cull out, what Honour is, seeing it is the spring of so many mischiefs. Amongst a hundred that fight for this fair quality, there will not be found two that know what it is. An argument of their ignorance, and beastliness, a worthy basis of such a pillar. They are killed they know not why. We say then that Honour is a quality raised up, attributed to persons according to the knowledge that is had of their merit. Place is given to Authority, and to few, merit to all sorts of persons that have it. Honour is enclosed (as we have said) with these sour terms; God, the Sovereign Prince, the Country, and Virtue: all the rest is but smoke. Let us see, if in the Duels which be so ordinary in France, we can find these four lights, which should conduct the actions of men. There is not one of them. For the three first it is most evident, that such actions are wholly repugnant thereunto: God is thereby grievously offended; the Prince looseth his Subjects; the Country her children. Let us examine Virtue by her kinds, it may be we shall find it there. Is Prudence there? not at all: Hath it been her custom to cast men into infinite mischiefs? Is Temperance there? in no sort: cannot she suffer the least prickings, nor command passion? justice's will not be found there; is it not injustice to take away another man's goods? To take away his life, is it not infinitely more? Magnanimity, and greatness of courage is in no sort there. Is not that voluntary, with knowledge, for a good cause for a just end? Nevertheless there is not any, how gross, and brutish soever, but would have us believe, that in these actions there is virtue, at the least the virtue of magnanimity. We have showed the contrary, and will prove it by and by, more amply. In general terms we maintain, that in these unworthy actions there is not any virtue; and do prove it by an infallible argument.  
And that is, That virtuous actions be worthy of praise and recompense, and have no need of Pardons.  
Oh! Ambitious, that slay yourselves not knowing why: let us make a dissection of Honour: you dare not deny but it is acquired by Virtue: and that it is her flowers, fruits, and creature. In these Duels there is not so much as one sparkle of Virtue, consequently no Honour: notwithstanding let us grant to the grief of these sick minded, that there is Honour. You say, that you gain it by peril, that having nothing ordinary, you carry away this advantage above the common sort. You are very hot. There be a hundred thousand soldiers in France that be not known, and of whom there is no talk, who have been at it, and are still in a readiness to go to it: So this Honour is very common. If you say it is their miserable condition, or rashness, that makes them scorn the peril: they will answer you, that it is ambition, pride, envy, revenge, and other blind passions that transports you. By consequence, it is not a virtuous action, which is always voluntary, and is herself, her own centre, and circumference. We will enforce this matter no further, lest we recite that which hath been treated of, by a discourse of Valour, made by the Author of the Ghosts, it is worthy to be scene: we only represent unto you, that you do altogether abuse yourselves, to place courage in so high a degree, (we say, that brutish impatient courage, which distinguisheth not, which suffereth nothing) seeing it is common with beasts. But Prudence, justice, and the other divine virtues which be absolutely necessary, be proper to none but to men, which doc surpass the common sort. True it is, that this courage, ruled, and limited by the knowledge, and reason, which makes peril despised, is infinitely more rare, than the quarrels be ordinary.  
For one more familiar and sensible proof that these Combats be no effects of Virtue, we must consider, that a man never comes by these means to great charges. Though a man hath fought an hundred times in single Combat, he shall be never the sooner Marshal of France, or great Master of the Artillery. The degrees to mount to the holy Temple of Honour, be these. To be faithful to the Prince, zealous to the Common weal, and for that to hazard one's self, upon all just occasions to present his life to a breach, to a battle, to an enterprise; to show his good judgement, his prudence, his diligence, his vigilance, and to have no other end, but this magnificent ambition, to do well. It is this that makes a man worthy of fare and great charges. This is a Maiesticall-golden-building, raised with all his symmetries, which doth dazzle, overcome, deject, the eyes, the forces, the darts of Envy, Time, and Death. Whatsoever be more than these, do proceed of evil humours, that remain of the disorder of Civil wars, as from a mischievous quartane ague, which hath so long shaken his Estate. This short breath yet remains of it, this dulness is a remainder of the shaking. The conclusion of all this Discourse is, that there is neither pleasure, nor honour, nor profit, in these so evil founded Combats. Alas! what is the cause that the savage plants be not rooted up.  
When a man seeth one toil much, he judgeth presently, that it is for some profit, and for a good end. The Nobility of France casts itself out of the windows, pierceth the walls, swimmeth over rivers, violateth her faith given, and breaks her guards, without respect of the Royal Authority. If a man ask why: it will be said, It is to lose her goods, her life, her honour; to make herself miserable, to damn herself. None would foretell this madness but a Frenchman.  
Thereupon it is said, That the humour of the Frenchman is so composed. Behold a choleric, and an extravagant humour. We ask how long since? It hath been so but 45. years, or there about. It must be reduced to good sense, and a little hellebore given to these offended brains: what means is there to correct these Moons? Thou that art so boiling hot, cause three saucers of thy blood to be drawn; (amongst the ancient Romans it was the punishment of the rash soldier:) if that be not enough, draw six. If thou findest thyself still in a heat, fast, or else go into Canada to temper this heat of liver; go into Hungary to satisfy this fantastical appetite of a woman with child, and trouble not the feast amongst thy friends.  
What shall we do? Answer they, there is no more speech of Canada, Peace is throughout all Christendom. How do our neighbours? Some take their rest; others do repair the ruins of their houses; others spend their time to make themselves fit to serve in the time of necessity; others do travel: What shall we do? That your Ancestors did when they were in quiet: There is wherewith to employ the time, both for poor and rich.  
You are so absolute, Great King, so admired, so redoubted: It will be very easy for you, to make your just ordinances to be observed, and maintained exactly (for this regard) so important for the Commonwealth, so Christian, so necessary: seeing they dare not kill Partridge nor Hare without your permission. If this obedience do proceed for fear of your displeasure, you love your subjects so much, as they should expect it much more towards them, then towards sensible creatures. If to be in such a matter carefully, and faithfully served of your Officers; may not a man yet hope for the more care in that which is of so great weight, and of such consequence.  
The Nobility is the invincible Rampire of the Kingdom: you are the Head, the other chief members, which cannot be cut or maimed without your notable loss. If you do not speedily feel it, it is to be feared that your Successors will feel it. Storms, and strange floods, will arise, ouerslow: and this great body of France will find itself so feeble by these cruel bleedings, that it will have no means to defend itself, no, not to stretch out the arm; yet for all that, it is the Nobility that is the right arm.  
You tell no news, will every one say. No man doubts of that, they know well but for the Nobility that France would be gripped in the claws of the Spaniards, and of other nations, wiser than we. Then is it a great impiety not to remedy it. It is as if a man drowns himself; he is plunged in the water, defends himself, with feet and hands, hath already drunk much, but no man runs after. Though they would remedy it, if they do not hast speedily, it will be too late. Whilst they consult at Rome, Sagunta perisheth.  
It hath been remarked, that in the only March of Limosin, and thereabouts, five years since, there were dead in Duel, sixscore Gentlemen, in six or seven months only. How many are there dead since, even in the same place, which is but a flower of this garden? How many through all the Provinces? How many to this fatal meadow, to this shameful and lamentable scaffold for France? The list is not seen, without tears. There have passed more than six thousand pardons within ten years. The number is uncredible: A sufficient number to gain many battles upon the Infidels. An irrepaireable loss, for a whole age; a brutish blindness, a devilish madness, that all ages past have not seen; a transport of vanity, which is not known, which is not practised, which is not tolerated, but in this Realm: which hath been so long the light of Christians, now the obscurity, the evil example, the scandal.  
Likewise strange Nations do give to the Frenchmen, more unworthy titles, than they do attribute to all people in particular; whereas the Ancients did tax them only of lightness.  
This blame is very due unto them: yet for all that, blinded with their presumption and vanity, they persuade themselves that perfection hath abandoned all Christendom beside, to dwell with them; wherein there is no likelihood; or else other Nations are altogether deprived of wisdom, which is repugnant to the fair order that maintaineth the greatness of their estates: or else they have no Honour, which is absurd: or else they do not know what Valour, and greatness of courage is, like the French: which may be seen by the discourse following. Let us rest upon this branch, which is for our subject.  
The English do declare, that they have held all Spain in awe; that by sea and land, they have left glorious marks of their Prudence, Valour, and Ambition; that having but a foot of land, in comparison of the castilian Monarch, they have constrained them to beg peace: and they do not fight in single combat.  
The Spaniards in Africa against the Heathen, and many others, do testify their high enterprises, and their lofty courages, which carries them to the end of the world; and they kill not one another in single combat.  
The Almains are continually at handy-blowes against the Turks, at whose hands they do sustain horrible mischiefs, with an invincible resolution, as the firm bull-workes of Christendom; and they do not kill one another in single combat.  
The Polonians, and the Transylvanians be all red with the blood of the same Infidels, whom they do duly combat, and overcome worthy Champions of the Christian faith: and they do not kill one another in single combat.  
For what (say they with a common consent) are the French men good, but to ruin themselves by civil wars? But to lose themselves by lamentable and fearful conspiracies? But to kill one another cruelly against all divine, and humane right? But to cast themselves into infinite pains, and calamities, by lewd, unworthy, and shameful quarrels? Now all that is contrary to wisdom, to true Honour, and to Magnanimity. So that the French be constrained to yield unto them this triumphant palm, which they may by good right claim, as having better deserved it, than they. But how? Frenchmen, you have yourselves rooted it out of your own hands, by the furies of the devil that transports you. You have wrought your shame, and forged the arms, which have taken from you so many rare advantages. You should have a sensible apprehension of these prickings, and despise the rest.  
It is towards you, Sir, that all France turns the eyes. It is to you, that it stretcheth out the hands. It is upon you, that all the hope is grounded. Take order, that a sage prudence, a firm resolution, a just execution, do grant unto it, that which is seen amongst all other Christians, good order, and the observation of it. Be pleased to establish Laws,  
That they that shall offend exorbitantly, be punished with banishment; or make sufficient reparation, according to the case.  
For these actions are directly repugnant to Christian charity, to humane society, and particularly to the most gentile and agreeable virtue that is seen among men; which is courtesy, whereof the noble minds do make a Trophy. To offend another, without cause, of set purpose, is a testimony of brutishness, or of weakness of spirit: as the one is worthy of punishment, the other should have need of a severe correction: without doubt, if insolency were rigorously punished, it would bury quarrels, for as much as they do proceed from injuries, which be most commonly flowers and fruits of insolency and presumption. This is daily seen. There be some that have courage, and have been in good businesses, for the service of your Majesty, or elsewhere. But, they be so proud, that they despise young men, that have never been in occasions, or that do not bear the marks thereof. It is the time that hath denied them this glory, and it doth not follow, but that they may have as much courage, as every honest man may have, that is faithful to his King, and a friend of virtue. For this cause is this contempt to be blamed, yea, worthy to be punished,  
That no man may be dishonoured, though he do not fight by way of challenge, having been offended; or believing it, until the governors of Provinces, seneschals, or others, have been advertised thereof, and have sought all the ways to make them accord.  
Some will say thereupon, How? will you have the Challenger go and complain, having been offended, and demand reparation of the injury, after the fashion of the vulgar? To what do you bring him? If you think that new, represent to yourself, that when Duels began to be practised, they were new too, and brought to a custom by the toleration of Princes. So we must accustom ourselves to this law, seeing it is most just, most necessary, and that it is the Sovereign that commands it, who is the Head of justice and Policy: without doubt, if the first point be well observed, they will be wiser, and few will go to the second. But if we meet with insolent people, such as are altogether insupportable, against such, we should be permitted to help ourselves with all: for they are not worthy to converse with men, there is neither Sea-card, nor North, can conduct them. Some will say, there be wranglers, who taking advantages, will ask in what rank we do put them. We answer, that if the contention do touch the good manners, the conscience, or the Honour of a Body, it ought to be put in the first point. If it be honest, and that it doth not regard these three heads, we must laugh as others do, learn to talk, or to be patient: and he that is too weak, shall take some refrigerative drugs, or else he must deprive himself of the society of men.  
Let them that shall challenge be condemned to die, and let their goods be confiscate.  
They are a thousand times more punishable, than those that are troubled, being invenomed by the imagination of the offence. For these there is some feeble shadow of excuse, but none for the other: whether they fight or no, they be always the principal instruments of the disaster. The first motives be not in the power of man, whose frail choler and blood, do sovereignly command him. Being out of himself full of blindness, he swears his own ruin, and uses himself like a stranger, as an enemy, as being no more his own; but his furious passions, and almost always depending more of an others opinion, then of his own knowledge, and least of all of reason. He is for that time, in some sort excusable. Let men that are wronged, or do believe they are wronged, upon heat run to their sword, be possessed, be transported with fury, and go about to hurt themselves; that is humane, and practised every where. But if they go to their death, after they have had time to digest their choler, upon cold blood, against their own conscience, knowing that they do evil, that is devilish, and not practised in any place of the World but in this Realm. From this let us draw a consequence. The parties offended, are not without blame, and without crime, when they come to such effects less than ought they to be so, who do execute them not being wronged. This consideration hath made, that since the last Edict of Fountaine-blean, no man hath fought with a second; at least, very few: for they have been ashamed to put in hazard the life of their friend, without any occasion. In fight it is necessary that the blood be troubled. Now this is a beginning to take the Duel quite away: the reason, because that heretofore it would have been suspected, yea a shame, to sight without a second. So your Edict, and the knowledge of this folly have corrected this abuse. The seconds than are taken away as a barbarous thing. The conclusion of this speech is notable. Even as it hath been a custom not to employ a man's friend in a matter of injustice and impiety; so may a man accustom himself to demand reason of wrongs, as we have said. Time brings all, order corrects all, and mischiefs go up and down by degrees.  
Let every servant that shall carry a Bill or Challenge of defiance be hanged.  
When they have been ashamed to lead their friends into the Churchyard, and to employ them, they have recourse to the bill of defiance. If the remedy that we propound be not sufficient, there is no need to seek any other.  
Let them that shall fight in Duel be degraded from Nobility, and them and their posterity declared infamous: let their houses be razed, and their goods confiscate. They that shall die, let them not be buried, but drawn through the streets, and then cast upon the lay-stall, the common dunghill of a Town.  
There must be these strong sluices to stay the overflowing of these violent torrents. For extreme mischiefs, extreme remedies. The example will bring fear to generous souls; and apprehension of the ignominy for their name, and for their houses, will prevail more with them then death. So in a certain town of Greece, the women transported with a devilish madness, did hang themselves so strangely, that they knew not how to remedy it. They devised to make them be drawn after their death stark naked through the Town. This villainous and infamous spectacle, stayed the despair of others.  
It were very fitting that Fencing were forbidden.  
It is the mother of pride, of rashness, of vanity, for them that have more force, or disposition than others, or both; and makes them (with hope of grace) more outrageous, and more insolent. For aught else it is unprofitable; for a man is never helped thereby in Combats, in troop either against strangers or his own. Yet it may be used for an exercise as Tennis, and such like, and would do no great hurt, if the order which we propound were observed.  
It is well enough known, what mischief this exercise hath brought. The Fencers at Rome, desperate men, condemned men, made the people sport with the loss of their lives. These new Fencers make the enemies of the Estate merry, and make the people of France to weep. They are full of wind and smoke with these great words, to ward, to shift away, to enter, to plunge, or thrust far into, to incartade upon the left foot, to dig into, to freeboote. They think all the world are indebted to them. Can there be any thing more weak, more impertinent?  
These, Sir, are directions that we think fit, to smother quite this wicked monster, if they be well observed, with denying of pardon, and other laws necessary, which your Majesty can much better establish, assisted with the Officers of her Crown, and other Lords of her Counsel.  
They that dwell near the violent fall of waters from the river Nile, do not hear the noise; and the wife of the Tyrant of Syracuse, perceived not the default of her husband: the one is an effect of custom, the other of ignorance. And a pernicious habit, for want of judgement, hath made the French deaf, and obstructed, without reason, without sense, like frantics, like them that have the Lethargy; not willing to understand, not able to comprehend the deplorable estate that vanity hath brought them unto.  
The Frenchmen be worse than the Heathen in time past. They sacrificed every year to their gods some humane creature: these do sacrifice many every day, to their blindness, and to their furies, which they hold for their god. They did it to appease their anger: these do it to kindle it more. They did it for the conservation of the public: these for the ruin of it.  
They are more savage than the savages of America. They eat men, but they are either strangers, or their enemies: these kill themselves among themselves, kindred, neighbours, friends, conversing together; and then are eaten by confiscations and mulcts. They do it, not knowing the mischief; these do it, knowing and reprooving it. They do it upon some cause; these do it for the wind, for a shadow, for imagination.  
They that do wickedness, hide themselves, seek darkness: and the French committing execrable murders, for which there is neither Divine nor Humane ground, do run upon the Theatre, in the sight of the Sun, before the house of the Flower de Luce to sacrifice themselves, to the end that the wicked fact being more manifest, more exemplary, may be more scandalous, and consequently, less pardonable before God and Men. This is to cut a purse before the Provost, to coin money in open market, and to serve as a false witness before the Magistrate. In a word, it is properly to mock God and their King.  
Who be they that precipitate themselves by these mischievous occasions? The cream, the quintessence, the flower, the subtle of the subtle; they that term themselves of the race of jupiter, who despise all the rest as the lees and the mire; and discourse so hotly of Honour, of Virtue, of Reputation. But yet such as are the most firm, and most necessary pillars of the Estate. This is extravagant. Yet they are oftentimes those, who have reason to content themselves with the reputation which they have bought by a thousand hazards, in just and lawful occasions. Yet for all that, they cast themselves with bowed heads, upon these which they embrace with passion, as if they were famished for Honour; whereas they should enjoy that which they have acquired with so good assurance. They do like Aesop his dog, they leave the body for the shadow, the solid glory for that which is fantastical. They likewise run the fortune of Ixion, who in stead of juno, had to do with a cloud. In the end, all these proud vanities be reduced into clouds of vanity, and most commonly the miserable wheel of shame and loss remains with them for a full recompense.  
We are simple shadows, and clouds, that have no disguise. Your Majesty will not be displeased, Sir, that we speak without flattery; you never loved it. They do not often tell Kings the truth. It is with that, as it was ere while with your treasure, when as fifty came to five. They disguise it. They plaster it, before it hath passed so many hands, so many converts, with a lie, with passion, with cunning; you have nothing but the shadow. Flattery is a mortal plague, chiefly in a man of state, that is in credit with his Master; such a one never speaks true. A cozening of greatest consequence, and worthy of punishment. These parasites, are very pernicious. We then that have nothing but simplicity will speak truly.  
They call the Kings of France most Christian; o excellent, o venerable title! It surpasseth the magnificence of all the Diadems, and Thyaras of the world. This Divine title hath been attributed, for some great causes, to your ancient predecessors. They had well deserved it. But the disorders, the Eclipses of civil wars, have much shaken, and much obscured the foundations and light thereof. Among such a prodigious multitude of arguments, as strangers allege, this holds the first rank, that the Nobility is abandoned to butchery by the Prince. It is true (as we have said) that your Majesty have found this disorder, and many others, which it desireth to take away: It is your Majesty's greatest ambition. What mark is it (say they) of most Christian, to suffer such impieties? This is the shameful reproach, they give to all France.  
They be miserable sacrifices, that you offer daily so freely to death. Is it not because you are more ashamed of the censure of mad men, who have put dreams and giddy conceits, for principles of Honour, then for fear to be rebels to God? You would not do that for his glory, which you do for the opinion of braine-sickemen. You would not for that suffer a scratch. And you are paid according to your deserts: For after your death, the most part of your inward friends, and even those, who in appearance do favour so wicked a custom, do make a conscience to assist at your funerals, to lament you, to speak of you: yea those, who the next day after, would hazard themselves for as feeble an occasion. They lift up the shoulders, turn the eyes, knock with hands, and feet, grieving and deploring this end. You are to feel eternal punishment, and you make your memory also infamous to posterity. Had it not been better never to have seen light? You are far from your account, if you believe that your name is thereby more famous, or more illustrious. If you knew the judgement that they make of your end, you would die yet an other time. Some do attribute these effects to envy, others to revenge, others to a foul and furious passion of love: the most part, to the hope to remain victorious, by the advantages of natural force, or dexterity: some to the hope to be hindered. There is no mention of virtue in these actions. How abject, how shameful a thing it is? And all men generally speaks of them, as it were of dogs and bears that should strangle one an other. Is it not a triumphant Epitaph to celebrate the last effects of men? what men? Such as think themselves above other men, by brutish comparisons? Proud souls, mad souls. If you could again revest your bodies, how you would despise these actions, how you would be offended with yourselves, how you would hate your false judgements, and your abominable resolutions. No man praiseth you after your death, no man esteems you, few bewails you, if it be not in consideration of the loss of your salvation; and than you are always blamed, for being so irreligious. If such an action were virtuous, the Historiographers would make volumes thereof, would praise you, would exalt you; you should find Homer's, and Virgil's. But alas! your history is, as of people lost. If any bewail you, it is as of damned souls. (These words should be an earthquake, for these miserable quarrellers.) If any write your accident, it is for an example of terror in time to come; a mirror of temerity, and of the corruption of the age; a testimony of the wrath of God, and not to approve, much less to exalt so execrable a folly.  
You that be upon the bloody Theatre of France: in danger every moment, to represent pitiful tragedies of yourselves, consider this: Every thing is done to some end; every end is profitable, delectable, or honourable. Let us see for your contentment, what end they propound to themselves, that hazard themselves, without just cause in Duel. If both remain there, men presently play upon this great string. It is for their sins; it is a just judgement of God. If the one die, and the other remain conqueror, let us exactly calculate, the honour and profit that they reap thereby. For him that is dead, there is none of these three ends: Let us inquire of the conqueror, if he do better his condition thereby? He answers, that he is forthwith in danger of his life, executed if they take him; in the mean time condemned, proclaimed, hanged in picture. What a hard thing is this to digest? he must have recourse to his Sovereign; the only remedy is a Pardon. He must have it whatsoever it cost, with so much toil, with so many submissions begging the favour of great ones. He must pass it with so much fear, with so much disquiet, with so many difficulties; it is the true image of hell. They that have passed through the examination of Father-Confessors of the redoubtable Selletta, would sound you out a lofty word thereupon. This is not all; he must have wherewithal to pass it. There be the griefs: For this effect, the costs, and the mulcts, be another kind of Duel, another cutthroat. From thence proceeds the total ruin of houses. With all these punishments, there were yet some form of respite, if the root of the mischief were pulled up. But for a heap of glory, and felicity, there he is all his life time, with a quarrel upon his arms, against the kindred of him that died, a mortal and irreconciliable quarrel. For all this, by tract of time, there is some remedy. For that which is the most important, there is none at all. The cruel torture that bursteth his soul, by the continual representation of his offence, receiveth no condition. What Goblins? what tortures? what goat? what Minotaur?  
But if such a one be puffed up with vainglory, for that he believes that men do hold him for a man of courage, they shall tell him, that that advantage is very common (as we have showed.) But how feeble is it, how shameful, having regard to the foundation, which is nothing Christian? Notwithstanding he that would yield some thing to his opinion, a man might tell him that it is a glory dear bought, and as it were to take up at interest, a hundred for a hundred. There is then the pleasure, there is the profit, there is the honour that he reapeth of his hazards, and unbridled ambitions.  
For him that is dead (as hath been said) there remaineth to him no shadow of good; his reputation is extinguished with his life. It continueth but to be odious, stinking, and execrable. Ah! how this is to be considered: For he that dies for a fair subject, hath comfort for himself, and leaves comfort to his posterity: why? because his memory hath a sweet savour. They be more excellent and durable images, than those of Phydias. Oh! how precious be these old sayings; oh! how rare they be! They say he was an honest man, a virtuous man, fearing God, loving his Prince, and the Commonwealth; that he died in the bed of Honour. Such a one lives in the tomb in despite of death; his Virtue speaks within the dumb silence, exalts him, glorifies him in the midst of forgetfulness, even in the cold dust. They hold another manner of language, of them that are lost in Duel. What blindness! (saith every one) what rage! how impious a thing it is? how detestable? A notable consequence ariseth from this Discourse; that is, That there is some honourable death, that a man ought not to shun although he could.  
To understand this, we must consider the speech following, in presupposing this maxim: If they which fight in Duel, did believe they should die there, a man might well say, they would not go thither. Imagine then, that two men of great courage be in presence, their weapons in their hands kindled with fury, respiring nothing but blood; that a man whom they both know to be an excellent Soothsayer comes in the way, and saith unto them, You shall die both at this conflict, and the profit that shall redound thereby, is, that the Commonwealth shall lose much, your houses shall be desolate, your memory detestable. There is likelihood that they believing these words, would be appeased, and shake hands. But if these magnanimous men, were in an army near Henry the 4. the glory of Kings, and great Thunder of War; and that he himself should come say unto them; My friends, think with yourselves this day must be the end of your days. But in truth, it shall be the saving of your Prince; on whose life dependeth the conservation of this great Estate. No man doubts, but that generous men would be the more inflamed; but they would be all possessed with a laudable impatience to be grappling, to produce such an action, so virtuous, so glorious. Moment's would be ages unto them. They would be like Antheus, touching the earth; they would take new forces: they would be all trasformed, body and soul, into heart and ambition; and the fear of death would have much less power over them, than the desire to make themselves famous to future ages, invited, forced, by the consideration of this act, pleasing to God and men. They would think themselves very happy: it would be Sceptres, and Crowns unto them; for as much as the end is holy, and profitable, and consequently honourable, as being a perfect work of Virtue. They will say, that there will be found no plenty of these fair souls. It is true. But there would be found amongst the Nobility of France, some that have Horace's, Scevolaes', and Curtiusses, as well as the ancient Rome. So we conclude, that there is some death very honourable; that is to say, That which serveth to the glory of God, to the honour and profit of the Prince, and of the Commonwealth. Now the end of them which go to Duel, without lawful cause, is simply to satisfy their passion, to revenge their particular injuries, to content themselves. It followeth, that that is not only unblamable, but also worthy of rigorous punishment.  
In this the Prince should know, that such combats do absolutely derogate from his Authority, for as much as it belongs to Him, or to his Magistrates, to do reason for offences; for which, the violent satisfaction is not permitted to particular persons in any Commonwealth well polliced.  
They follow these steps, & the mischief groweth insensibly, and of such a fashion, that in the end, all Divine and Humane Laws shall be banished out of France. They fight in Duel for the seeking of marriage, for homages, for suits, for precedence in Churches, in politic Assemblies; in the end, for all sorts of differences. This is daily seen. So did in old time the Scytes, so did the Tartarians, people without faith, without God, without humanity. If this continue, we must speak no more of justice nor of Piety. All France shall be a Chaos, a den of thieves. So we see a general subversion of all Orders. No man contains himself in his own jurisdiction, the storms whereof hath overthrown all. They be so execrable before God, that since they have been tolerated, there have been seen nothing but prodigies in France. Before the Duels, was there ever seen blood so horribly shed as hath been since? The Sun hid itself thereat, the Earth moved at it, and the Sea stayed the course thereupon. Was it ever heard that a great King, most great, most magnificent had been driven out of his house, and afterward murdered by one of them that daily preachet peace? Weigh this well, From the Duel they come to the contempt of Laws, and Orders; from this, to contemn the Sovereign; then to conspire against the Estate; and after that, to attempt the sacred person of the Prince. The reason is, because ambition, accustomed to blood, becomes a savage beast, which hath neither bounds nor limits, having no other moving but it own extravagant desire; and then soon or late, God doth chasten the Princes which do suffer such mischief among their people. This consideration ought to be graved in letters of gold, in the hearts of Kings.  
That it is true, that Duels do thrust the French to conspire against the State, we will allege (among so many lamentable examples) but only the last complot, which constrained your Majesty to go take order therein. Is it not better (say they) to die in a Civil war, going about to advance and dignify a man's self, then to kill one an other foolishly every day, without any hope of a better condition? So likewise, all the rest do enjoy the benefit of peace, but we. Ah, wretched men! you spit against heaven, you enterprise against your natural Prince, to whom you do owe all. Ye perturbers of the public rest, where is your judgement? To contend with this excellent Monarch, so long a time in possession to destroy his enemies, there wants nothing but his presence, to put all at his feet. It is the fable of the Pigmies and Hercules. Who be the chief of your side? what be your means? The Duke of Savoy saith, Lukewarm water to a scalded cat. The Archduke hath a suit in hearing, which is not ready to be decided. The King of Spain with his faithful Counsel, takes the height of the Astrolabe, and attends an other season. The wise and magnanimous King of England, holds his finger on his mouth: who should be then your Captains? And put the case, that they that call themselves friends of France, would put themselves in collar, what should be your means? what Towns, what Commonalties would assist you? They will tell you with a common consent, that they will not eat of it. They sweat, and pant yet with travels past. Likewise your designs have had as much vanity, as injustice, and presumption. Now all these pestilent fevers be grown, by the iniquity of Duels, which makes their courage barbarous, and accustoming them to blood, makes them enemies of humane society, and consequently of all piety.  
Doubtless your Majesty, may very easily take away these pernicious and deplorable confusions. Would your Majesty make itself culpable of so much blood shed, for want of making obedience? They meddle with an imaginary Honour: Is it not in the Sovereign Prince to make this error known, and to take the Honour of his upon himself? Belongs it not to the head to guide the body, when as from the conduct of the other members, a man can expect nothing but miserable falls. When as the resolution of your Majesty, to give no more Pardons shall be known, and published, (we say a zealous resolution, with a solemn Oath before God) there is no man will dare to importune it: when you are displeased, they dare not look upon your cabinet door, they dare not breath within your Chamber, they dare not so much as imagine that there is any thing to say to you although it concerns you. From whence comes this humble respect? From the Honour that they bear to your Virtue, which they reverence, acknowledging it, for that it hath conquered, saved, and relieved this Estate. Behold the sweet fruits that Virtue brings, that fair tree of life: But after that your Majesty hath made Laws, they go and humble themselves, they cast themselves at your Majesty's feet, they press your Majesty, and your Majesty's nature which is gentle, (not regarding the consequence) is very often carried away, at the prayers of such a one as is sheltered from blows, and hazard. So your Majesty do break the precious tables of your just decrees, or rather of the decrees of heaven. To let one's self be vanquished, at the particular importunity of injust supplications, which absolutely do import the Commonwealth, and to have the magnanimity, and clemency of Henry the 4. who hath subdued, and restored this Estate, is incompatible. That cannot agree. To derogate from ones own ordinances, is like Penelope's web, and the Castles of sand, which they fain to be done, and undone, upon the sea shore by little children. It is to be always beginning. So the authority of the Prince is despised, and all good government trodden under feet; likewise they say aloud when they publish them, that it is for four days. The importance is, that the King must answer for all: and that should awaken them that are most drowsy.  
What must he do then? let him be firm and inflexible in these ordinances. There must be none, if they be not just and equitable. If they be so, they must observe them exactly. Two or three examples after the publication of them, will stay, will extinguish these spoils, these fires which have overthrown, which have consumed the fair polices, and the good customs of this Realm. A work worthy to blot out a multitude of sins; a ladder to climb heaven, a triumph which will make all your forepassed Victories to shine, will readvance them, and be as it were a second birth unto them.  
Two months after a rigorous observation of your Edicts, there will be no more speech of quarrels. It was seen by experience, after the publication of that which was made at Fontaine-bleau, that they stayed four months throughout the whole Realm, and not a man budged. Not one durst sound the ford, for fear he should be lost, and serve for an example. They kept sentinel, to see what would be the cracks of this threatening thunder. Folly slept: what a notable thing is this. The first desperate man that hazarded the packet, having obtained his pardon, opened the door of the Temple of janus, which had been shut four months; whereby entered greater disorder, and more fearful than before: on the contrary this example alone, this only bleeding, so seasonably, would have kept all this great body from a pleurisy.  
Quarrels being taken away, your Majesty should be at rest, and not in disquiet, as it is so often for furious folks. Strange Princes have a great advantage over your Majesty: They be daily busied to know what victories their subjects have had upon the common enemy of the faith, or against the particular enemies out of their Dominions: And your Majesty is in a continual alarm with your own subjects, who are always ready to fight, at feasts, at dance, at play, at hunting, yea even in the holy places, presently after they have received their Sacraments. O malediction! and wherefore? for spider's webs.  
Your Majesty is brought to a marvellous servitude: it may redeem itself, by making her ordinances to be punctually executed. The apprehension of punishments will stay them, and there will be none so desperate, to put themselves into an infinite Labyrinth of miseries for a fantasy of honour. If there be any (as hath been said) he shall serve for an example. Is it not better to cut off an arm, then to let all the Body perish? That shall not be rigour, it shall be clemency; it shall be the most high, and most profitable justice that can be imagined. The great ones (whose counsel you shall have taken to make good laws) seeing this holy resolution, will be ashamed to sue unto you, to destroy that which you shall have built by their own judgement. If they do importune you, they shall be worthy to be denied, and that denial shall deserve the glory due to your virtue. But how? would they dare to press you to do that within your Realm, which they would not suffer in their own houses?  
Knowing and detesting the malediction of this custom, if we could return, how happy should we be, to offer ourselves in sacrifice for all France; and that your Majesty would put us to death upon condition, that that which we propound might be exactly observed! How glorious would this curse be? to give two lives, to save so great a body. It would surpass all renowned deeds, both ancient and modern.  
But if the death of some few seem cruel, we say it is reasonable, that a small number should be sacrificed for an infinite: some must necessarily suffer for the public. It is to prevent a thousand inconveniences. Your Nobility is wholly divided by means of quarrels. If your Majesty had occasion to raise armies (as it may arrive) let men judge what mischiefs would come thereby. At the meeting of the friends, kinsfolks, and allies of them which be daily killed with the homicides. What coil's? what outrages? what furies would there be? By this counterpoise, a man might know, that it would be a very Christian pity, to cause so great a gain by a little loss. If your Majesty do not redress these disorders, we must never hope for it. This work with many others, is reserved for your goodness and good fortune. Alas! for so many Gentlemen as die in France, there are made so many bonfires in Spain, and amongst the other enemies of the French name. They set up their Trophies with your blood, they build with your ruins, and make themselves great with your losses.  
We know with all the world, that you are not a Nero; you have pardoned even those, that have attempted your own person. It is certain that you never lose any one of yours, but you have great sense of it, above all you are sensible of the loss of them that have hazarded their lives to defend yours, and to maintain your Laws. That is not enough, you must not stay in so fair a way. What is to be done more? to make it appear by the effects, which do speak of themselves.  
There be certain laughers that fight not, who lets escape this saying, that there is no hurt to draw blood from a body full of evil humours. It is the most cannibal and bleeding maxim of the world. Which savours with a full throat the democracy of the Swissers, an impious maxim, and full of ignorance. Impious, for it is against all Laws, divine, and humane. Full of ignorance, for as much as it is not only the choler, and sleame that goes out, it is the good blood, let us say the best oftentimes. They answer, that quarrels arise commonly from the rash, and insolent; and that modest men who usually are most valiant, do not begin them. It is a worthy objection. Is not the world fuller of fools then of wise men? The French Nobility who accounts Valour her summum bonum, is she not as ready as a flash of lightning? It comes to pass then that the peaceable, by being in company, either for that they are friends, kinsfolks, allies, or neighbours, be wrapped in these disorders: not of their own motion, but by the instigation of others. So the ●ood blood, is mingled with the evil. It were a high secret to know how to separate them. No Alchemist is capable of it. See, how France is wounded, and torn with her own hands; behold how she fills herself with desolations; in such sort, that there is not a house in this kingdom, exempt from one of these two miserable scourges, or from both together; from suit, or bloodshed. A lamentable thing worthy of commiseration. But who craves the remedy, which is denied him by an evil destiny; what means is there to abate these fumes, to temper these dog days? We have said it so often: good Laws, and well observed, to busy and content great minds, and to employ them. There be many just occasions, and fair means enough.  
Let us now consider the event of our misery, and let us weigh the good that comes of it. Ah! how remarkable it is: the fair school, the fearful example, God hath showed in this prodigious effect, two things worthy to be noted. The one, that he is just, and true, in that which he hath said: Who killeth, shall be killed. Alas! we had rooted out the souls of others, from their bodies, with an unmerciful iron, against the Law of God; and we have been punished by ourselves, by the same ways. judges, and parties, executioners, and criminals, infringers of men's repose, and in danger to be deprived of the heavenly rest. The other point remarkable is, that it must be a vowed by force, that nothing is so detestable before the Majesty of God, as the Duel, as it is practised in this Realm. Oh just, oh admirable, oh redoubtable judgements!  
Do not you enter into this consideration? Yes, you do Sir: it penetrates all your soul. Though you did not, yet should you cast your eyes, upon this lamentable vessel your Nobility, pierced from rib to rib, which takes water at all sides, which perisheth by little and little, in all men's sight, ready to make a pitiful strip wrack. The heart cannot fail, but the other members must be without force, and all the world knows, the invincible heart of this great Body cannot be subdued, but by itself. You are the Head, you are the eyes, secure this noble part, which being weakened by so many conclusions, by so much loss of blood, you can have neither moving, nor light, nor conduct, nor vigour against the mischiefs, which grow so often within the entralls of this Realm, nor against them, which may arrive from without.  
Whosoever will narrowly mark to what a brutishness the furies of the French are mounted, he will tremble in the soul, he will find himself turned topsie turuy, quite out of himself. When they speak of causes, which do engage to Duel, they confess that according to God it is damnable wickedness, and yet for all that they go to it. So as to practise Honour, as they do in these days, it is just not to be a Christian: to make a glory of homicide is to love Virtue, to heap up whole families with misery, with desolation, it is to be a light of men: to conclude, it is to be the image of all gentleness, to know well, how to efface, without cause, from the world the image of God.  
They that have the dropsy of pride, that are puffed up with vanity, and ignorance, will say this is spoken like Divines. In the estimation of this age, it is an ill argument, to allege God, or to be a Christian. That is too stale. Supporting ourselves then with the reasons of the world, we say (to them which had rather be beasts than men) that such combats are not only against the Laws of God, but against all Humane laws; not only of Christians, but of Infidels, which are now, or ever have been. Assyrians, Egyptians, Persians, Medes, Greeks, Romans, and French. We go further, and maintain, that this confession (that that which they do is evil according to God) is not only impious and execrable for Christianity; but is also agreeable to the ancient Roman heathen, who had mystically made two Temples; the one of Honour, the other of Virtue; with such industry, that they could not enter into the Temple of Honour, but by this last. Now among them, the principal, the highest, and most triumphant Virtue, was, the reverence of their gods. Is not this then a blasphemy, worthy of all sorts of punishments. For the consideration of God being taken away may there be had any Virtue among men? It is as if a man should boast of his soundness, and confess himself a leper. From all this doth arise a necessary consequent:  
That true Honour cannot subsist without Virtue, which is his sprout, his root, his body; as the other his branches, his flowers, and his fruit.  
Our pitiful accident deserves to be culled out by particularities. Envy, revenge, and other loose passions, whereof we have spoken in the beginning, natural to man, and borne in his own Territory, were not the principal organs of our mischief. There was no envy; we were neither companions, nor neighbours, neither were we acquainted: desire of revenge there could not be, choler must be first exhaled, there were blows given on both sides. What is it then? I his effect is worthy to be digested. We were both of us peaceable, shunning quarrels, detesting them, bearing both of us a perpetual remorse, a worm of conscience, for those we had formerly had, knowing the evil we had done, and repenting of it. Yet for all that, a choler, not of set purpose, but by chance-medley, hath caused our death. How?  
By the consideration of Laws, of a false Honour, against our knowledge, against our conscience.  
It is then this weak imagination that hath deprived us of the light. Here is the great secret which upholdeth so many calamities.  
The circumstance following, is to be considered: The play at Tennis makes a man impatient, and rash; an ordinary choler should be excused almost in all persons, in such exercises. We should also pardon a choler, which is usual with all them that be wronged; or that do persuade themselves they are so. The one thought he had judged well, the other believed the contrary: the one in passion with the play; the other (though without passion) yet deceived it may be, by his ear. This was accordable: The foundation thereof was so feeble: It was for a thing of nothing. Let us examine this. A third, which should have brought a plaster, brought a sword. This is the second piece of our misfortune.  
Which concludes; That the office of Challengers, is a most wicked and damnable introduction.  
Our choler met with this fatal commodity; without which, we had presently been at peace. For this first motion it is most common: they do use it every where. They be miserable characters, and imperfect seals of humane weakness. But this being appeased, and the first brunt qualified; to have a third, which should have brought water, to cast brimstone into the fire; to have a third, which should have served as a bar, to be a furtherer of the mischief; to have a third, which should have been the rampire, to be the key to open the gates of death? being not wronged, neither having any part in the accident: it surpasseth all the impieties of the heathen. This blindness is followed with an other. A man dares not hinder his friend, for fear to do him wrong; to what end will a man reserve the testimonies of a good will? to what fair occasion? But all these edifices built upon foundations of error and vanity, what can they be but pure folly?  
They say, We must not judge of right or wrong by the events. They are most commonly as letters sealed up for the spirit of man; notwithstanding in this, the judgement of God is very manifest. There is a man, charitable, discreet, sincere in all his actions; in a word, the very model of all Christian virtues: The general blindness, as a throng in a fair of insolent people, thrusts him forward, and carries him to the combat, against his intent and desire; he himself blames and condemns his own action: Heaven sees his heart; a man would think that such an one would carry away the victory. There is he destroyed, there rooted out from amongst men, as the most depraved. Ye curious folks, that go diving into the Centre of most profound secrets; seek not the cause any where else but in the justice of God, who hateth and detesteth these wicked ambitions. Our example should make the hairs of all them that are possessed with devils, to stand upright, who cast themselves upon death so desperately. This lightning should dazzle, astonish, and overthrow, the eyes, the hearts, and the designs of the most enraged. For seeing that the best do die there, what should they expect, whole life is wholly infected with malice and impurity?  
God said to David, Thou shalt not build my Temple, thou art a man of blood. Strangers (oh great King) some years since, do accuse the Kings of France to be such, because they do suffer these accursed combats. They speak it aloud in public, they aggravate this toleration some pitying it, some laughing at it. These judgements, these motives cannot be prevented, but by taking the cause from the effect. Be pleased then to efface and root out this opprobry, this scandal: disperse these fearful Comets, hanging and flaming with horror over the heads of your subjects, and threatening your Estate with total ruin. There is not any that hath so much hurt by these mortal exhalations, as your Majesty. So shall she surpass her Predecessors, in good and holy policy, as she hath done in greatness of courage, and in happy success. There had need be a speedy remedy, and order given, to have the Governors of Provinces, the King's Lieutenants, the Seneshalls, and others, to strangle these infernal Hydra's.  
This pestilential fever, doth run through all the Provinces of the Realm. It is a contagious malady, but it is ordinarily most violent in Guyenne. They fight there, ten against ten, twenty against twenty, as if they were in the strength of the war. They force them which be at peace in their houses, to be of the match, as if they were injured, and wronged in their Honour. The Arabians are more like Christians, than these people. Who did ever see, in the life of a conquering Monarch, victorious, absolute, in an age full of vigour, and in a time of peace, men to make such combats? The consequence is great for this province. This Bulwark, so near a neighbour to the retrograde aspect of the Saturn of Castille, must not be suffered to be undermined. In the space of four months, there were killed fifty Gentlemen in single combat, and abundance were hurt. The Nobility of this Country, being so Martial, deserves well to be husbanded with care.  
Sir, you are the common Father of all your Subjects; principally, of your Nobility: what can you do more Majestical or more magnificent, then to prevent the loss of so many souls, who would serve you in honourable occasions, and do destroy themselves in unworthy, and ridiculous actions?  
For our parts, we do not bewail the loss of our life; a life, full of trouble, of fraud, of misery in an age so corrupt. There is no way, but hath an issue, soon or late; we must have been let down to the haven. We lament only for the offence we have committed against God, our King, and Country. If it had been for the glory of God, against the Mahomet's, that we had brought thither our ardours, stretched out our arms, planted our feet: that our hands, and our courages, had employed their forces, and their ambitions to defend the Christian faith, and that we had remained in the throng, pierced with blows, covered with blood and with dust, we should have thought ourselves very happy. So many blows, so many drops of blood, would have been so many Palms, so many Laurels in heaven. There it is, where magnanimity should thunder, and fulminate; it is there, that a man should surmount all the infirmities of man. If it had been for the service of your Majesty, and of the Country, against the sworn enemies of the Estate, we should have ended our course with contentment. We knew we were not borne only for ourselves. The end of every thing is the good of it: we were destinated for these causes: If any of these had ended the last act of the tragedy, we should have had wherewithal to comfort and glorify ourselves. But alas, it was for a light and weak occasion, from which patience, and good judgement should have defended us. After we had escaped from so many great combats, from so many hazards, in a peaceable time for all the rest: knowing the fault was heinous which we did, and against our own conscience: obscuring (oh miserable blindness) the former good actions, by the last, which should have crowned the work: we accused, we condemned ourselves, as witnesses, and judges of our crime, being bewitched, and enchanted, by the foolish opinion of mad men, and fearing more their reproaches, than the divine justice: o profound, o redoubtable judgement of God  
Be pleased then to think upon an order: do this chief work (magnanimous King) as you have brought many others to an end, though never any more notable, more necessary, more glorious. For the rest it did particularly concern your Majesty: Fortune, necessity and shame, were mingled therewith, they were vapours, and clouds before the sun, in this it shall be all radiant, there shall be nothing but the shining of your Virtue: all the work shall be your Majesties, all the glory hers. What glory? to be triumphant over fortune, time, and death. But what can be imagined more exquisite, then to take away this pernicious custom brought forth by hell? to remit the Nobility, as it was before, to reserve these lofty and heroic spirits for the service of your Majesty, and the Commonwealth? They be not borne for themselves only. If that were so, they should have no more privilege than the common sort: but the end of their advantages, and of their greatness, is the good of their Country: and these advantages have never been acquired by Duel. Who knows it better, or so well as your Majesty? Who knows it like your Majesty? who have a thousand times hazarded your life to save this Kingdom; who have run so many miserable Fortunes to make happy this Estate? who have forgotten herself, only to be mindful of the good of France? a generous oblivion, and truly Royal. Why? because she hath fetched back her name from the gulfs of forgetfulness. This consideration inclines too much to the vain man: it was common with the ancient greeks and Romans. There is another more Christian consideration that is, That she hath redeemed so many thousand persons from all sorts of calamities, and from despair. The end of the government of Kings, and the mark of their weighty charges, is, to conserve the people, and to make them happy; that is likewise the end of them, who are ordained to execute their just commandments for the maintenance of the Estate; and which is more, it is the obligation of them both.  
It now concerns your Majesty by her Prudence, and Wisdom, to establish good and holy Laws upon this subject. How? Are they not published throughout all France? It belongs then to her Authority, to make them to be observed from point to point, as we have said. All depend of her: they expect and hope for it from her goodness and justice.  
A fair Order, and the execution of it.  
From these two, will proceed a remedy, a profit, and a glory. The first, for all the Estate; the last, for your Majesty; but the profit will be the Common. This can no way be compared but to itself, considered in the conservation of the most excellent Kingdom of Christendom; and the glory that You shall get thereby, shall be measured by the space of all the ages to come.  
So (invincible King) if you do conserve your Nobility for your service, and for the common good, you shall banish the scandal of the Realm, you shall take away this evil example, of a stinking smell to all Christendom, yea even to the Mahomet Infidels. You shall cleanse it from abundance of blood, so barbarously shed continually, you shall efface in part her ill reputation, you shall turn back the fury of heaven, and keep yourself from blame before God, which is of greatest importance for the salvation of your Majesty. What trophies, what triumphs for one only effect! What effect? an effect as easy to execute, as to speak of. For it, the World will give you Crowns of Palm, but Heaven will reserve for you Crowns of Cedar, which are incorruptible.  
Mark what the Ghosts do say to the greatest and most Magnanimous of Kings. If they have spoken with any defect, as obscure, they are excusable. If they have given any holy advice, it ought to be received and embraced, but chiefly to be executed. And be it known, that the highest knowledge of mortal men, (above all of great ones) is, (hinking of the end) to exercise Piety and justice: for they be heavenly buildings, by proof of time and death, which do abide firm and stable. The rest, even to the Sceptres and Crowns, is a Shadow.  
FINIS.   

A DISCOURSE OF VALOUR: WHEREIN IS EXACTLY showed in what it consisteth.  
By the Sieur de CHEVALIER.  
DEDICATED TO THE FRENCH KING HENRY FOUR  
And translated by THO. HEIGHAM, Esquire,  
Printed by Cantrell Leg. 1624.   

To the KING.  
SIR,  
TO the most Just, the Balance; to the most Valiant, the Sword. To whom may this Discourse of Valour be more lawfully dedicated, then to your Majesty? Kings and People give Her place. They all with one consent do give Her this advantage without envy, knowing that She hath well deserved it. It was dedicated to your Majesty eleven years since; since which time, there hath not one year passed, but I have given your Majesty some thing, and you have not given me any thing. This disproportion did put me back: your Majesty having done me the honour to say often, That I was one of the old servants of her house, and an honest man. At this second Edition I would address it to some other. I looked among Srangers, among 〈◊〉: In the end, I found it behoved not to change the North. Strangers do atttribute this glory unto You, to be the perfect model of Valour; Your own do confess, that that which they know of this excellent Virtue, hath been learned under the lightnings and invincible force of your Arms: they be Triumphs unto them, to have profited in so famous a School. So I do cansecrate it to your Majesty, for the second time. The World's eyes are upon your Majesty for Valour: The World looks upon you for justice. Men do attend to see how your Majesty will effect the solemn Oath you made, to take away the horrible confusion of Quarrels. They hope for the execution of it, and then the complaint which I make for my particular, (whereof I do attribute the cause rather to myself, then to your inclination, absolutely Royal and Heroical) and that which Christendom makes for the general, shall be effaced, by the most rare Trophy that ever was erected to any Prince of the earth. Even as you are the Greatest, I pray God prosper your Majesty for ever: remaining  
SIR, Your most humble, most obedient, and most faithful subject, and servant: CHEVALIER.   

A DISCOURSE of VALOUR.  
THe Ignorance of the Time, is the first cause of all Mischiefs: It is admired, because it pleaseth, followed as a Law; a testimony of the brutishness of the Age: entertained by obstinacy, an infallible argument of her continuance, as also of the blindness of souls. To drive away the false appearance of Virtue, and to bring in the true knowledge of it: to please one's self with that which is only worthy of admiration: to resolve to a firmness of the knowledge, which wholly lighteneth the understanding; were very hard, in a time wherein violence only reigneth with hypocrisy; wherein that above all is perfect which contents the weak, and wherein error is defended by passion only, and reverenced as an Oracle. Yet we must not forbear to take away the veil, to show the way, and to give light to these darkenesses. For him that doth enterprise it, there can nothing happen worse: For the others, they that will not unblindfold themselves, nor enter into a good course, nor follow the true ship-lanterne, though they remain confused, though they go astray, though they fall through this darkness; yet will it be a pleasure to them, whose sovereign good is blindness and error.  
Among all the false opinions that have slid into us, and that this beast without eyes Ignorance, hath brought in with so much authority; there is not any one, either more remarkable, or more important, than this that they have now of Valour, of this Virtue the Queen of Virtues; of this stable basis of souls, of this rampire from mischiefs, of this scourge of fortune, of this contempt of death. There is nothing more common amongst us, than these words, of Valiant and Valour; so many people are honoured with this venerable title, and so few deserve it. This is the Philosopher's stone which men seek no more: But which hath been found by many thousands. If this conquest be so easy, let fair souls, firm, and full of judgement, speak their opinion thereof, when I shall have traced out the ground-plot of it.  
There be three necessary pillars to this Virtue, and builded with such symmetry and proportion, that if you take but one of them away, you shall have ruin in stead of building. For her accomplishment, and entire perfection, the pieces required be comprised in this divine number, wherewith heaven is so well pleased, they be matter, form, compass, and the rule of this excellent Palace of Wonders. There be three principles necessary to the action of all Virtues, and more particularly to this, then to all the rest; that is to say knowledge, will, and habitude. Magnanimity, greatness of courage, or Valour, as men do commonly call it, hath for her subject, things which bring fear: that is, her jurisdiction: there is the extent of her dominion. He than that goeth in danger must first know it, or else the effect that followeth shall be a work of Fortune, or of rashness. Will comes after, which is the first issue of our affections, and of our designs. The third part, is Habitude (that is to say) an action done many times. These circumstances must be weighed, to see, in what principally consisteth, a Virtue so divine. Knowledge, which is the eye of the understanding, as this is of the soul; this radiant light is first required, as the guide which showeth the way, and the just Sunne-dyall, which conducteth by the true way with certain knowledge. Ignorance of the peril, makes an infinite number hazard, by want of judgement, and experience; that happeneth to young men, that are transported with passion, who give themselves no time to consider of that they enterprise. It cometh also to others, for that they do not comprehend how hot a business it is. Let us leave the first branch, to represent the second in all the parts.  
It is requisite that he that goeth to a danger, which he knoweth, which he hath well weighed; that he do it willingly, and not be forced thereunto, by any strange, and foreign cause, that no other consideration, but only the virtuous action do put him forward. Then Will (the beginner of our actions) comes after Knowledge. This inflaming of our soul, this violent love to laudable things; this first wheel which turneth all the parts of the soul; it must be simple and pure, not moved but of itself. It must not enterprise upon that which is out of her government, that is, it must follow that which is most perfect: It must contain itself within her own bounds, and jurisdiction: Virtue only, must be her sacred and inviolable Law, she knows no other way but that. If the intention to make a man's self immortal by renown; if desperate necessity, if the defence of his life, and of his liberty; if the hope of gain, if love, if jealousy, if ambition, if despair, if obstinacy, if envy, if the presence of the Prince, and other foreign causes, do make a man go into a perilous action: this is no action purely virtuous, and worthy of praise. Now Virtue is content with herself, she hath all at her own home, she borroweth not; is infinitely rich with that which groweth in her own territory, her rents do suffice her to operate according to her flight, although in certain things she may have need of Fortune. Yet I do not say, that she is in perfection, or that she may be; for then a man should put off his humanity, and that were to seek a Valour in the air, as the Commonwealth of Plato, or the perfect Orator of Cicero. But I say, that the first and principal end of him that doth virtuously, aught to be an action simple and purely virtuous. That should be the end of it. Let not the first intention of him that goeth to an exploit of danger (knowing it well) be the hope of immortality; but let him go thereto, although he should know, that that effect would remain in the grave; that his birth, and death, should be both at a time: that he should have his reward with the worms, and sad silence; let him not forbear to do well, because it is his duty.  
Among the heathen, they were persuaded, that they ought to die for the Commonwealth, and that that voluntary sacrifice of their lives for the public (which they did in a moment) brought unto them a perpetual sacrifice among men, who put such men in the rank of the gods. It was not only a provocation; it was a furious transportation, a desperate madness, which rapt them to all sorts of dangers, by the hope of immortality. It was a sweet usury. So Curtius cast himself into the fearful gulf of Rome, to make the inundation cease, which (following the answer of the Oracle) could not be stayed but by that means. So Scevola went into the Camp of Porsena to kill him, thinking by the death of this King to make the Romans victorious: So Horace, who was called one eyed, since that remarkable effect, stayed alone upon the bridge of the town of Rome, and sustained the violent assault of enemies, with astonishment of all: So the three twin-brothers, did fight against three puissant Frenchmen, to decide the difference between them, and the people of Rome, by the mutual consent of both armies. It was the hope to make themselves immortal, by a famous renown. It was the statues, and temples of Honour, which were promised them, that caused in them the contempt of death. If a man should have come and said, to the first poor Roman Knight; When thou shalt be cast into this horrible gulf, which threateneth all thy town with shipwreck; there shall be no more remembrance of thee; thou shalt have no other oblation, but those of thyself and thy horse: And thou Scevola, thou deceivest thyself, to think that the Romans do erect statues and altars to thy Virtue. Horace, if thou diest to defend thy Country, the earth, the common Sepulture, or Tiber, shall be thy proud monuments, and the only trumpets of thy glory. You twin-brothers, who run to death, for the Commonwealth of Rome, all the Laurels that shall remain unto you, shall be the complaints of your kindred, and the tears of your wives. It is to be presumed that Curtius upon the brim of that fearful gulf would have given a musroll to his horse. The second being ready to root out this barbarous King's soul from his body, would have told him the secret in his care; so far would he have been from putting his hand in the fire with so incredible a constancy. The third would not have lost his eye as he did, he would have been troubled with a philip as a man would say, not caring otherwise for the journal of Land, which he should have had in recompense of so admirable a prowess. He would have cast himself at the beginning into the water all whole, as he did at the end all pierced with blows. The three brothers would have all eadged their wives, their children, and the unmeasurable greatness of those French-bodies to be exempt from fightings, or rather would have feigned themselves sick: But the desire to make themselves as gods to posterity, made them hazard their lives, by a foolish hope, and a vain opinion of immortality. It was then a false Valour. In that case, the Honourable desire to serve the Commonwealth, should only have put them forward; the desire to do well, and not to get a famous name after death, or recompense after victory. Yet, notwithstanding that is the least imperfect Valour which is built upon the belief of a perpetual renown, a work of fair laudable hope, and worthy of reward, because of the example, and of the profit that may come thereby to Commonwealths. The Turks, who are so courageous, and make no account of their lives; do not deserve by this means, in any fashion whatsoever, the name of Valiant; because they hazard themselves, upon the hope that they have to taste the agreeable delights, which are promised them, in that pleasant Paradise of Mahomet. They be works of faith, the strong wings of a false persuasion, that hath so charmed them; and having plucked out the eyes of their soul, do cover also the eyes of their body, to make a bloody sacrifice of all. Should they have the apples, and the fair maids of the Alcoron taken from them; they would have much more affection to life, than now they have of brutish resolution to death.  
If the desire to gain glory, and to perpetuate a man's name, do not deserve a perfect praise, coming alone in consideration; much less is the effect which proceedeth from a desperate necessity worthy of Honour. The banished men at Antwerp being but six thousand did wonders, because they knew well, that by the military Laws of Spain, they should never find mercy with their Prince, no more than the English with the Spaniards at Sea; who for that cause have recourse to the cruel element of fire. But if pardon might be for the one, and courtesy for the other, it is to be supposed they would not make so good reckoning of their skins. There be a thousand considerations in this deed, which would be too long to deduce, of which we must weigh some only.  
Ambition, Love, and Covetousness, do produce great effects, chiefly Ambition at the Courts of great ones. It is fury, that carrieth away the soul, that troubleth the brain, that bewitcheth; a strange Magician, which overthroweth all, and sometimes gives the lion's courage to Hearts. To enter into credit, to be honoured, and esteemed of great Ones, and likewise of the Prince; to attain to governements. There be some that do despise death, and oftentimes these three causes, that I have named, do concur to end the tragedy the sooner. All these effects, be false Valours, because they be forced; and if not altogether, at the least somewhat like those of pioneers. It arriveth also unto them, as to those that play upon theatres, who have the headbands' royal, and the club of Hercules; but this is neither so heavy, nor so massy, as that of this great man's was; neither do these Purple-robes, and these Sceptres, make them Kings that do wear them. At the Court near the shining lights of the world, there be foolish and blind souls, which do swell, move, lift themselves up, and being thrust forward with vanity, so natural to man, and so familiar at the Courts of Princes, do enterprise with hazard. See what the desire is to be greater than others, and to go before them, not in laudable and virtuous actions, but rather in dignities. Mark this chase to pride. Ambition and envy be the weak ladders by which some do ascend to reputation. This is to take Honour by a Scalado. Sometimes the ladder breaks, and so they escape it; there are they in a litter for ever, an undoubted testimony of a base and artificious soul; resembling the woman, that in old time gave the Oracles; being animated by the devil she prophesied; and as as soon as he had forsaken her, the gate was shut against her, for things to come. It is a devilish Valour, which doth neither move, nor breath, but by the most blind and furious passions. If by these ways, being raised on high, they can catch Honour, and some government, according to their mind; they make knots like reeds: they rest themselves, begin to play Doctors with the furred gown, and cast themselves upon discourse; saying, That there is a time to get; a time to keep the thing gotten, that a man must play the good husband, and not be always thus, that they know, that the excellent economy of a generous and noble soul, is to be always prepared, in the duty of a man of honesty and Honour, which cannot be justly rejected of any age, of any, quality, nor of any rank. There be no letters of Chancery can help therein.  
Love also, doth admirably whet the courage, it doth animate it, and while the fever continues, it putteth on violently; the fit being passed, there remains nothing but a shadow. Paris losing himself with contemplation of the rare beauties of his Helen, admiring so many marvellous things in this chief work, so soon as she representeth unto him the reputation of Menelaus, the highness of his courage (showing him thereby that generous women are not friends of cowards) enterpriseth a combat against him. The sweet words that love, and beauty made slide down from her lips; happy Arabia that respired nothing but heavenly Manna, slid into his soul with such force, that he found himself wholly moved, quite altered, and returning as from a swound, resolveth (to make himself worthy of the love of so fair a Mistress) to assault this excellent champion: He thinks long to be at handy blows, remembers no more Cypress powder, nor the curling iron for his hair; he hath nothing in his understanding but the ruin of his enemy; he burieth him already by hope, he giveth him the mortal blow, rids himself at one time, of a troublesome man; and getteth for ever a pleasing she-friend. This inspiration of Love, being vanished away; and the fumes of the altar of Venus being past, he remembers himself of his Helen, not to be pleasing unto her, and to make himself worthy of so rare a possession, but indeed to make himself sure of her. He hath recourse to flight, and hath great need to be covered with the cloud of Venus, in which he showeth, that the Carpet-Knights, are not such friends of the sword, as of perfumes. This is a false Valour, that makes this spruce ado to assault one of the strongest and most redoubted men in the world. He gained no Honour thereby, because the fear of death had more power over him, then either the desire of immortalising his name, or the consideration of his duty.  
jealousy, and Envy, which be two devilish instruments, have no less power; and there have been some found, who (thrust on by their rages) have done miracles. The covetousness of all times, hath held a great rank among men; and more in this corrupt age then ever it did. It hath showed notable effects, in times past, and doth daily produce extraordinary ones. Notwithstanding, there is not any of sound judgement, that doth call the actions of such as are mastered, with these monsters of vice, Valour.  
Despair hath also a great share thereof, and the desire to die; whether it cometh of Love, or of any other malady, corporal or spiritual, from which a man cannot be delivered. The example of the Soldier of Cyrus, is as notable as well known: Near that same great King, who made the second Monarchy, whom the heaven had enriched with so many graces, who was accompanied with so many virtues; whose lustre was both the wonder and astonishment of the World. There was a simple Soldier, who amongst all was remarked to have an undauntable courage, and to be so resolute in the most dangerous encounters, that it seemed he was a Fairy, like Achilles; so as the opinion to be invulnerable; made him contemn the hazard. The admiration of this so rare a Valour, gave a desire to this great Monarch to inquire more particularly of this man, whom he found to be afflicted with a strange malady, whereof he made him to be dressed so carefully, that in the end he was healed. After that, he was never seen to hazard himself as he used before: he was not the man he was wont to be. Cyrus' ask him the reason, he answered, That he that caused him to be healed was the only cause thereof; and confessed unto him, that the malady which he had before was so insupportable, that to rid himself of it, he sought his end in that manner. The health of his body made his spirit sick. He ran after a common evil, to shun a thousand extraordinary: he sought one death, to rid himself of many. It was despair, which proceedeth only from weakness. You shall not see any of these vulgar spirits, and which are not debonair, but at the first grief grow faint, and desire their last end to be delivered thereof.  
So there be a thousand passions which do animate, and do not doubt but outward things do serve thereunto. Flutes were in use amongst the ancient Lacedæmonians when they went to fight, as at this day trumpets and drums: but without doubt it is more for courages which are not firm, and for irresolute spirits, then for the generous, which have no need of sauce to get them a stomach. Amongst all that moveth so much, the presence of great Ones, and chiefly of the Prince is one. He that is advanced upon the Theatre, abutted near the Sun, and the Stars, illuminated with the great lights of the Kingdom; though he were a pusillanimious Adonis, he would become a Roger; a Lark there would play the Eagle, a Hare the Lion; especially when there is a magnanimous King, such an one as Ours, the light of all Christian Princes, the admirable and inimitable example of Valour; a thundering tempest in combats, whose heart is so high, that no mortal thing can shake it. He that shall come before so excellent a Prince, that shall be seen of jupiter, and shall not be as hardy as Theseus and Samson, hath a courage lower than the Centre of the earth, and is unworthy ever to lift up his head, and to behold the Sun. Let this wretch that shall come and play such a cowardly trick before this great Warrior, bury himself alive for a just punishment: let him pull out his eyes, as in old time the Emperors of Constantinople did one to another; or let him go and be a dead pay in Hungary all his life; pierce there the arms of those Infidels, pass upon the point of their pikes and of their swords, to repair such a fault.  
Truly, Death is a terrible and fearful image: there is no spirit so high, so resolute, so disdainful of peril, but doth apprehend some shadow of the grave: but a man must not put himself to this trade, if he do not know that he is of a good stamp. Virtue's be not natural; we have indeed some disposition, some more, some less, to receive them. Valour being a Virtue, aught to be considered in that manner; her birth is feeble, she is not in perfection, blood is not capable alone to draw this picture to the life, this picture so rare, so excellent, so divine. The lively colours must be taken from example and meditation. If Valour were natural, all men should have it from their birth, as also the other Virtues: but it is acquired by knowledge and habitude. We must not find it strange, if for the punishment of pride and presumption, the strongest cords of courage be sometimes loosed, and men admired for this Virtue do commit notable faults; and beside, men are not disposed at all times alike. I will recount the memorable history of the Lord D'Aussun, as it was represented unto me by a Gentleman of Honour and Quality, who was at the battle of Dreux, because it serveth to this purpose. This generous Cavalier, who had acquired so fair a name, that in a commendation of excellency, they would say, The stoutness of d'Aussun, in this battle fled with the rest: returning to himself, (as a Lion, who passing through the Forest, hearing the noise of the branches, flieth until he be out, then turning his head, strikes himself with his tail to enter into fury, and returns to the same place from whence he came) this hardy Lion returned to the combat, where in the midst of the throng, he showed that he did not bear so honourable a Title unworthily; he appeared like thunder, made himself to be felt like a tempest that overthroweth all; made himself redoubtable to his enemies, and admirable to both the armies. The combat being ended, and he as full of honour, as mad with despite, extolled of his friends and enemies, went to bed, and resolved to die for the displeasure he took for his flying. Monsieur de Guise that then was, went to see and comfort him, and attributed much glory to him in the presence of all. To which he answered: How (Sir) you that are the most Valorous Prince that lives at this day, have you taken pains to visit the most cowardly and base that ever was borne, a man unworthy to see the light? No, no: I am worthy of a cruel punishment, and not of the praise that you give me, which I do justly reject because I do not merit it, and will make another man of myself, because I have too well deserved it. He died a while after for want of eating. A man could not Christianly praise this excess: but the rest testified a soul truly virtuous, and a courage without doubt magnanimous. It is to be considered, that in this exploit almost all the army-royal, were put to flight. To retire, seemed rather wisdom than cowardliness: and if there had been a fault in it, he repaired it again, if it be true as I have said, that he returned to the Combat. If not (as some believe the contrary) yet his fault was common and well accompanied. He was ravished with this confused disorder, and carried away by the multitude of flyers. So many honest men, courageous, resolute, and full of reputation, did fall into the same inconvenience, that he might have attributed it to the good fortune of the enemies, have supported it with patience as others did, have comforted himself in the representation of so many notable proofs, which he had given of his Valour, and upon the common opinion, that arms are uncertain. But his conscience served him as a thousand witnesses, his heart was the great controller, he found he was a stranger to himself, not having been accustomed to fall into such defaults. This change of his courage, shaken with a wind of feeble humanity, which feareth death, had afflicted him; being one that had a sense so exquisite, and so tickle in things of Honour, and in actions of Virtue. An Heroic spirit, and jealous of itself, who chose an extraordinary and unjust death, not for any fault committed, but for omitting the custom of doing well, and according to the measure of that stoutness so much esteemed. He would content himself, and not an other; in his manner, not to the mind of others; according to his own rule, not to the rule of strangers; it was the fear to have done amiss, which is a pricking provocation to do well. There have been found some at Court, who having given good proofs of their Valour in a day of battle, and made others bear the marks of their courage, and invincible resolution; because they escaped the business, and did not die with their friends, feared that they did ill. We must avow, that such persons be well borne to Virtue, which is not fed either with public smoke, or with another man's opinion, but with her own knowledge, being balanced, and knowing herself, her weight, and her price. There be not amongst a hundred such fair souls.  
Now the fear not to do well, is the first motive that carrieth away the generous spirit, and which moveth it with more force, than the crowns of Oak, and the triumphs did the ancient Romans. They that go about to content themselves first, though they were in dens, in the grave (if it were possible) will never fail in their duty. When they have exploited effects, admired of all; they do not rest upon the general voice, the common judgement doth not fill them, they believe assuredly, that this action is not exactly accomplished. Phidias for his works, was in an incredible reputation; and not any thing of that he did most perfectly did content him. His house being on a fire, he cried to save the Satire, which was an admirable piece, not that he esteemed it perfect, but rather imperfect in his fantasy. I will say, that those spirits have Ide'as of forms, and proportions, which do ravish all the rest, in some scantling of their beauty. But for their contentment, it is not sufficient, they have remaining yet a great hunger.  
Obstinacy also, which is a terrible wild beast, that no reason can appease; hath done strange things, which do approach the magnificent works of Virtue, and be but shadows, idols, and fantasies. There be a thousand examples in histories of the obstinacy of the jews. This great Town of Paris would furnish out one, not only extraordinary, but fearful. They be hellish rages bringing forth prodigious effects; which for that respect, are neither laudable nor imitable, because they are without Virtue. A thousand Aposted-manslayers, have despised death, and knowing well that they could never escape, yet have not forborn to execute their designs. They be in the Chronicles for an example of abomination, and not of imitation: But judith, and Deborah, who did hazard themselves for their people, whose end was good and holy; have left their memory glorious, with as much astonishment at the greatness of their courage, as a laudable envy to follow them in so laudable a career.  
There is yet a moving cause, which is called Emulation, which may be defined; a desire to do better than others, or in despite of others. Emulation is the leaven of all fair deeds, if it be married with the fear to fail, as we have already said. It is the heavenly seed of Actions, truly worthy of praise, and of perpetual memory. It is the sacreed seed, which thrusts out the Palms, the Laurels, and the Cedars; but for that it was not well ruled, nor understood, it hath often been an instrument of shame, and ruin. Alarm of the most sleepy, quicksilver of young and old, ravishment of the most unmanly. If thy beauty were not painted, if thy Nectar were not poisoned, if thou wert not gisguised and apparelled with borrowed garments, how excellent shouldest thou be Divine Princess, lively, light of souls: but thou art quite changed, and through the ignorance of men; more of an other, then of thyself. The fear of failing, must accompany this moving: Into which whosoever will narrowly look, will judge, that the good will to do better than others, hath been the Viper, which being borne, doth devour that which did beget it. Emulation the efficient cause of Virtue hath devoured her part; hath destroyed Virtue itself: they have put to this drink venomous ingredients, they have troubled the clear spring, they have covered with a cloud, a fair Sun. Emulation should give a desire to a man to do perfectly well, according to Virtue; so as no man may do better (at least in will) with knowledge of the cause; and only because it must be so, and not because others do it. Although he only should remain in this action, that no other should travel with this wind, that no other should run at this tilt; moreover that there should no advantage come to him thereby, either of greatness or profit: yet notwithstanding let him not leave to seek it with as much passion and vehemency. This shining flame of Virtue hath been spoiled by ignorance, and by pride, devilish serpent, so natural to man, this first resort of sin; this father of death which hath mingled all the cards. Envy is entered with it into this Province, these monsters have foraged all: Men run into hazards, they go thereunto hanging down their heads, they precipitate themselves thereby, being not able to serve the Commonwealth; carried with rage they find nothing too hot; to exceed others they would have wings, or feet of wind, as Achilles had. To him that asketh to what this transport tendeth; every one will say (masking his intention) that it is a desire to do well. Vice never accuseth itself. See the end which judgeth of all. It was against a wall, at the shadow of smokes of the Canon, and of the Harquebusses, in a place where they could not annoy the enemies, where the hazard was all of rash men, to the detriment of the Prince, and of the Commonwealth. From whence come these storms? It is pride, it is ambition, violent passions, which do bear such fruit. The desire to see a man's self in greater esteem by fools, thinking that therein consisteth the true glory, and the point of Honour. Valour is no fool, she regardeth the beginning, the midst, and the end. This fair triangle, is the rule of her motions and steps; she knoweth the danger, she goes thereto by the good way; her end is, to profit her King, or her Country, in doing her duty. She mocks at them, that makes themselves be pierced for pleasure, without being able to be profitable: she saith, that they have too much blood, (which they drew in old time from the Roman soldier that had been rash) she vaunts that she will sell herself very dear; that they shall not have her cheap, and that her Cypress trees shall not be alone, nor without fruit. If these furious courages, as I have said were corrected by judgement; they would be without doubt, fit for all high and hard executions. They do employ themselves most commonly in that which is least necessary: and this gallant, and active humour is unfitly lost, with actions which are neither fair nor profitable.  
These are the principal outward causes, which do thrust the souls, guide the eyes, carry the hands to great executions, and makes them see false actions of Virtue. There remaineth one, and the mother of all the artificial Valours. It is the Honour, the Lantern of the ship, the Pilot, and the Port. I say the appearing Honour, and not the true Honour. The appearing, or vulgar Honour is by force, to content others: the true Honour is voluntary to content one's self: the one, will only shun blame and reproach; the other leads to dangers, not only not to fail, but to do well: the one lets himself be drawn thereunto by fear of reproach, or else by this so martial a zeal of a Gentleman: the other runs thereunto by a laudable and gallant will, to profit the Commonwealth, and to do virtuously. In which there is a notable difference. But if a man could read within their hearts, there be many that do run the fortune of their life (defending their bodies) that would have no will to be at such banquets, if they were not afraid, that they should be afterwards made blush with shame. When such people do light upon so hot work, how they lose their judgement, how they go all astray, how their heart doth pant, and their blood is all icy. They should make imprecations in their soul against that heretic, which invented these fair titles of duty and Virtue. Such men should be dispensed withal for wearing of swords, seeing they be so ill fitting thereunto, and Kings and Commonwealths should also be dispensed with, for not giving them any advantage above other men. In which, notwithstanding it must be considered, that there is a difference of those, and the like actions of Virtue, as of white to black, and of the day to the night. He that is pricked forward only with a desire not to fall into reproach and infamy, doth a laudable act, with some little beam of Virtue, and a feeble colour. The life whereof is kept by the apprehension of the blame. These be souls half lightened. There be many that do thus meet with hazards, being therein engaged, either for their rank, or by reason of their places, or by some other occasions they encounter-with, who go to blows gallantly in show, yet would be glad to be out of it, what advantage soever might come unto them thereby. Be it, that they be borne great enough of themselves, and happy without aspiring further; or that their inclination doth not agree with this troublesome trade. They watch perpetually, that their play may not be discovered. What a miserable life is this? It is to give a great advantage to fortune over them, making themselves subect to a thousand troublesome accidents, in which men truly virtuous, and desirous to do well, have no share. For mark you how they work. They believe they are borne to do well, not to be of the common sort of men, to serve their Prince, and their Country; to assist the weak, to punish the wicked, to maintain justice. They know that they are obliged thereunto, by divine and humane Laws, as also by the Laws of nature. What they do is voluntary, having no other end but to do well, expecting no recompense, carrying this incorruptible model of true Honour in their understanding, which lifts them up, inflames them, and transports them, with all the gracious inchauntments, with all the amorous bats of Virtue, which is the most ravishing figure that can be imagined. They go to death without fear, and without apprehension, so much as humane nature can permit, not only because duty doth oblige them (that is too common) but because they will produce a fair action. Others do keep themselves from failing and doing evil, by carrying themselves virtuously, because duty doth constrain, and straightly bind them thereunto; and these do not expose so precious a gage as life, only for the consideration of that effect; but for the desire they have to profit others, and to approach the nearer by such actions to the divinity. Not to fail in things of great importance, not to fall into shame, and to keep themselves from reproach, is a common thing with the most part. But to make himself remarkable by doing well, to go about to make himself famous by fair actions; is not proper, but to them only, that are wholly Virtuous. Those souls girt about with the divine beam, can bring forth nothing that is common, base, or unworthy. Great things do appertain unto them, and it is for them that the Cedars be planted.  
The third pillar that sustaineth the holy work, of the most worthy Virtue that is amongst men, is Habitude, that is to say, An action repeated, and done many times, which ought to be considered, as the true touch of arms, and the Sovereign judge, which judgeth in the last resort of all fair actions. It is not all to know the danger, and to go thereto willingly, as I have said, with all the circumstances; but a man must go many times one masters trick only: how bold soever he be, makes not a good artisan, neither doth one only act of Virtue make a man virtuous. It is this Sovereign sounding plummet of hearts, that makes a man sweat blood, and water. It is it that culleth out most curiously, it is the expert workman which endeth this triumphant portal, with all the dimensions. There be an infinite number, who for that they have not balanced this high consideration; or (to speak better) not having conceived, or imagined it, after one virtuous action only, have sounded the retreat, and so contented themselves. There be others, after two or three fair actions, besides their own particular contentment, have come to a presumption, measuring themselves by their shadow, full of pride: for the opinion they have that they are of a good stamp, not knowing that the end judgeth of all our life, and that there is no time limited to virtuous effects, but that which cometh with the coffin, and the burning torches. Not that I will say, that they which are heaped up with Honour, & by a thousand sufficient testimonies of their Valour, have been made famous, shall seek all occasions, and hazard themselves like young men, or such as have done no great extraordinary matter. But when occasion shall be offered, & that the loss which they may make of themselves shall not be so prejudicial, as the profit of the Commonwealth shall be thereby great; they must do like other men. This Career of Glory is infinite; a man must find no end of it, but by the last end; nor ever be weary or filled therewith, so long as his hand can furnish his courage. We must not, for all that, come to such unmeasurable passions, and unruly motions of such a blind and mad ambition, as Marius had; who overloaden with many years, as well as with victories; and buried (as a man would say) with the multitude of his Triumphs, did notwithstanding bear envy to young men. Too much is always to be blamed. Habitude then is the last piece in order, and in perfection, it is one of the principal. There be some, that once in their lives before their Prince have done wonderfully. They were prepared for that blow: They would die, or go out of the mire of their ancestors; every, and put themselves to ease. The artifice was not evil, if they saved themselves, and reaped the fruit of hope; unless death had fastened a nail to their designs, from which being escaped, they had yet at the least this pleasure, to have once in their lives done well, and to hold that in common with the most honest men. Those people fly at nothing but the Lark. They should have been in danger many times, furnished with all things requisite, with all the arms of understanding and courage; heavenly arms of the proof of shots of death, despising the grave, and not esteeming any thing equal to the desire of doing well, if they would have been honoured with the triumphant Crown, which is given to the virtuous. Among the musk of Canon-powder, all covered with the Aromatic perfumes, which the smoke of Harquebuzes doth cast upon the points of swords and pikes, the generous spirit doth exercise itself; there she takes her measure; at this rigorous school she learns a divine Mistrisship: there she gets her durable orders, not once, nor thrice, nor four times, but a thousand times; even as often as need is for the Common good. They which do not measure themselves by this ell, are frivolous shadows, and (if I may say so) fantasies of true Virtue, whereof they have but a vain appearance. That likewise doth not endure.  
All these things being exactly weighed, I am of opinion, that the clear-sighted will pronounce a sentence which cannot be retracted: that is, That there be very few men adorned with this incomparable virtue in perfection. Notwithstanding some do approach thereunto more than others, and an infinite number may have some seeds and sprigs thereof, like weak beams from so supernatural a light. Thou that goest, seeking by the constellation of stars, by the composition of humours, by the quality of the blood, so rare a treasure, know thou art an Heretic. This sparkling Planet of Mars doth not influe vigour enough. The four elementary qualities do not know what it is to go to blows; they hate them, the blood cannot understand so high a lesson, quite contrary to his being. This apprenticeship doth come from elsewhere. It is true (as I have said) that there be some souls better disposed to Virtue, than others; and likewise some bodies more fit to receive the fair influences of the soul.  
Yet for all that, all men generally and naturally do fear death. It is a grievous thing to forsake this pleasing light of the day, and to go with worms, whatsoever is imagined. This default comes from sin, this weakness hath drawn from thence her beginning. It brought death, which is irksome to man, because it was not so at the first creation. Without going any higher in Theology, I will follow my point. The fear of death, man's perpetual Hostess, whose efficient cause, matter and form, be within the bones, the blood, and the arteries, is a miserable worker of all the irresotions which do arrive for this subject. Fear to die, the hereditary malady, the domestical weakness, the natural falling-sickness to man, is the beginner of all infirmities, to them that do not think to live well. Now to live well, a man must cast his eyes upon his carriage, he must think of the end, he must meditate upon this common and last passage of men. It was all the Philosophy of the Ancients, which in truth is a good part of perfection, though not the principal. To meditate upon death, to imagine that after this short and painful life, there is an eternal and blessed life, is to enter into the way of Virtue, though not to go to the end. This answereth to that divine sentence, Know thyself, represent thyself that thou art a clear beam of God, that thy house is heaven, that the divine essences do pertain to thee of proximity, that thou art a passenger in this miserable life, that Virtue is the only image, whereof thou must be an Idolater, and which must wholly govern thee. These considerations do open the bar to fair actions, but the gate is yet shut. This Virtue is excellent without doubt, which prepareth the souls to good, & lifteth up thy understanding to all high & worthy things. It is not enough for all that: To command a man's self is more than all that. The other hath the tongue, this the hand; one the word, the other the effect; the one prepareth the soul to the diet, the other is the diet itself; the one moves humours, the other purges them; the one guides, the other executes: To conclude, the one beginneth, & the other endeth the work. To know a man's self, answereth to the meditation of death: to command a man's self, answereth to the contempt of death. The ancients made their Philosophy and love of wisdom, meditation of death only, whereas they should have said, that it was the meditation and contempt both together. For these two be sister-germanes, and inseparable, to conduct to the sacred Temple of Sapience. But what is this attracting brightness? what is this charmious figure? what is this divine ladder, which when in hath enlightened by the discourse of reason, and by the knowledge of ourselves, and burned by the pleasing flames of the love of it, doth make us enter into heaven? It is Magnanimity, which is the contempt of death. What is the end of it? to do always well. If they ask, what Temples, what Sacrifices she desireth? She will answer, that she is all that, that she hath all in herself. If they do press her, to tell what moveth her; she will say, That it is only her affection to carry herself in all things virtuously. Why she doth not fear death? Because she feareth herself more. Why she doth not desire the conversation of life, so sweet? Because to live without Virtue, is to be dead, without any hope to live again. Let them question her every manner of way, she shall be as ready and wise to answer, as firm and courageous to resist. Now as you see, to know a man's self goeth not so forward as to command a man's self: so it must be said, that to meditate upon death is not so much as to despise it. Many do know their own infirmities, they have even drawn the very picture of them with all the lively colours, there wants nothing. They know that they are subject to a thousand loose passions; they resolve to combat these domestical enemies; they prepare themselves thereunto; and even in the very instant that they are ready to come to handy-blowes, they do as Dolon did in Homer, who cast away his Buckler in the chief time of the skirmish; or like to him, who after he had made proud marches cries out against his follies; I see the best and like it, and do follow the worst. It is cowardice, they have not force enough to resist, having but one feeble obscure spark of Virtue, which hath not the power to heat, though it give light. They which command themselves, do show that they have been longer exercised in this fair Academy, that they have been upon the justing, or fencing place: that they have wrestled against the prodiges of vice, and thrown them to the ground: which makes them worthy of praise, and to have their names graved in letters of gold in the holy Temple of Honour. This then answereth to the contempt of death, which cannot be familiar with a man but by Valour, which doth not consist only in marshal actions, neither is enclosed with those walls alone; because there be a thousand other instruments of this cruel enemy of nature, besides those of war. Socrates who swallowed hemlock, did as much contemn death, as Alexander in the midst of his combats. The one was, as it were transported with marshal fury; and the other was no more moved, seeing his death prepared, then if they had come to invite to run at the plays of Olympus: The one was almost out of himself with choler: the other was altogether in himself, and quite out of the frailty of man, through a firm and constant resolution to this last step. Both of them did it through greatness of courage; Valour was in them both, all the work was hers. Notwithstanding, the one of them was inflamed with the ardour of young blood, with ambition and with the desire to make himself venerable to posterity: the other was not stupid, nor insensible, but he had a constant coldness, a firm resolution, with discourse, judgement, and meditation, having no other end, but manfully to resist fortune, and death, without being thrust on by consideration of worldly vanities. Wherein is to be noted, that these latter parts be even as necessary as the others; and that the great and unheard of effects of Virtue, do proceed chiefly from the understanding, and intelligence. Truly, they which have not learned this magnificent Science, but amongst Pistols, and Pikes, have a Valour, more brutish, less considering, and less wise. They which have exercised their forces only in Plato his walk, in the study, have a more soft spirit, and which doth not seem so vigorous against evil (because experience assureth weakness, and is ordinarily seen, among the blood and the sword) it maketh the courages more cowardly, and supporteth the most imbecile; for as much as custom is another nature. The contempt of death for them is by imagination in the air, not meeting as others do, among them that are hurt, slain, and daily at blows. True it is that Socrates had married his spirit with his hand, the greatness of his courage with his sword, and his high imaginations with execution and proof. After he had meditated and laid the foundations of this fair Pyramids, by the divine Ideas of his understanding, and by that proud project which carried him away in his thought, he put his hand to the work. We must not marvel, if by this band which is not common, he brought forth no common thing.  
Now, I have said that it is not at the War only that magnanimity is exercised; a long imprisonment, poverty, maladies, the loss of friends, and other accidents, be proofs of a courage manly, and oftentimes more assured then of death itself. In the mean time, a man must well consider what contempt of death is. A man doth not fear death, only for the griefs that it brings us, which are soon passed; but for the pleasure whereof it depriveth us, and for the delights of life; which comes of folly, ignorance, and want of meditation. That which ones leaves, gives more pain, then that which one feels; and whosoever would take away the apprehension of this bitterness, should but only taste it. The evil comes from the fantasy, which hath most force where there is least reason. Death is made so redoubtable, because it takes from us the joys of life, and for that we are tied to that which doth least appertain unto us. For feeble pleasures, the long use whereof should be odious unto us: For lewd desires which have found our taste sick, to the end to gain yet some days, and to have a miserable delay, and a shameful respite; a man would lengthen the parchment, and defer the matter; so loath is a man to arrive. All that proceeds from want of judgement, for as much as we have lodged our Sovereign good where it is not, and that we seek it for the most part by his contrary. To have then the contempt of death, we must rather have knowledge of the life that is truly worthy of man. Neither could the lot of Africa, nor Circe's, nor the Sirens, nor all the attracting delights of the nymph Calypso, retain the wise Greek. His designs were more lofty, he was tied with more strong bonds; the knowledge which he had of a greater bless, made him enter into an extraordinary disdain of these unworthy pleasures. Contraries one near the other do shine most: So the discourses of reason, be clear Lamps, which show the way in the darkness of our blindness; it is by them that we understand what to follow, and to take our resolution to do that which doth most carry a man beyond man. There is no Virtue that can lead through these thorns, through these rugged rocks, and through these fearful solitarinesses to perfection; but magnanimity. She is without ignorance knowing all things, having digested all doubts, chased all clouds, taken away all scruples, by the fair and agreeable Theoric meditation, which would have been unfruitful, if it had not been put in use, by this Queen of Virtues. This heavenly Queen then, having carried her intelligence, upon all that concerneth man, and having sported herself through all this great Theatre of the world, after she had weighed, ●ounded, and calculated all: She knew that well-doing was the highest point at which humane nature could arrive. Glad of this knowledge, and wholly transported with admiration of her own divine essence; she hath made choice of this golden sleece, and there erected her conquests. She is so resolved. This is not all, she is gone into action. She is in the conflict, she remains glittering with victorious glory over her enemies. To this beginning a thousand difficulties are opposed to her designs. Feeble nature, in a trance with fear, so sensible, open to all sorts of evils, perfumed soft lascivious pleasures, covered with amber and musk, with bodies without arms, and legs, with maimed shapes, with sad goings, in some, joys, and griefs, pellmell, will violently pull the arms out of her hands. She hath overthrown all, she hath vanquished all, she remains Mistress of the field. Let them cut, slash, burn, let all the world come together to fall; a man accompanied with this incomparable Virtue, remains without loosening, stiff, and firm, as marble. Admirable rampire against misfortunes, and most strange events; how divine thou art fair Virtue, seeing thou dost draw men from the government of humanity, how high and elevated thou art, seeing thou dost root from the centre of the earth, the earth itself; how strong thou art, seeing thou dost give the forces of Samson, to the imbecility of humane nature, which is weakness itself; how above humane thou art, seeing thou dost make our senses leap over the bars of sense; and how rare thou art, seeing thou art so difficile. If I did think to be exempt from the blame of presumption for enterprizing to speak of so high a subject; I would produce for an example, a spirit wholly royal, (that is to say) fully perfect. Let a man behold it on all sides, he will judge it such as I desire it in this Discourse.  
Sir, You that are a man, and above men, (as such an one) give me leave to be so bold to speak of this Virtue, which is admired and reverenced in you, with many others which have adjudged you the prize, above all Princes of the World. As a man suffer me to speak of your Virtue. As above men, for that you are glittering with so many perfections above humane. Pardon my presumption, in consideration of the zeal which I have to honour that which deserves it. As a King permit me to speak the truth. Let a man look on all sides, with the eyes of envy, and evil speaking that spares nothing; and with the eyes of judgement, which do weigh all things as is meet, taking away those domestic sorceresses of King's Courts, flattery and passion; he shall see, that the magnanimity of our great Henry is incomparable, and such as a man would desire in perfection. The desire to make himself immortal, by the renown which preacheth the fair deeds after the Tomb, hath not made him produce so many famous military acts. For he that hath his understanding as clear, as his courage heroical, knows right well that Princes may make themselves so by a thousand other effects of Virtue. Adrian, Traiane, Severus, and many other the most famous Emperors, without giving one blow with a sword, by justice, sweetness, magnificence, prudence, and liberality have gotten to themselves, offerings and sacrifices in the Temple of Memory. Neither hath ambition and covetousness given him so many hats of triumphs. These are the three strongest and violentest passions, which do most rule men. After that God had called him to this Estate by a lawful succession, what along time were all his actions ravishments to all the World, and monstrous works? His hand, and his understanding did every day miracles. The desire to reign could never shake his soul: when all were banded against him, and that (because he would not be sprinkled with holy-water) all swore his ruin in the most part of Christendom. During these storms, and thunderbolts, he made a counter-battery, he thundered, he stormed by the invincible force of his courage, which could not be vanquished, but by his own force. Forsaken of strangers, betrayed of his own, deprived of means, he sustained a weight which was not to be borne but by him. He surmounted all mortal accidents, he trod time and fortune under his feet, he executed that which was judged of all most impossible. He relied upon few, but his lofty spirit, which thought it should fail in forsaking his first way, held itself immoveable among the torrents. It was Magnanimity, which as a celestial anchor did ward so many sea blows, in so horrible & sudden a seatempest. That very thing, by a more high consideration, made him obedient to reason, to gain by a just change the reputation to be equal and judicious; and to take away the imagination, to be unpitifull and obstinate. Behold two notable victories, he hath surmounted his friends, and his enemies, he hath vanquished himself. If these two frenzies of men that I have spoken of, Ambition and the desire of riches, had had advantage over him; he would from the first day (to avoid so many troubles, to destroy wholly so many cruel Hydra's, against which he was forced to contest so long) have yielded: but he believed he should have done wrong to his Virtue.  
Not any of the other accidental causes alleged, did make him persevere in that high resolution but one only, which is, the presence of the King. He was always with him. This continual representation, increased his courage, raised up his spirit, and strengthened his arms. He did fear to do any thing unworthy of the King, he would always be like himself. Because I have discoursed at length, of this particularity, in the treatise which I made upon the conversation of his Majesty, I will speak no more of it. After that this excellent Prince had the Flower de Luce assured, and the Crown well fastened upon his head, let a man mark all his actions; he shall see that he hath always been the same man he was before, with the same greatness of courage, having no other aim, but to do well, nor other end but the safety of his people. It would require many Volumes, to describe worthily the high and incredible executions of this great Captain. With what industry, with what inventions hath this admirable King, raised so many fair Pyramids, erected so many Colossuses, built so many Theatres, and Amphi-theatres of his glory? with the magnanimity, which hath not carried, but wrapped him to infinite perils, made his body of marble with continual toiling, his spirit always watching in the ambushes of fortune, his heart infatigable to all sorts of travels, and as unconquerable by his enemies, as by the infinite pains which he suffered in this perpetual torment. Among so many miseries, as envy, fortune, the corruption of the age, the unheard of obstinacy of his subjects, who would have buried themselves alive have showed, with so much confusion: let us a little behold the incomparable greatness of the virtue of this Christian Hercules. At these earthquaks, at these overtures of the deeps, at these inundations, at these furious and enraged winds, he continued firm as a rock. By his Prudence he hath brought a sleep the waking Dragons; by his force he hath put in pieces the most strong; by his liberality, he hath trodden under foot the most insatiable, to chase them as Harpies, to the comfort of his people; by his sweetness he hath hazarded his life a thousand times, to keep it for his own; and by his mercy, he hath exposed himself as a sacrifice, to redeem his Kingdom from the captivity of Egypt.  
Valorous King, and gentle Father: Among so many troubles, the last care that he had was of himself, whom he had forgotten for others. Whosoever shall well behold all without passion, will be amazed, as if he had seen the face of Medusa, and will not believe his eyes, much less his ears, and his fantasy; and will be constrained to swoone with admiration. In this Table, there is not so much as a figure, or lineament, not so much as a shadow, either of Ambition or Covetousness: All is Virtue.  
This last proof, so notable, and so important to the Estate, hath of new showed by good tokens, that this holy fire of Virtue, and of the desire to do well, which kindled him with so much ardour, hath lost nothing of his gallantness and extraordinary vigour. He ran to that fearful and unexpected blow, and of Amious, which had shaken this Estate, filled with astonishment both strangers and all the Realm, which were but newly recovered from so long a sickness. He had seen at Roven the Anatomic of France, so lean, that it had nothing but skin and bone, having the body all covered with ulcers, afflicted with a lingering ague, which the continual ague had left her, all in a gangrene, full of miseries, and as it were desperate of remedy, with a general subversion of her justice and Piety. At this time then, our King, knowing better than any other so much necessity, without men, without money, not seeing almost any means to remedy this high mischief, which had seized this Estate in a time so dangerous, put on with the zeal to succour his people, jealous of the glory of his subjects, as desirous both of their conservation, and of their felicity, went speedily to besiege this great and strong Town; where to speak better he besieged himself. His spirit and courage did never find any thing difficil. There was means to recover this fair piece, the way thereto was open. He was called by the repose whereof he had need, to breathe a little after so long travels. The necessity and poverty of the Realm invited him. They offered conditions that he might accept, as others have done in like case without reproach. But because he would not leave so much as a shadow of want of faith to strangers, nor of affection to the dignity and splendour of his Name, and honour of the Kingdom, he chose rather to pass through the mountain, then through the plain. Being there, he was furnished at all points, exposing himself to a thousand dangers to save the Commonwealth. judgement guided him. It was to assure his people; he showed himself as he is; it was needful for the small number that he had. For the space of four months, they within took more than those without, which they knew well. The presence of this French Cesar served for a mighty army, he found himself sufficient. His incomparable zeal to the public good, the necessity of the times, and his divine courage would have it so. All went therein according to the compass of Virtue. There was but one unequal motion, (I put one knee to the ground) too much courage was the most dangerous enemy, both of himself and of France. These high spirits, wholly divine, which do act by some celestial inspiration, do despise with disdain the most dangerous accidents, and do believe that no mortal thing hath power over them. The Commonwealth cries, let there be regard had to the particular conservation, for the general. This is in this admirable Prince a defect which testifieth a rare perfection, and a figure of humanity, which surpasseth man.  
I have said here before; that Magnamity was the Queen of Virtues: I say, she is their Mother, and hath engendered them all in our King. It is by her, that the spirit making no account of vulgar, and common things, penetrating the obscurities of ignorance, and dispersing them, can discern the day from the night, the good from the evil, to be armed against all sorts of events, with the light of prudence. It is she, that makes a man forgive his enemies, by setting his foot upon the throat of that despiteful savage beast revenge; so natural to man, a Virtue very extraordinary, as being quite contrary to nature; a triumph, which surpasseth all the triumphs of Marius, a glorious victory, as rare as dificill. It is she, who burying that deformed and insatiable fury covetousness, rendereth to every one, that which is his due, not retaining the least displeasure for having the goods of another man; being content with herself, and not knowing any thing that may equal her. It is she that driveth away Vanity, despising all the smokes which the pusilanimious do adore. She flies at the Kite, and at the River, meddles with subjects that are most solid, and thinks that they which stay themselves at petty things, be not capable of great ones. Which is weakness, either they do not know them, which is ignorance; or do despise them which is folly. It is she which makes no account of the flowers, and fruits of fortune, which be the riches, that she holds as one of her instruments, wherewith she distributes magnificently, thinking that to do good to others, and to make many happy, makes a man approach nearest to God. It is she, that banisheth cruelty, presumption, pride, and all the other deformities, which makes the soul unknown to itself. It is she that mocks at Fortune that afflicteth by her perseverance the afflictions themselves, that braveth necessity, that laughs among hurts, in the gulfs of death, in the midst of blood, fire, sulphur, the ship-pitch, & the harquebuses. In insupportable maladies, she makes herself insupportable to the sickness itself, which cannot suffer her, she finds herself invincible throughout: why? because she being not accustomed to be subdued, doth not know any thing in the world higher than herself, she aspireth to heaven, from whence she believes she is come, she makes envy, and all other follies of men, to burst with despite, which she contemneth, and driveth far from her. In good fortunes, and happy successes, which oftentimes, makes the most temperate disordered, she shows herself modest. So is she the Mother of courtesy, and of mercy. In the greatest crosses, and most furious blows, of mischiefs, she is inconquerable, high elevated, by her constant resolution. She gives place to none, either in bounty or force, always in the same balance, that is to say, always like herself. It is no marvel, if few men be endued with this so perfect a Virtue, seeing that all that is within and without in man, is bend against it, whole man is repugnant unto it. Nature, (as I have said) doth learn the quite contrary, to that she showeth; flesh and blood be her mortal enemies; imagination, and apprehension, her capital enemies. She passeth further, and makes herself place, offering a terrible drink of gall to the natural distaste of man. That is the reason, the Ancients did make Altars, erect statues, build Temples, judge of triumphs, elevate Pyramedes to the memory of them which had employed their lives for the Commonwealth. The Sceptres, the Crowns, and all the orders of Honour which be in the world, were invented for this end, to give courage to men to lose themselves for others. These be the dazelings and the magic inchauntments, that humane weakness hath need of, not only to incite, but to transport them to dificill, and perilous actions, so troublesome is this lesson to man. Yet all this preparation, is only for courages least noble, and for spirits least accomplished: for Virtue regards nothing but her own action, she sees no further, she is herself the bounds of her partition, no other thing belonging to her, she gives over her part to weakness, neither hope of reward, nor the apprehension of any blame, nor the fear of punishment, nor any other common, or ordinary considerations do move her. One thing only commands her with a wand, the desire to do well. Yet my meaning is not, that a virtuous man should refuse the just Honours that are done unto him, as did the ancient Cato, who would never suffer any Statues to be erected for him: but I say, that should not be his intention, but the consideration only of the virtuous action. The most magnanimous themselves have need of some provocation, to awaken their spirits, which otherwise would be more sleepy, and more soft. They be men It is a default of humanity. Man that is wholly borne to misery, hath need of outward objects to move his stupidity, and to warm his ice. He hath need of a wheel, with a great spring and a very sharp fire. But if there may be found any spirits of this divine stamp, it must be in this Kingdom: Although ambition, and anarice, have almost corrupted all. There remains yet of these incorruptible Virgins, which be all of fire in laudable actions. Among this fair Nobility of France, there may be seen some, who have this Virtue within a little, even as I do represent it; and abundance that do approach unto it. It is also the light of the world, the quintessence of men, the admiration of the earth, the firm foundation of this puissant Estate, the soul of the Royalty, and the glistering day of this great Court. She is borne wholly to Virtue: She of whom I speak is her familiar. She hath but too much transport in peril, she would cast herself into the deep, she should rather be dejected, she flies with gallantness, which carries her too often to timerity, and to quarrels. These be two maims, which do hinder the perfection of this Virtue, which is neither foolish nor quarrelsome; which intruth cannot suffer an injury, but doth well weigh it, before she be provoked; which hath no pride, and will not take any advantage upon another, but by worthy actions; which is neither a swaggerer, nor contemptuous. Because she contents herself with effects, and mocks at the rest. If these two defaults were cut off, what great persons would France bring forth? What excellent pollitiques? What worthy Captains? Our King is happy to have so many fair lights to lighten this Estate; so many unmovable vaults to sustain it, so many strong bastions to defend it. And you Nobility, how you are favoured of heaven to have such a Head, so shining with a thousand Suns of Honour, and so covered with Crowns of glory. It is the greatness of Kings, to have near them a multitude of persons famous by excellent marks. The glory of jupiter had been small, if he had reigned over the Cyclops, the Centaurs, and the Satyrs only. The invincible Mars, the venerable Saturn, and those other gods, made his Empire redoubtable. One Lion had rather obey another, then to have no commandment, but over the Foins of Alexandria, and the Apes of the great Cairo.  
If any man think, that I do set out an imaginary Virtue, and which cannot be in man, in that fashion that I describe it, but by divine inspiration; let him know (if he please) that extraordinary actions also, do not come but from heaven. In truth I confess, it is very hard in this so perverse a time, wherein the foundations of all Virtues, be turned topsy-turvy. But let a man behold the ancient Romans, the Lacedæmonians, and the Athenians, they shall there mark out Scipio's, Epaminondase's, and Aristides, who have had this Virtue of Magnanimity, with all the conditions and circumstances alleged. Why shall not the Frenchmen be as capable, seeing they have inherited by their great Virtues, to those of the ancients? I will not speak of Charlemagne, and of the worthies. During the reign of King Francis the 1. how many notable, and admirable personages did honour France? In that time there was the most magnificent, and triumphant College of Honour, that was under the heavens, to make Virtue be beloved, to daaw a man from the Centre, and to make him a demigod among men. It was the order of the King. This temple of glory, and of Virtue, was so sacred, that at that time, there were found in all the Realm but thirteen, that were worthy to enter therein. It is another discourse, which I will leave for this time, and will say only, that this high, excellent, and divine mother of Virtues, Magnanimity, may be acquired by discourse, and by use, and that a man may make himself capable of it. Ignorance, for that it knows her not in all her parts, is one of the strongest bars, that doth hinder the laudable designs of them, which do aspire to effects, which do draw out of the mire, and out of the ordinary highway. Pride mingles itself there among, with other defects which do strangle the fairest actions at their birth, and makes abortives thereof instead of perfect forms. The most part have an opinion that it must be so, others are persuaded thereunto because they are brought up in that error. A long custom hath made them so sick of the Lethargy. It is but want of curiosity, to seek out wherein lieth chiefly the point, which raiseth a man most high. If that were very exactly weighed, one should root out all the evil roots, one should cut off all the rotten branches, one should cleanse this fair tree of life, which makes a man despise death, beat fortune and time to the ground, and triumph over all humane things. There is nothing impossible to a generous spirit. If it be guided by a solid judgement, it will always choose the best. All the circumstances abovesaid, are to be nearly considered in this Virtue so rare, and dificill, that her name is profaned, which I will paint out, as it ought and may be, and as it must be apprehended.  
Let them then, that are in the heat of the skirmish, covered with blood, earth and smoke, pressed of all sides, thrust, struck, and pierced, say in their consciences how they do there, how they like: let them sound themselves, let them not flatter, nor pardon themselves any fault: let them behold themselves, in all their looks, if their hearts remain assured, firm, and without fear; if they keep their judgement; if they be neither transported with fury, nor rage; if all their steps be compassed according to the time, the occasion, and the place; if the eye do accompany the hand, the hand the foot, the understanding, and the courage, all three, without doubt they may be called Gentle companions. These be good testimonies, but yet a man may reject them, if they be not accompanied with other proofs. If the desire of Virtue only, and the consideration, of the service of the Prince, of the good of the Commonwealth, of the protection of the weak, or other very just causes, do lead them to these tragic feasts, they are worthy of Laurel. But if they have many times rendered such proofs, and that the end be altogether for the fair action, and neither ignorance, ambition, nor vanities, have part in the work; they must Crown them with palm, and consecrate statues unto them. Let not them that have not yet attained, the third step of this fair ladder, by which men do climb to immortality, be out of heart, and let them know, that the discourse of reason, meditation, and experience, will bring unto them with the time, if they will employ their understanding, and take pains therein, that which the first have acquired. Let others that shall have but some weak tract of this fair table, and simple moulds of so rare a building, reverence the first, honour the second, and endeavour to imitate them. or make their vows to some other Saint, that may be more favourable unto them. Also let not the first think that there be certain regular limits in doing well. Let them believe, that Virtue never waxeth old, to the end that their last act may answer to the former. Let not them that do second the Virtue of the most excellent, be ravished with joy, for that they have given some good testimony of their Valour; neither let them be rejected because they have not in perfection the ornaments of others. Let not the last despair in this rough road, because they know themselves a little hindered therein. So the most virtuous following their way, shall continue to the end, which Crowns the work; the others shall endeavour with the time to succeed them in fair actions as in will, and knowledge: And the last shall change their designs by despair, or their condition by their amendment.  
FINIS.