A Table of Humane Passions.  
With their Causes and Effects.  
Written by the Reverend Father in God F. N. Coeffeteau, Bishop of Dardania, Councillor to the French King in his Counsels of Estate, Suffragane and Administrator general of the Bishopric of Metz.  
Translated into English by Edw: Grimeston Sergeant at Arms.  
LONDON, Printed by Nicholas Okes. 1621.  
●●easure.  
Pain  
Hope.  
Fear.    

TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE, GEORGE, marquis of Buckingham, High Admiral of England, etc.  
MOST worthy to be most honoured Lord; All outward honours and accomplishments of height, already most abundantly & blessedly adorning you; I thrice humbly submit to your Lordship, (in as much as this little Volume may contain) as ample means to all inward addition and illustration: In teaching all Manly and Lordly government of those inward Passions and perturbations that are evermore excited by outward Pleasures, and all their storme-rockt soothe of security and licence. For no more doth the Sun and Wind; exhale and blow up pasttemper, Vapours and Tempests; then the graces, and amplifications of Kings; cause aestures & uproars of affection and Passion▪ Yet is there not any more sensible variety of medicine and cure, for all bodily wounds and maladies: then there are intelligible and reasonable repressions and settle of all the unquiet, and raging overflows of our Spirits and minds. Neither is there any so deadly danger laid open in the one, as abides hid in the other. For as that tempest is more dangerous that suffers not a ship to repair to her haven, then that which sustains not she should sail at all▪ So most difficult are the minds storms, that let a man to contain himself; nor suffer him▪ to quiet and settle his disturbed reason. And therefore all men floating on the high-going seas of Fortune, if destitute of Pilots, Cables, and Anchors; and moved only with tumultuous and unbounded errors, in uncertain and dangerous courses; may for a time perhaps in safety and pleasure enjoy, and extend them: But at length (as 'twere suddenly ravished by the necks) they are driven helplessly headlong on the more horrible shipwracks. Since than your Lordship's disposition to all goodness is in nature most sweet, most flexible; vouchsafe ear a little to artificial and experimenced advices, that may rectify, accomplish and establish you in all the heights of your honours. Wherein my humble and poor endeavours obtaining their desired ends; I shall hold myself happy, and rest in all serviceable devotion,  
Your Lordships evermore most submissively vowed▪ Ed: Grimeston.   

Of Humane Passions. The Preface.  
AS Provident Nature hath prescribed certain ends to all the Creatures of this Universe, whom She hath clothed with certain qualities and allurements fit to inflame them with their Love; So there is not any one in this world but doth endeavour by all means to attain unto those ends which are propounded. As the Sun having been placed in the firmament, to contribute to the birth and preservation of Beasts and Plants; runs continually from one Hemisphere to the other, to pour out the beams of his influence and light over all. So after his example, there is not any other cause in all this great World, but is careful to seek and pursue her end, according to the motions which Nature hath engrafted. But to make them capable, it was necessary that the same Nature which hath prescribed them their ends, should also give them as it were two wings to raise them up: That is to say, it was needful she should impart unto them the knowledge, and ingraf● in them the inclination and desire to pursue them. Desire alone were not sufficient, for that is fashioned in the Appetite; which is a blind power, and requires some light to guide and conduct it in its motions; Even as they say the Whale, which hath a weak and heavy sight, hath need of a guide to conduct it through the waves of the Sea, lest that this great and weighty mass which she draws after her, should strike against some rock and be crushed in pieces. Neither were knowledge alone sufficient, for that it proceeds from a faculty which being borne to give light, doth necessarily presuppose another power, which doth receive the beams of her light, and as we may say, suffers itself to be guided by that light. As for example, to cause the King (being incited by the glory of his Ancestors, or induced by the greatness of his courage) to undertake the sack of Constantinople, or to replant the Cross in Palestina; it were not sufficient that he knew where Constantinople stood, or in what part of the world Palestina were; but besides all this it were needful, that with this knowledge the heat and ardour to carry him to so glorious a Conquest should breed a desire. As in old time to thrust on Alexander to undertake the voyage of Persia, or of the Indies, it was not only requisite this Prince should have some knowledge of that st●tely Empire and of those rich Provinces; But it was also necessary his generosity should beget in him a passion and will to conquer them. So as no man embraceth any design whatsoever, until that knowledge be united with desire, and desire joined unto knowledge. In this manner then if things knew their ends and did not desire them, or if they desired them without the knowledge, they could not be drawn to endeavour to get them: For as much as through the want of those helps, they should be in danger to labour in vain, and to lose all the pains of their pursuites. So as to effect it they had need of knowledge and desire. The proofs hereof are seen in all the Creatures which make a part of this Universal world. For leaving apart the Angels of heaven, whose actions show sufficiently that their substance is endued with an understanding full of knowledge, and a will capable to frame diverse desires; if we will fix our eyes upon visible nature, we shall find that there is not any Creature, not only among those that have life, but even among those that have no souls, in the motions and course of whose actions this truth doth not appear and demonstrate itself plainly. It is true, that in things which are insensible and without life, it is not necessary that the knowledge of their ends should remain in themselves, as the desires and inclinations to attain unto them do reside; but it sufficeth that they be guided and conducted by a cause conjoined to their actions. And to return to our last example, as it was necessary (to draw Alexander to undertake the voyage of Asia and the Indies) he should have knowledge of the Provinces, yet he might borrow this knowledge from those which had seen them, and observed them▪ even as blind men, who led by their guides go where their affairs do call them; even so, although that natural things which of themselves are not endued with any knowledge, besides the inclination which they have unto their end, have yet some need to know it, to the end they may affect it and seek it; yet having a desire▪ it imports not whether the knowledge be precisely in themselves, or that some other cause supplies this defect, and insinuates itself into this action to guide it. The reason whereof is, that although they be deprived of knowledge, yet it hinders not the force of their motions; for that they are united to that great intelligence which knoweth all things, and cannot err in her knowledge, but guides all the natural causes to their ends by her wise providence. But these things have always need of knowledge and desire, to put them into action, although that in regard of knowledge it is not absolutely necessary it reside in them, but it sufficeth that it be imparted unto them by the influence and assistance of a more eminent cause. As for those which have life, it may be plainly observed in the course of their lives. But we must remember that the soul being the form of living things, and natural forms having this in particular, that the more Noble contains the perfection of that which is less Noble, as a quadrangle comprehends with a certain eminency, all that enters into the composition of a Triangle; and as the forms of beasts contain the forms of the Elements; It follows that there being three degrees of Souls; that is to say, that which gives life, which is the less perfect; that which gives sense; which is the second rank, and the Reasonable which is the noblest of all; this Reasonable soul which is peculiar only to Man, contains all the powers and perfections of the other, and can effect as much as all the rest together. By reason whereof man hath a Vegetative soul, which is common with plants; he hath the sensitive, which he hath common with bruit hests; But he alone is in possession of the Reasonable soul, whereby he hath nothing common with the rest of the Creatures. After this, either of these souls hath a number of powers befitting the operations which must arise. The powers of the Vegetative soul are principally those which nourish, which contribute to the growing and increase, and which serve to Generation: And those have other powers for instruments to their actions, as the power to draw, the power to retain, the power to expel the excrements, the power to digest the nourishment, and others which Philosophers assign unto them.  
Moreover, there is a power which is as it were the Queen of all the rest, to whose command and conduct they refer all their actions: And that is the power of the natural Appetite, the which (as we have said) is one of those two things necessary to accomplish the actions of Nature. According unto these Laws we see that the power we call Attractive, draws the nourishment unto her, for that the Natural Appetite doth press and command her; and in like manner the power which they call Expulsive, doth cast forth and expel those things which the same Natural Appetite doth abhor; and so of the other Powers which are ordained to divers ends. But for that the Appetite which is blind and void of all Knowledge, is not sufficient in Vegetative things to exercise their action, but withal it is requisite that they be accompanied with Knowledge; it therefore happens that the Vegetative soul being not so Noble that among all her powers, there is not any one endued with Knowledge: the universal Nature which provides for all, supplies this defect, and conducts by her Light the inclination of Vegetative substances to their ends, and by the same means guides all the other powers which follow her motions in their actions. So as Nature knowing the substance fitting and proper for the Nourishment, shows it and instructs the Natural Appetite, and ordains that it shallbe drawn and digested, and converted into Nourishment for the preservation of the Vegetable Individue; and the like may be said of the other actions; wherein doubtless livings things differ not much from those that have no life, And we must not object that Plants seem to be endued with Knowledge, for that they can distinguish a Iuic● which is proper for them, from that which is pernicious, the which seems to be a mark of Knowledge; for although there were Pilosophers which did attribute unto Plants a feeling of things, which they said was less pure and less active than that of Creat●●es: Yet it is most certain that the Nature of the Vegetative soul is too earthly, to be fit for the functions of the Senses, which require oth●● Organs than those of the Plants. And therefore although they draw unto them good juice, and reject the bad, it proceeds not from any Knowledge wherewith they are endued, but from their Natural virtues▪ and properties, guided by that Sovereign Intelligence which disperseth her care over all the Creatures how base and abject soever: And it is also by her motion that the same Plants fly their Contraries, as the Vine shuns the Bay tree; and that they show such grace & beauty in their works, as we see in the Spring time; So as all these things bind us not to believe▪ that they are endued with Knowledge.  
But let us return to our discourse, and (leaving the Vegetative soul) ascend a degree higher, and come to the Sensitive. This as the more Noble hath in herself the possession of Knowledge and hath no need to borrow it, like unto the Vegetative soul, 〈◊〉 things without Life. Moreover she hath three kinds of Powers, that is to say, the faculty to know, the faculty to desire and the moving power. B● the moving power, I vnder●stand that which executes the motion, from one place to another, as it is commanded and ordained by the faculty where the Desire is framed, after that it is enlightened and guided by Knowledge.  
The Knowing powers are of two sorts, that is to say, the Exterior and the Interior. The Exterior are the five senses of Nature, as Seeing, Hearing, Smelling, Tasting, & Touching; the which as messenger's 〈◊〉 to the Interior pours endued with Knowledge, whatsoe●er we can comprehend and desire. These Exterior powers 〈◊〉 the senses answers in some ●●rt to the bodies of the Vni●erse, whereof they comprehend 〈◊〉 Colours, the Sounds, the smells, the Savours, the Cold, ●●e Heat, and the other natural qualities wherewith they are clothed. The Interior powers capable of Knowledge are three, whereof the first is the Common sense, the which is called by that name, for that it is as it were the Centre, to which do flow the forms which are sent unto it from the other senses: So as from the Eyes it receives the forms of Colours which they have seen: From the Hearing the forms of Sounds which have touched the Ear; from Smelling the forms of Savours which it hath scented; from the Tongue, the form of Sweetness or Bitterness which it hath tasted; and from the body the form's o● those things which fall under the sense of Touching. And 〈◊〉 not o●ely receives▪ the forme● which the other senses send vn●to it, but it also Compares them, Discerns them, and judgeth of them; the which the particular senses cannot do, for that they are limited and tied to their particular objects, and never exceed the bounds thereof.  
For the Eyes are only employed to judge of the difference of Colours, as betwixt White and Black, and never seek to ●eddle with that which concerns the Sound, Smelling, or the other Qualities which have nothing common with Colours. The Common sense than is necessary to judge thus generally of all the objects of the other Senses, that by means thereof the Creature may distinguish that which is healthful from that is hurtful.  
But to the end the Knowledge, which this sense doth gather from the Objects▪ whose forms are presented unto it by the Exterior senses, be not lost by their absence, it sends all it hath gathered Compared and Distinguished, to another Power merely Knowing, which is called the Imaginative; as that wherein are graven the forms of things which are offered unto it by the Common sense, to the end the Knowledge may remain after they are vanished away. Besides this Imaginative, there is another power proper to preserve things, which is the memory, the which although it be not directly ordained to judge but rather to serve as a Storehouse and Treasury to shut up, and to preserve the forms of things which are imprinted in her; yet for that she doth continually represent unto the Common sense the forms which are consigned unto her, she may well be said also to help to Knowledge. These than are the three Interior powers capable of Knowledge, to the which although that some add others, yet I will hold with their opinion who not willing to multiply the powers without necessity, reject them as superfluous, seeing the Imaginative power sufficeth to do all the offices which are attributed unto them. There are then in the Sensitive soul eight knowing faculties, five external, and three Internal as we have showed.  
As for the Appetitive powers where the desires are form, there are but two, that is to say, the Concupiscible or desiring power, and the Irascible or Angry power: The one of which without the other sufficeth not for the health of the Creatures. For if the Lion had no other inclination, nor any other spur of desire then to run after meat fit for his nourishment, doubtless the least difficulty and obstacle he should encounter, would hinder the pursuit of his prey; for that he should be without any desire to surmount this difficulty, and so he should not be able to preserve his life for want of nourishment.  
In like manner men would be daunted for the least crosses they should find in the pursuit of any good thing, or in the avoiding of evil; and although the danger were not great nor urgent, yet would they not dare to oppose themselves and encounter it: And so they would yield to these difficulties, and not pursue the objects of their desires, how great soever their inclination were to seek them. Wherefore provident Nature to prevent this inconvenience, besides the other powers, hath given unto the Sensitive soul two Appetites, that is to say, the Concupiscible and the Irascible; whereof this last, when as any difficulty ariseth and opposeth itself to the desire of the Concupiscible, comes presently to succour it; and inflaming the blood, excites Choler, Hope, Courage, or some other like Passion destinated and ordained to make him surmount the difficulties which cross the contentment of the Soul. For that which concerns the powers of the Sensitive soul, there remains none but the faculty moving from one place to another, which is dispersed and resides in the sinews, Muscles and Ligaments, and which is dispersed over all the members of the Creature. This Power being commanded by the Appetite, doth presently exercise his office, serving for an instrument to that part of the blood which for the great subtlety and pureness thereof hath gotten the name of Spirit.  
To come now to the Reasonable soul, it hath two principal Powers, the one endued with Knowledge, which is the understanding; and the other capable of Desire, which is the Will; the which being blind as all the Appetites are naturally, she followeth in the pursuit of her objects, the light of the understanding, by reason whereof she is termed the Intellectual Appetite, but more properly the Will. The office of our understanding, particularly of that which we call possible, is to receive, and in receiving to know, and in knowing to offer unto the will those kinds or forms, which are sent unto it from the Imagination. It is true, that being a more Noble power then the Sensitive, it cannot receive those Images and forms, so material, gross and sensible, as they are of themselves in their particular being, for that they are not proportionable to the purity and excellency of her condition. By reason whereof the Philosophers have placed in our souls another power wonderfully Noble, whose office is to purge and to cloth as it were with a new Lustre, all the Images or forms which are found in the Imagination or fantasy; and by the means of this Light, to cause those forms which were Material, Sensible, and Singular, to become so purified from these earthly conditions as they seem Universal, and so well proportioned to the pureness of our understanding, as they easily receive the impression. Thus than the powers of all the three Souls concur in man in regard of the Rational, the which as more Noble than the Sensitive or Vegetative, comprehends all their powers, and withal adds many things to their perfection. In the mean time, we must consider that man hath no kind of command, neither over the powers of the Vegetative soul, whose actions are merely natural; nor over those of the Sensitive soul, which are destinated to Knowledge, as the Interior and Exterior senses; unless it be by accident, when as by a resolution of his will; he denies these powers the means which are necessary to put them in action; but he may well have power over those of the Sensitive Appetite, which are proper to obey the discourse of reason, and the command of the Will, as over the Irascible and Concupiscible.  
To the end than that amidst the bond of the Intellectual powers with the Sensitive; and the communication, and correspondency which is betwixt them for the exercise of their functions, we may the better see how the less Noble, obey and serve the more Noble, and execute their offices, we must here represent the form. As soon as the Exterior senses, busied about the Objects which are proper for them, have gathered the forms of things which come from without, they carry them to the common sense, the which receives them, judgeth of them, and distinguisheth them; and then to preserve them in the absence of their objects, presents them to the Imagination, which having gathered them together, to the end she may represent them whensoever need shall require, she delivers them to th● custody of the Memory; from whence retiring them when occasion requires, she propounds them unto the Appetite, under the appearance of things that are pleasing or troublesome, that is to say, under the form of Good and Evil; and at the same instant the same forms enlightened with the Light of the understanding, and purged from the sensible and singular conditions, which they retain in the Imagination, and instead of that which they represented of particular things, representing them general; they become capable to be embraced by the understanding; the which under the appearance of things which are profitable or hurtful, that is to say, under the form of Good and Evil, represents them unto the Will: the which▪ being blind refers itself to that which the understanding proposeth unto it: And then as Queen of the powers of the soul she ordains what they shall embrace, & what they shall fly as it pleaseth her▪ whereunto the Sensitive Appetite yielding a prompt obedience to execute her command from the which it never strays, so long as it contains itself within the bounds and order prescribed by Nature, quickeneth all the powers and passions over which she commands, and sets to work those which are necessary to that action, and by their means commands the moving power; dispersed over all the members, to follow or fly, to approach or to recoil, or to do any other motion which it requireth. And she obeying suddenly if she be not hindered, moves, the whole body with the Organs which reside in the parts, and induceth them to fly or embrace things according to the command which she hath received.  
After this manner Man proceeds in his free operations, if he will observe the order which he ought. The which I say, for that oftentimes ●ee overthrows and perverts this order, either by bad education, or by custom, or the organs being unsound, or for that his will hath bad inclination; so as reason cannot enjoy her power, & subject the Sensual Appetite unto her; but chose he abandons himself in prey unto this disordered Appetite, and suffers himself to be transported by his furious motions. So as suddenly when as fantasy offers to the Appetite, the forms which she receives from the Senses, under the show of Good or Evil; he without stay to have them judged by the discourse of understanding, and chosen by the will, comm●nds of himself the moving power, & makes it to act according to his pleasure. And herein consists the disorder which the passions cause in the life of man, which divert him many times from the laws of Reason. But we have spoken enough hereof, let us now enter into the subject, and begin by the definition of passions to know their Nature and Essence.   

To his long-loved and worthy friend, Mr. Edward Grimeston▪ Sergeant at Arms; of his unwearied and honoured labours.  
Such is the unequal, and inhuman vice  
Of these vile Times, that each man sets his price  
On others Labours; And the laziest Drone  
That never drop of honey, of his own  
Brought to the public Hive, distastes all ours  
And (in the world's wit) feeds far worthier Powers.  
'tis Noble to be idle; Base to be  
Of any Art, Good Mind, or Industry.  
Another sort of dull Opinionists,  
Consume their stupid lives in learned mists;  
Yet would be seen (poor souls) beyond the Sun;  
But that like Dolon, in the dark they run,  
Other Explorers fearing. And these men  
Like Cheaters, foist in false dice to their Den,  
To win men's thoughts of th'only truly learnt,  
And feed on that conceit, before 'tis earned.  
To strengthen which, their Marke●s are the Marts  
Where sounds and Names of Artsmen, & all Arts  
They stuff their windy memories withal;  
And then when ere their Creditors shall call  
They pay them, with these Tokens, all they owe;  
Then, Honest men they are, than all things know.  
When all employed in private conference;  
They count all rude that are of open brains  
Fear to be fools in print, though in their Cells  
(In Learned men's vizards) they are little else.  
They that for fear of being called fools, hide,  
Like hid men more they stir the more are spied,  
Whose learnings are as ignorantly applied,  
As those illiterate Peripaticke souls,  
That all their lives, do nought but measure Paul's;  
Yet never know how short or long it i●,  
More than their lives, or all their idle bliss.  
In short, All men that least deservings have,  
Men of most merit ever most deprave.  
How ever (friend) 'tis in us must assure  
Our outward Acts; and sign their pass secure.  
Nor fear to find your Noble pains impeached,  
But write as long as Fox, or Nowell preached▪  
For when all wizards have their bolts let fly,  
There's no such proof of worth, as Industry.  E merito solers Industria reddat honorem. 
George Chapman.   

A Table of the Chapters contained in this Treaty Of Humane Passions.  
CHAP. 1. What Passion is. 
fol. 1.  CHAP. 2. Of the number of Passions. 
fol. 29.  CHAP. 3. Of the quality of Passions, and whethey they be good or bad. 
fol. 51.  Of Love, the Preface. 
fol. 78.  CHAP. 1. Of the beginning of Love.. 
fol. 83.  CHAP. 2. Wherein the Essence of Love consists. 
fol. 103.  CHAP. 3. Of the persons to whom Love extends. 
fol. 121.  CHAP. 4. Of the Effects of Love.. 
fol. 152.  CHAP. 5. Of jealousy, whether it be an effect and sign of Love.. 
fol. 175.  CHAP. 1. Of Hatred and Enmity. 
fol. 184.  CHAP. 1. Of Desire and Cupidity, and of the flight and horror we have of things. 
fol▪ 216.  CHAP. 1. Of Pleasure and Delight. 
fol. 244.  CHAP. 1. Of the Effects of Pleasure. 
fol. 297.  CHAP. 1. Of Grief and Heaviness. 
fol. 317.  CHAP. 2. Of Mercy and Indignation. 
fol. 354.  CHAP. 3. Of Indignation. 
fol. 375.  CHAP. 4. Of Envy and Emulation. 
fol. 389.  CHAP. 1. Of Hardiness and Courage. 
fol. 411.  CHAP. 1. Of Fear or Dread. 
fol. 428.  CHAP. 1. Of Shame. 
fol. 473.  CHAP. 2. Of the Effects of Shame. 
494.  CHAP. 1. Of Hope and Despair. 
fol. 507.  CHAP. 1. Of Choler. 
fol. 547.  CHAP. 2. Of those against whom we are angry. 
fol. 575.  CHAP. 3. Of the Effects and remedies of Choler. 
fol. 598.  CHAP. 1. Of Mildness and Gentleness. 
fol. 633.  CHAP. 1. Of the diverse Passions of men according to their ages and conditions. 
fol. 654.    

A Table of Human Passions.  

CHAPTER 1. Wherein is expounded what Passion is.  
SEeing there can be no better order observed, to express the nature of things, then to begin by the definitions, which have usually given us a full light of their essence, we must enter into this treaty of passions, by the definition which Philosophers give. That which is called passion, say they, is no other thing, but a motion of the sensitive appetite, caused by the apprehension or imagination of good or evil, the which is followed with a change or alteration in the body, contrary to the Laws of Nature. Whereby it appears, that passions, to speak properly, reside only in the sensitive appetite, and that they are not fashioned but in the irrational part of the soul: so as if we should give the name of passions to the motions of the understanding, or of the will; it is by a kind of improper and figurative speech, alluding to the passions of the senses, with the which they have some resemblance. The reason why passions are not found in the rational part of the soul, is, for that this part doth not employ any corporeal organs in her actions, and that her office is not to alter or bring any change unto the body; the which notwithstanding, is an action which doth accompany the passions inseparably. But seeing they are not to be found in any other part of the soul, but in the sensitive appetite: there riseth here a great question, whether this appetite shallbe divided into the irascible & concupiscible or desiring power, as into two different and distinct powers, or whether it makes but one power of both. The common opinion is, that as their objects are diverse, so they are two distinct powers: whereof the reason is gathered, by that which experience doth show us in all other things subject to corruption; for we see in other corruptible creatures, that they have not only an inclination and power to seek after those things which are fit and convenient for them, and to fly those which may hurt or annoy them; but moreover, they have another faculty or power, to resist and fight against that which may cross their actions, or destroy their being. As for example, fire is not only endued with lightness, to fly up high, but it hath also received heat from nature, by means whereof, it doth resist and fight against any thing that is contrary to his action. In like manner it was necessary for the good of man, that he should have two kinds of inclinations, the one to pursue those things which are pleasing & agreeable to the senses, and to avoid those which may any way annoy him: and this we call the concupiscible or desiring power; and the other, by means whereof hee may encounter and vanquish whatsoever opposeth itself, crosseth his inclinations, or that tends to the destruction of his being, or the decay of his contentment, which is that we call the irascible or angry power. This differs from the concupiscible, for that the concupiscible tends to the sensible good, absolútely considered, and without any crosses; whereas the irascible doth always aim at the good which is environed with some difficulty, the which she strives to vanquish to the end she may take all obstacles from the concupiscible power, which cross her content, and hinder her from enjoying the good which she desires to attain unto: so as the irascible is as a sword and target to the concupiscible, for that she combats for her content, and resists any thing that may cross her.  
There are many things prove, that they are two different and distinct powers: For as Mathematicians having noted diverse apparent irregularities in the Planets, and observed, that they seem sometimes to hasten their course, and sometimes to slack it; sometimes they stand as it were fixed, and sometimes to return back in the Zodiaque; sometimes they seem near to the earth, & sometimes they appear far off; they have held it necessary to multiply their heavens, and to give them many to avoid all disorder in these excellent bodies of the Universe. In like manner the diversity of passions in man, the contrary motions & desires, wherewith his soul is tossed, have let philosophers understand, that there is in him not only a concupiscible power, but also an irascible: for that many times we have a desire of that which we strive against, and resist with vehemency; and if we suffer ourselves to be vanquished, we are grieved; as he who desiring to see the bodies of such as had been executed, suppressed this desire, and diverted his eyes from this infamous spectacle, yet suffering himself to be vanquished by his curiosity, and having cast his eyes thereon, witnessed his grief and sorrow which remained, to have given so brutish a contentment to his eyes. Whereby it appears, that desire and anger are two divers faculties, seeing that one power is not carried at one instant to contrary desires. And we find in ourselves, that often times we are inclined to angry passions, & are not much moved with those of the concupiscible, or to the contrary. In like manner there are creatures which have desires, but no motions of choler: as for example, Sheep, Pigeons, and Turtles, make show to have impressions of desires, and yet there appeareth in them no sign of anger. So as to observe their dispositions well, we may call in question that which Aristotle saith, that there is no creature but hath some touch of choler: finally we may observe, that sometimes the irascible makes us to pursue things which are absolutely contrary to the concupiscible, as when with the hazard of life (which is so dear and precious to all creatures) we seek to revenge ourselves of a powerful enemy which hath wronged us. For this revenge which puts our life in danger, cannot proceed from the same power which desires passionately to preserve it: and so the irascible and concupiscible, are two different powers. And there is no part of passion properly taken, but in these two sensitive faculties, which is one of the things we gather from the definition we have given.  
It appears also by the same definition, that the passions of our soul should always be followed with a sensible alteration in the body, by the impression of the sensitive appetite, touched with the imagination of good or evil, which presents itself. And here first we must not wonder if the ●oule doth impart her motions, and causeth such great alteration in the body, seeing that the body doth impart his pains, when as it suffers any violence. For if it be laid on the rack, broken on a wheel, or cast into the fire, the soul groans under the burden of his torments: the which happens, for that being united as form and matter, and making but one body which grows from their union; of necessity all things must be common unto them, except those things which repugn, and cannot agree with their particular natures; and therefore by a certain contagion they communicate their passions one unto another. But in this subject there is a stronger reason for the which the soul excites these alterations in the body by her passions, that is to say, for that the soul doth not only reside in the body as the form, but doth preside there in quality of the moving cause, by means whereof, she doth change and alter it at her will. For as the intellectual power, which moves a heaven, applying her virtue to move it, makes it to change place, and draws it from East to West, or from West to East, even so the soul which hath a moving power commanding over the body, changeth his natural disposition, and by her agitation pulls him from his rest, wherein he was before she troubled him; in this manner.  
Moreover, we must not wonder if the sensitive appetite in particular, make so great an impression in the body. This proceeds from the sympathy which is found in those powers, which are governed by the same soul which employs them: so as the sensitive appetite, coming to play her part, she doth stir up the moving faculty of the heart, the which dilates itself, or shrinks up, according to the nature of the objects which have made impression upon the sensitive appetite, whence grow all the alterations which are made in the body of man. And here we must remember, that nature hath fashioned the heart in such sort, as it is in perpetual motion, according unto which it sometimes extends itself, and sometime retires of itself, with a certain measure and proportion; the which continuing within the bounds which nature hath prescribed it, as conformable unto the condition of the creature, this motion is wholly natural: but if it once come to break this law, and show itself more violent, or more slow, than the nature of the creature requires, the natural harmony is broken, and there follows a great alteration in the body of the creature.  
Of all the powers of the soul, those of the sensitive appetite only cause the alteration of this motion, whose actions alone may make it more violent, or more slow, than the laws of nature do allow. And hence it comes, that none but the actions of the sensitive appetite are made with a visible change of the body, and with a sensible alteration of the natural constitution. Yet as in this change the heart receives an alteration, so the spirits, the blood, and other humours, are agitated and moved beyond ordinary, the which doth wholly trouble the natural constitution of the creature. The which happens after this manner: The objects of the senses strike first upon the imagination, and then this power having taken knowledge of them, conceives them as good or bad, as pleasing or troublesome, and importune: then afterwards propounds them as clothed with those qualities to the creature, which apprehending them under this last consideration excites the concupiscible, or irascible power of the soul, and induceth them to embrace or fly them, and by the impression of its motion, agitates the spirits which we call Vital, the which going from the heart, disperse themselves throughout the whole body, and at the same instant the blood which derives from the liver, participating in this agitation, flows throughout the veins, and casts itself over all the other parts of the body: So as the heart and liver being thus troubled in their natural dispositions, the whole body f●eles itself moved, not only inwardly, but also outwardly, according to the nature of that passion which doth trouble it. For in motions of joy and desire, the heart melts with gladness. In those of sorrow and trouble, it shrinks up and freezeth with grief. In those of choler and resolution, it is inflamed and all on fire. In those of fear, it grows pale and trembling. A Lover's words are sweet and pleasing, and those of a choleric man are sharp and rough: Finally, there riseth no passion in the soul, which leaveth not some visible trace of her agitation, upon the body of man.  
Lastly, we may gather from the definition of passion that this alteration which happeneth in the body, is contrary to the laws of nature, for that (as we have said) it transports the heart beyond the bounds, which nature hath prescribed it, and doth agitate it extraordinarily.  
Hence it grows, that among all the motions of the sensitive appetite, those only are properly called passions, which are accompanied with some notable defect. For as we call passions of the body diseases, wounds, pains, inflammations, incisions, and all other violent accidents which happen extraordinarily: So we properly call passions of the soul, those infirmities wherewith she is afflicted and troubled; as pity, fear, bashfulness, or shame, love, hatred, desires, Choler, and the rest.  
For, in this subject the word Passion, is not taken in that sense, whereas we say that a subject suffers, when as it receives some new form, be it that at the coming of this form, it lose any thing of its own or not, as when the air is enlightened with the Sun beams, without losing any thing of her first constitution: nor in that sense, wherein we say, that a subject suffers, when as it receives a new quality which doth expel another, whether it be concurrent to its nature, or contrary unto it, as when water grows cold, or is made hot.  
But the word Passion is taken here for a change, which is made in man, contrary to his natural constitution and disposition, from the which he is as it were wrested by this change. In which sense the Philosophers say, that things suffer, when as they are drawn from their natural disposition, to a course that is contrary to their nature.  
In the mean time you must not wonder, if we ground the irregularity of the change, which these passions breed, upon the disorder which the sensitive appetite (stirred up by the sensible objects) casts into the heart, being a thing which we must constantly believe, that this power of the soul, be it the irascible or concupiscible, hath its se at and mansion in the heart: The which cannot be denied in the subject of fear, for that such as are transported therewith, call back the blood and heat unto the heart, as to the place where fear doth exercise her tyranny, therewith to defend themselves: considering also that those creatures which have the greatest and largest hearts, are most fearful, for that their heat is more dispersed, and consequently less able to resist the assaults of fear. Some have not believed, that it was so of other passions, but have appointed than their seats elsewhere, and have maintained, that some did reside in the liver, others in the spleen, and some in the gall; & as for anger, they have lodged it in the gall, whereas choler resides, which doth inflame it. But they have given love his quarter in the liver, for that the sanguine complexion is inclined to love: & for joy, they have seated it in the Spleen, for that melancholy proceeds from the distemperature of this part. But notwithstanding this, it is most certain, that both the powers of the sensitive appetite, I mean the Irascible, and Concupiscible, reside in the heart; the which being the fountain of life, & of all vital operations, must also be a lodge & retreat to those appetites which nature hath gigiven the creature to preserve his life, & to chase away those perils which may threaten it. Whereby we see, that the passions of desire or anger, are felt presently in the heart, & trouble the natural constitution as soon as they rise; whereby followeth a strange alteration throughout the whole body, for the springs cannot be troubled but the streams will feel of it. And therefore the passions being too vehement, and making a violent impression upon the hart, they cause strange accidents in man. As for example, a furious anger drawing the heat violently from the heart, to those parts which are most remote from the Centre of life, and by the same means inflaming choler, which by her natural lightness mounts up to the brain, may deprive man of the use of reason, & make him furious and mad.  
In like manner an extraordinary fear, drawing the spirits and heat forcibly to the heart, whereas she means to fortify herself against her enemy, may quench the natural heat, and suffocate the man: shame may do the like, whereof we have prodigious examples in histories, which testify, that great personages have died with shame and grief, for that they could not find the knot, or expound certain riddles or difficult questions, which had been propounded unto them: yea, they say, that great ornament and Gem of Philosophy Aristotle, died with grief, for that he could not find the cause of the flowing and ebbing of Eurypus. Whereby it appears, that the heart which is thus oppressed by Passions, when they are violent, is the seat of both the powers of the sensitive appetite, that is to say, of the Irascible, and Concupiscible. And whereas they object to the contrary, that Choler resides in the Gall, inferring thereby that the Irascible power should reside there also: It is easily answered, for that the Choler which remains in the Gall, is not the reason for the which Anger is inflamed, but for that it is a hot and dry humour, the which are fit qualities to produce that effect. The like may be said of Love, and that the abundance of blood doth not make men more inclined to the Passions of love, for that the Concupiscible power resides in the liver, which is the place where the blood takes his form; but for that they which are of a sanguine complexion, have a hot and moist temperature▪ which is proper to that passion. And as for joy we cannot conclude that it resides in the Spleen, for that it being infirm, many are oppressed with melancholy; for the reason why melancholy doth torment them which are troubled with the Spleen, is not for that joy resides there, but for that adust choler prevailing, causeth a troublesome and importune heaviness.  
Yet we will not so restrain these two powers, within the bounds and extent of the heart, but we will confess, that although they have their chief residence there, yet they disperse themselves through the whole creature; whereof we have good proof in Lizards, which being cut in pieces, feel pain in all the parts where they are offended. For the last of our observations upon the subject of passions, it remains to show, whether of the concupiscible and irascible powers, be the more noble and excellent: some give the pre-eminence to the concupiscible, for that it is destined to serve the soul, and to make it enjoy the objects of her passions. The which made Aristotle to say, that beasts put themselves into choler, and fight for their desires. But this reason doth nothing abase the Irascible power, but chose it shows how much it is more excellent than the Concupiscible.  
For as those soldiers are most valiant which maintain the shock of a battle, and defend the weaker; even so by consequence, the Irascible power must have more generosity than the concupiscible, seeing she is ordained by nature for her defence. And as the noblest virtues, are form in the most excellent powers, so we see that force or valour, which resides in the Irascible, is a more worthy and more commendable virtue than temperance which hath her seat in the Concupiscible. We find also that it is more shameful not to bridle the motions of the Concupiscible, than those of the Irascible, for that these are less offensive to reason. In regard whereof we blame them more which abandon themselves to pleasure and voluptuousness, than those which are subject to motions of choler.   

Of the Number of Passions. CHAP. 2.  
AS they that have treated of the Nature of the Winds have written diversely, some setting four, others eight, some eleven, and some two and thirty, to the which they assign diverse points in the horizon: So the Philosophers which discourse of the Passions of the Soul, agree not of the number, some naming more, some less. Yea there was an Ancient affirmed, that as there are many Passions, whereof we know the names, so there are an infinite number which we know not.  
Wherefore he compared man to one of the monsters of antiquity, which they represent unto us, composed of the members, and forms of diverse creatures: for that his Cupidities and Passions are so prodigious, and so many in number, as they are able to amaze any one, that shall judiciously consider of the multitude and diversity.  
First of all, there were some which have believed, that as there were four chief winds which excite diverse storms, be it at land or sea; so there are four principal Passions which trouble our Souls, and which stir up diverse tempests by their irregular motions, that is to say Pleasure, Paine, Hope, & Fear: and in truth these four have as it were the Empiry over all the rest, which propound themselves as the objects of their motions; for whatsoever men do, either they fear or desire, or afflict themselves, or are contented; which be the effects of these Passions. Others will have only two, that is to say, Pleasure and Pain; and some assign but one, and that is Love, to the which they refer all the rest as to their centre and root. Others have multiplied them, and have made twelve, and some eleven. Amidst this diversity of opinions, that is the triest which is received at this day, and embraced by all those that make an exact profession of Philosophy: that is to say, that there are eleven primitive and general Passions, whereof all the rest are but as it were buds and branches. These general Passions are, Love, Hatred, Desire, Flight, Pleasure, Paine, Fear, Courage, Hope, Despair and Choler. And thus the Philosophers find out the number. Of Passions, say they, some regard the good or evil absolutely and simply considered. And these belong to the Concupiscible power. Others regard the good or evil accompanied with some difficulty, and they appertain unto the irascible: those of the Concupiscible power, are six in number, whereof three have for their objects the good, that is to say, Love, Desire, and Pleasure; and the other three have for their object the evil, that is to say, Hatred, Flight, and Pain: for presently that the object which hath the form of good, offers itself unto the Concupiscible power, she presently feels herself surprised, and Love is framed. If this object be present, she receives Pleasure and Delight: if it be absent, she is touched with a Desire to enjoy it. And in like manner as soon as the object presents itself unto the self same power, under the show of evil, it doth presently stir up a hatred contrary to love: and if during this horror it be absent, than Flight or Aversion, contrary to desire discovers itself: but if it be present, she than conceives grief. In this manner we find out the number of the passions which reside in the concupiscible power: those of the irascible are but five, as fear, courage, hope, despair, and choler: for if the object which hath some show of good, presents itself being accompanied with difficulty, and that man conceives with himself that notwithstanding all that, it is in his power to obtain it, than hope is framed; but if there be no likelihood, despair pulls him back and diverts him. And touching that which regards the good we enjoy, there is no passion in the irascible that concerns it, seeing that which is in our power is not accompanied with any difficulty, neither is it needful the irascible should move or work for this subject. But if the evil which presents itself, be full of horror and difficulty, it must either be present or absent; if it be absent, it excites courage or fear; Courage, if we strive to surmount it; and fear, if we apprehend it as too doubtful. If it be present, it inflames choler which carries us to revenge, to repel the injury that is done us. And thus we find out the number of the Passions of the irascible power, the which with the six of the Concupiscible, make eleven in a●l. But we must remember, that notwithstanding this determined number, yet we find as it were a swarm of others, which notwithstanding take their beginning, and spring from these, as we have observed. In this number the Philosophers put Bitterness, Envy, Emulation, Shamefastness, Impudence, Mercy, Humanity, and a thousand others which were too long to relate. But for that there are some, without the knowledge whereof this treaty were imperfect, we will speak of them according the exigence of the subject, when occasion shallbe offered: here it shall suffice to observe, that as the general Passions, regard their objects without any restriction, but that of good or evil, which presents itself; so the more particular Passions, contained under these general, regard the same objects limited to some special condition: as for example, Desire taken absolutely is a general Passion, which regards the object of good, without any other limitation then under the appearance of good: but if we come to prescribe bounds to this good, and that we consider it under the form of some particular good, be it of Honour, of Riches, of Beauty, or of any other thing; the desire must also be limited, and then it shall be a desire of honour, which is called ambition; or a desire of riches, which we call covetousness, or a desire of beauty, the which attributes unto itself, the name of the gender, and is called love. And the like may be said of the other limitations of this object: so as these Passion of Love, Riches, and Honour, are more particular Passions than the desire, which is as it were their gender and spring. So grief taken absolutely is a Passion, which regards the object of evil in its general extent, without any other limitation then that of evil. By reason whereof if this object come to be restrained by us to some special condition, as to the misery or prosperity of another man, or to our own infamy; then this grief shall also be limited and restrained, and shall become a grief for another man's misfortunes, and then it shallbe a compassion; or it shall be a grief for another man's prosperity, and then it shall bee called an indignation or an envy and despite: or else it will become a grief for our own infamy, and then it is a shame, and so of the rest. These Passions may be infinite under the diverse limitations of objects which are infinite, and therefore they can hardly be ranked under a cert●ine science: neither have they particular names, but borrow them from the limitation which the object gives them; yet there are some which have their proper names, as Envy, jealousy, Compassion, Shame: but the rest many times carry the name of their Genders.  
In the mean time a question is here propounded, whence it comes that considering the object of the Concupiscible appetite, which contains the good and evil simply taken, that is to say, without show of any difficulty added unto it; we have put joy as a Passion, which ariseth from the presence and enjoying of the good, and grief as a Passion which grows from the present evil which cannot be avoided; and yet considering the object of the Irascible power, which comprehends the good which cannot be obtained but with difficulty, and the evil which cannot be avoided but with pain, we have not set any Passion that riseth from the enjoying of that good, or from the presence of that evil which cannot be eschewed. Whereunto we answer, that this difficulty were allowable, if these two appetits had their actions separated one from another; but they are always united, and march jointly to the pursuit and enjoying of good, and to the flight and avoiding of evil. So as the Irascible appetite never stirs but jointly with the Concupiscible, for that it is ordained to succour and assist it, whensoever there appears any difficulty in the object which he is to pursue or avoid. In regard whereof, notwithstanding any difficulty that may be encountered in the fight or pursuit of this object, yet when it is obtained or avoided, all the pain or difficulty which did environ it, vanisheth away, and is dispersed. It is not therefore necessary to ascribe any other Passions, which grow from the enjoying or flight of this object, than the same which arise from the enjoying or flight; when as there is no apparent difficulty which doth cross the possession or make the avoiding difficult: and to the end we may the better know what order these two appetites observe in the execution of their offices, we may thus represent their motions, and the order of the Passions which are framed in the one, and the other. As soon as any object presents itself unto the sensible power, under the form of an apparent good: as for example, the beauty of a fair Helen, whether that the acquisition be accompanied with any difficulty or not, this beauty doth first of all stir up a passion of love, from the which presently doth grow a desire which makes him seek to enjoy her; and if in this pursuit there appear no difficulty, the possession will be obtained without the assistance of the irascible appetite, whence will arise joy or pleasure. But if during the heat of desire, there appears any difficulty to obtain it, then if the Concupiscible appetite were not assisted, it would be daunted with the least difficulty that should present itself, and would cease to desire the thing, or strive to enjoy it: for this reason the Irascible to prevent this, causeth hope to arise to succour the concupiscible, which supports desire and makes him strive to attain unto it; and in this case it breeds no other joy then that which had succeeded if it had been obtained without any difficulty, considering that the enjoying makes him forget all the precedent pains. But from the beginning and breeding of desire, or during the whole continuance thereof, be it with hope, or without expecttance of the enjoying of the object, if it appears to be a thing absolutely impossible to enjoy, than not to suffer desire to consume itself in a vain pursuit, the Irascible stirs up despair, to the end the Concupiscible power may not spend itself in a design which cannot succeed. And in like manner if an object presents itself unto the appetive power, under the form of evil, as for example, a powerful enemy prepares himself to wrong us, than first of all hatred riseth in us, and makes us apprehend the evil which doth threaten us apparently, and then inclines us to seek the means to avoid it, be it in putting ourselves in defence, or in retiring ourselves and seeking some shelter for this storm, or else in avoiding it by some other means, the which breeds in us the Passion of flight, by the which we understand no other thing here▪ than our striving to fly the evil. But in case that in this seeking of means to avoid it there appear not any difficulty, than the irascible power doth not trouble itself to assist the concupiscible. And for that to escape a danger and to avoid a mischief is a kind of good, this happening it begets joy. As on the other side if we fall into a misfortune which threatens us, although there appear not any difficulty in the avoiding, it will cause grief. But if whilst I seek means to avoid the storm which threatens me, I find that I cannot do it without pain and difficulty; then for that the least obstacles amaze and hinder the concupiscible power which never strives to surmount them, the irascible excites courage which goes to succour it, and supports the motion of this Passion, which we term flight or aversion from the thing, until the evil be wholly avoided and dispersed; and then ariseth the same joy which had happened if it had not encountered any of these difficulties. And if amidst this resistance and striving of courage, the evil doth notwithstanding arrive, than grief is framed after the same manner as if this accident had happened without any encounter or difficulty. But if whilst we seek the means to avoid the evil, we discover much difficulty to preserve ourselves, and that there approacheth an eminent danger to our persons, than the irascible doth succour us with fear, which makes man discreet and advised, to the end that his too great hardiness may not precipitate him into the danger which he would avoid. Besides all this, when as the object which presents itself under the form of good, seems at the same instant impossible to be attained unto, than not only hope dies, but even desire is banished, so as the first Passion which then springs up in us is despair, which the irascible stirs up, to the end there should grow no vain desire, for that naturally no man desires things which are impossible, and vain and unprofitable actions are enemies to nature.  
As for the contrariety which may be found betwixt some of these Passions, we must understand that this contrariety may be considered after two manners, that is to say, either by reason of the diverse motions of the appetite which is inflamed; as for example, we say that hope and despair are contrary Passions, not in respect of their objects, seeing they both regard the apparent good, under the condition of difficult obtaining, but by reason of the diverse motions they excite by their nature in the appetite, for that hope strives to seek and enjoy the object, and despair to fly from it and avoid it. Whence it grows that if we compare hope and courage, we shall find them contrary Passions, not in regard of the motion of the appetite, seeing that both agitate and stir up the spirit, and serve it as a spur to make it more ready in the pursuit of th●ir object, but in respect of the object, for that hope looks to the apparent good, and courage to the evil.  
In like manner fe are and despair are contraries, by reason of their objects, and not in regard of their motions, for that both serve rather to retire and stay the striving of the appetite, then to excite and stir it up. Next, desire and flight are contrary Passions, by both reasons together, considering that the one hath the good for object, and the other the evil. And moreover desire stirs up the appetite to seek the object, whereas flight makes it retire to avoid it. We may make the same comparisons of the rest of the Passions. But this will appear more plainly when we shall treat of them in particular.   

Of the quality of Passions, whether they be good or bad. CHAP. 3.  
AMongst the questions which have been seriously disputed in the Schools of ancient Philosophers, there is not any one hath been more famous▪ nor whose subject hath been● argued with greater contention, then that which concerns the quality of the Passions of the Soul, that is to say, whether they be good or bad, and if they be compatible with any eminent virtue, or can subsist with it. The Stoics severe Philosopher's▪ & dissenting from the common opinions of the world, have maintained, that a Soul● in which virtue hath taken deep root, and which enjoys all the ornaments of true wisdom, should have gotten such a power over all her motions, as it should never be transported with any perturbations. The reason which moved them to this opinion, was, for that they held it an unworthy thing for a wise and virtuous man to see himself subject to the infirmities of the soul, which is the name they give to Passions. But the Peripatitians have held the contrary opinion, and did believe that it could not be denied, but that the greatest Spirits, and most accomplished in virtue and wisdom, had sometimes a feeling of these Passions, the heat whereof wisemen knew how to bridle and restrain. And they ground their reason, for that they rise not in us▪ by our election, but are as it were sciences of Nature, which spring out of themselves. This controversy hath seemed to many great Personages to be more verbal than material. But whatsoever it be, it is certain that the wisest cannot exempt themselves from the motions of natural Passions, and yet their virtue is nothing diminished or made less perfect. We must then remember that these kinds of Passions may be considered in two manners, first in their particular extent, that is to say, as motions of the sensitive appetite, which of itself is not endowed with any reason, and which is common to us with beasts; and in this consideration they are neither commendable, nor blame worthy, seeing that the weight and merit of that which parts from our soul, depends of reason: secondly, they may be considered in as much as reason may subject them to her command and prescribe them a Law. And in this consideration they may be good or bad, according to the quality of the will that governs them. So we see both good and bad, fear, desire, and rejoice alike. But the wicked have bad fears, wicked desires, & bad joys, whereas the good have none but good fears, good desires, and good joys, for that the branches do always participate of the nature of the root. For although the sensitive appetite of her own quality be destitute of liberty, yet by reason of the strict union that it hath with the intellectual and reasonable, it doth participate as it were with a beam, and some kind of borrowed liberty, in regard whereof some have maintained that it is capable of virtues, as of temperance and fortitude, which reside in this part of the soul.  
If the Stoics had well observed this consideration, they should have seen that a wise man by the guide of reason may so moderate his Passions, as they may be commendable and worthy the profession he makes of virtue. The which is nothing doubted of by Christian Philosophers, seeing that he who was never subject to sin, and whose soul was advanced to the height of graces and virtues, had Passions and humane affections, the which could never command over reason, or transport it, but receive a law from it. But on the other side we want no reasons to convince and overthrow the opinions of the Stoics. For first of all, virtue (how eminent soever) never ruins that which is wholly conformable to reason. But what is more reasonable then to see a man moved with pity and compassion of his like, of his friends, or of his kinsman? what inhumanity were it for a mother to see her child in the throat of wild beasts, or exposed to shipwreck, or broken upon a wheel, or torn in pieces by tortures, or only sick of some violent infirmity, and not to have her soul sensible of grief? would we that a virtuous man should not be touched with indignation to see crimes honoured, and the wicked advanced to the height of dignities? Shall we condemn the spurs of an honest emulation, wherewith he is touched that reads the glorious exploits and virtuous actions of great Personages which ●aue gone before him? will you have him that owes his life, and honour, and whatsoever ●ee enjoyeth, to his friend, insensible of the offices of his friendshp? would they that the ●eares of an honest wife should have no power, o●er an husband that were ready to abandon her? All these motions being so just were it not a great cruelty to seek to suppress them, as it were in despite of nature? But who knows not that these Passions●re ●re exercises of virtue? To apprehend evil, to fear punishments, to attend recompenses with joy, to long after promises, are they not so many encouragements to piety, temperance, and other virtuous actions? who is it then that will blame so commendable a thing? Nay, is it not to quench the fruits of virtue; and to deny it the content which is due unto it, in cutting off thus generally all Passions? For who knoweth not, that she doth usually plant in the souls of men an ardent love of the goodly fruits which she produceth▪ What just man but feels▪ certa●ne pleasure ●nd sweetness in the effects of justice? what sober man but receives content in the actions of sobriety? what valiant man but suffers himself to be transported with the love of brave exploits, and a desire to seek glorious death in combats? And who will believe that ever virtue (like unto Polipus which eats his own arms) will ever ruin her proper objects? Who doth not know but the Passions of our souls are the objects of many excellent virtues, which do moderate them, and reduce them unto reason when they seek to fly out? Fortitude is nothing but a mediocrity betwixt fear & hardiness: That is to say, it is nothing but a virtue by means whereof we do moderate our exceeding fear, and our immoderate boldness. Take then fear and hardiness from fortitude, and it is no more a virtue. And by the same reason you overthrow all courage and magnanimity, whereof the one makes us to undertake the most terrible and difficult things with resolution, and the other gives us a lustre in our greatest actions. You shall in like manner overthrow all patience, and perseverance, whereof the one makes us constantly and willingly to endure all the miseries of this life; and the other confirms us against all the crosses of this world, so as we remain inseparably 〈◊〉 to that which we hold conformable to reason; for all these virtues have for their object the Passions of the Irascible appetite. Temperance is no other thing, but a mediocrity which we keep in the pleasures of taste and feeling, and in the griefs and sorrows which befall us. That is to say, it is a virtue by means whereof we govern our pleasures and pains. If then you take all pleasure and Pain from temperance, you give it the name of virtue in vain. And withal you put modesty and honesty out of the number of the virtues, whereof the one makes us apprehend infamies and reproaches; that is to say, induceth us to fly whatsoever hath any show of dissolution. And the other filling our souls with goodly things done with a certain grace, makes us to fly whatsoever is filthy and worthy of reproach. You shall also put out of the same number of virtues, abstinency, Sobriety, chastity, and pudicity, whereof the two first moderate the delights of the mouth, and the other the pleasures of generation: For that all these virtues have for their object the Passions of the concupiscible appetite.  
After all this the sensitive appetite is a present of nature, which God (who is the Author) hath freely bestowed upon us; but virtue never destroys nature, but adds unto it the perfection which it wants. It must then suffer the sensitive appetite to act according to his inclination, yet moderating his motions and restraining them under the laws of reason. And without doubt it seems the Stoics have not observed in man any other composition then that of the body and the soul, and that they were ignorant of the diversity of the intellectual and sensitive powers of reason, and of sensuality. For otherwise they would never have suffered the sensitive appetite to have been idle in man, as it must of necessity remain, if it be once freed from all motions of Passions. And as for those wonderful praises they give to a wise man, whom they imagine to be freed from Passions, they are like unto the stately titles which are given to great ships, and to all that rich equipage, and furniture wherewith it is adorned, and yet it is subject to the fury of storms, and suffers shipwreck as well as the smallest vessels. We have always seen those which have made profession of this sect, grow pale and won, aswell as other men in dangers at sea or land; they are always seen subject to the common desires of men, and they have in that regard more vanity than constancy. So as they have been forced to excuse these first motions, and to confess that it was not in the power of man to suppress them, but they would sometimes break forth. What remains then but to confess that reason must govern them, and reduce them to a mediocrity which is found in virtue? For as health doth not consist in the ruin of contrary qualities which are found in man, but in the temperature which a good constitution gives them: And as to make a perfect music, we must not take away the diversity of tunes, but reduce them to a good accord to make the harmony perfect; so the strive of virtue consists not wholly to root all natural Passions out of the soul, but to moderate and govern them by the rule of reason. It is true, there are some Passions full of offence, and which we detest to hear named, as Impudence, Envy, Hatred; and these we make no question but they ought to be suppressed. But there are others whose very names are pleasing, as Pity, Modesty, Honest Love, and the like; and these need not any thing, but to receive a tincture from reason and virtue, to make them altogether commendable.  
But to prescribe us a man that is not moved with any Passion, were to deprive him of all humanity, and to make him a stone or a god. They that make profession of this proud and arrogant Philosophy, cannot but laugh when as they read in the writings of Poets, that there hath been men of that constitution, and as we may say, of that temper, that no swords, lances, or other arms, could pierce them or wound their bodies. And they that have had most credit among them, have derided those Philosophers which believed that there were certain Lands and Countries in the world, as Delos and Egypt, which had never felt the violence of earthquakes, and which had continued for ever immoveable, amidst the motions of all the other parts of the world. And these people paint us out a wise man so perfect, so eminent, and so fortified with virtue, as all the storms of Fortune, yea the most violent, Shipwrecks tortures, and infamies cannot make any impression in his soul; so as he continues immoveable in the midst of flames, wheels, gibbets and all the fearful horrors of death and shame. What is he that will not laugh at this strange vanity? But the Stoics say, that it is a thing unworthy of a wiseman adorned with perfect virtue, to see himself transported with passions, which are the diseases of the soul. Whereunto we answer, that Passions considered as they submit themselves unto the laws of reason, are no infirmities of the soul, but in that sense they are the instruments and objects of virtue, and as it were lively sparks which inflame desires in our souls; and as Aristotle speaks, they are the arms of reason. It is true that (as one saith) the flowers of Egypt being continually charged and watered with the Vapour of Nilus (which are gross and earthly) ye●●d not such pleasant smells as they would do without this obstacle: even so souls troubled with Passions, cannot produce the virtuous actions which they would do without this agitation: for that the motions and impressions which they make in our souls are like unto the force of a violent torrent, which tears up stones, overthrows plants, and draws after it whatsoever opposeth itself against his violence; for that they quench the reason, deprive us of judgement, smother the understanding, and suffer not any image of virtue in a soul that is transported. But this happens to those which abandon themselves wholly to Passion; and not unto these who like unto wise pilots prepare against a storm, and when it comes endeavour to avoid it, not losing his judgement in an accident which terrifies others. We tame Elephants, Tigers, Lions, Panthers, and other savage beasts, and are not moved: and will they not allow us a power to suppress the brutishness of the sensitive appetite, and to moderate the Passions when as they advance themselves against reason, without great perturbation?  
Finally, when as these motions of Passions prevent the reason and anticipate all the resolutions of man, we cannot hold them bad, seeing they are mere motions of nature without any show of liberty. And it is most certain that not only an ordinary wisdom is subject thereunto, but even the most excellent souls, (I speak not of those which have special gifts from God) yea those that are endued with Heroical virtues, feel agitation; seeing that virtue how eminent soever, cannot so subject the sensitive appetite, (over which she doth not command as a slave, but as a Citizen) but it will anticipate the Empire of reason. And this the Stoics are forced to confess, seeing they affirm that it is not in the power of a wise man to free himself from perturbation, when as some fearful forms presents themselves suddenly to his eyes, so as whatsoever he doth in those accidents, he will grow pale, he will be amazed, and his heart will shrink up. Yet, say they, all this will happen without consenting to these motions, for that it is in his power not to consent. They add, that there is this difference betwixt a wiseman and one that is distracted: for that an unreasonable man yields to passions and obeys them wholly; whereas the wiseman although he suffers the motions, yet he resists them still, and generously preserves in his soul the laws and love of virtue; herein truly they approach near to the doctrine which we teach. But we must still remember that the office of reason is not to pull out of the soul of man, all the roots of Passions, neither were it expedient or necessary she should do it: But her duty is to prescribe them their bounds, and to reduce them to a mediocrity as virtue requires. As for example, let us presuppose a brother which hath lost his brother whom he loved passionately, and they conjure him not to lament for this loss, not to afflict himself, nor to show any sign of mourning to preserve the reputation of a wiseman and absolutely virtuous. Is it not rather a mere stupidity than a true constancy? They that make these discourses show that either they have no natural disposition, or else they never fell into these calamities: otherwise so sensible a grief would have pulled out of their spirits this arrogant Philosophy; and had forced them to confess that humanity cannot suffer them to remain insensible at such cruel accidents. In the mean time as these Passions preventing reason, cannot be held good nor bad, so when as they suffer themselves to be moderated and governed by reason, they get us great commendations; whereas when they fly out and exceed the bounds of virtue, they procure us nothing but blame and infamy. To conclude, Passions are in the soul, as the sinews in the body; for as by means of sinews we extend ●r bend the members▪ so by the operations of Passions, we carry ourselves to good or evil, and if we will employ them to good, they are as it were spurs and objects: But if we turn them to evil, our sensuality makes use of them; like unto him that keeps a slave, who makes use of his chain to draw him where he pleaseth. So as the triumph of virtue consists not in pulling away or rooting out the Passions, as monsters; but in ruling and reforming them like unto insolent and disobedient children▪ for they grow in us and are as the fruits & buds of our sensuality, which have only need to be made subject unto reason. Finally, they that have any other opinion must remember, that we cannot wholly pull away the defects which proceed from nature: And that may by our industry correct and moderate that which is borne with us, but not vanquish it and suppress it wholly; wherefore wisdom may not promise unto itself any thing in this subject, seeing she hath no power. The Passions are absolute and depend not on the Empire of virtue. They present themselves uncalled.    

Of Love.. The Preface.  
AN Ancient said, that to expel Youth out of our towns, were to cut off the Spring time of the year. But we may maintain with no less truth, that to banish Love from a civil life, and the conversation of men, were not only to deprive the year of her goodliest season, but also as it were to pull the Sun out of the firmament, and to fill the whole world with horror and confusion. For what is there in this life, be it amidst honours and glory, in riches and treasures, yea in delights and pleasures, that can give a full and sound content unto man, without the communication of the sweetness thereof to friends? Wherefore an excellent Philosopher said, that if any one were raised above the heavens, from whence he might behold all the wonders of nature and of the world, and see with amazement the revolutions, periods, order, diversity, & beauty of the Planets and Stars, and had no friend to whom he might impart this admiration; all these things in steed of fullness of joy, would become displeasing and importune to his thoughts. For as colours which are the most exquisite ornaments of nature, how lively and glistering so ever they be, will notwithstanding be darkened & give no pleasure to our eyes, if they were not enlightened, and as it were inspired by the light which discovers unto us the singularities, and perfections: so what wealth or honour soever we enjoy in this life, we cannot taste the sweetness thereof but in representing unto ourselves the contentment which comes to them we love, and whom we think have an equal Passion on our behalf. Epaminondas gloried to have won 2 battles, his Father & mother being yet living; as if the joy that those persons conceived which were so near to him, had made his victories more stately, & increased the glory & pomp of his triumphs. In like manner there is no man living, which in the course of his prosperities doth not feel as it were an increase of happiness, when as he imagines that his friends are spectators & partakers of his felicity. And moreover what can be sweeter to our thoughts then the image of a true & constant love, which we are assured our friend doth bear us? What happiness to have a friend to whom we may safely open our hart, and trust him with our most important secrets, without apprehension of his conscience, or any doubt of his fidelity? What content to have a friend whose discourse sweetens our cares? whose counsels disperse our fears? whose conversation charms our griefs? whose circumspection assures our fortunes, & whose only presence fills us with joy and content? Seeing then love is a Passion which doth produce such sweet and pleasing contents in the society of men, we will endeavour to show what his beginning is, wherein his essence consists, to what Persons it extends, and what the effects be.  

Of the beginning of Love.. CHAP. 1.  
AS it is the custom of men to refer the noblest effects to the most excellent causes; many considering the dignity of love, have imagined that this Passion came from a particular impression, which God makes in our Souls, inspiring into them with the nature, the affections which transport them, and which makes them seek the objects which are pleasing unto them. The which they strive to prove by the example of the natural inclinations which he hath given to other Creatures. We see, say they, that God as the Author of nature, hath engrafted into light things an inclination to rise upward, to seek the place of their rest, by reason whereof the fire doth always send his flame towards heaven. And in like manner he hath imprinted in heavy things a natural inclination which makes them tend to the centre: so as stones, marbles, and such like, do always bend downward, & do not hang in the air, but with violence and contrary to their inclination. In the same manner, say they, God hath engrafted in man a certain inclination to those things which have some beams of beauty or bounty, so as when these objects come to encounter his eyes or mind, he is ravished, and then presently there is framed in his heart an ardent desire to seek and pursue them. They confirm this opinion by the divers inclinations which shine in the life of men from their birth. For we see some love painting naturally, others take delight in Geometry, some are passionately affected to the Liberal Arts, others embrace the Mechanics; some love Hunting, others burn with a desire of Play; some are borne to War; & others are inclined to Mildness and peace; some have no contentment but in solitariness; and others cannot live without the managing of affairs. And whence, say they, proceed these so different inclinations, but from the author of nature? The which they confirm again by the example of things which happen often in the love which men bear one unto another; for that it will sometimes fall out, that by a certain sympathy of minds, we shall love at the first encounter a man whom we have never before seen nor known. So as it seems, this affection doth not then disclose itself in our souls, taking form so suddenly and sweetly, but it is rather quickened and awaked by the presence of the object, which makes us to see that which we love instantly without delay, for that we knew him not, finding him so conformable to our humours and inclination. The which hath made some presuppose, that the beams of their eyes, which love encountering with the beams which proceed from the object which inflames them, makes so sweet a mixture, as their union is as it were the fullness of all the delights which may be tasted in this life: And chose at the first encounter we shall have a distaste of some other person whom we had never seen before: Doth not this prove (say they) that it is nature which frames in us this Passion? and so they conclude, that it cannot proceed but from the Author of nature: others prefer the cause of love to the Planets, Stars, and constellations, and presuppose that the reason why Achilles loved Patroclus, Alexander Hephestion, and the Queen of the Amazons, Alexander; And to come to modern examples, that Charles the ninth loved the Marshal of Raise, that Henry the third loved the Dukes of joyeuse, and Espernon, and monsieur de Termes; that Henry the fourth loved the Duke of Suilly; and that the King now gloriously reigning loves the Duke of Luines and his brethren; are all effects of the aspects of the Planets, which encountered at the nativities of these Princes and Noblemen. Others seek the cause in the Parents, as if they which bring us into the world, with our being did transfer and infuse into us their Passions. Others refer it to the good or bad education we receive, according to which we frame our desires and affections. The Platonicians imagine that we must seek it in the degrees of the harmony which is found in Souls; which they believe are compounded as of a consort and proportion of numbers, the which encountering equally in two persons, incites them to love one another. But this is very mystical, and requires a spirit accustomed to the imaginations of Plato.  
To come then to the point, it is certain that God hath infused into our souls the seeds of love, seeing that he hath given us the powers which are capable. It is also certain that the influence of the Planets may contribute to this Passion; for that it resides in the concupiscible appetite, the which is a sensitive power, and depends of the body, over whose motions the Planets have a kind of power. It is also visible, that nurture & education, & sometimes the inclinations which our Parents have engrafted in us, may have a share in the motions of our affections. But to speak according to the rules of Philosophy, we must say precisely and absolutely, that the bounty of things, whether they be found in them, or that we imagine them to be, is the Spring, beginning, and moving cause of the love we bear them. For God the Author of nature, who hath created all things in number, weight, & measure, hath also imparted to all Creatures, inclinations and motions necessary to attain unto their ends. So he hath infused into his understanding an inclination which makes him passionately to seek the truth, and to embrace it when he hath found it. And in like manner he hath engrafted in the will a desire and love of good, which is the only object which may move it and inflame it to pursue it. And as colours are the object of the sight, which draw it by a certain attraction, which grows from a natural sympathy which is betwixt them, like unto that which is betwixt our understanding and truth, betwixt the eye and colours; and betwixt the hearing and sounds. Hence it grows that there is so strict a connexion betwixt the will and the good, as the will cannot love any thing which hath not a show of good. So as if it be at any time deceived, and embraceth the evil, it is under a veil and show of good, which is employed to abuse it; and the like may be said of the sensitive appetite, which in its motions follows the same instincts that the will doth. But when as we say, that the good is the object of our will and love, under this good we comprehend that which is fair, for that goodly things have an equal power with those things that be good, to inflame our wills: as also beauty and bounty in effect are all one, and differ not but only in our imagination. The which the Platonicians demonstrate by excellent reasons, calling love simply a desire of beauty. Yea to show that beauty is lovely of itself, as well as bounty, they add that beauty which shines in the body, is as it were a beam or image of the infinite beauty which is in God; wherefore we admire it and love it passionately, when it presents itself unto our eyes; and then, say they, the beauty of the body is also an image of the beauty of the mind: for that the internal perfections engender the external, as the lustre of precious stones & pearls grows from the perfect mixture of the four Elements which are found in their constitution, as flowers and leaves of trees borrow their beauty from the root; and as in beasts the good interior constitution is the cause of the beauty which appears in the countenance. So then we conceive that the external beauty of the body proceeds from the internal bounty of the mind, so as bounty seems to be the root of beauty, and beauty the flower of that bounty which shines in creatures. And therefore he that contains himself within his bounds and in the innocency of love, seeing the beauty of the body, imagines (as it is true) that this pleasing object is a beam of the infinite and immense beauty, whereof the essence of God is as it were the centre, from whence she derives and takes her beginning: and consequently, that it is as it were a sience of the interior beauty which shines in the soul, from whence the body hath taken life. Thus the Platonicians prove that beauty as well as bounty makes an impression in our wills, and proportionably inflames our desires, & begets affections and Passions, which makes us to seek it. But leaving all other reasons to prove this assertion, we will content ourselves with the saying of Aristotle; That to demand why we love beautiful things, were a question fit for a blind man, for that the eyes feel and know how powerful the charms are to make an impression in the Soul. By this which we have spoken it is easy to be gathered, that love hath for object and moving cause the bounty and beauty of things, which by the sweetness of the beams they cast forth, make so powerful an impression in our souls, as they remain as it were ravished or rather charmed with so pleasant a lustre; so as to ascend unto the Spring & fountain, we must elevate ourselves to that great and immortal Essence, which is as it were a notion of all the graces, of all the beauties and of all the bounties which are infused into all the creatures. We must, I say, raise up ourselves to that infinite and most happy Essence, which is as it were the centre, from whence all the perfections which represent themselves so goodly unto our eyes, and so pleasing unto our sense, borrow their lustre and take their beginning. And in this manner we shall tie our affections to an object worthy of the generosity of their motions, which should always imitate the nature of fire, which remains unwillingly in the earth, and strives continually to mount towards heaven.  
Finally, we must remember that Love is divided into five branches, and that there are five kinds which differ much one from another: for there is a love of natural things, there is a love of creatures; there is a love of men; there is a love of Angels; and there is a love of God. The Love of natural things is nothing else but the inclination which things destitute of knowledge have to unite themselves unto their ends, and to attain the perfections of their nature; to which sense an Ancient said, that the love of the bodies was nothing else but the weight wherewith they are balanced, be it that the weight keeps them down, or that the lightness raiseth them up on high: for God hath engrafted these inclinations into all natural things, to the end they may attain to their perfections, and preserve them when they have once gotten them. The love of creatures is nothing else but a vehement impression made in their senses, surprised with things which they conceive to be pleasing. This Passion is many times blind, importune, obstinate, and insolent, and is common to men, & brute beasts, which suffers themselves to be transported with the motions of a dishonest pleasure.  
Human Love is a Passion which should follow the motions of reason, and which being guided by the light of the soul should only embrace the true good, to make it perfect: for containing himself within these bounds, it should no more be a violent & furious passion, which fills the world daily with so many miseries by her exorbitant and strange disorders. The Love of Angels flies yet higher, for that those happy spirits enlightened with a more excellent light, and illuminated with a more pure & perfect splendour, love the sovereign Good more ardently than all the creatures, and by a reflux of this great Love take an incredible care of the affairs of men; and being never wearied in the service they do them by the commandment of God, assist them, & procure their safety, with constancy, and joy full of amazement and wonder. The Love of God enters not into comparison with any other, for that as there is no proportion betwixt things finite, and infinite, his motions being infinite, they appear with another lustre, and show themselves with a greater endeavour towards that he loves, than the creatures can do. From this spring flow the admirable beauties which shine in the heavens, in the Stars, Planets, Elements, in bodies both simple and compound, and in great, mean, and small things; all which do feel the effects of his bounty, and the perfect assistance of his providence. From this spring proceeds the care which he hath of men, the graces which he imparts unto them, the good desires wherewith he doth inspire them, and the means which he offers them to raise them up to the height of his glory, and to make them enjoy the felicity of Angels. But we will not treat of this kind of love, whereof we had rather feel the flames than describe the perfection. Neither will we discourse of that of Angels, which we may better admire then set forth: we will not in like sort busy ourself with that of natural things or of creatures, which is too base for our subject, but we will represent the Love which is a humane Passion, whereof moral Philosophy teacheth us to discourse, and whose essence we mean now to set down.   

Wherein the Essence of Love doth consist. CHAP. 2.  
AS in other subjects we dousually ascend unto the knowledge of the cause by the search of the effects, so in this matter to attain unto an exact knowledge of the nature of Love, we must first understand what it is to love, to the end the branch may discover the nature of the root. Love then is no other thing, but, To will good to some one, not for our own private interest, but for the love of himself; procuring with all our power what we think may be profitable for him, or may give him content. Whereby it appears, there are four things to be considered in Love.. The first is, that we be careful of his good whom we Love; the which grows, for that love unites the wills perfectly, and makes us esteem the good which befalls him we love, as our own particular: wherefore the Ancients said, that Love was one soul in two bodies. The which it seems that Alexander would give Darius' mother to understand, when he said that Hephestion was another Alexander: For he used this speech in regard of the great affection he bore him, the which was such as he held him another himself, so as he would have him a partaker of all his honours & glory. After this manner than we should desire to our friends the same honours, the same glory, and all other felicities which we wish for our own proper contentment. And when they succeed, we must rejoice as if we ourselves enjoyed them, seeing that all things are common among friends.  
But secondly we must wish all this good to those we love for their ownesakes, and not for any private interest of our own, or for any profit we expect to reap by them; for the Epicures opinion (who will have men love for profit, or pleasure) is infamous, and makes Love either mercenary or of small continuance. We must then remember that there are three kinds of friendship; that is to say, honest, profitable, and pleasing. Betwixt the which there is this difference, that the two last kinds are no true affections; but rather shadows of Love; whereas the first, that is to say, honest friendship, which hath virtue for her object, is solid and true, and moreover it is constant and of long continuance; whereas the profitable and the pleasing last little, and are dissolved upon the first alteration which happens in the subject whereunto they are tied. As for example, they that love only for profit, continue no longer in this affection, than they whom they love, may be beneficial unto them; the which ceasing, they renounce the duties of friendship which they had formerly showed; for that the cause ceasing, the effect of necessity must cease. Hence it grows that the friendships of Court are so inconstant and variable, for that Courtiers commonly ●●e their affections to those which are in favour, & have some kind of credit, to the end it may be an entry, for them to offices in the Estate. But if there happen any alteration in their fortune by a disgrace with the Prince, and that they see them unable, and incapable to assist them, they presently abandon them, and make no more account of them then of an image overthrown; yea they would have men think that they never observed them. So in Tiberius' time, Sejanus possessing his master absolutely, & receiving the favour of this Prince with full sails, so as all the honours, all the dignities, and all the offices of the Estate, depended of the inclination he had to those that courted him; all the world adored him, the people and Senate erected statues unto him, he was publicly praised, his house was never empty, all the Orders went to consult with him as with an oracle, or rather as the soul of the Empire. But as soon as his favour began to shake, presently he saw the affections of such as had so shamefully flattered him, decay and die; and when it was wholly fall'n, there followed so prodigious a change in the affections of the Court and people, as after they had unworthily massacred him, they drew his body through the street into the river of Tiber, his statues were beaten down, all his kinsfolks persecuted, his memory detested, and the name of Sejanus was held in execration to all the world. But this is the ordinary course in Court, whereas Fortune is always adored.  
As the affections which depend upon profit decay as soon as the profit ceaseth, in like manner that friendship which is supported only by pleasure, continues no longer than the subject of pleasure endureth. For they that love in consideration of beauty, when as age or infirmities makes it to wither and decay, their affection is gone, and they esteem no more that which they had formerly honoured. So as there is no true nor solid friendship but that which is grounded upon virtue and honesty. The rest having inconstant and wand'ring objects, are also inconstant and mutable, and the interest and pleasures ceasing, they die: whereas honest love propounding unto itself a constant and durable object, knows no change. They that Love in this sort wish all good to him they love, for his own sake, and not for their private interest. The third thing we must consider in Love is, that we are bound to employ all our means to procure good to them we love. For as the Sun should not deserve the name of Sun if it gave not light to the whole world, so we cannot esteem him a true friend which doth not employ himself with all his power and means to bind him whom he makes profession to love. And this admits no limitation nor bounds, for there is not any thing which Love will not make him do that loves perfectly, even to contemn his own life for the safety of him he loves. It is true, that a perfect friend should wish that he to whom he hath engaged his affection, should have all things happy and prosperous in the course of his life, that he be never shaken with any storm, and that he never feel any crosses of fortune; but as the condition of man is frail and exposed to a thousand calamities, if it chance that he fall into any infirmity, he must participate of his pain. If a tempest carries him through the waves of the sea, he must hoist sail to follow him; yea if the billows overset his ship, he must seek him in this shipwreck. If Tyrants seize upon him, if they cast him into prison & load him with chains, he must offer his own body to free his bonds; and if they send him to execution, he must present his head to redeem his friends. If he see him assaulted by his enemies, who seek to murder him, he must present himself to bear their blows. And if he see him in the throat of lions, exposed to the rage of wild beasts, he must hazard himself to free him from danger; and if he die, he must in like manner abhor life. He that loves perfectly, said Plato by the mouth of Phedro, will rather abandon himself to death, then expose that he loves to dangers. And there is no man so faint hearted, whom Love doth not fill with courage and inflame with a force, to make him in this subject equal to the most generous souls. For that which Homer saith, that the Worthies are inspired with a divine force and fury, is more truly verified in those that love, whom love hath often inspired with a divine fury, which hath made them to contemn death, to preserve the life of those they have loved.  
The last thing that is to be considered in Love, is that we wish unto our friends; the things which we think truly are good for them, that is to say, that we desire for them the things that are just, and that are adorned with all the circumstances of virtue. In regard whereof he spoke wisely, which answered his friend, who would have him forswear himself, that he was a friend even unto the altars, having no intent to serve his friend against his conscience. In this case then Love admits bounds & limitations, and it were to abuse the name, to bind him that loves, to commit unjust things in favour of them to whom he wisheth well. So when as Charles of Bourbon (to revenge his private discontent) abandoned France and his King, and embraced the party of Spain & the Emperor, the Princes & Noblemen his friends, (whereof he had many in Court) did not hold themselves bound to follow him, and to make themselves confederates of his despite and rebellion. So as these words which are at this day in the mouth of many, that they are ready to turn Turks for their friends, yea and to follow them into hell, is the speech rather of a fury, than the discourse of men transported with true Love: for Love must contain itself within the bounds of justice, honesty, and virtue, and not make us do any thing which may breed us shame. And moreover, they that make these impious protestations, have them more in their mouths then in their hearts; and I know not how they can make them without blushing. By all this which we have said, it is easy to gather wherein the essence of Love doth properly consist, the which we may define in this manner.  
Love is a wellwishing, which we testify with all our power to those, to whom we have an inclination, procuring them for their own sakes, all the good we think may give them content. According to which he is a friend that loves, and is reciprocally beloved; for love being as it were a torch which lightens another, friends must believe that affections are reciprocal, and that as they love, so they are beloved; wherein they must not show themselves unpleasing or importune, to sound the hearts one of another, which will bewray a diffidence and distrust: But content themselves with the true signs of love, which their friends show them. These signs of true Love are reduced to three principal heads. The first is, that friends rejoice & grieve for the same things: wherefore Homer describing Agamemnon's affliction, when as he was forced to sacrifice his daughter jyhigenia, he represents all his friends accompanying him to this sacrifice, with mournful countenances & full of sorrow; and at Rome, when as any one was accused and brought in question for his life, all his friends changed their robes with him, to show that they did participate with his affliction. The reason is, for that sorrow and joy are the marks of our affections, and of that we have in the soul, which rejoiceth or afflicts itself, as the objects which present themselves are pleasing or distasteful. And for this reason, sorrow and joy discover the inclination we have to any one.  
The second is, that friends share equally betwixt them the good and evil. They say that there are images of wax, upon the which enchanters deliver such powerful spells, as being made to represent any person, as soon as they are wronged, the body of him for whom they were fashioned, feels pain. In this sort there is such a bond of affection betwixt friends as the harm which happens to the one, afflicts the other, and fills him with bitterness, so as many times we have seen true friends die with sorrow, for the loss of their friend. Yea, profane histories are full of Persons which have slain themselves, for that they would not survive them whom they have loved dear. In like manner the prosperity of friends passeth from one to another, so as the triumphs of Alexander are the contentments of Ephestion, and the glory of Ephestion is the joy of Alexander. The third is, that they which love should have the same friends, and the same enemies. They say the Adamant or Loadstone doth not only make an impression upon iron which it draws, but doth also impart his virtue by his touching; so as the iron which it hath touched, draws other iron unto it, and makes as it were a continued chain. In the same manner, a friend brings his friends to him he loves, and he reciprocally imparts unto him his friends; whereof there is framed a common bond, which makes them ready to succour one another, as if they were members of one body.   

To what Persons Love extends. CHAP. 3.  
ALthough that love hath for his general object the bounty and beauty which shines in those things which present themselves unto our eyes and souls; yet there are divers particular considerations, and divers beams, which excite this Passion and fashion it in the hearts of men. Aristotle numbers fifteen causes, the which are also divided into other branches, whereof we will treat as briefly as we may, taking only that which shall belong unto our subject. First, saith he, men love them which do them good, or whom they think have a will to do it, or to their friends. In truth there is nothing that more binds the hearts of men, and induceth them more to love then benefits. For even bruit beasts feel the good which they receive from men, and there is no creature so wild, whom good usage doth not make gentle and tame. They that govern Lions fear not their rage, but play about them without any apprehension of their fury, for that this generous Creature knows him that hath a care to feed him. By continual feeding they bring Elephants to do what service they desire. And we must not object against it, that it hath been a common complaint in the mouth of men in all ages, that most of the benefits that are bestowed in the world are lost, for that they fall upon ungrateful souls, who do not acknowledge themselves in any sort bound. For (as an Ancient hath observed) this proceeds not from the nature of the benefits, which chose have a particular virtue to draw the affection and to charm the will: but most commonly the fault proceeds from ourselves, for that we either err in our election, doing good to unworthy persons: or we distribute it ill, if we take away the grace. For we must not think that our benefits bind a friend, if we suffer ourselves to be too much courted, if we make him to languish in the pursuit, or if we do it with a kind of unwillingness; for by these means we take away all the merit and bond of the benefit, for that no man will think himself beholding for that which he hath purchased so dear: wherefore an Ancient called benefits of that nature, a loaf filled with stones, which no man can use. Men therefore think themselves bound to those from whom they receive benefits, whether they be great and worthy to be acknowledged, in regard of their greae show and magnificence; or that they which are the authors, bestow them freely without importunity, and with a singular demonstration of Love; or that such as give, have made a sit choice of time to bind them, assisting them when as they or their friends had extreme need, and when as they think that for their own sakes they have bound them by these benefits.  
They also Love the friends of their friends, and such as have any conformity with them in the subject of their affection, and that Love those whom they Love, and who also make profession to be enemies to their enemy. The reason is, that reputing their friends good as their own, they believe, that the good which is done unto their friends extends unto themselves, and that they do participate wholly thereof. In regard whereof they love the spring and fountain. And chose they believe, that the aversion and distaste they have of their enemies is a token of the love they bear them. They also love those that secure them with their means, or bind them with the hazard of their lives. For first of all, men love bountiful friends passionately, imagining that they are borne for the good of mankind. As for the second, men love great courages, imagining that they are supporters of their lives; & that they will never suffer wrong to be done unto the weak and feeble. They also love such as they hold to be just, and resemble not the Harpeys' or ravening birds, which live of spoil, but content themselves with their own fortunes, committing no outrage, nor offering violence to any. And in this rank they put labourers and handicrafts men, to whom all the world seems to bear an affection, in regard of the innocency of their profession. They also put in the same rank, temperate persons, in whom they see some great modesty to shine, which show that their souls are not inclined to any kind of injustice. They again esteem those that lead a peaceable life, which have no curiosity, and which pry not into the lives of other men, but content themselves to order, & govern those that are submitted to their care and charge, presupposing that such as contain themselves within these bounds, think not of any injustice or wickedness. Men also Love famous persons, who by their virtue have attained to an eminent glory, and an extraordinary reputation, be it generally in the world, or only among good men, or among such as they have in admiration, or by whom they themselves are admired; and they especially make great show of their affection, when as they presume, that these Persons in all their dignity and greatness disdain them not, but are well pleased with the testimonies of their Passion; so we have seen people run by whole troops from all the corners of the world, to see conquerors & such as did triumph; men of holy life, and Persons endued with rare knowledge or wisdom, above the common sort of men. The reason is, for that virtue, generosity, sanctity, and eminent knowledge, are not only lovely things of themselves, and which have powerful allurements to cause them to be affected and admired in the subjects where they reside, but also men believe there is a kind of glory to be admitted into the favour of such illustrious persons, whose glory seems to communicate with those that have the honour to come near them. But men Love particularly these famous and virtuous Persons, when as they discover, that they disdain not the affection and Love of those, which make show to honour them with Passions; for it is a testimony of their moderation & of the bounty of their nature, not to be puffed up with the glorious advantages which they have gotten above the ordinary sort of men. They also Love such as are of a sweet conversation, and that have a mild and pleasing humour, that is to say, they Love those that are not fantastical, and of a troublesome and importune behaviour. They also Love such as reprove them not odiously of their faults, they love those whom they see enemies of contention, and which make show, that they have not a desire to be superior in all disputes which rise in companies; but accommodate themselves wisely and moderately to that which is contested. The reason is, for that these wayward spirits, they that are licentious in their answers, and such as will always in their arguments have the upper hand, seem to be borne to contradict and control the opinions of the whole world: the which is a sign of the alienation of wills, and dissenting from others; which makes them to be hated: whereas chose they Love such as have none of these bad humours, and which accommodate themselves in company, without making any show to be self conceited. Moreover men have as it were a natural inclination to Love those which have a quickness and grace in their encounters, or to jest pleasantly, but withal can endure to hear a witty return: hence it comes that in Court, buffoons and jesters, which have biting and Satirical spirits, are so much esteemed; and yet many times these people, bite private Persons too sensibly and indiscreetly, and draw upon them the just wrath of those whom they have licentiously offended. In the mean time the reasons why they Love such as are sudden in their encounters and sharp in their jests, is, for that it seems this quickness, & wittiness to encounter, proceeds from the subtlety and force of their spirits. And then we are inclined to hear men evil spoken of; wherefore we Love them that do it with a good grace. And for that we Love particularly such as take liberty to jest at others, & are content to be jested withal; that proceeds, for that we believe that such as will endure that which they themselves practise to others, have no bad intent nor any bitterness in their hearts, but are carried to these encounters, more through a quickness of wit, then by any spleen. Moreover they love such, as seem to make great esteem of the good parts and qualities which they believe they enjoy. Wherefore we suffer ourselves to be surprised by flatterers, who insinuate into our favours, cover our defects, & seem to admire our actions. This misery happens particularly to such as distrust themselves, and who fear to want those virtues which they desire to attain unto. For this distrust b●ing dispersed by the praises which they give them, they think themselves bound to such as bring this support unto their weakness.  
They also love those persons which affect neatness in all things, who take delight to carry a pleasing countenance, and to attire themselves properly: for that this neatness and handsomeness is as it were a sign of the desire they have to insinuate themselves into the hearts, and to gain the affections of men, who f●r this cause think themselues bound to love them: they in like manner love them, that lay not their faults before them to shame them, nor reproach them with the benefits wherewith they have bound them. The reason is, for that both the one and the other redounds to our disgrace; and it seems, that such as enter into these reproaches, will make us contemptible, either by discovering our defects, or in accusing us of ingratitude. They also love such as remember not injuries past, which are not obstinately bend to revenge, and who are always ready to pardon such as have offended them. Wherefore the romans did wonderfully admire the first of the Caesars, for that he forgot nothing but injuries, the remembrance whereof he held unworthy the greatness of his courage. Wherefore when as this Prince had erected again the statues of Pompey, Cicero (that great ornament of the Roman Eloquence) pronounced to his commendation, that in erecting the statues of Pompey, he had assured his own, as having won the Love of the whole world, by this act o● humanity, which he showed to his enemy oppressed with misery. The reason of this Love which men bear to those which forget injuries in this manner, is, for that they presume when they have offended them, they will show themselves in like manner to them, as they have done to others.  
They also love such as are not il tongued or detractors, which observe not their imperfections, nor those of their friends, but only regard their virtues, either to admire them, or to frame themselves after their example. For that these things are the offices of good men, and of persons endued with singular integrity, and great probity. Moreover, they love such as resist them not when they are in choler, or that importune them not in the midst of their most serious employments: for that they which take pleasure in these oppositions and importunities, seem to love contention, and to be enemies to all society. They also love those that admire them, which have an opinion that they are virtuous, and make show that they take delight in their conversation, and are officious unto them: But principally, when they make show of this affection and liking in those things wherein they would have their industry admired. As for example, a man that loves Philosophy, takes delight to hear his profession praised: he that takes delight in Arms, hath a singulat content to hear his exercise commended: wherefore both the one and the other love those tha● give glorious testimony of that which concerns their profession. Above all, they have an inclination to love their like, being a thing which nature teacheth us daily, that resemblance engenders Love, not only among men, but also among other creatures: for every creature loves his like: Tigers & Panther's troop together with beasts of their own kind: And birds of one feather fly willingly together; such power hath resemblance to unite affections: the which we must believe is more powerful in man, who can have no sweeter conversation them with his like. The reason why every man loves his like, is, for that man loving passionately above other things, loves consequently any thing that hath any corresponcy with him; so as respecting him whom he loves as another himself, he cannot but be inflamed with this consideration. The Platonicians had another reason, the which in my opinion concurres with this. Love, say they, makes an impression in the soul of him that loves, of the Image and form of the thing beloved. But man loveth not only his being, and his true and real form, but also his imaginary form; as appears by pictures, and looking-glasses, in which we behold with content our portraicts & forms. Wherefore there is a certain Passion for the thing beloved, in whose soul he doth contemplate his form which Love hath engraven. After this manner, resemblance breedeth Love, and unites the affections of men. The truth hereof appears, for that men do commonly love those, that are allied unto them in nearness of blood, so as Kinsmen do commonly love one another: or by some conformity of humours and complexions, which maketh melancholy men love the company of their like, and jovial spirits delight in the company of them that are pleasant: Or by some commerce of profession, which maketh Philosophers to love Philosophers; and Painters delight in Painters: Or some equality of age, which makes young men delight in the company of youth, and old men to converse with them that are grave: Or some coherence of manners, which makes good men love the virtuous, and the wicked seek after such as are wickedly affected. But notwithstanding that which we have said, that commonly men of one profession love one another, must be understood according to the true nature of things, for by occasion and accident, this comformity of professions may engender hatred and envy, that is to say, when as they of one trade and profession, living of their art and labour, hinder one another: as for example, when as a tradesman having gotten some reputation, doth hinder the profit of his companions, than jealousy riseth amongst them, according to the saying of an Ancient, The Potter envies the Potter. The Philosophers give an excellent reason hereof: He that loves, say they, loves himself more dearly than all other things beside: for that he is united to himself by Essence and Nature, whereas he is not conjoined to him that he loves, but by some accidental and external form. And therefore if this conformity crosseth his private good, and be prejudicial unto him, he finds himself more strictly tied unto himself, then to his like: wherefore seeing his loss concurring with his passion, he whom he loved, being an obstacle to his desire, he grows odious unto him, as opposite to his good.  
Men do also love those that aspire to the same honours and dignities, at the least when they may attain unto them, and enjoy them together, without any obstacle or wrong one unto another. For competency causing an hindrance, as it did in the pursuit of the Consulate at Rome, it happeneth (as we have said of men of the same profession) that it excites envy and hatred: Wherefore in the love of women they can endure no corrivals, for that with honesty they cannot be enjoyed by two. They also love those with whom they have any familiarity, which is not scrupulous, having free liberty without apprehension of disdain, to do and say things in their presence which they would not act or speak before the world. As for example, they affect those before whom they may freely discourse of their loves, of their pursuites, and of their other Passions. But we must remember that there are some things which are dishonest of themselves, the which a good man may neither do, or speak before the world, or before his friends. But there are others which are shameful only in the opinion of the world, and not according to the truth of things: and these a good man, using an honest familiarity with his friends, may do and speak in their presence, although he would not do it in public before the world: like unto King Agesilaus, being in private with his children, played with them with a fatherly liberty, but being surprised by one, who knew not how far the love of a father might extend, he was discontented.  
Men also testify, that they love those before whom they are ashamed to do or say those things which are of themselves shameful or dishonest; wherein we may say, that the Persians gave good testimony of their love to their wives, when as they caused them to retire from their banquets, being unwilling that their eyes should be spectators of their excess, & admitting none but their Concubines. For this respect and reverence which they gave them, was a sign of true Love, for that we are ashamed to commit any unworthy Act before them we affect. They also willingly embrace such as they have seen faithful, and constant in their affections, and who love equally both present & absent. For which consideration they desire to insinuate themselves into their friendship which testify their love unto the dead, who adorn their Tombs, erect Statues, and make other monuments for them, to preserve their memory among men. They also affect such as abandon not their friends in the crosses and injuries of fortune, whereof we have a worthy example in the subject of Damon and Pythias, whereof the one being condemned to die, by the tyrant Dionysius, and desiring some respite, to go and settle the affairs of his house, his companion yielded himself a pledge for his return, with this condition, that if he returned not back within the prefixed time, he should undergo the rigour of the same sentence: but the condemned man presenting himself at the day appointed, the tyrant was so rapt with admiration, to see the faith which he had unto his friend, in a matter of that importance, and of so great danger, that in stead of putting him to death, he conjured these two perfect friends, to accept of him as a third man in their friendship. Behold how the most savage and untamed spirits are forced to love those, that show an unviolable constancy in their affections. Men do also love such as they see full of freedom, and without dissimulation towards them. In which rank they number such as make no scruple to discover their errors unto them, and who entertain them freely with their private passions: For, as we have showed before, we blush not to say or do in private with our friends, that which we would not do publicly before the world. Wherefore, as he that is ashamed to do any thing before another, shows that he loves him not perfectly; so he that hath not this apprehension, gives a manifest testimony that he hath a full confidence in his friendship: wherefore, we love such as make show to rely upon us, even discovering their imperfections unto us. Again, they affect those whose authority is not fearful unto them, & whose power they think they shall have no cause to apprehend: for no man ever loved him whom he feared servilely; and herein Tyrants abuse themselves, thinking to se●le their Authority by the terror of Arms, and the terror of punishment: yea, they have always detested the furious words of him that said, I care not to be hated, so I may be feared. It were good among bruit beasts, but men must be managed and governed by mildness. And they willingly embrace such as they may trust; and whose power is not fearful unto them. Behold the persons to whom the Love of men doth commonly extend.  
In the mean time the true means to purchase Love, is to bind those whose friendship we affect, by all sorts of benefits and good offices. And to this end they must do good before it be demanded or that they be forced to discover their wants unto us: for that were to put them on the rack, to make them confess our magnificence & bounty. Moreover he must be careful never to reproach the favours which he hath done them, nor proclaim them to others, with a vanity which seems to turn to their contempt. He that observes this mean in the benefits and favours which he bestows, seems to have propounded unto himself, the only good of him whom he hath bound, without any other particular interest: In regard whereof he is also bound to acknowledge and Love his freedom, and bounty.   

Of the Effects of Love.. CHAP. 4.  
AS the Ancient Romans observing of the one side, the conquests, victories, triumphs, and glory, which Caesar by his valour had purchased to their Empire; and on the other side weighing the ruins, miseries, massacres, and slaughters, which he had caused in their Estate, they were wont to say, that it was difficult to judge whether his birth had been more fortunate or fatal to their Common wealth. Even so it is hard to say, whether that Love causeth more good or evil in the world. It is true, when as this Passion contains itself within the bounds of honesty, it is a lively spring and fountain of all good things in the life of men. It is also true, that the author of nature hath engrafted in us the first motions and beams; and it is true, that it is borne with us, that it increaseth with us, & that it doth always accompany us, so as it cannot subsist without us, nor we Love without it. It is an immutable law, which men have not ●●●nd out, lawgivers have not prescribed; neither doth it depend upon the examples or customs of nations, but was graven, as we may say, by the hands of nature in our Souls. But when like a wild and untamed beast it exceeds the bounds of reason, there is no misery which it brings not into the world, nor any disorder which it causeth not in our lives. It is as it were a fatal source, from whence flow all kinds of horror, uncleanness, adulteries, incests, sacrileges, quarrels, wars, treasons, murders, parricides, cruelties, and violences; besides the particular torments it gives unto the souls of such as give themselves to be surprised, filling them with envies, jealousies, cares, melancholies, terrors, yea and madness; drawing them many times to despair, and to do things whereat heaven and earth blush and are ashamed: wherein it is the more to be feared, for that as the first heaven by his motion doth violently draw whatsoever is beneath it, so Love prescribes a law to our other desires, & to all our other Passions; so as we may term it the key and beginning of our thought, of our words, of our actions, and of whatsoever we do in this life: So it makes the first impression in our souls, where it excites the desire of that which we resolve to pursue; & than it fortifies this desire by hope, which inflames us to the pursuit of that we desire; and if there appear any obstacle, it embraceth Choler, and hath no rest until it hath vanquished and surmounted all lets, wherein she settles her contentment & rest. And as the thunder breaks whatsoever resists it, so this furious Passion, being once inflamed, strives to overthrow whatsoever opposes itself against her rage and violence. Yet as the winds fill the sails of Pirates ships, but are not the cause of the murders and thefts which they commit at sea; But all these miseries proceed from the bad inclination and covetousness of these infamous Pirates: So although that Love be an assistant in many villainies which men commit, yet it proceeds not from the malice of this Passion, which chose is framed to bring all good to the society of men; but it grows from the liberty and excess of men, who pervert the use of all things, and convert the causes of their felicity, into instruments of their misery. Let us then see what be the proper effects of Love, not staying at those which rise from the mere malice of men. We will reduce them to three or four heads, the explanation whereof will give sufficient light to the rest of the subject.  
The first effect they attribute to Love, is, that it hath an uniting virtue, by means whereof it causeth him that loveth to aspire to unite himself to the thing beloved: whereunto we may refer the fable of Androgenes, where of Plato doth so much triumph; but we must swallow so many fopperies, before we shall come to the mysteries of this fiction, as it were better to pass it over in silence, then to spend time to explicate it. So it is that profane and unchaste Love seeks the union of bodies, which is found even among brute beasts, and for this reason may be called brutish, if it be not sought with an honest intent by a lawful marriage. But chaste and honest Love seeks the union of affections and wills, and exceeds not that which is decent and virtuous. They which love, said Aristophanes, would passionately desire to be transformed, & changed one into another, & of two bodies to become one. But for that this transformation cannot be without the destruction of their being, they strive to recompense this defect, by a civil and honest union, which tends not to the ruin of their nature, but contents their affections; that is to say, they converse continually together, entertain their Passions, and are as little absent as may be one from another: Moreover they have the same thoughts, the same desires, the same affections, the same wills, the same delights, & the same distastes, & seem to be but one soul in two bodies. So as that which is pleasing to him that loveth, is in like manner to the party beloved, what he affects the other embraceth; and what he rejects the other flies, and doth abhor. So as their wills being thus strictly united, all their actions and carriages conspire to the same end, and propound unto themselves the same object. For when as we have grafted the sience of one tree upon another stock, the fruits which grow follow the nature of the graft, and savour nothing of the stock: so the will of the lover, being transported into that of the party beloved, takes the tincture, and doth not any thing but what is conformable to his desires and intentions. But whence comes the power which this Passion hath, thus to unite the subjects where it worketh? This cannot well be explicated without the aid of Philosophy. First of all, Love, say the Philosophers, is a desire to enjoy the good we propound unto ourselves, as proper for our content, and capable to make us in some sort better by the fruition. But this enjoying & participation cannot be effected but by uniting the object to our affection, which is the same good we propound unto ourselves; wherefore it is of the Essence of Love that it produceth this union. Hence it proceeds, that the presence of the party beloved is so dear and precious unto us, and that we feel ourselves filled with content, when as we may enjoy him to entertain our thoughts, to taste the sweetness of his company, and to discover our Passions: whereas his absence and separation gives us a thousand torments, and afflicts us with a thousand sorrows and discontents, which we would redeem with our lives. Wherefore when as death doth take violently from us those whom we love dear, and by this means hath condemned us as it were to a perpetual absence, we strive to ease our grief, and sweeten our loss, by transporting ourselves often to the places where we were accustomed to see them, representing unto ourselves their portracts and images, reading over their letters, & still handling all the gauges and monuments they left us of their affection. Sometimes the same gauges and the same momuments of their affection displease us, and we do so abhor them, as we cannot endure to see them, nor handle them, but this grows from the grief of their absence, for that we then represent them as infallible signs of our loss, which they figure unto us as irreparable; by reason whereof their pictures fill us with bitterness. But on the other side when as the same things seem unto us to supply the presence, we Love them dear, and cannot be weary to entertain ourselves with those thoughts. And if amidst all this we can invent any thing that may serve to preserve the memory more lively in our souls, we embrace the invention, and are wonderfully pleased with this art. Wherein doubtless Artimesia Queen of Caria, showed an act of wonderful Passion towards her husband Mausolus. For death having taken him away, this desolate Princess not knowing how to pull the thorns of her sorrow out of her soul, she caused his body to be reduced to ashes, and mingled them in her drink, meaning to make her body a living tomb, whereas the relics of her dear husband might rest, from whom she could not endure to live separated.  
The most subtle Philosophers give a second reason of this union which ariseth from Love.. Love (say they) hath her feat in the Will (they do not consider it as a Passion only, which riseth in the senses, but also as a quality which in the end becomes spiritual;) but there is this difference betwixt the understanding and Will: the understanding goes not out of itself to join with his object, but rather he draws the object unto him, whereof the Image is framed to produce his action, like unto a seal which prints its form in the wax. But the Will being touched with the Love of her object, suffers itself to be drawn to his Image; and going out of itself, unites itself unto him to take his form; like unto the wax which receives impressions of the seal. So as by this reason, Love is thought to cause the union of him that loveth with the party beloved; for that his will ravished by his love, hath no other Passion but to see herself united unto her. But these meditations are too nice for our subject.  
The second effect they attribute to Love, and which is as it were, a branch and bud of the first, is, that it causeth the soul of him that loves, to be more where it loves, than where it lives, and that reciprocally the soul of the party beloved, is more with the lover then with his own body. The reason is; for that the souls of such as love, are perpetually attentive to contemplate the image of that they love, and have no other thought nor greater pleasure, then that they receive by this sweet entertainment: By reason whereof the soul making show of a more exact presence, where it doth most frequently work, it follows thereby that it is more with the party beloved, then in its own body.  
But let us hear the opinion of the Platonicians upon this point: The soul, say they, which is touched to the quick with Love, dying in i●s own body, finds life in that it loves. And when this Love is reciprocal, it dies but once, whereas it revives twice. For he that loves dies truly, when as Love makes him neglect and forget the causes of his life, to think wholly upon the party beloved; but he recovers his life doubly when as he sees himself embraced and entertained by the party beloved; and that he finds in his arms his dear Image; which he preserves more carefully than his own life. Who will not then, say they, hold this death happy, which is recompensed by two such sweet lives? But this discourse of the Platonicians presupposeth an equal correspondency in Love, without the which they maintain that this Passion is full of despair, & leaves nothing in our souls but importune and troublesome thorns. Wherefore the Ancients said, that to make Love grow, she had need of a brother. But we have treated sufficiently of this Subject.  
They attribute other effects to Love, that is to say, languish, ecstasies, and amazements; but that Love must be very violent which doth produce them. And moreover we may consider these ecstasies, and rauish●ments which may happen in a violent Love, after two sorts. First, we may observe them as a true alienation of the senses, which ariseth, for that the spirit and will of him that loveth, being wholly employed in the contemplation and enjoying of the thing beloved, suffereth himself to be so transported with this content, as the soul remains as it were quenched and without motion. The which may also proceed from a more powerful cause, that is to say, either from God or from evil spirits, which sometimes stir up these ravishments and extraordinary ecstasies. Secondly we may consider these ecstasies & ravishments, as a kind of madness, which transports them that Love, and makes them to commit many follies; wherefore an Ancient said, that jupiter himself could not be wise and love at one instant. These ecstasies and ravishments produce sometimes prodigious effects in their souls that are afflicted with this Passion. For that his soul that loves entirely, is perpetually employed in the contemplation of the party beloved, and hath no other thoughts but of his merit, the heat abandoning the parts, and retiring into the brain, leaves the whole body in great distemperature, which corrupting and consuming the whole blood, makes the face grow pale & won, causeth the trembling of the heart, breeds strange convulsions, and retires the spirits in such sort, as he seems rather an image of death, than a living creature. These accidents are followed with passionate and heart-breaking sighs; as it appeared in young Antiochus at the sight of Stratonice: Or when as they only make mention of her, as if the spirit were eased and free from a heavy burden, and received content by this thought or presence. Tears in like manner fly to succour this afflicted soul, for that the heat which is mounted up to the brain, causeth the humour to dissolve and discharge itself by the eyes. But this poor soul thus agitated, hath no certain consistence, but floating betwixt hope and fear, she sometimes gives signs of joy, sometimes marks of sorrow; she is sometime frozen and congealed, sometimes all on fire: she goes, she comes, without any stay or rest, and doth many things which show that she is as it were incensed. For she proclaims the merit and glory of that she loves, and gives extraordinary commendations, which are the signs of her ravishment. Suddenly changing her humour, she makes her grief and discontent ascend up into heaven, she accuseth the innocent Stars, she complains of destiny and fortune, and blames that which she loves; and suddenly returning to herself, she condemns herself of wrong. Then she pours forth her spleen against such as she thinks have crossed her rest and hindered her content, so as she suffers cruel torments in this agitation. Many times even in the heat of his Passion, the party touched with love can endure no longer discourse; his words are short & scarce intelligible, for that the soul being thus tied to the object which it loves, it cannot give itself the leisure to speak of any other thing. And that which is full of admiration, this Passion doth so change & transform men, as it makes the wisest to commit great follies; it humbles the gravest to services unworthy of their rank, it makes the most glorious to become humble and meek, the covetous to be profuse and prodigal, and cowards to show themselves hardy and valiant. But for that some of these effects exceed the ordinary of a moral Passion, we will leave them to discourse particularly of jealousy, upon which subjects there are great controversies and disputes, that is to say, whether it be one of the effects of Love, as the Vulgar sort imagine; or whether it be rather the poison of Love, as others presuppose; but we will refer the discourse to the following Chapter.   

Of jealousy, whether it be an Effect and sign of Love.. CHAP. 5.  
THE Vulgar sort think, that as the Sun runs not his course without light, so Love cannot be without jealousy; and they add, that as lightning is an infallible sign of Thunder, which breaks forth, so jealousy is a certain sign of Love, which desires to show itself powerfully. But they that have a more exact and particular knowledge of Humane Passions, maintain, that as the Sun being come to the South (which is the point of the perfection of his light) casts no shadow, but spreads his beams all pure upon the earth; so a true and perfect love is not subject to the inclinations of jealousy.  
And they say moreover, that this unjust Passion is no more a sign of Love, than storms and tempests are shows of fair weather; this opinion is more probable: for to begin with the proofs, how can jealousy subsist and remain with Love, unless we will overthrow the Laws of Nature, which suffer not two contraries to subsist in one subject? Is there any thing more contrary to Love then jealousy? Can the world see a greater Antipathy, then that which is observed in these two qualities, whereof the one doth participate with the condition of monsters, and the other is the very Idea of perfection? Love unites the wills, and makes that the desires of them that love, strive to take, as it were, the same tincture, to the end they may resemble one another. And chose, what doth so much distract the Wills, and divide the hearts, as jealousy? Love binds us to interpret favourably of all the actions of the party beloved, and to take in good part that which we ought to believe she hath done with reason: whereas jealousy makes bad interpretations, not only of her actions, but even of her very thoughts? Is there any innocency that can be sheltered from the outrages of this inhuman fury? If the party beloved hath any joy, it than presupposeth a rival; if she be pensive, they are suspicions of contempt: if she speaks to another, it is Infidelity; if she have wit, they apprehend practices; if she be advised, they imagine subtleties; if she be plain, they call it simplicity; if she be well spoken, it is affectedness; if she be courteous, it is with a design. So as jealousy is like unto those counterfeit glasses, which never represent the true proportion of the face: and what more sinister judgements could the most cruel enemy in the world give of the party beloved? But not content thus to blemish the particular perfections of that she seems to love, she seeks to deprive it of the sweetest content in this life, which is by communication with men of honour and merit, who do not visit her but for the esteem they make of her virtues: So as many times to please an importune, who is himself a great burden to them that suffer him, she must forbear all good company. What justice can force a soul well bred, to endure this brutish rigot? Love is a lively fountain of joy and contentment, which banisheth all cares and melancholy; but jealousy, what is it else but a nursery of grief● and waywardness, whereas we see thorns of despair and rage, to grow up among the sweetest and most pleasing flowers that Nature can produce? How then can any man believe that these two contrary Passions can subsist in one subject? If they oppose hereunto experience, and the testimony of many persons worthy of credit, which protest that they have loved sincerely, and yet were never without jealousy; and will thereby infer, that at the least, jealousy is a sign of love; which is the second thing we must encounter, to satisfy that which hath been formerly propounded: it sufficeth to answer, that although for respect we yield to those personages what they publish of their Passions: yet as one Swallow makes no Spring, so that which happens to particulars, cannot prescribe a law to the general. But to contain ourselves within the bounds of our first proposition, we say, that these persons are much deceived in this subject: and their error grows, for that they cannot give proper names to things, for that of a respective fear compatible with love, whereof it is full, they make an unjust jealousy, with the which Love can no more subsist, than water with fire. They that love entirely, are in truth, full of respect to the party beloved; honour her with all the passions of their souls, fight for her honour, and hold it a punishment to offend her. But these are not the effects of jealousy, which chose violates the honour which is due to the party beloved, and by a prodigious manner to blind the world, will have her favour by wronging her, treading her merits under foot. We must then put a difference betwixt a respective fear, which always doth accompany those that love perfectly, and jealousy which is never found but with an imperfect passion, which cannot judge of the perfections of the party beloved. They which know that these things are divers, and as remote one from another, as the earth is from heaven, will easily pass on this side, and yield, that jealousy is neither compatible with Love, nor is any sign thereof. Yet if we shall yield any thing to the opinion of the Vulgar, we may freely confess, that jealousy, in truth is a sign of Love, but as the fever is an argument of life. It is unquestionable, that a fever is a sign of life, seeing the dead are not susceptible of this bad quality. But as a fever showing that there are some relics of life in the patient that is tormented, accompanies him to his grave; so jealousy is I know not what sign of Love, seeing they which love not, cannot have any jealousy. But it is certain, that if we expel it not, it will in the end ruin Love, like unto a thick smoke which smothers the brightest flame. This is all we can yield unto the Vulgar, so as according to this opinion which we have held the most probable, jealousy is to Love as thick mists are to flowers, hail to harvest, storms to fruits, and poison to our lives.    


Of Hatred or Enmity. CHAP. 1.  
AS the Laws of Love and Hatred are directly contrary; by that which we have spoken of Love, it will be easy to judge, wherein Hatred consists, and how far her effects extends. Hatred then is An aversion and horror which man hath of all that seems contrary to his good, or prejudicial to his contentment: Or else Hatred is an horror which the appetite hath of that which seems pernicious unto it, so as the sheep hate the wolf, as the enemy and persecuter of his life.  
But we must here observe, that as all that is befitting Nature is put in the rank of good, so on the other side, whatsoever is opposite unto it, must be placed in the rank of evil. Wherefore as the good is the object of Love, so the evil is the object of Hatred. To understand this, we must remember, that whether it be in the mind or in the body, there is a befiting estate, and as it were a natural harmony, which makes us to abhor that which may dissolve this consort. This harmony considered in the body, is no other thing then the good constitution, by means whereof, we enjoy a perfect health; the which being impaired, our nature receives pain, as when we endure great hunger and thirst, or when as we receive any hurt or wound. As for the soul, this same harmony may be considered: first in the senses, as well external as internal, & consist in the proportion they have with their objects; which is such, as they hate whatsoever pulls them away, or which diverts them by any kind of violence. As for example, the eyes hate darkness and obscurity, and our imagination is terrified and troubled by the fearful apprehensions of dreams, which it frameth during our rest. This same harmony considered in reason, either it regards the simple knowledge of the truth, which our understanding conceives with pleasure; or the use and execution of things which depend on wisdom, which we do with content. In regard of the first, our spirit is enemy to lying, although at some times it takes delight in the art wherewith they colour a thing to give it some show of truth: So as the wisest are delighted in the reading and report of fables, when as the intention hath any grace. And as for the second, there is such diversity of judgements in humane actions which are as it were the Element of prudence, as it is a thing in a manner▪ incredible: for hardly shall you see two persons which have the same feeling and apprehension of affairs, in regard whereof this life is full of Hatred and factions which grow from these divers opinions.  
As for that which concerns the will, her harmony consists in the proportion & Love which she bears to the good, which makes her detest and abhor whatsoever presents itself unto her, under the show of evil, as pernicious and hurtful to her content and rest. And therefore the harmony of the sensitive appetite consisting in the familiarity and concurrence it hath with the good of the senses, it doth abhor and bears an irreconciliable hatred, to whatsoever shall offend them; hence it comes that we so much abhor whips, tortures, punishments, hunger, thirst, wounds, & such like which tend to the destruction of our being. This Passion was engraft in us by nature, to the end that at the first approach, at the first taste and imagination of evil, we may retire ourselves and fly it, lest we run into ruin. This kind of hatred than is proper to the concupiscible which is offended at divers things, yea at small things, and many times at those which have no subject of offence, for you shall see some which cannot suffer the presence of certain creatures, & others cannot endure the sight of certain fruits, though otherwise they be exceeding pleasant. Finally there is no creature so fantastic in his Appetite, nor so sudden in the motions of Hatred and distastes of things which present themselves unto his senses, as man, who not able to endure any thing, makes himself insupportable in a like manner to all creatures: but principally to his like.  
But to give more light to this discourse, we will observe that there are divers sorts of Hatred and Enmities, which may be referred to four chief heads: for there is a natural Hatred, and a brutish Hatred, a melancholy Hatred, and a humane Hatred. The natural Hatred takes her beginning from a certain antipathy, and contrariety of nature which is found in creatures, the which as it were abhor one another, and cannot frequent or converse together, although the subject of this Hatred appear not, and that shows itself more in the effect then in the cause; whereof we have prodigious examples in nature, in plants, in beasts, and in men. Brutish Hatred is rather a rage then a Passion, for that it seeks a furious destruction of that it hates, and to see the last relics consumed; so as it is more fitting for ravening wolves, or for monsters then for men. Such is the Hatred of those who not satisfied to have slain their enemies, make their bodies to feel their fury, practising a thousand cruelties upon their carcases, and making them to suffer after death, all the indignities their rage can devose. This detestable Hatred sometimes passeth to such a furious transport, and so full of excess, as they eat the flesh of their enemies, & have a brutish delight in the fume of their members being cast into the fire: This only befits Cannibals and those monsters which have laid aside all humanity. Melancholy Hatred grows from the great abundance of adust choler, the which doth so torment and agitate those miserable wretches which are afflicted therewith, as they abhor all the honest pleasures of life, fly the light of men, and wish evil unto themselves, so as they cannot endure to be seen, neither will they speak to any man, but seek deserts & solitary places, where they confine themselves, and consume themselves with the discontent and Hatred they bear to mankind: like unto that cursed Athenian, who had conceived such a mortal Hatred against all men, as he imagined it was not in his power to bind his fellow Citizens unto him more strictly, but in planting of trees which might serve them as Gibbets to hang themselves.  
Some among the Idolaters would have tied this aspersion & infamy to the profession of religious men among Christians, comparing these holy souls, to birds which fly the light, and never show themselves but in the darkness. But these reproaches are the fruits of impiety, which is not capable nor can comprehend the motions, nor force of the inspirations of the spirit of God, who drawing his elect from the vanities and pleasures of the wo●ld, leade● them into these holy solitudes, where being far from the conversation of men, they approach near the comp●ny of Angels; or rather unite themselves to him who is the sole joy and sovereign good of Angels. If they which have thus sought to blemish and defame this holy profession, which begins his paradise on earth, would have taken the pains to search into and sound the condition, the manners, and the life, of those which renounce the world, & the pleasure thereof; they should have found, that the Sun in the whole world doth not behold souls more contented than those, in whom there appears no sign of sadness, nor any show of melancholy: But a perpetual joy which no troubles interrupt, nor any discontents do cross. But this belongs not to our subject.  
It rests that we speak of that Hatred which plants her roots simply in the hearts of men. This is an infirmity of the soul as we have described it, which hath humane causes, and to the which also they bring humane remedies to seek to cure it, of the which we now treat. In the mean time there is great difference betwixt Choler, Hatred, and Envy. And first of all there is this difference betwixt Choler, and Hatred, that Choler grows from injuries which we have received, and which offend us in our own particular; whereas Hatred may spring from things which concern not us in particular; but which touch the Public. As for example, we may hate and detest those which kindle a fire of discord in the remotest parts of the Estate. We may hate such as commit villainies a hundred leagues from us; but to inflame our Choler, the injury must touch us and offend us, either in our own person, or in that of our friends. And Choler doth always presuppose particular men; but Hatred may extend itself to all mankind, there being no man but doth detest and generally abhor all thieves, all murderers, and all slanderers▪ Moreover Choler may be cured with time, for that it is a short fury which may be pacified with patience. But Hatred is in a manner incurable, and grows more bitter with time and remedies. Wherefore the Poets describe Etrocles: and Pollinices, continuing the effects of their Hatred even in their tombs: For when as their sister Antigona had cast their bodies into the fire, to perform their ordinary obsequies, they could not remain together, but the flame dividing itself cast their bodies one from another; whereupon miserable Antigona cried out, that their Hatred survived their death.  
Moreover, he that is transported with Choler, not only desires to be revenged of the party that hath wronged him in making him to feel the effects of his wrath▪ But withal will have him know that he is the author of this revenge, and of the pain he feels. But he that is possessed with Hatred, desires only to see his enemy ruined, and doth not care to have him know that he is the Author thereof, so as he may behold his destruction. Besides, Choler is accompanied with pain, by reason of her vehemency: But Hatred is without pain, never filling her subject with this extreme ard or, but suffers him coldly to attend the ruin of his enemy. Finally, Choler hath bounds, for if he that is incensed against any one, sees any great calamity befall him, which exceeds the limits of a common revenge, he hath pity, and doth wish that his misery had not mounted to that height. But the man that is full of Hatred, never sees his bad inclinations satisfied; and how great soever the calamity be which befalls his enemy, he hath no feeling nor pity: the reason of this difference is, for that he which is in choler, desires only that the party against whom he is incensed should know, that it is in his power to revenge the wrong he hath done him. But he that merely hates, seeks absolutely the ruin of his enemy, and is not satisfied until he see him utterly lost: let us now observe wherein Hatred differs from Enuy. The diversity appears first, in that hatred hath for object the evil which we conceive of the party whom we hate, presupposing him to be wicked, either in our own respects, or generally toward all men. For we find it daily by experience, that men are disposed to hate those, from whom they think they have received some injury, or whom they know are accustomed to outrage all the world: whereas Envy hath for object the felicities and prosperities of another: the which is most apparent, for that we never envy the miserable. And Hatred also extends even to bruit beasts, for as we have said before, there are some which naturally hate certain creatures; yea, we have seen a great Prince who could not endure the singing nor sight of a Cock. But Envy pours forth his poison only among men: for we do not envy birds for their goodly feathers, nor Lions for the greatness of their courage; nor Stags for their swiftness; ●or Elephants for their greatness and force: but we only envy the glory of our like. Moreover, envy is always unjust; for what show of reason can be found in a passion which doth afflict us for the prosperities of another man, as if he did us some injury in being happy? But there may be Hatred full of justice as those which make us abhor the public plague, and troublers of the peace of the State, the enemies of the Country, men desperately wicked and vicious, and the enemies of God and religion: yea, this Hatred of the wicked is a sign of a good soul, as the envy we bear to them that are fortunate, discovers a wicked disposition: wherefore we dissē●ble not the Hatred we bear to such as we know are wicked, whereas we disguise all we can the envy we conceive against them that are happy. Again, Envy kindling in our hearts by the great prosperity of another, when as they decline, and that we see them overthrown by some notable accident of misfortune, it relents, and is by little and little quenched: yea, it is most certain, that envious men are glad to have some cause of pity; whereas Hatred and enmities never ceas●e for all the calamities which befall their enemies; but when they are once framed and fixed to any one, they never abandon him neither in good nor bad fortune. Moreover, Hatreds and enmities are sometimes cured and quenched, by letting the party (that is tormented with this passion) know, that he to whom he wisheth evil, hath not done him any wrong, or that he hath changed his inclination, & is become a good & virtuous man; & moreover, that he hath done him some kind of pleasure, in occasions which have been offered to oblige him. But although you persuade a man, that he hath not received any wrong from him that is happy and fortunate, yet it doth not quench his envy; and in stead of suppressing it with this consideration, that he is a good man and that he hath endeavoured to do him favours, yet he will show it the more, and let the world see, that he can neither endure his prosperity nor his benefits; for that the one proceeds from the good fortune which doth accompany him, and the other is an effect of his virtue, which are two recommendable things, & consequently subject to Envy. Lastly, these two Passions differ, in regard of the divers ends which they propound unto themselves: for Envy hath that in particular, that she doth not always cause us to wish great miseries to those we envy: for we see it daily by experience, that there are some which envy their own kinsmen or friends, yet they would be loath to see any great misery befall them, or an affliction which might tend to their ruin; contenting themselves to cross their prosperities, and to hinder the lustre and glory of their fortunes. But Hatred passeth further, still watching for an occasion to ruin his enemy, and is never satisfied with his miseries until they have brought him to the period of his downfall: So as she induceth us to procure irremediable mischiefs, and extreme calamities to those whom she pursues with obstinacy.  
We must now seek the source and fountain of Hatred, and show what the causes be that frames it. As she consists in the aversion of things which are contrary to our senses, it may spring from three causes principally; that is to say, from choler, from reproaches, or slanders, and from the crosses or discommodities which we receive. As for the first, an Ancient had reason to say, that hatred is an inveterate or rooted choler; not that time doth change one of these passions into another: for the Philosophers will never confess, that one kind may pass into the nature of another but for that choler having exasperated our courage, if we entertain long the form of an offence which doth gall us, in the end we lay aside choler, and begin to hate him against whom our wrath was kindled: So as choler is not of the Essence of hatred, but many times the cause.  
As for the second, it is certain, that nothing doth more excite our Hatred then slanders & reproaches, the which may even trouble the wisest and most virtuous; for we have seen great Personages, who had, as it were, renounced all feeling of the other Passions, yield o the grief of detraction, and have suffered themselves to have been so carried away with grief of mind, as they have fallen into a general disdain of all the world, and to abhor all Mankind, by reason of the fury of such as had defamed them. So as slander is like to a huge wave which wrists the helm out of the Mariners hand: for that she troubles the most virtuous, and makes them to give way to the griefs of Hatred. Besides, if they which slander us, give us other crosses, and are the cause of some notable prejudice; as if they accuse us before the Magistrate, if they bring us in question of our lives, if they cause us to lose our goods, if they persecute our kinsmen, if they torment our friends; all these causes together frame a deep Hatred in our souls, the which retain for ever the form of these bloody injuries, unless they make some great and solemn satisfaction.  
Finally, the reasons why choler, detraction, and crosses, or discommodities, engender Hatred, is, for that all these things tending to the destruction of the being, or honour of men, they are so many subjects and spurs of Hatred against those that procure them those displeasures. Yet Hatred is not framed in our hearts by these causes only, but there are other particular motives from whence it may proceed, as when we see ourselves deceived in our trust, and of the good opinion we had of men to whom we were tied by affection. Wherefore an Ancient had reason to say, that Hatred is commonly framed in our souls, by our bad elections, for that we love before we know, and before we have tried the merit and fidelity of those to whom we will trust so rich a treasure as friendship. We are too easily persuaded that they are virtuous, and worthy of all favour and confidence, and in the mean time we find them treacherous and unworthy: so as we fall into such a disdain, and do so abhor them, as we cannot inindure to hear them spoken of. Finally, to draw to a head the causes of this Passion; we hate ugly and deformed things, as the monsters and scorners of nature and art, and those which are filthy, troublesome, and importune: for that we esteem them as enemies to our senses and content. As for those which are subject to the motions of this Passion, we observe, that faint and base minds, are sooner moved then generous spirits: The reason is, for that Cowards fear every thing, so as their hatred is inflamed against all such as they think may hurt them, be it in their person, in their goods or in regard of their friends. Hence it grows, that great men which have no courage are commonly cruel, as we have monstrous examples in Nero, Caligula, and other effeminate Princes, whose rage no murders could satisfy. And for the same reason they that have offended a great Personage, who hath means to revenge himself, hate him irreconciliably; which makes them to desire his death, to see themselves freed from fear. Whence groweth that famous saying, He that offends never pardons. The proud and envious are also subject to the motions of Hatred. The first, for that they think they are not honoured as they should be; and the last, for that all the prosperities of their equals offend them.  
They that love themselves too much, are wonderful apt to the same motions, for that they take every thing as an injury, and are so nice as they cannot endure any man. But as Love springs from a feeling of good, and Hatred from an apprehension of Evil, it happens that for that the good things we enjoy in this life are never pure, nor much durable, they make no great impression, neither do they leave any great remembrance nor Love of them in our souls: But chose evil things being very sensible & long, take deep rooting in our hearts, where by reason of our corruption, they are are as it were in their proper Element, so as we do more easily preserve the seeds of Hatred then of Love: Wherefore an A●●ient said, that he whic● 〈◊〉 with grief, remembers it; but he that enjoys pleasure, forgets. Finally if we would make good use of our Hatred, we must employ it against vice, and against those objects, the Love and pursuit whereof may pollute our hearts, and blemish the Image of God which shines in our souls. This Hatred must take her course from causes contrary to those, which we have formerly said, are proper to induce Love.. As for example, to root out of the soul a dishonest Love, we must leave to think of it, and divert our minds and senses from the continual contemplation of the image which begins to make us to feel her power, lest that the beams of so pernicious an object, kindle and nourish in our hearts bad desires: and moreover, to fortify our Hatred, we must judiciously weigh the defects which may encounter in the subject which we Love.. And of this sort, from the most perfect creature in the world, being subject to great imperfection, we may easily if we will, find occasion to separate ourselves.  
We must in like manner represent the miseries which do commonly accompany the pursuites of Love; we must also set before our eyes the shipwreck of so many famous personages, which have lost themselves upon this shelf: We must represent the infidelities, cares, crosses, pain, and torments, which this wretched Passion doth cause. And above all, a Christian should apprehend the wrath of God, and the horror of his judgements which he pours out upon uncleaenenesse. But this belongs to another Discourse.    


Of Desire or Cupidity: and of the flight and horror we have of things. CHAP. 1.  
AS NATURAL things being far from their centre, have no rest until they attain unto it; so man having a particular inclination to good, as soon as he propounds unto himself the object, and ties it to his imagination; if the enjoying be denied him, he feels himself surprised with a certain vehemency, which makes him to seek it passionately. And if it be a good of the mind, his will is inflamed; and if this good concerns the contentment of the body, his senses receive the impression and long to enjoy it. According to this last motion, Philosophers affirm that there is Passion in man which they call Cupidity or Desire, which concerneth those things which we possess not, and which we think are fit and proper to give us content This Cupidity or Desire is no other thing, but a Passion we have to attain unto a good which we enjoy not, & which we imagine is fitting for us. It differs from Love and Pleasure, for that Love is the first inclination, the first taste, or (as we may say) the first sweetness we feel of good things, or of those which are goodly or fair: which ravish our senses, and breed in us this desire and longing to enjoy them; after which, hope doth arise, the which succeeding, the effect fills us with joy, and contentment, which is properly the pleasure we conceive when the thing hath succeeded. Or to deliver it more plainly, Desire, differs from Love, and Pleasure, for that Love is the first motion, and the first Passion we have of any good thing, without respect whether it be present or absent; Desire is a Passion for a good that is absent, and pleasure a contentment we have to enjoy when we have gotten it. Whereby it follows, that Desire as we say, is a particular Passion, for that it regards a sensible good, under a sensitive consideration, that is to say, under this consideration that it is absent, and that in this absence it draws unto it the affection of man to pursue it. For the sensible good which is the object of the sensual appetite, moves otherwise when it is present, then when it is absent.  
For when it is present, the Appetite is at rest by the presence of the thing beloved, whereas being absent, the Appetite is moved and agitated with a desire and longing to pursue it and get it. But there are two kinds of Desires and Cupidities, which may make impression in our senses, the one is natural, the other rise from our choice; the natural are those which agree with the nature of the creature, as drinking, eating, sleeping; and these are common to men & brute beasts, for that both the one and the other, have objects befitting their nature. Those which arise from our election, are such as regard the things which are not altogether necessary for the creature, but man hath invented them for his greater ease and commodity, as the delights of drinking, & eating, baths, play, sights, riches, honour, reputation, and such like. As for natural desires they are not infinite, but have their bounds; for that as nature contents itself with a little, so she prescribes unto herself certain limits, within the which she contains herself, tying herself to the object which is fitting, without any diversion.  
But those which follow our election have no bounds, so they grow infinite. For as they depend of the imagination of man, as this power represents the forms and images of infinite objects; so these desires multiply infinitely to pursue all those good things which the imagination hath propounded. Whereby it happens that representing at one instant any thing that seems pleasing or profitable, we desire it passionately, and then changing opinion we wish another, and after it a third.  
So as we feel as it were a swarm of desires disclose themselves in our thoughts, which draw us to divers objects, without rule or measure. For as no abundance of water can satisfy them that are sick of the dropsy, so there is no kind of goodness or pleasure that may content our desires. The ancient Philosophers compared the first matter to an infamous strumpet, who is never glutted with present pleasure, but doth still meditate upon new embrace; for that the first matter is never content with the forms which she enjoys, but still desires new, not caring whether they be more noble than that wherewith she is adorned. But we have more reason to apply this comparison to our Cupidities and Desires, which show themselves insatiable in all they pursue, with what kind of Passion soever. And herein appears the great misery of man, who having means to pass with few things necessary for the entertainment of his life, plungeth himself in superfluities as into a gulf, whereas he finds neither bottom nor bank, and afflicts himself with a thousand torments in the pursuit of his vain desires, making his condition much more miserable than that of other creatures. For they having quenched their desires by the enjoying, remain fully satisfied, and torment themselves no more, until that nature quickens again their appetites.  
When as the Lion hath pursued a Bull or a Goat, he devours what is necessary to satisfy his hunger; but he hides not the remainder in the ground. The Boar drinks until he hath satisfied his thirst, and then leaves the water. The Wolf (though a ravening beast) runs after his prey, when hunger drives him; but being satisfied he leaves his chase. Leopards and Tigers being pressed by necessity, kill their prey, but having fed they are quiet. Bulls having taken their pasture, return content. But there is nothing able to satisfy the desires of man, his imagination being always fertile and intentive to furnish him with new toils and cares to seek for new, by the distaste he hath of those which he enjoyeth.  
So as to comprehend them all together, there is not glory enough, nor wealth sufficient, nor objects of pleasure and delight in the whole world, that can make him absolutely content. Whereby we may see a man grown from a base estate to a glorious fortune, complain of his estate; never looking to them that are inferior unto him, but only to such as exceed him. Let him be advanced to the first office of estate, yet this glory will be a spur unto him to aspire unto a greater. He would play the prince, he would contemn his King, and would enjoy the glory of his Diadem.  
Finally, he would see how high fortune can raise him, and doth not consider that she grows weary, and that her consistence is as brickle as glass, and that her lustre is like unto those false lights, which deceive Seafaring men, and guide them upon Rocks and Shelves, whereon their ships are broken, and they suffer shipwreck. Ambition hath no bounds, if she hath surmounted the earth, she will defy heaven. So those proud Princes of Antiquity, not satisfied with the glory of their Crowns, and having nothing more on earth to be desired, would counterfeit the thunder and lightning, to have themselves held powerful in heaven. But if ever Prince made show that Ambition is insatiable, it was Alexander; for that after so many battles, after so many glorious conquests, having passed from Macedonia through Asia, even unto the red sea, yet he sent forth his Lieutenants to discover new worlds, there to find out a new harvest of triumphs: the Scythians though Barbarians, could well reproach him with this insatiable passion of glory. If the gods (say they) had given thee a body equal to thy courage, the whole world would be too little for thee: with the one hand thou wouldst touch the East, and with the other the West: and after all this, thou wouldst yet know where the brightness of that great Divinity were hidden. But we must not imagine, that this passion is proper only to Alexander, for there was never great Monarch whose abundance of treasure, and extent of Empire could limit his Ambition. There was never any one whom death hath not found plotting of new designs, and making of new projects for conquests. The cupidities and desires of riches are no less insatiable: the more we enjoy, the more we desire, and the Passion grows more violent by abundance; like unto the flame of a great fire, which increaseth when they cast wood into it. Give me a man in whose house (to speak with the world) fortune hath heaped up all the treasures of Perou, to whom she hath imparted so much gold, silver, and precious stones, as he not only enjoyeth it, but also treads under his feet Pearls, Rubies, and Diamonds; yet amidst all this riches and glory, I dare boldly affirm, that his soul is not content, but in this abundance he represents unto himself other riches, which he imagineth are more exquisite, & more precious than those which he enjoys. So as in being rich, we do not learn to leave to be passionate for the love of riches, nor by enjoying many superfluous things, we do not get the contentment not to desire more. And when will mighty men cease to extend the bounds of their possessions? The lands, the houses of their neighbours, do they not stand in their light? & do not their Desires inflame them to buy them, or take them away by vioence? If there be a branch of a river that may fit their buildings, must they not have it either by love or force? Do they not cut down mountains & Rocks, divert the course of rivers, make valleys even; yea, & remove the very foundations of the earth to satisfy their desires? Poor men, which having but so little a body to lodge, build such ample Palaces.  
And for all this are their desires satisfied? nay rather, the end of one is the beginning of another. This is a miserable Passion, seeing that she herself fights against her own satisfying and content: and seeing that by a prodigious violence she inflames us to the pursuit of riches to enjoy them; and when we have gotten them, she forbids us the use: she begets a longing in us, and denies us the pleasure And as we more abhor the Cantharideses and Tarantules, than Lions, Tigers, and Bears; for that they kill men and reap no fruit of their death, whereas savage beasts do feed themselves, and satisfy their hunger: so of all the Cupidities and Desires, there is not any one that we should so much detest, as that of Covetousness: for that this monstrous Passion draws no contentment from that it gathers together, nor suffers him rhat is possessed with it, to take any pleasure: whereas other desires, at the least, aspire to the enjoying and content which may grow by the possession of their objects. Interdicting thus the enjoying, she stirs up new Desires, to get new treasure; and having gotten it, we find, that the pain we have taken to enjoy it, is nothing in regard of the torment it gives us after that we are owners. And yet we stay not there, but plunging ourselves still in this gulf, we find sooner an end of our lives, then of our Covetousness. These are the thorns which spring from riches, which are gotten with pain, preserved with care, and lost with grief. Pleasures and delights are also infinite, not only for that they cannot give a full contentment to our desires, but also for that the number is so great, as we can hardly reckon them, or at least give them names. There are Desires of the eyes, which represent sensible beauties, of which we find a thousand fashions, the search whereof should be innocent if it had any bounds; but the excess of our Desire doth blemish the pursuit. As for example, Pictures, Images, Statues, Porphyry, Marble, Amber, Crystal, ivory, Flowers, tapestries, Diamonds, Rubies, & all other things, where the eye discovers the wonders of nature and the Art of man, are the objects of an innocent pleasure, if we could use them moderately. But we suffer ourselves to be transported with so furious a Desire, and we seek them with such an enraged heat, as it is rather a madness then a Desire. An Ancient said, That nothing had more distasted him from love, and the Passion of all those things, then to see the stately Triumphs of Rome where they exposed to the sight all the gold and silver of that great City, to serve for an ornament; and carried the Pictures, Images, Arms, plate, precious stones, Treasure, Tapestry, and the Movables of vanquished Kings, & the spoils of their rich Provinces, to increase their glory. And his reason was, for that (said he) all this pomp, all this lustre, all this glory, and this abundance of treasure, was seen in one day, and then vanished: So as in a short time our eyes might behold all the pride not only of Rome, but of the world. This was to make a man wise by sights, whereas others become mad.  
There are other pleasures of the eyes, which pollute by the excess of our cupidities, and by the disorder of our desires: as when our eyes not content to behold the beauty of a woman, conceive an unchaste desire. Besides these diverse pleasures of the eyes, there are others of smelling, hearing and feeling; wherein we observe as little measure as in the rest. Perfumes are exquisite presents of Nature; but our effeminate delicacy hath made the use infamous and shameful. Music, consorts, and the sweetness of Instruments, were things which we might use honestly without offence; but we have converted all into Luxury, which profanes the use. And amidst all this abundance, neither do our eyes satisfy their Desires, by so many objects which they behold; neither do our ears find their heat quenched, nor our other senses their passions, by whatsoever offers itself to their desires. The other pleasures whereunto man is addicted, as play, combats, hunt, exercises, companies, and whatsoever he doth to ease the cares of this life, cannot satisfy nor give any full contentment to man: but amidst all these roses he still meets with some thorns, and seeks daily after new contentment; so insatiable are his Desires.  
The same Cupidities also vary according to the ages, complexions, and humours of those which are touched with this Passion. Young men are passionate after play and women, and exceed in these pleasures. The sick wish for health, as the sovereign good of his life; old men desire good wine, and good fare, which seems to make them live again, & to add new vigour to their bodies. Princes and generous spirits breathe nothing but glory, triumphs, and trophies, which serve to advance them beyond the ordinary of men.  
They which are of a sanguine and hot complexion, have a Passion fit for all things, and they pursue them with great heat; but it lasts not long, and is like a fire of straw, inconstancy & change accompanying them still in their pursuites. Whereas they that are of a cold constitution, have no great desires, by reason of the heaviness of their humours: But they are obstinate in their pursuits, and can hardly be diverted from the object, whereunto they are tied. They which have the least feeling of the motions of Desire, are such as have no apprehension of the discommodities and miseries of this life, as they that are young; great spirits; men overtaken with wine; and finally all such as have much blood and heat gathered together about the heart. As in like manner, they are not much transported, which have never felt any urgent necessity. For as fear and distrustes increase Desire, to provide all things necessary for the preservation of this life, they which have tasted of crosses, apprehending to fall into their first miseries, do Desire infinite things, to fortify themselves against all accidents; supposing still that nothing can secure them sufficiently. They also which have little blood about their hearts, & that but lukewarm, have naturally cares and ardent desires to gather; for that they fear to see themselves fall into want and poverty; and the importune care they have to prevent this misery, afflicts their souls, and tortures their minds. Hence it comes, that we often see men who have been prodigal and very profuse in their youth, so change their inclinations, as when they come to age, there can be nothing noted in them but base covetousness in all their actions: whereas on the other side we commonly see that wine and Love make covetous men bountiful.  
Finally when we have gotten with much pain the goods which we enjoy, we show more vehemency to keep them. The which may arise from two causes, either for that we fear to fall again into the necessity in which we have been, and apprehend to see ourselves forced to take new pains, and to undergo new toils to recover our estates. Or else for that the things which we have gotten with sweat and danger, are more dear unto us, than those which come without labour and pain. So we see a young Heir, which comes to a great Estate by the death of his father, will bountifully bestow his gold and silver, and dissipate within few days, what his miserable father had been long a gathering, and which he had not gotten but with infinite torments both of body and mind. Whereas a Merchant, who hath tried the dangers of traffic; who hath grown pale a thousand times at Sea during his voyages; who hath seen himself often near death, and ready to fall into the hands of Pirates or thieves, will not thrust his hand rashly into his coffers, nor distribute his money but with great staidness, and wonderful discretion, which may make him to be held base and covetous. Doubtless we have seen in our times the most generous Prince of the world, who showed no such magnificence in the bestowing of his excessive treasures, as the glory of his birth and the splendour of his other actions seemed to require. So as many had a conceit that he feared to fall into his first necessities; but doubtless his good husbandry was far better than our profusions.  
We have spoken sufficiently of this Passion of Desire, the which having in a manner all things common with Love, it shall not need any longer Treaty, nor more words to explain it. As for the Passion which is contrary unto it, as it hath no name, (although it be the same which makes us abhor and fly that which we think is hurtful to our nature,) so it is not needful to seek out the conditions and particularities, seeing they are in a manner the same which we have observed upon the subject of Hatred. Moreover, that from the nature of Desire, we may gather what that of horror is, seeing that one contrary deciphers another.   

Of Pleasure or Delight. CHAP. 1.  
AS this great Fabric of the heavens makes his motion upon the two Poles of the world, which are as it were the two points where it begins and ends: So it seems that all the Passions of our souls depend upon Pleasure and Pain, which grow from the contentment or distaste which we receive from the divers objects which present themselves unto us in the course of this life. If we love, it is for that we find a sweetness in the subject that doth ravish us. And if we hate, it is in regard that we imagine the object which presents itself unto our imagination, is full of grief, contrary to our apprehension. The pleasure we take in the Idea of a good thing, which we enjoy not, and yet promise to ourselves the possession in pursuing it constantly, begets hope: as chose, when we think it is not in our power to obtain it, the grief we have afflicts us, and leads us to despair. Desires in like manner are framed in us by the imagination we have of a benefit which may give us content; and the distaste we have of things which we fly, is, for that we imagine they may cause our discontent and vexation. So as in all the other Passions we still find Pleasure and grief intermixed, in regard whereof, we may rightly term them the two springs and fountains, from whence derive and flow all the other Passions. Yet they have their particular reasons and considerations, which give them their rank, and put them in the number of other Passions duly & exactly considered. Wherefore Pleasure or Delight is a Passion & motion, which is framed in our souls with a certain sweetness which fills our senses with contentment and joy, when as they receive the impression, by the enjoying of a good which is pleasing unto them: Or else, Pleasure is a Passion which proceeds from the sweetness which our senses receive from the objects which delight them. Or to use Aristotle's definition; Pleasure is a motion of the soul, which puts it suddenly and sensibly in an estate fit for the nature of man. Whereupon we must first observe, that as things merely natural tend to their perfections, by those means which nature hath prescribed; so all creatures strive to attain unto those which are proper unto them, by the means which the same nature hath made subject to their power. But there is this difference betwixt insensible creatures & those which have sense, that the insensible having attained to the height of their perfection, feel no joy. So as it seems, the Sun is unhappy in that respect, that being endued with such a shining brightness, and such perfect beauty, yet it hath no feeling nor knowledge of his glory; whereas creatures have a feeling of their good when they have gotten it. So as this feeling fills their senses with joy, and causeth pleasure, which makes their nature content: let us now see what conditions are necessary to frame this delight, & to beget in us the pleasure of things which touch our senses.  
First of all, the good must be united to our senses, be it really & in effect, or in thought and imagination. For we must remember in all this Treaty of Human Passions, that it imports not for to stir them up, that the object which incites the motions be really in the nature of things, or simply in the imagination: for that there are some men which suffer themselves to be more transported with the images which Fancy frames in their brains, then by the true objects of things which subsist really. As we read in Histories, that a certain Athenian called Thrasillus had a certain foolish conceit, that all the ships▪ with their loading, which came into the Port of Pyrea were his. But when as his friends had caused his brain to be purged, and had brought him to his right senses; he complained of them, and blamed them for that they had deprived him of an infinite content.  
Moreover it is requisite in Pleasure, that the object of good which makes an impression in our senses, should be agreeable to our nature.  
The which cannot be, if it be not in some sort agreeable unto their capacity. Wherefore there must be such an agreement and proportion betwixt the senses and object, as there may be betwixt them a certain resemblance and affinity, so as that which caused the Pleasure must neither be too strong nor too weak, to make his impression. Wherefore a moderate light is more pleasing to our eyes then that which is more glistering. And in like manner a sweet sound contents the ear more than that which is loud.  
And we take more delight in a speech which we understand, then when we understand not the words; for that this intelligence we have of the words, frames a kind of conformity betwixt them and us, whereby the speech doth insinuate sweetly into our ears, and makes a more pleasing impression in our soul.  
Thirdly, it is requisite to breed delight in our senses, that we have knowledge of the good which breeds the impression, and that we find it is fit for us, & that we enjoy it either in effect, or by imagination: For that we cannot receive any joy of a thing unknown, or which we find not that it is good for us, or are ignorant that it is in our power. So a hidden friendship doth nothing touch us, and yet if we had any perfect knowledge, we should be ravished with joy, and burn with desire to embrace it. Finally, it is requisite to beget Pleasure in our souls, that our Appetite (from whence desires do arise) should receive an alteration or change by a sweet impression, which the object (being the cause) makes in our senses. For this sweetness is of the Essence of Pleasure, which cannot subsist without her: wherefore she consists rather in the end of the motion then in all the rest of her progress; therefore Aristotle terms it, not only a motion, but also a rest of the soul. In the mean time there are two kinds of appetites in man, that is to say, the intellectual, which is the reasonable will, and the sensitive, which is divided into the Irascible and Concupiscible, as we have said: the intellectual rejoiceth at good things which are conformable to reason, whereof the understanding is judge.  
And the Sensitive takes delight in things which concern the senses. We also observe this difference, that those things which delight the senses, cause a sensible alteration in the body. As in joy we feel our heart open and dilate itself; especially if this joy proceed from an unexpected thing which concerns us much, it may be so moved and agitated, as death may follow. As it happened in those women of Carthage, who having news that their sons had been slain in battle, when as they saw them living before their eyes: this joy happening contrary to their hopes, they died suddenly. But the pleasures of reason cause no other thing then a simple motion of the will, which rejoiceth the mind without any alteration of the body, unless it extend unto the senses. Wherefore some affirm that this kind of joy is found in the Essence of God, and in the nature of Angels. And they are accustomed to propound a question upon this subject, which be the greatest pleasures, and delight most, whether those of reason, or those of the senses. But the answer is easy, for that undoubtedly, the intellectual and those of the mind (if we consider them in themselves) are more delightful than those of the senses. And this made Aristotle to say, that the sweetest and most pleasing content, we can have in this life, is that which proceeds from the exercises and actions of wisdom, which is spent in the contemplation of the first causes. The reason why the pleasures of the mind have an advantage over those of the body, is, for that to cause pleasure or delight in us, there must concur three things; that is to say, the object united to the power; the power to the which it is united; and the actual union of the one with the other, which presupposeth knowledge of this good. As for example, to beget the pleasures of our taste, there must be delicate meats, a taste well disposed, and moreover the union of these two things must be made by the natural organs, with his knowledge, that must receive the impression of this pleasure. For if the most exquisite meats were put into the mouth of a man that slept, he should receive no pleasure, for that he had no feeling nor knowledge. And first of all, the goods of the mind (in the enjoying whereof consist the intellectual pleasures) are more noble and more lovely than all the goods of the senses and body: whereof we have a notable proof in that we see men (yea, most abandoned to vice) deprive themselves of the sweetest pleasures of the body, to purchase glory, which is a good of the mind. So they said of Caesar, who in his great inclination to love and women, renounced all his pleasures to get the honour of a Triumph.  
Moreover, the power of the will, in which is made the impression of these kind of Pleasures, being intellectual: and much more excellent than the senses which are corporeal, the actions which she produceth and which are followed by these Pleasures, are also more noble than those which derive from the senses. And by consequence, the union which is made of spiritual objects with the will, is far more strict; more worthy, and more durable, then that which happens betwixt the senses and the objects, which they pursue. It is more strict, for that the senses regard only the superficies of things, and do not busy themselves but to consider the accidents which environ them: as colours, smelling, noise, sweetness, and the like; whereas the understanding pierceth into the Essence and substance of the objects. It is more worthy, for that it is made without any alteration or corporeal change: whereas the object pleasing to the senses, cannot be united with them, but it will cause some kind of change which is full of imperfection.  
It is more durable, for that the objects of the senses are of perishable goods which soon fail, whereas the objects of the mind are of eternal felicity which continues for ever. Yet it is true, that the objects of the senses make a more violent impression in our souls, and that the pleasure which we receive, toucheth us much more than that which the spirits gathers from the objects which are pleasing unto it. The which happens first, for that the goods of the body are borne with us, increase with us, and are preserved with us So as handling them daily and hourly, we have a more exact knowledge then of the goods of the understanding, which are removed from us.  
We have said, that knowledge is necessary for the enjoying of pleasures: wherefore, where this knowledge hath least power, there the pleasures are least sensible. This also happens, for that we use pleasures as remedies and cures against the crosses, troubles, and cares of this life, which are sweetened, and as it were charmed by their presence. But most men being either indisposed, or not capable to raise themselves up to spiritual consolations, seek and tie themselves to pleasing objects, which present themselues easily to their senses. The which is fortified, for that the sweetness of objects which delight our senses, are suddenly tasted, and do not much trouble us to seek them. It is an infallible Maxim in Philosophy, that the objects by their presence, make a more powerful impression in our souls, then when they are absent. And those things which give us least pain, are most sweet in their acquisition: so as for all these considerations, the Pleasures of the body seem unto us greater than those of the mind. We may say in a word, that those of the senses are more sensible, but these more perfect, & more excellent. In the mean time, all the wise men of the world exhort us to set a careful guard over the Pleasures of the senses, which they call the poison of the mind. For the which we must the more carefully provide; for that these Passions are accompanied with a certain sweetness which flatters us at her first approach, and surpriseth our judgement, and charms it in such sort, as it helps to deceive itself. So as in this subject we must imitate those wise old men of Troy, who counselled Priam to send back Helen to the Grecians, and not suffer himself to be any longer abused with the charms of her great beauty: for that keeping her within their City, was to entertain the siege of a fatal and dangerous war, and to nourish a fire which would consume it to ashes.  
The event did show, that it was wisely foreseen, and pronounced as an Oracle▪ for in the same manner we should chase from us the objects of Pleasures, lest they be the cause of our ruin. To which purpose an Ancient said, That nature had engrafted no such pernicious Desires, as those of the Pleasures of the body: for that these desires growing unbridled, do so inflame the courages where they get possession, as they leave nothing undone to content their Passion. Whence spring treacheries and treasons, which make men to sell their friends and country: from thence proceeds ruins and defolation of Estates, & the conspiracies against Common weals. As it appeared in that of Catilyne, who practised the ruin of Rome: from thence the murders, violences, burnings, and all the miseries of this life, take their spring and beginning. The reason is, for that pleasures quench the judgement, and smother all the seeds of virtue and wisdom in man; the which they effect more powerfully, when they are most violent: as it appears in those which are transported with Love, who are not masters of themselves, but suffer themselves to be wholly guided by their Passions: wherefore a wiseman of the world was wont to say, that he had rather fall into frenzy, then suffer himself to be surprised with Pleasures; for that, said he, Physicians may cure madness, by purging the brain with Helleborum, whereas Pleasures deprive man of his judgement, without hope of remedy for his infirmity.  
But for that there are Pleasures not only of the mind, but of the body and senses, which are merely innocent, as the Pleasure we receive by Pictures, Perfumes, honest exercises, and other things which bring a chaste content; it shall be convenient to know what the causes and objects be, to the end we may of ourselves judge, which are lawful, and which are interdicted, and to be abhorred. First then, things necessary for preservation of our nature, as drinking, and eating, are pleasing unto man, and the which he useth with a delight, which moderation and temperance make innocent. Secondly, men take a singular delight in things to the which they have been long framed and accustomed, for that custom is as it were another nature, considering that the things whereunto we have been accustomed, and whereof there is framed a long habit, by continual exercise, have a great affinity with those of nature. Thirdly, the things which are conformable to our nature and disposition, are pleasing; for that they force us not in any sort, but insinuate sweetly into our senses: Whereas on the other side, whatsoever brings any constraint vexeth us, as studies, serious affairs, disputations, and such like, are importune and troublesome; for that they constrain and force our inclinations, unless that custom hath taken away the bitterness. Whereas their contrary please us, as rest, sleep, play▪ cessation from labour, sights, and such like, in which we find not any constraint. Fourthly, whatsoever flatters our desires, gives us joy and Pleasure, for that these kinds of Cupidities, are properly the desires of things which we imagine are pleasing, and ravish our senses: For whatsoever flatters our senses, and delights our imagination, causeth Pleasure and content. So every kind of good, be it that which is present, or past, or to come, doth give a content by the presence or by the imagination; for that it delights our senses, and is pleasing to our fancy, which is a delicate power, & easily touched with the sweeetnesse of her object, how small soever. Wherefore they that remember the good things which they have tasted▪ and those which they hope for in future, having these things imprinted in their fancy, feel a joy. Whereby it appears plainly, that all Pleasure and Delight consists either in the feeling of things present, or in the remembrance of things past, or in the hope of those which are to come. For we taste and feel the present, we remember those that are past, and we hope for the future. And doubtless the things which are graven in our memory please us much, not only those which were sweet in the action, but even those which we have tasted with some bitterness, especially when as the pains and toils we have endured are ended to our profit & honour: which made an Ancientto say, that it was a sweet thing to remember travails past. So soldiers glory of their dangers past, and relate with singular content, the wounds they have received in combatts.  
They which have escaped dangers at Sea, or made great and desperate voyages by land, have the same content to relate the hazards and fortunes which they have run and surmounted. The reason of this joy, and the cause of this content, is, for that it is a sweet thing to be freed from a mischief, especially when it hath given us great afflictions and apprehensions.  
But as for that which regards things which depend of hope, all those things whose presence and enjoying we imagine will be pleasing or profitable, and which will cause us no kind of discontent, excite Pleasure in our senses, be it when we remember them, or when we hope for them. So as whatsoever we imagine as a good which may befall us, is pleasing unto our thoughts: By reason whereof, (as we will show hereafter) we feel a content in choler, for that no man is angry, but with hope to be revenged, the which he reputs for a great good. Wherefore Homer made Achilles to say, that choler dispersed itself in a great courage, more sweetly than honey.  
For as much then as what we remember or hope for, as a thing pleasing and sweet unto our thoughts, excites joy in our hearts, therefore most of the desires of men are accompanied with some Pleasure and delight: For when as they remember how they have played, or when as they imagine after what manner they hope to play, they feel a sensible content and a new joy, which represents unto them the image of the true enjoying. As it happens to those which have drunk with delight during a burning Fever, for they have a certain kind of joy when as they remember to have so drunk; or when as they promise unto themselves to drink again after the same manner.  
So they that are tormented with Love, be it that they speak of the party beloved, be it that they write or make verses of that subject, they feel a wonderful content, for that in all those things, they conceive that whom they love is before their eyes, as in their thoughts.  
Wherefore they hold it for a certain sign of Love, when as any one afflicts himself for the absence of another, and when he takes Pleasure in the tears and complaints of their separation. And it is certain, that even in cares and vexation, there is also a content in the tears and sighs we pour forth for the absence of that we love.  
There is doubtless a grief for that we see not the party we Love; but there is also a sweetness, for that her image presents itself unto our thoughts, and sets before us all the motions, gestures, actions, speeches, smiles, grace, sport, and whatsoever we have observed in her when she was truly present.  
Revenge also, as we have formerly touched, is a sweet thing, the which doth well appear by her contrary; for if we see that we cannot revenge the injury which hath been done us, and which hath inflamed our Choler, we feel a wonderful discontent: whereas we are transported with joy when as we hope and see some appearance of revenge.  
Moreover, it doth much content, and give a singular pleasure, not only to the ambitious, but indifferently to all sorts of persons, to vanquish and surmount those, against whom they have any contention or dispute: for in this concurrence it seems they dispute of the excellency and superiority, and that it is as it were, adjudged to him that obtains the victory: and all men living, be they great, mean, or base, desire, (though some more ardently, and others with less Passion) to excel and surmount others. By this reason we find there is pleasure in sports, in which there is any contention, as at Chess, Tennis, Cards, and Dice; and likewise in more serious exercises where there is any dexterity to obtain the victory; as in fight at barriers, running at the Ring, and Tilt, or such like. Whereof some are pleasing as soon as they apply themselves unto them, and others grow pleasing by custom: as for example, they that give themselues to the exercise of hunting, although it be somewhat violent; yet they receive a singular content, for that they must fight against savage beasts, and aspire to get the victory. And according to that which we have said, that victory breeds delight, it is easy to judge why the exercises of schools, disputations among learned men, and the pleading of Lawyers at the bar, give a content to them that employ themselves: the reason is, for that in these exercises, there is also an image of victory which presents itself unto our eyes.  
Glory in like manner is in the rank of those things, which causeth delight and Pleasure; for that it consists in a certain opinion, to be more eminent, and more excellent than other men, by reason of the esteem the world makes of us: for every man imagines himself to be such as others esteem him; especially, if they be men which he holds to be full of truth. Wherein we give more credit to neighbours then to those which are remote, who can have no exact knowledge of our merit. And we refer more to out fellow Citizens, to our household servants, and to our familiar friends, then unto strangers: yea, we yield more to them that live, then to posterity: we esteem more the judgement of wise men, then of them that want wit; and we prefer the testimony of many, before the applause of some few particulars: for that it seems they whom we prefer, for the above mentioned reasons, are better informed of the truth, and more to be credited in their dispositions. Wherefore we are better satisfied and contented, to be in reputation with them, then with the rest of the world: for no man cares to be honoured by such as are contemptible, and not regarded.  
Wherefore if we hide ourselves from Infants or beasts, it is not for any fear of shame we have of them, seeing we know they are without judgement, and cannot dishonour us. It is also a sweet thing to have a friend, seeing that the very action of Love, what objects soever she propounds unto herself, is wonderfully pleasing. For no man loves wine who takes not delight to drink it. No man delights in Arms which takes no pleasure in the exercise; no man loves Philosophy which is not pleased to discourse thereof. In like manner no man loves another, but he takes pleasure in his friendship.  
And moreover, it is a sweet thing to see himself beloved, for it is as it were a presage, that he is endued with qualities which makes a man lovely, and to be esteemed by such as have any feeling of reason. Also every man thinks he is beloved for the love of himself: The which puffs him up, and makes him more glorious, & by consequence, fuller of content. For the same reason it is a sweet thing to excite admiration of us in the hearts of men, for that the honour they yield us, makes us to have a good conceit of ourselves, which fills us with joy and Pleasure: In regard whereof, flatterers charm our minds, for that these kind of people offer themselves under a show of friendship, and admirers of our virtues. Moreover, it is a sweet thing to do an action often that pleaseth us, for that custom makes things easy unto us, & consequently pleasing.  
Change is also delightful unto us; for that it is as it were, an imitation of nature, which is pleased in variety, & in the diversity of things: for that which persists always in one sort, frames an importune custom in its subject, which continuing too long, comes to corrupt. Wherefore it was wisely said that alterations and changes make all things more sweet and pleasant to our senses. So as they also which come again by intervals and respites, are more pleasing unto us: as the return of the Spring after the sharpness of winter, and the arrival of our friend after along voyage: for that these things are not only done with a change which causeth delight, but also for that they happen rarely, and not at all times, nor in all seasons. Moreover, it is a great content to behold things which give us a subject of admiration: for the wonder which they stir up in our souls, inflames us, and makes us desire to know them, and the cause of our admiration. But we cannot learn any thing of that we desire to know, but with extreme pleasure; seeing it is as it were, to mount up to the highest degree of our nature, and to elevate it to her perfection: wherefore this admiration causeth joy.  
Again, they be things full of sweetness and Pleasure, to impart and to receive benefits; for that in receiving you obtain that which men desire; and by giving, you show yourself to have that which others want, and that you exceed them therein; the which we see with delight as a mark of our excellency. And as to do good is a sweet thing, it follows, that it is pleasing to ease the misery of another, to draw him out of captivity, and to change the face of his fortune, by making him happy, who was formerly miserable.  
And for that any thing that breeds admiration in our souls, and gives us any subject to learn, is followed with pleasure: it therefore happens, that whatsoever consists in imitation, brings contentment, as painting, carving, and Poesy, which are all professions whose exercises are pleasing, although the things which they imitate be not always delightful. As for example, the painter leaves not to please himself in his Art, although he draws the portrait of a Moor: Nor the Carver to content himself in his work, although he cut a Chimaera, or that he fashion a monster: nor a Poet forbears not to take delight in his verses, although they be made upon a Mushroom, a Sparrow, a flea, or some such ridiculous subject: for that which stirs up pleasure in the spirit of man, is not the object, which hath propounded itself, but the knowledge and judgement he makes to have so well expressed this object, as his industry approacheth near the truth, and is a lively Image: For that this perfect resemblance betwixt the Image and the Original, teacheth him some thing which he knew not before; and withal, it makes him see his industry, and his labour, whereby he enters into admiration of his work, and pleaseth himself to behold the perfection of his Arte.  
For the same reason, the events of things not hoped for, nor expected, and the care to be freed from those wherein there are great dangers, are accompanied with joy, for that they happen not without amazement.  
In the mean time (for that we have said, that what is comformable to the inclinations of nature, is pleasing) we see, that the things which are tied by any bond of Nature, & that have any affinity one with another, as those which are of one kind, or which have any other natural conformity, are delighted in the company one of another: as Eagles love Eagles, Lions take pleasure to be among Lions; and men love to see themselves among men: and for that every thing loves that which resembles it. All men love themselves, although some with more vehemency than others; and by consequence they commend their own works, they esteem their discourses, they love commonly flatterers, who praise them, they are passionate for glory, for their friends, and for their children who are (as we may say) their own works.  
And by the same reason they are pleased to finish that which they have begun; which is to give perfection to the labour of their hands.  
Wisdom which consists in the knowledge of many excellent & admirable things, procures joy to him that is adorned, for that it raiseth him above the ordinary of men, and gives him a kind of power over others, which man desires naturally; and for that men are naturally ambitious of honour, they take delight to show their authority in commanding others, and in reprehending them, they make demonstration that they cannot allow of their actions.  
Moreove, rman hath a singular delight to practice those things wherein he thinks to excel; for he is never tired to show his industry, & doth willingly spend days and nights to become more perfect and to exceed himself. The which we have seen in Apelles, Zeuxis, Protogenes, and other excellent Painters of antiquity. Finally, for that the sports and recreations of the mind are pleasing, and that we take delight to laugh, and to spend the time jovially, it follows that all the things which may serve to that end, as jesters, their actions and words, give us content, and procure delight to behold them.  
These in some are the objects of Pleasure, which we feel in this life; we must now see what kind of Pleasures are allowed, and which are justly forbidden. For the explaining whereof, we must understand that there have been Philosophers, who not knowing how to set a difference betwixt the understanding and the senses, and imagining there were no other Pleasures but those of the body, have condemned them generally as detestable and pernicious. But they had no reason for their assertion, seeing there is not any man that can live without some kind of sensible and corporal Pleasure; seeing the author of nature hath united this kind of Pleasure and sweetness to the actions of this life, to the end we might with more courage endure the toils and pains, and that they might be as salt which seasoneth meat, and which makes it more pleasing to our taste. We must then know that Pleasure being a rest of the soul which she hath gotten by some kind of operation, there are some which being conformable to the rules of reason, and to the eternal law which God hath established among his creatures, cannot be held bad, but are merely innocent; as those which God hath tied to the procreation of children, when as they are tasted in a lawful marriage, such as he hath ordained for the preservation of mankind. Yet we must confess, that the discords of men do commonly pervert the use, not keeping themselues within the bounds of reason nor of the law of God; the which is visible in the excess they commit in drinking, and eating, in women, perfumes, play, dancing, and other Pleasures of the body, which are seen at this day to be no other than subjects of offence: whereby we may see how infamous the opinion of the Epicures was, (from the which notwithstanding many great Personages did believe that Epicurus himself much dissented, affirming that he made no account but of the Pleasures of the mind,) who with a visible reproach to humane nature, have placed the sovereign good of man in the Pleasure of the senses, which notwithstanding are common with bruit beasts. In like manner we may gather what wrong they did unto virtue, who by a notable effeminacy, represented the image of Pleasure sitting in a throne like a great Queen, which had under her the virtues, as slaves to attend her commandments.  
As if a man in the course of this life, should have no other object in all his actions, yea in the most virtuous, than the satisfying of his Pleasures, and the contentment of his senses. Our resolution then is, that we must not imagine that all the Pleasures of the senses are to be rejected as pernicious, neither all to be embraced as beams of our sovereign good.  
But as Pleasure is a rest and contentment to the soul, which enjoyeth some good whereof she tastes the sweetness; if it be an absolute good without exception, the Pleasure is innocent and allowable to man. But if it be a good pleasing only to the senses, and contrary to the rules of reason, and the law of God, as the Pleasures of the flesh out of a chaste marriage; the effect is pernicious, and the enjoying damnable.  
But for that we have formerly said, that Pleasures regard either the remembrance of that is past, or the enjoying and feeling of a present good, or the hope of a future, it shall be fit to show which makes the most powerful impression in our senses, and delights us most. We must then know that Pleasure taking her beginning in our souls, by the presence of a good which encounters our senses, or which unites itself unto us by some other means, this presence or imaginary good is framed by the simple knowledge, and the only Idea which we have of this good, so as the objects whereof we have knowledge, make an impression of their forms in our souls▪ or else this presence consists in a real union of the good with our senses, whether that we do actually enjoy it, or that we have a certain hope to get it.  
Wherefore as the real union of the object with the power is greater and more strict than that which is but imaginary; and as the actual union is stronger than that which is but in power, we must necessarily conclude, that the sweetest Pleasure is that which proceeds from the feeling and actual enjoying of the good which is really present with our senses.  
But the joy which springs from hope is greater, and the Pleasure more sweet, for that in this kind of joy, there is an union betwixt our soul, and the good which pleaseth us; Not only according to the imagination, which represents unto us the perfections, but also with this condition, that the possession is in our power, for that otherwise we could not hope for it. We put in the last rank the Pleasure we feel of good things which are passed as the least of all, for that those good things not being united to our senses, but by the imagination and memory, which is the weakest union that can be betwixt our senses and the objects which delight them; the joy which we receive must also be less sensible.   

Of the effects of Pleasure. CHAP. 2.  
THe effects which arise from the Pleasure we conceive of the objects which are delightful to our sense, may be better understood by experience, then expounded by words. Fi●st of all, there is not any man which doth not feel in the midst of the joy which he receives, his heart to dilate itself and as it were open with gladness, from whence it sends the signs & tokens to the countenance, by the laughter whic●●t ●irres up in the mouth, where it causeth a visible change. They that are tender hearted, are apt to receive the impressions of joy and heaviness, like unto soft wax, wherein they do easily imprint the forms which are laid upon them. They that have them firm and hot by reason of the heat, conceive joy easily, & by reason of their constancy preserve it longer.  
Whereas chose they that have it cold and hard, are capable of heaviness & melancholy, which makes an impression easily, by reason of the coldness, with the which she hath an affinity, & maintains itself long by reason of the hardness, as we see happen unto melancholy men. For sadness is an earthly Passion cold and dry, whereas joy is moist and hot. And therefore it is easily framed in the hearts of children, of young men, and of those which are of a good complexion: from this joy which makes the heart to spread and dilate itself like unto a flower, grows laughter, which is no Passion, but an exterior effect of an interior Passion.  
For the sweetness of Pleasure, makes the heart to move and open to receive the form, even as when we go to meet a friend, and open our arms when he presents himself unto us. And this his motion and interior joy ascends up unto the countenance, but it appears chiefly in the opening of the mouth, whereas laughter is framed, and hath his seat, & from thence disperseth itself to the eyes and the rest of the face, although that some hold it hath his seat within man, and about his heart. But to take away all kind of difficulty, we must understand that sometimes laughter comes merely from a corporal motion, as that which proceeds from the tickling of the arm holes, so as there have been seen sword players die laughing, for that they have been wounded in that place.  
Sometimes it riseth from indignation and despite, which we have conceived of any thing we behold unwillingly; as we read of Hann●bal, who seeing the Carthaginians lament their estates, for that the romans were masters of their fortunes, began to laugh● whereat one being amazed, said unto him, that it was an act of great inhumanity to laugh at the tears of his fellow Citizens; to whom he answered, that this laughter was no sign of his joy, but a token of his despite, for that he scorned the fruitless tears of those, who lamented rather their particular loss, than the misery of their common weal. But when it is an effect of our passion, and a sign of pleasure which our heart receiveth from pleasing objects, which present themselves unto our senses: it comes from a quick and sudden motion of the soul, which desiring to express her joy, excites a great abundance of hot blood, and multiplies the vital spirits, which agitate and stir up the muscles which are about the heart, & those raise up the muscles which are of either side of the mouth, which upon this occasion opens with a visible change of the whole form of the face. But it riseth from the pleasure and joy which our soul conceiveth, by reason of the pleasing objects which present themselves unto our sense.  
It is certain that as new things and not expected, provoke most joy in our hearts, so they stir us up sooner to laughter. For proof whereof, having once accustomed ourselves to see spectacles and sights, how pleasing soever they be, they do not move us to laugh, as they did when we first beheld them. And in like manner profound cogitations and meditations, hinder laughter: wherefore wise men do not laugh so easily as others, as well for that they have always their spirits busied and employed about some serious meditations, which will not suffer them to regard such trivial things as commonly make the Vulgar to laugh: As also for that the great knowledge they have of things, hinders them from esteeming many of those things new or strange, which the common sort admire. And withal, their complexion do●h contribute thereunto: for that most commonly it inclines to melancholy, which makes them pensive, and more difficult to move to joy.  
The reason why many things please at the first approach, and afterwards lose this grace by custom and continuance, proceeds from nothing else, but that at the first sight our thought is ●ied unto it with a certain vehemency, which yielding by little and little, makes the pleasure decay. The which is not only seen in the objects of the sight, whereof our eyes growing weary by little, begin to slack in their action, and to become more negligent in beholding them; but also in the objects of all the other senses, wherewith our soul is loathed in the end after too long a continuance. The reason is, for that as in the action of the eyes, the vital spirits consume by the vehemency of the attention: so in all other operations of the senses, the disposition of the Organs alter, and are changed by the motion, and by the impression which the objects that unite themselves unto our senses, make: so as it is impossible that the creature should long enjoy one kind of pleasure, or suffer the same grief.  
And moreover, as we have said before, that diversity, as an Image of the changes of Nature, is pleasing; hath also a place in this subject: for that men are weary always to enjoy the same pleasures, and see the same objects. Wherefore the continuance causeth distaste, how sweet soever the possession be. And therefore Lucian brings in a man, who being made a god, was weary of his divinity, and desired to dye, that he might be no more: and his reason was, that the life of men did not seem tedious unto him, but only for that he still beheld the same things, one Sun, one, and the same Moon; the same Stars, the same meats, and the same Pleasures, which change not their face: wherefore, said he, tasting nothing but the same thing in this Divinity where I am, I am weary, and thereupon would needs dye to change. Moreover, there are men who are wonderful sensible of joy, which be they to whom all things seem new, as children, and the ignorant multitude, whom any sights provoke to laugh: whereas wise men are nothing moved. The complexion doth also help much to joy, as they which abound in blood, and have it not choleric and adust, but pure and sweet, are jovial by nature, and love to laugh. Whereas melancholy men are hardly moved to joy.  
The delight or pleasure which we conceive of the objects, which are agreeable unto us, doth usually stir up in us an ardent desire, and as it were, a thirst of a new, or a more full enjoying. The which proceeds either from the condition of the thing which is not capable to satisfy our desire at one instant.  
As we see in drinking and eating, to which we must return divers times to entertain life: Or from the imperfection of enjoying, as they which have but tasted the first sweetness of friendship, desire to have a fuller content: Like unto those which love Poesy, who having heard a piece of a goodly verse, such as Vergil wrote, wish to hear the rest to make their pleasure perfect; Or else it grows from the nature itself of Pleasure, which is so sweet as it inflames the soul to desire the continuance: The which is seldom seen in the pleasures of the senses and of the body, but which is felt with infinite delight by those which drink of that torrent of Pleasure, which the Scripture describes unto us in heaven; for they drink eternally, and are never satisfied.  
We must also remember, that there is great difference betwixt the Pleasures of the senses, and of the mind; for the delights of the senses charging and as it were importuning our natural dispositions, becomes troublesome and tedious; as it falls out when we suffer ourselves to be surprised with the excess of eating and drinking. Whereas those of the mind never exceed the carriage nor capacity of the natural disposition of the soul, but rather add perfection to her nature: wherefore when they are fully enjoyed they delight most. And if there be at any time a distaste, it is for that the action of the mind is accompanied with the action of the inferior powers, the which being corporeal, they are tired with the continuance of so long an employment. Wherefore they call back the spirit that it may give some rest unto the body. And doubtless it is the only reason why those happy souls are never weary to behold the divine Essence, for that the contemplation of this pleasing object doth not overcharge nor weaken the spirits, but doth ease and fortify them. And moreover, she doth not work by the means of the senses, and corporeal Organs, which are subject to grow slack in their actions.  
I might add, that this happy contemplation of the divine Essence, is always accompanied with new subjects of admiration, in regard whereof, it can never be troublesome: and moreover, although the object be sovereignly simple, yet it comprehends all the good things which may fall into the thought or desire of man, so as it can never cause any distaste: But this belongs unto another discourse.  
The pleasure of the senses produceth a pernicious and dangerous effect in us; it binds our reason and takes away the use, the which happens by three occasions. The first, for that employing the soul wholly in the feeling and enjoying of the sweetness which doth accompany it, she retires it from the consideration of all spiritual goodness, and makes it less capable of reason, in regard of the heat of the passion which doth agitate it. Secondly, for that most part of the pleasures of the body, at the least when they tend to excess and disorder, are contrary to the motions of reason. And it is an undoubted truth, That one contrary doth always expel and destroy another; wherefore pleasure yields no place to the motions of Reason. The which made Aristotle to say, that although that pleasure corrupts not the Theory and simple knowledge we have of things; as for example, she doth not hinder us from knowing, that a Triangle hath three corners, and that the whole is bigger than its parts distinctly comprised; yet she depraves the judgement, and hinders the esteem we should make by the laws of wisdom, of that which is good: For that although we know well that temperance is a virtue, yet we fly it, for that it is contrary to the pleasures of our senses, which suffers us not to esteem it as we ought. The third is for that the pleasures of the senses cause a greater and a more violent alteration and change in our bodies, then that of the other Passions.  
The reason is, for that we embrace with more vehemency, and tie ourselves more strictly to the objects which please us, when they are present, then when they are absent. These changes and sensible alterations in the body, cause trouble to the soul: As it appears in those which are surprised with wine, in whose actions there is no show of reason; the excess of wine having altered their brain, and made them incapable of the functions of the mind. But honest and moderate Pleasure, adds perfection to her actions, as beauty and a good grace gives the last ornament to youth; aswell for that she is the end and scope which we propound unto ourselves when we mean to work: as also for that she makes her actions agreeable by the content she ingrafts in our senses: So as to entertain this Pleasure she causeth us to employ ourselves with more heat and attention to accomplish them. Wherefore an Ancient said, that nature had joined Pleasure to actions necessary for the entertainment of the life of creatures, or for the preservation of their kinds, as eating, drinking, and generation, to the end it might be as salt which seasoneth meat: That is to say, to the end it might make those actions delightful, and that the creatures might not be drawn unto them with distaste. And touching that which concerns the allurements and enticements of honest Pleasures, we must still remember the wise counsel of Aristotle, who persuades us not to observe them at their first approach, but at their parting; for that although the entry be sweet and pleasant, the end is always bitter and tragical. They say that among the Pagans there was a Temple of Diana, whose image did show a sad and severe countenance to those that entered to worship it, but at their departure it seemed more pleasant and smiling: But it is contrary in Pleasures, for at their first approach they present nothing but roses and sweet contents; and in the end they leave us nothing but thorns and importune griefs; especially for that they divert us from the sovereign Good, and from the love of spiritual delights, without the which our souls can find no solid nor sovereign content.    


Of Grief and Heaviness. CHAP. 1.  
AS among all creatures there is not any one exposed unto so many outrages of Fortune as man, whom we may rightly term an image of misery and weakness▪ So it is most certain, that there is not any Passion wherewith he is more afflicted in this life, then with Grief and Sorrow, whose objects present themselves continually to his sense and mind. Wherefore although that by the light which we find in contrary things when they are opposed, and compared one with another, we may judge of the condition of Grief and Sorrow, by that which we have spoken of Pleasure and Delight; yet for a more ample knowledge of a thing which is so common unto us, it shall be fit to treat more exactly upon this subject. Grief then is a violent Passion of the Soul, entertained by some sensible discontent: Or else, Grief is a torment of the mind and body: Or again, Grief is a Passion of the mind afflicted by some kind of evil which presents it self: Or to describe it more particularly; Grief is a Passion of the Soul, which riseth from a discontent she receiveth from objects contrary to her inclinations, which present themselves unto the senses, and afflict them.  
But we must observe that there are two kinds of Grief: The one which resides in the sensual Appetite; and the other hath his seat in the rational. This last which afflicts the mind, is properly called heaviness, and differs from the other, for that a sensible Grief is always accompanied with a visible alteration and change of the body which is moved; whereas the Grief of the mind hath not always an agitation of the body, but most commonly contains itself within the bounds of the power where it is framed; in regard whereof it is sometimes attributed to God and the Angels. These two kinds of Grief differ also one from another, for that the cause of the sensible Grief resides in the body, which suffers some violent impression that altars it. But the cause of the intellectual Grief resides in the rational part and in the mind, which represents unto itself the evil which she receives from the objects which present themselves unto her thought. They differ again, for that the apprehension and knowledge which the exterior senses have of things, they do only regard the present objects which make an actual impression in them; but the understanding not only conceives things present, but even those that are past, and which may happen, or fall under the imagination of man. Hence it comes that corporeal Grief which followeth the apprehension, which present things make in the senses, grows only from the presence of objects contrary to their inclinations.  
Whereas the Grief of the mind following the knowledge of the understanding, may grow from objects that are present, past, or to come, and from those which man doth presuppose may succeed unto him. So as the noblest powers of our soul, and those which are the richest ornaments of our nature, as the understanding, imagination, and memory, help to increase our pains, and to augment our afflictions: As if the presence of heaven which gives us some prerogative over beasts, should make us more miserable. For the most savage beasts fly dangers, when as they present themselves unto their eyes: But being escaped they remain quiet and assured; whereas we not only torment ourselves▪ for the evil which doth oppress us; but even for which is not yet happened.  
But you must understand that to speak properly, Grief which is one of the Passions of the soul, is that which is framed in the sensitive appetite, with a visible alteration of the body, which is agitated and moved exteriorly by the evil or pain which it suffers: So as the cause doth reside in the body which receives some kind of outrage. But the motion of Grief is always framed in the soul, for that the body is not capable but by the presence of the soul. We must also remember, that as to excite Pleasure in our senses, the pleasing object must not only be united, but also known and perceived by the senses, as we have formerly observed; so to cause Grief, the afflicting object must touch our senses, so as by the impression it makes, th●y must perceive: at it 〈◊〉 painful. For it is certain that as there is no good but that which is sensibly present, can cause Pleasure to the senses, so there is not any but a present evil can procure a sensible Grief. But under the object of Grief we comprehend not only the evil which afflicts us, but also the good which we have lost. For even as the weight of bodies causeth that not only they have an inclination to rest in the centre▪ but also is the cause that they are never far remote without suffering a visible violence in their nature: So men are naturally carried not only to Love, but with a sensible Grief of their loss. So the covetous man torments himself for the loss of his wealth; The voluptuous is grieved to see an end of the objects of his content; The mother afflicts herself for her only son▪ & we see many who after good cheer, great feasts, and dance, having spent the time in all kind of Pleasures, suddenly grow heavy and pensive; and yet can give no reason of this sudden change, which proceeds only from the disquietness of our minds, which grieves at contentments past, and afflicts itself, the which makes him heavy; and this heaviness converts into melancholy, which augments his anguish, and torments him without any other form of evil, that presents itself unto his senses. As for the causes of grief and Heaviness, being consisidered in regard of their subjects where they encounter, we observe three. For first of all, our Cupidities and Desires, do many times cause great vexation and discontents, as when any one is surprised with the Love of a pleasing object, if they hinder the enjoying, or but only delay the possession, they are so many thorns of Grief which pierce his soul. For as the hope to obtain the possession causeth Pleasure and Delight; so the despair to attain unto that we passionately desire, gives cruel afflictions and insupportable torments.  
Moreover, the Love we bear to the preservation of our being, doth oftentimes cause sorrow and 〈…〉, for that we apprehend the destruction; even as we see all creatures afflict themselues for that which offends them, and are very careful to shelter their bodies from all outrage. Wherefore we may say, that Grief is no other thing, but an apprehension and feeling of the destruction of our good, which makes us impatient. Thirdly, the soul helps to afflict herself, whether that melancholy works this effect, or that the continual afflictions oppress her in such sort, as she doth nothing but sigh under the burden of sorrow, and like unto a bad Pilot which abandons his ship to the waves and storm, she suffers herself to be so overcome with Grief, as she augments her own pain and increaseth her misery. For we often see men who in the midst of their afflictions and discontents do nothing but sigh and pour forth tears, and will not yield themselves capable of any kind of consolation. But although we show ourselves more sensible of the Grief of the senses, then that of the mind, yet it is most certain, that the interior Griefs which afflict the soul, are much greater than the exterior pains which torture the body. For that the apprehension of the mind and imagination, is much more powerful, and more noble than that of the senses, and especially then that of feeling which hath the greatest share in corporeal pains. For proof whereof, we see great courages to avoid inferior Grief, expose themselves voluntarily to the exterior pains of torments and punishments, which are in some sort pleasing unto them, for that the interior joy doth mollify their pain: Whereof we have glorious examples in the constancy of our Martyrs, who to avoid the blame and aspersion which had been laid upon them, to have offended God in burning incense to Idols, have exposed themselves to the fire, to tortures, to wheels, and to the rage of wild beasts, for that they would not be subject to that ignominious reproach.  
Finally, heaviness hath troublesome effects, for that first of all, if it be excessive, it quencheth the spirit, and takes from it all means to attend the search of truth. The reason is, for that all the powers of our soul, being tied unto their essence, as the branches unto the tree, it doth of necessity follow, that when she is wholly busied in the functions of one of her powers, she abandons the rest, and cannot assist them in their actions.  
Wherefore when as any thing draws the soul wholly unto it, and employs her whole action, she cannot attend any thing else: by consequence whereof, an exceeding heaviness seizing upon her, it draws her away; so as she cannot think of any thing else, feeling herself oppressed with Grief as with a heavy burden, which bears her down and hinders the liberty of her functions. It is therefore generally true, that there is no action of the soul whereunto heaviness is not a hindrance and let. The which we find verified in ourselves, for we never do any thing so well being possessed by cares as when we are in joy; whereof the reason is visible; for that the will is the cause which excites us to act, the which hath the good for object, and makes the more powerful effect, when it appears pleasing and is accompanied with delight. It is true, that when there remains any hope to surmount the causes of our displeasure, than heaviness may serve to fortify our action and to inflame our courage; for that the more we feel any Grief, the more we strive to be freed from it. But if there be no hope remaining, we become as it were senseless, and abandon ourselves in prey to Grief.  
We flee the company of men, we hate the light, we find the comforts and consolations of our friends importune, and we have no content but to feed ourselves with bitterness. Besides the torments which heaviness gives unto our spirits, she doth also produce fearful effects upon our bodies; for that it is a malign, cold and dry Passion, which wasteth the radical humour, and by little and little quenching the natural heat of the body, thrusts her poison even unto the heart, whose vigour she causeth to wither, and consumes the forces by her bad influence; whereof we see the signs after death, when as they come to open those that have been smothered with melancholy. For instead of a heart, they find nothing but a dry skin like to the leaves in Autumn. So as all things exactly considered, we may say, that there is not any thing that doth so much advance our days as this cruel Passion, which thus consumes our forces, causeth our heart to languish, and makes our life short, but extremely miserable.  
There are many remedies against this Passion, but most commonly the Grief is so obstinate, as all applications are unprofitable. To cure it, we must first take away, or at the least diminish the opinion of the evil which afflicts us: the which is easy to do, seeing it depends of our opinion.  
For as dignities, honours, crowns, and triumphs, give us no content, but what we take ourselves when as they arrive; for that we have seen many weep even in the midst of all this pomp: so the pains of this life, ignominies, banishment, the loss of goods and kinsfolks, with all other miseries, afflict us not extraordinarily, unless we ourselves make them more bitter and violent by our own weakness; for that we have seen many laugh in the midst of all these miseries: we must then represent these things otherwise then the Vulgar esteem them; for that the true cure of the evil must not be expected from time, but by our reason, which must prevent it. Otherwise we shall receive this disgrace, that it will cause us to do that we would not, although it were in our power. For there is no Grief so bitter but time doth moderate, seeing that, as we have said, the greatest pleasures decrease by too long enjoying, which causeth our soul to grow slack; so it is most certain that excessive sorrow by little and little decays, by the continuance and custom which the soul takes of the Grief. The which may also happen, for that time doth change the condition of things and gives them another face, and so doth mollify or wholly take away the sorrow.  
But not to yield to the evil when it comes to seize upon us, we must foresee the accidents of this life, not as if they should happen infallibly, for that were to make us miserable before the time; but as incident to all men, and that being of this number, if any cross or misery shall fall upon us, we may be the less amazed. For the crosses of Fortune which we have foreseen, strike us more gently, and make a weaker impression in our soul. Wherefore a wiseman of the world, who had prepared himself for all the accidents of this life, receiving the heavy news of the death of his son, was no otherwise moved, but only said, I knew I had begotten a mortal creature. Doubtless it is the effect of an exact and singular wisdom, to have this feeling of humane accidents, not to be amazed at that which happens, nor to see any thing befall him, which he hath not foreseen. So as a wiseman must always remember, that dangers, losses, banishment, infirmities, yea the death of his children, wife, and that which he holds most dear, are things which may happen daily, and which threaten all men; and therefore if he be exempt, it is the benefit and gift of God; and if they befall him, that they are the miseries of his nature. For having this consideration of the common miseries of men, he finds himself bound ●o suffer constantly and with patience, the necessities and crosses of this life: Lest he should seem to fight against God, who hath laid this yoke upon him, to punish his offences, or to keep him in awe.  
But to mollify our sorrows, we must remember that the miseries of this life give us a glorious subject to exercise our virtue, and to show our constancy before the eyes of heaven and earth, which are witnesses of our combatts. For as Pilots cannot show their art and industry but in storms, nor soldiers give proofs of their valour but in the midst of dangers: So a virtuous man hath no means to make his virtues shine, but amidst the adversities which befall him in this life; as for example, we should have known nothing of the great resolution of Scevola, if he had not fallen into danger before the King of the Tuscans, who was ravished with admiration, seeing with what constancy he burned his own hand, & suffered without amazement the violence of the fire, into the which he thrust it, for that he had fauld of his enterprise. Neither should we know the notable temperance of Fabrititus, nor the moderation he showed in refusing the gold and presents of Pyrrhus' King of Albania, if poverty had not been familiar unto him. So Regulus being pierced with nails, and torn in pieces with punishments, serving as a spectacle of the carthaginians in humanity, purchased an immortal name for his constancy. So Socrates seeing himself condemned to drink poison, and beholding the cup into the which the hangman poured that mortal draught without any paleness or amazement, deserved to be admired by his enemies. After their example, than a wiseman will conceive, that the afflictions of this life offer him a goodly occasion to show his constancy, and to make his virtues shine; and therefore they shall not be able to afflict him immoderately, nor to torture his mind extraordinarily: But that which should most fortify him in this thought, is, that God which doth cast him into the midst of these combatts, will crown his constancy, and not suffer him to remain without reward. Moreover, we may also strive to divert it by some pleasing employment, which may cause us to turn our eyes from the fearful image of the evil which afflicts us, representing unto ourselves objects which are more sweet and delightful, than those which torture us so cruelly.  
Finally, to draw together as it were into one body, all the means we have to charm our cares & griefs; heaviness is dispersed, either for that we see ourselves freed from the evil which did persecute us, or that we recover the possession of the good which had been wrested from us, and we had lost: or else for that the misery wherewith we have been crossed, is as it were recompensed by some other felicities which befall us; as the sweetness of these last contents, takes away all the bitterness of our forepast afflictions, as would befall him that should be drawn out of prison and from bonds, to be set in a royal throne, and to have a sceptre put into his hand, and a crown upon his head.  
Grief is also dispersed by divertisments, by affairs, by the entertainment of wisemen, by the discourse of such as are learned and fear God, and by the force of our own judgement, conceiving with ourselves that we should not suffer any misery to triumph over our constancy; that to suffer ourselves to be vanquished by Grief, were to show the weakness of our courage; and that to be touched with afflictions, is a thing common to all men, but the glory of this constant opposition▪ belongs only to an eminent virtue. And lastly, that he who sends us these afflictions, is a Father, and no executioner: That it is that great God, without whose decree there falls not a hair from our heads, & whose will no man may contradict, unless he will show himself desperately mad. After all this we must remember, that Grief is never cured, but rather inflamed by Grief. And therefore as in other infirmities of the soul, a greater evil makes the less to be forgotten, so we may disperse a present heaviness, either by showing that it is not the present misery which we must lament, but others that are more cruel, which threaten us: As if he who is afflicted for the loss of his goods be in danger to lose his life, by public justice: Or else in fortifying our resolutions with a better hope, as in representing unto himself the glory of paradise, after the miseries of this life, and the crowns of heaven after the combatts of the earth. All these things make great impressions in religious souls, capable of the feeling of piety.  
Besides all this, there are remedies which are taken from the objects of the senses, which recreate the mind and body in the midst of Grief. For first, whatsoever delights and gives joy unto the senses, causeth ease to the heaviness of the soul; for that joy is to the soul that which rest is to the body. So as they which rest repair their forces, mollifying the pain which hath tired them; so they which begin to taste any sweet pleasures, feel their Grief to decay by little and little, and their heaviness to vanish away & go to smoke. Wherefore it is fit to draw them that are afflicted, into the fields, to enjoy a free air and the sight of heaven.  
It is good to show them harvest, rivers, meadows, and hills; for that these divers objects divert the afflicted soul, and make it forget a part of its Grief, so as all hideous shapes are defaced by the presence of these sweeter objects. Some have thought that music consorts and instruments, are fit to charm our melancholies, whereunto they refer that which the Scripture saith, that David by the sound of his harp did pacify the evil spirit which tormented Saul, but experience hath taught us, that all these things do many times rather entertain melancholy then disperse it. Wherefore in this subject we must observe the nature of the infirmity, and the quality of the music, which must be cheerful to drive away heaviness.  
The use of wine hath also a particular virtue to expel cares: And we have seen in our time a great Prince desperately afflicted for the death of his only son, could find no other remedy for his Grief, then to use the strongest wine that could be gotten. The reason is, for that wine being moist and hot, it doth at one instant both water sweetly, and heat that bilious humour, which is as it were the centre & root whereunto melancholy doth fix itself. Sleep also and the use of Baths, are very behooveful; for that both the one and the other reduce nature to her first habit, and restore her good constitution which Grief had corrupted; the which disperseth heaviness, and causeth joy to enter into the afflicted soul.  
Tears are also proper to disperse heaviness: yea we find many times in our bitterest griefs, that tears diminish our pain, and mollify our miseries how sharp soever.  
The which happens for two reasons. The first, for that the things which are pernicious unto us and remain enclosed within us, hurt us more than when they are without: But when we pour forth tears, we cast out that which afflicts us, & emptying the humour which oppresseth us, and smothers us within, by this means we free ourselves from a heavy burden which lay upon our hearts, by reason whereof our soul helping herself to cast out the enemy of our life diverts and frees herself from the importune thought of Grief, and employs her imagination in this divertisement, the which for this occasion is pleasing unto her, and doth ease her in her afflictions.  
The second reason is, for that it is a contentment to man, to do an act befitting the estate wherein he finds himself. So as if amidst the mourning of our friends, we chance to laugh unadvisedly, when we enter into consideration with ourselves, this lightness doth displease us, for that laughter agrees not well with mourning; and there is nothing doth accord and concur better with the condition of miserable men than tears, wherefore they are pleasing unto them, and by consequence sweeten their torments.  
And not only the tears which afflicted persons pour forth are sweet unto them, but even those of their friends do comfort them: whereof we may yield two reasons, the one, for that naturally they who groan under any burden, feel his hand sweet, which labours to discharge them, or which help to support them. So friends from whom pity and compassion wrest tears in the midst of their friend's misery, endeavouring as it were to ease him of the burden which doth press him down, sweeten his pain, and make him endure his affliction with more constancy and resolution. The other, for that he that sees his friends participate with his Grief, knows thereby that their affections are sound, and that they love him sincerely; which is the sweetest thing that may happen in this life: wherefore this thought makes his affliction more supportable; whereby he comforts himself in his discontent.  
But all these remedies are not so powerful against Grief, as the contemplation of the first truth, which dispersing her beams in our souls, fills them with so pleasing a splendour, as they remain ravished with joy and content. For it is certain that this kind of contemplation is so sweet and delightful of itself, as it expels and disperseth all his cares and Grief that applies himself unto it. The which she works the more powerfully, if the soul be inflamed with the love of true wisdom, which consists in the contemplation of the first cause, which is God. So as the soul rejoiceth in the midst of the afflictions of this life, thinking still of the sweet Ideas of the glory of heaven.  
In regard whereof some Martyrs have given a thousand testimonies of joy in the midst of their torments: And some marching barefooted upon burning coals, have protested constantly and truly, that they thought they trod upon Roses. But we have spoken sufficiently of Grief in general, let us now come unto the buds which she produceth, and to the species in particular, which are contained under the general, as misery, indignation, envy, and emulation, without the explaining whereof this treaty would be imperfect.   

Of Mercy and Indignation. CHAP. 2.  
ALthough there be some Philosophers who observing the impression and wound which the pity we have of another man's miseries makes in our hearts, have absolutely condemned all the motions of this Passion, as unworthy the greatness of our courrages: Yet we must confess, that amidst so many strange accidents which happen in the course of this life, amidst the great poverties and miseries of men, the cruel infirmities, banishments, tortures, punishments, shipwrecks, burnings, slaughters, and all other calamities aswell private as public which makes them miserable; they must have abandoned all feeling of humanity if they should not be touched with Grief when as these miseries offer themselues unto their eyes. For notwithstanding the saying of these Philosophers, that great spirits in the which virtue hath taken deep root, see all things without perturbation, and wipe away the tears of those that weep without any motion: that is to say, that men perfectly virtuous give alms to the poor, stretch forth their hands unto him that is in danger of shipwreck, untie the bonds of those that are in servitude, give liberty to a son for the tears of his mother, inter the bloody carcase of him who hath been transpierced with wounds, and yet his heart is not touched with any feeling of all these miseries; yea and in these accidents they retain still the same countenance with the which they behold plays & shows upon a theatre. These are words which have more show and pomp then solid truth. Let us then leave this inhuman Philosophy which makes men rather stupid then constant, & to become insensible of the miseries of this life; and let us consider more exactly of the true nature of this Passion, which gives us a commendable feeling.  
Mercy is a Grief or feeling which we have of another man's miseries, whom we hold worthy of a better fortune. This feeling and Grief is framed in our souls, for that we consider, that what hath befallen him may happen to all the world: And particularly for that we imagine that the like misfortune may overtake us, or some one of our friends: for it is most certain that such as feel their hearts touched with pity, must be in that estate as they think that either themselves or their friends may fall into the like accident, and run into the same misfortune that he hath done, whose misery doth move them to this commiseration. Wherefore first of all, they that are at the height of humane miseries, and cannot fear a more wretched condition then that whereunto they are reduced, are never touched with any kind of compassion, for that no kind of Grief presents itself unto their eyes but they think they have tried it. And also for that they imagine that all the afflictions which may happen, are as it were mixed with those they suffer. Secondly, they that at the height of worldly felicity, have no feeling of pity, but are rather transported with insolency and contempt, then to have any compassion of the miserable. For imagining themselves to enjoy all kind of joys & contentments, they presume that no disaster can befall them which may overthrow their fortunes, for that this confidence is as a part of their felicity.  
This second consideration made Aristotle to say, that Mercy had no place in the divine Essence; for that it is sovereignly happy, and that nothing is able to trouble or diminish her felicity. But here he considers Mercy as a sensible Passion which doth move and mollify the heart, and doth imprint a feeling of another man's misery in his soul which desires to relieve him. And of this sort without doubt there can be no Mercy found in God, who is as free from Human Passions, as the heavens and planets are exempt from the qualities and impressions of the Elements: but taking Mercy according to her effect, which is to relieve the miserable, were to ruin mankind which subsists by his bounty, to deny that it is in him: For this sovereign felicity which he enjoyeth from all eternity, without any apprehension that he may ever lose it, doth not hinder him to relieve us in our afflictions, & to draw us out of our misery, by the sole inclination of his bounty, who hath nothing common with the hardness of Tyrants, nor with the stupidity of the wretched. But let us return to our discourse.  
They that are capable of Mercy, are such as first of all imagine themselves to be subject to the accidents of this life, and who have already tried and escaped them, or which apprehend to feel the rigour. And for this reason they which have lived long are commonly inclined to pity, both for that experience hath taught them that neither Diadem nor Crown, nor riches, honours, health, nor present prosperities, can shelter man from the storms and tempests which assail his life; as also for that age fills them with judgement and makes them wise, not to trust to fortune, which seems to have no other constancy, but always inconstant in the favours which she bestows upon us. In like manner men subject to infirmities, weak persons and destitute of means, who see themselves exposed to all kinds of outrages; yea and learned men who have the knowledge of the accidents and miseries of this life, are easily moved to pity, for that they can duly consider of things, and judge uprightly of the affairs of the world. Wherefore an excellent and wise Roman Captain, having defeated a mighty King of Macedon in battle, when as they brought this miserable Prince prisoner unto him, he rose from his seat, and with tears in his eyes went to meet him, as a great personage fallen by some misfortune, or by the wrath of the gods, into that lamentable accident:  
And having cast himself at his feet, he could not endure it, but raised him up with all humanity. Afterwards retiring himself, and thinking deeply of the miseries of this life, he made a speech unto his children and to the young men that were about him, to purge their souls from all insolency and vanity, by so prodigious an example of humane frailty. But we must return to our discourse.  
They that have wife, children, and a great number of friends, are also inclined to pity, for that as we have said, they still apprehend the common miseries, and think that the like misfortunes hang over their families. But they that are transported with a violent Passion of Courage, Choler, or Hardiness, are nothing moved; for that the heat of their blood▪ and the excess of their Passion, will not suffer them to think seriously of these things, and to care for future events. An extraordinary fear doth also hinder the feeling of pity, for that they which are seized therewith, being tied to their private miseries, have no time to think of another man's. So he that hath lost his children, or seen his house burnt, thinks not of him that is led to the gallows, or to be broken on a wheel.  
But we put in the rank of those which are touched with pity, those souls which have not yet lost all feeling of mankind, but believe that there are yet good men living in the world. For they that imagine there are no virtuous persons upon earth, persuade themselves also that all men deserve the miseries they suffer, and by that reason believe that they are unworthy of compassion: Whereof we have a monstrous example in that Athenian, who had no Pleasure in this world but to see the ●●ine of mankind. Finally men suffer themselues to be moved ●o pity, when as they remember that they have groaned under the burden of afflictions which they see other men endure: Or when as they apprehend the ●ike calamities may befall them or their friends.  
But let us see what things are worthy of pity and compassion. They are generally all those which cause Grief to the mind, or torment to the body: Those which take away life; make families desolate, and cause some gre at changes and alterations in the fortunes of men. As for example, punishment, violent deaths, disgraces, poverty in age, incurable diseases, great languish, & insupportable want, or extreme poverty, treachery, or loss of friends, burnings, and shipwreck, are all miserable things and excite to pity. We may also put in this rank the monstrous deformities of counterfeit bodies, the accidents of limbs lamed, or benumbed, and the ruins which happen to men by the treachery of those from whom they should expect all support. We may also comprehend the miseries which befall us often, or which happen after other accidents. And in like manner the benefits which come out of season: As if a Prince should send presents of gold and silver to one that were dead of hunger.  
Finally, it is a miserable thing never to have felt any good or contentment in this life, or if any hath happened, not to have had means to enjoy it.  
But for that these objects of misery do not always make an equal impression in our senses, we must now know who they be whom we do chiefly pity, when we see them engaged in any misery. First of all, we are greatly moved to compassion and mercy to those persons whom we have known familiarly, and with whom we have had some kind of friendship, at the least if they be not strictly tied unto us by natural affinity and blood: For as for those which touch us so near, we have a feeling more violent than that of pity. In regard whereof we read of Amasis' King of Egypt, who seeing his own son drawn to execution, he neever shed one tear, as if he had had no feeling; whereas perceiving one of his friends oppressed with poverty and begging his bread, he wept bitterly, thinking that tears were not sufficient to witness his first Grief, but they were due unto the second. In like manner those strange accidents which happen to those of our blood and which touch us so near, are full of horror & amazement, and by their excess suppress our tears, yea and deprive us of our speech, as if the spirit were wholly retired to consider of the violence of our Grief; whereas the miseries of our other friends mollify our courrages, and by the wound they make in our hearts, send tears unto the eyes, which we pour forth, and are as it were the blood of that part wounded and oppressed with affliction.  
Moreover, men have pity of those whom they see near unto some great misfortune: As when they are ready to be buried in the waves of the sea by some accident of shipwreck; or of those who are to have a member cut off, or to receive some notable violence, yea or some indignity. Particularly men are touched with pity, when as they that are exposed to outrages, or endure great calamities, are their equals in age, in humours, in qualities, in exercise, or in breeding. For all these things make deep impressions in the thought, that they are subject to the like miseries; wherefore they are moved to take compassion of their miseries, being an ordinary thing to pity those which suffer any affliction, which we ourselves apprehend. And to the end we may be sensible in the feeling of a misfortune which befalls another, we must have it as it were present before our eyes: for that we are not much moved with those miseries whose form is remote from us. As for example, we are not much moved to tears by the relation of the miseries which the slaves of Byserte and Algiers endure.  
And in like sort our hearts are not much mollified for any tragical accident which happened a thousand years since, neither do we care much for that which shall succeed after the revolutions of many ages. Wherefore in old time the Romans to move the Magistrates to mercy, strived to make a more sensible impression of their miseries, by causing their wives, children, and families to come desolately unto the place of justice: And as for themselves they appeared in judgement with garments befitting their fortunes, all filthy and torn; they opened their breasts & other parts of their bodies, to show the wounds they had received in the service of the common wealth: Yea they caused tables to be drawn where their misfortunes were painted▪ the which they presented unto their judges, to the end that having before their eyes so mournful a spectacle, they might take compassion of their misery; being most certain that the voice, attire, carriage, countenance, gesture, and presence, of the miserable, make powerful impressions in our hearts, and incite men more to pity: The which happens for that these things make us as it were present by the sight of another man's misery. And therefore a bloody robe, (as that of Caesar murdered in the Senate) being shown to express the misfortune of a Prince, did not only wrest forth tears, but even inflame the people to revenge so pitiful an accident. For the same reason we feel ourselves much touched with grief and pity, when as we hear the complaints, sighs, tears, and lamentation, of these which are oppressed by some notable calamity: As when we behold the Agonies of those that are exposed to a cruel and shameful death: And we are the more moved to pity and commiseration, when they are worthy and virtuous men, whose virtue and glory past, makes their ends the more lamentable and tragical,  
For this consideration moves us the more, both for that the evil is near us, and that our eyes are spectators, as also for that the Image of their virtue, and the glory of their precedent lives, increaseth the indignity of their punishment.   

Of Indignation. CHAP. 3.  
AS Mercy or pity is a sign of a good soul, so this other Passion which we call Indignation, and which is no other thing but a grieving & repining we have at the good Fortune which befalls the wicked, who are altogether unworthy, is very commendable in us. For as pity is framed of the Grief which we feel for the miseries of good men, or whom we judge worthy of better fortunes; so Indignation proceeds from the discontent we receive to see the wicked flourish and enjoy the worldly blessings which they have not deserved; so as either of these Passions is commendable, for that as we should afflict ourselves to see virtuous men overtaken by misfortune's, from the which their virtue should exempt them: so we should be grieved to see men execrable for their crimes, advanced to the height of honours and worldly dignities, which good men should enjoy. For whatsoever befalls a man contrary to his merit, is full of outrage and injustice; wherefore Aristotle did not forbear to say, that Indignation is a thing which is found even in the divinity, to the which the prosperities of the wicked cannot be pleasing.  
But to enter into the matter, you must understand, that as Indignation is a grief which we feel, & a despite which we conceive at the great prosperity of those whom we hold unworthy for their crimes, yet this Passion is not framed in our souls for all kind of prosperities which may befall them: For that no man hath any reason to be troubled to see the wicked change their life unto a better, to embrace piety, to become just, valiant, moderate, wise, and adorned with other virtues. Yea, the most innocent souls rejoice whensoever they see a man who was formerly vicious and disordered, become virtuous and temperate. There being no man living that is unworthy of virtue, seeing that virtue by her presence doth extinguish vice, and makes man worthy of the blessings of this life; whereas they that are destitute of this ornament, deserve them not. So as if he who was formerly wicked, becomes virtuous, by this change he makes himself worthy of all good fortune, and therefore if any happen unto him we should not be grieved; as in like manner we should not take pity of those who remain obstinate in their crimes, and glory in their vices.  
The goods then which we grieve and disdain to see the wicked enjoy, are the goods of the body and those which we call of Fortune, that is to say, nobility, beauty, honours, sceptres, Crowns, Empires, and such like. As for example, there is no good man but doth grieve and tremble to see the Tyrants of the East, the cruel and infidel race of the Ottomans hold the goodliest sceptre, enjoy the richest cities, and command over the most powerful provinces of the world.  
And in like manner there are no virtuous souls that can without grief & Indignation see other wicked men to flourish and abound in all sorts of honour and riches. But especially our despite is inflamed, when as they are men who have crept up to the height of glory in an instant, and when they are very prodigies of Fortune, being advanced before they were in a manner known to be in the world, or at the least were in any sort respected. For as for those which hold their Nobility from precedent ages, who are rich by succession and inheritance, and who hold all the advantages they have from nature, although they be altogether unworthy, yet we endure them with less impatiency than we do new men, who are risen to a monstrous prosperity in one day. The reason is, for that they which enjoy their glory and riches from their ancestors, seem to have nothing but what belongs unto them by the right of nature and blood; whereas men advanced to new honours, without merit, seem to be rich with the spoils of virtue, and to enjoy the goods which in no sort belong unto them.  
And for the same reason, although that sometimes the goods of the body, as beauty, health, and disposition, meeting in men which deserve them not, may raise in our souls some clouds of Indignation and despite to see these presents of nature so unworthily profaned; yet we do not conceive so galling a discontent, as when we see them enjoy the goods which we call of Fortune, as charges, dignities, offices, the government of state, and the managing of great affairs; all which things seem to be due to virtue. For this consideration it is an insupportable thing, to see a man of the common sort, wholly destitute of virtue, and full of all vice, attain to the first dignities of a Realm, and in the twinkling of an eye to become as powerful as the greatest Princes. And there is no doubt but all good men tremble when they see these prodigious advancements of persons taken from the scum of the people, without any consideration of merit.  
Yea these sudden changes are as it were odious, & contrary to nature which requires time in her actions. And for the same reason we see, that the people submit themselves willingly under the obedience of a Prince who holds the sceptre of his Ancestors, and is come to the Crown by the right of succession; but when they seek to give them a new master, which is not issued from the extraction of their Kings, they cannot endure him, but easily shake off the yoke whereunto they have not been accustomed. And in like manner, no man is grieved to respect them that are descended from ancient Nobility, but they can hardly yield honour to those whose nobility is but newly discovered. The reason is, for that men believe, that the ancient Nobility being in possession of this glory, no man should repine to yield him that which time hath gotten him, which is a right in a manner equal to that which nature gives; for that the things which we enjoy by a long continuance of years, seem to be gotten and held as it were inpropriety, not by the indulgence of men, but by the bounty of nature. And withal that which hath continued so long, hath a greater affinity with the truth, whose lasting is eternal, then that which is but newly sprung up within few days.  
But there is one thing that fills our souls with Indignation, when as we see any one enjoy those goods, which have no coherence with his quality: As when (to the great reproach of piety) we see a Knight, a Captain, a Soldier, or any other making profession of arms, to hold bishoprics, to enjoy Abbeys, and to possess other dignities of the Church; we hold this much more unworthy, then if they gave the charge of Campe-maisters, and of Colonels of foot or horse to religious men or Bishops. Or if they made a singing man or Clerk of the King's Chapel, General of his armies. Finally, we hold it a thing very unworthy, to see a young man inferior in all kind of qualities to a reverend old man, contest with him of merit and glory; especially when it falls out betwixt men of the same profession, betwixt whom this inequality is remarkable. And admit they be not men of the same profession, yet we hold it an unworthy thing that one who is inferior in all points to another, should contest against him. As if a Musician would equal himself to a Precedent or Counsellor of the Court, remembering not that the charges of justice are far more honourable than the profession of Music; this would make all men to tremble which know what difference there is betwixt gold & lead. They which easily conceive indignation, are first of all men endowed with some eminent quality, who see themselves rejected from dignities and offices, or which see men altogether unworthy, advanced to the same honours whereunto they have attained by their virtue: For doubtless it is no just thing to place so unequal persons in the same rank. Moreover virtuous souls and adorned with bounty, have a great disdain to see good men deprived of the just reward of their virtue, and the wicked raised to honours which they could not hope for. The cause is, for that those souls have their judgement pure, and can esteem things according to their weight and value: And therefore they abhor vice, and have virtue in singular recommendation. Again, they that love honours and charges, are subject to indignation, especially when as they aspire to those places which are held by unworthy persons. In like manner, they that have a good opinion of themselves, and ●ho believe they deserve ●ore than all the world beside, are subject to the motions of indignation, when as any one enters into comparison with them. Whereas chose▪ servile souls, men borne in barbarism, and gross spirits, are not transported with any thing, having nothing in them that may quicken this passion. Yet there are some which do rather refer the motions of ambitious & presumptuous men to mere envy, then to a just indignation: For that indignation being a commendable passion, & which proceeds from the feeling of virtue, it cannot subsist with the vanity and arrogancy which accompany those men, but it must be another passion which kindles in their souls this kind of despite.   

Of Envy and Emulation. CHAP. 4.  
AS Crocodiles have their breeding, and live in the goodliest and richest river in the world; and as other venomous beasts are commonly found among the most exquisite and sweetest flowers, whose grace and beauty they pollute and corrupt; so Envy which is a venomous and malign Passion, doth commonly assail the most virtuous men, and such as have attained to the greatest honour & glory in the world. Wherefore one of the most famous Captains of antiquity, being yet in the flower of his age, was wont to say, that he knew he had done nothing that was generous or commendable, for that he did not find any man that did Envy him: which shows that there can be nothing imagined in this world more unjust or more wicked than this infamous Passion, which seeks her own torment, and finds her punishment in the glory and contentments of another.  
It is also the reason why men are ashamed to confess openly that they are troubled with this Passion: And being convicted, they labour to palliate their error, yea, they had rather accuse themselves of all other imperfections then to justify this; And therefore they give it other names, excusing themselves that it is not Envy, but hatred, fear, or choler, which transports them: the which is a silent confession they make, that of all the infirmities of the soul, they should most dissemble it, lest they expose themselves to a visible shame and disgrace. But before we blame it, we must first know it with her nature and properties.  
Envy then is a grief, which is framed in our souls by reason of the prosperities which we see happen to our equals or such as be like unto us; not that we expect to reap any fruit by our Passion, but for that we cannot endure the glory of another man without Grief. It riseth first betwixt equals or such as are alike; that is to say, betwixt those of the same blood, of the same age, of the same profession, of the same wealth, and betwixt those that aspire to the same honours. So as we see, kinsmen Envy their kinsmen, and are grieved at the increase of their fortunes.  
Young men also cannot suffer with grief that they of their age should be advanced before them. In like manner Philosophers are jealous of the glory of Philosophers; and Painters Envy the reputation of Painters; great Commanders in the war cannot behold but with impatiency the triumphs of their companions; rich men in like manner cross the rising of such as are their equals; and finally, they that affect the same offices do what they can to keep back their companions. The reason is, for that Envy being always accompanied with a certain competition and contention, which riseth betwixt those that do passionately desire the same thing, it is necessary it should rather be among equals▪ then where there is no equality nor comparison: for that men being naturally desirous to excel in all things, and to exceed their companions, this desire doth always breed a contention betwixt such as pretend the same thing, and from this contention Envy is engendered; and therefore the Philosophers did rightly teach, that this Passion was always found among equals. And therefore they which do much exceed others in glory, being above their Envy, feel not themselves to be crossed.  
And we observe that as the Sun at noon day makes no shadow, so eminent virtues are exempt from the jealousies of Envy, and yet they cannot avoid the assaults of Hatred. As for example, Cyrus and Alexander the Great in their ages, and in our time Henry the Great being raised to the height of worldly glory, by the greatness of their courages have so surmounted Envy, as in the end they found themselves without concurrence: But they could not so vanquish the Hatred of the wicked, but they were exposed to their rage: Especially this last, the love and delight of Princes; whom an execrable parricide deprives of his life, when as the whole world honoured his Valour. Moreover, that which made these invincible resolutions to triumph over Envy, was for that no man could contend any more with them of glory, whereof having attained the full; despair to surmount them or to equal them, did shadow them from the jealousy of all the world.  
And for the same reason, they which have attained to that height of glory, seeing their virtue raised and advanced to so high a degree, as all they that would be their concurrents cannot attain unto it, they envy no man, but rather disdain and contemn all the world, as incapable to mount unto that height whereunto they have raised themselves. As for example; there is no private Knight that doth envy the power and lustre of a King's Diadem, neither doth the King envy his fortune. In like manner, there is no Capuchin, or simple religious man, that doth bear envy to the Pope's Authority or Crown; or whose condition also the Pope doth malice: but if by some notable disaster a potent King or a great Bishop should decline, and be reduced to a more base fortune and condition, in which they that were before their inferiors, might hope to become their companions and equals; then there were no obstacles, but Envy might rise betwixt them, seeing that there might be a concurrence.  
Envy then discovers itself betwixt equals, and those that are alike: the which must be understood of those which are alike, according to their degrees and power, but are unlike in their fortunes and prosperities; considering that in this last point, he which bears envy is always inferior in some kind to him whom he envies, at the least, in those things which cause this torment.  
In the mean time there is not any thing that doth so much beget Envy, as those things which concern honour. Whereby the ambitious are perpetually affected, for that they are always in contention with some one for pre-eminence and glory. Yea, what glory soever men enjoy, yet for that they imagine the honour they have not, is due unto them, and that it is as it were ravished away by such to whom the world hath given it, they do commonly bear Envy to all those that have any lustre or share of it. They also which have a conceit of their wisdoms, or which think themselves to be virtuous, are wonderfully subject to envy. I say, those that imagine and suppose these things; for that they which are truly virtuous, and truly wise, content themselves with their proper virtue, and with their own wisdom, & knowing themselves to be truly worthy of honour, affect no other glory, neither do they feed themselves with wind and smoke: whereas such as have but the name of wise and virtuous, hunt passionately after this vanity, and desire to be honoured and praised of all the world; showing a wonderful despite against those that contemn them: and for this reason they are inflamed with Envy against such as are advanced to great honours. Cowardly minds are in like manner subject to Envy, for that being faint-hearted, when as they see things of small price shine in others, they esteem them great and worthy to be envied: like unto little children, who seeing a piece of glass or a pin in the hands of those of their age, afflict themselves, and strive to take it away.  
They also which have attained to some good with wonderful pain, are envious to see another attain unto the like without any difficulty, and especially if the facility which he hath found be prejudicial or dishonourable unto them. As they which have spent many years to learn painting and Philosophy, envy such as are grown perfect in a short time, especially when they are to make profession in the same City.  
Finally, they against whom we conceive any Envy, must not be far distant from us, either in place, time, age▪ dignity, honour, or such like: So as the inhabitants of Paris and France, do not envy those of the great Cayre or China. In like manner, we bear no envy to those who had favourable fortunes two or three thousand years since. Neither do we see that Kings envy the fortune of Alexander or of Caesar, although they may enter into some emulation of their valour. In like sort, we envy not the dead, or those which are not yet come into the world. And there is no appearance that a young man, though issued from a noble Family, should envy grave old men, which enter into a Council of State. In like manner, an Attorney of the Court cannot envy a Chancellor of France, being so far short of his dignity. Neither do shepherds envy the Crowns and Sceptres of Kings: nor Merchant's malice Generals of Armies, with whose charges their qualities have so little proportion. But our Envy is kindled against those, whose glory doth as it were dazzle our eyes with their continual presence, which makes us to think of the baseness of our condition, the which we see dejected under theirs. But especially when as they possess a good which we have enjoyed, and which is no more in our power to recover. By reason whereof, it often happens, that old men envy the younger sort, for that being in Companies, they see that their age takes from them the use, or forbids them the enjoying of those sports and exercises, wherein young men take delight. And this Envy which they bear them, appears in the rigours which they show them, in their reprehensions which they make them, and in the hindrances they give them, when as they may cross them.  
Moreover, the things that may be profitable or commodious unto us, stir up more Envy than those which are only proper to him that envies them. Wherefore we do more envy our equals for their beauty, riches, knowledge, and honours, then for their health or long life, which are particular unto themselves. And the reason is, for that Envy rising from this desire to be esteemed in the world, and from the Passion we have to see ourselves more respected than other men; the qualities which recommend them, make the deeper impression of Envy in our souls, the more capable they are to purchase reputation to him that enjoys them. And there is no question but the things which may bring pleasure, profit, or honour, not only to him that enjoys them but also to all men that shall possess them, are ever esteemed more honourable, and more glorious than those, whose pleasure, profit, or glory, extend but to one in particular: wherefore they do also stir up more Enuy.  
There is another Passion which is also a bud or branch of headiness, as well as Envy, and that is Emulation, which hath some affinity with it, but yet they are very different Passions. For although that Emulation be A grief which we have conceived for the prosperity of our equals, yet it riseth not from any bad affection we bear them, but only from a desire we have to see ourselves attain unto the like felicities. Wherefore Emulation doth not merit the blame which Envy doth, but many times it is commendable in us. As for example, when as we see some virtue shine in one of our equals, we strive in imitation of him to attain unto it. This Emulation is worthy of praise. So Caesar is commended, to have propounded Alexander for a pattern, as Alexander did Achilles: And Themistocles did show that he was borne to great matters, when as he said that the triumphs of Miltiades would not suffer him to sleep: for that it was a testimony that he was troubled with an honest Emulation of his virtue. Emulation then is found among equals, or at the least among those which are almost alike, for that this Passion stirring up a desire in us, inciting us to seek the perfection which shines in those, whose glory hath made this impression in our souls; we must of necessity imagine that it is in our power to attain unto them, for that we never desire those things which are impossible.  
Wherefore we have no Emulation of those, who have so great an advantage over us, as it is not in our power to come near them. Reciprocally we have no Envy in regard of those that be so far inferior unto us, as we see no commendable quality in them, which we enjoy not with much eminency. Among the rest, young men are naturally inclined to Emulation, for that by reason of the heat of their youth, they are found more hardy, and being full of good hopes, they show themselves more active to undertake; for that all things how difficult so ever, seem easy unto them. And for the same reason great and courageous spirits, are very capable of Emulation, by reason of the greatness of their minds, which makes them conceive that there is no design above their valour, and that there is nothing so difficult but they may surmount.  
Among other things which may induce us to Emulation, those which may make a man necessary or profitable to many, hold the first rank. As for example, learning, eloquence, riches, power, the managing of affairs, and such like, are greatly subject to the force of this Passion. And therefore it is often commendable; that is to say, when she propounds unto herself no sort of external goods, but the only treasures of the soul and the riches of the mind, which she sees to shine in another subject, whose glory inflames her, and makes her aspire to the possession of the same graces. For this consideration also we have a particular Emulation, and desire passionately to equal, or to imitate those who are respected throughout the world, whom all the world commends, and all men love, and especially when their virtues are honoured by excellent pens: For that all these things are so many glorious testimonies of their merits.  
These be the Personages whose virtue makes so glorious a show, as we desire earnestly to imitate them: As chose we contemn and are ashamed to resemble those which are destitute of all these goodly qualities. Wherefore as man should carefully free his soul from Envy, which doth but trouble his rest, and afflicts him more than the party against whom it conspireth; so in some sort he should give way to an honest Emulation, which proceeds not from any evil will he bears to another, but from the good he desires to himself, to the end that in propounding to himself the examples of magnificence, valour, justice, modesty, prudence, wisdom, and of the other virtues which shine in the lives of great Personages of his condition, he may become magnificent, valiant, Just, moderate, prudent, wise, and endowed with all the other qualities which make them glorious which are adorned therewith. But we have spoken sufficiently of the Concupiscible Passion, we must now treat of those which make their impressions, and stir up the Irascible.    


Of Hardiness or Courage. CHAP. 1.  
AS in the ancient sacrifices of the Pagans they did carefully observe the generosity of the beasts that were to be sacrificed; so as ●he priest coming to pass a naked sword before their eyes, if they were affrighted with the brightness thereof, they were chased from the Altar; whereas if they stood still without amazement, they were held worthy to be offered to the divinity. So base and dejected minds which grow pale at any danger, were always held in great contempt; whereas generous and resolute spirits, whom no kind of peril could terrify or amaze, have ever been held in singular admiration. This resolution and courage proceeds from an excellent nature wherewith they are endowed, which makes them to look upon all the accidents of the world without any alteration, being resolved to vanquish whatsoever presents itself to encounter their constancy: Showing thereby, that they apprehend a disgrace more than a misfortune, and that they had more care to preserve their honours, then to prolong their lives.  
Seeing then that true Hardiness and Courage is so commendable a thing, and that many of the most excellent men of antiquity have preferred it before riches, the disposition of the body, beauty, and the other ornaments, whereof men do usually glory; we must seek out the Essence, and show what courages she doth accompany, and in what souls she is found.  
Hardiness then is no other thing, but a resolution of courage, whereby promising unto himself to be able to surmount the calamities which threaten him, he sees them coming without amazement, and is not terrified when they are befallen him: Or else according unto others: Hardiness is a Passion of the soul, which doth fortify it, and makes it assured against the miseries which are most difficult to avoid, and which doth encourage it to pursue those good things which are most painful to obtain.  
Whereby it follows, that Hardiness is always accompanied with a certain hope to be able to vanquish and disperse those fearful things which present themselves unto the imagination of man. This confidence may grow from the opinion we have, that the evil which treatneth us is far from us; or from our belief, that if it should present itself, we should be able to surmount it. As when a City hath a conceit that no man will attempt any thing against the peace of her Citizens; and if they should, they were able to repel the injury, and to endure the attempts of their enemies; this belief makes them hardy and assured. Secondly, it may grow, for that although we find ourselves weak, and unable to resist our enemies, yet we believe that we shall be powerfully assisted by our Allies, with whose aid we hold ourselves invincible. As for example, although the Duke of Saiwy be not able of himself to resist the Arms of Spain; yet being fortified with the alliance of this Crown, he doth not apprehend them, neither is he afraid to incense them, knowing that the assistance of the Christian King protects him of that side.  
Thirdly, this confidence may grow, for that we believe, we have neither received nor done injury to any man, which should make us apprehend revenge. And again, for that we think we have no enemies, or else that they are so feeble and weak as they cannot annoy us. It may also grow in regard that they who have power to hurt us, are our friends, and live in good correspondency with us, and have assisted us in our occurrents, as for our part we have endeavoured to bind them unto us by all occasions which have been offered. So the Allies of great Kings fear not their power, although it be fearful to the rest of the world.  
By this means we find that there are divers sorts of persons which are full of Hardiness and assurance. First, they are hardy, which imagine that all things shall succeed happily in regard of their former felicities. So Alexander undertaking the conquest of India, apprehended nothing; by reason of the happy victories, and triumphs which he had gotten over the Persians. So Caesar being overtaken with a cruel storm and in a small bark, feared nothing, but to confirm the resolution of his Pilot whom the storm had amazed, he wished him not to fear, seeing he carried Caesar and his fortunes. Secondly, they are hardy who having been engaged in great dangers, have yet escaped; for they imagine that good Fortune which hath been so favourable unto them in so many other occasions full of despair, will not abandon them in that present danger. Finally, men are not troubled in dangers for two reasons, either for want of experience, or for the hope they have to be speedily relieved. As for example, they that go by sea, having never seen the horror of tempests, imagine that the masters and such as guide the ship, are expert in their faculty, and that they will easily preserve them from shipwreck; so as they are not amazed, although the storms and waves seem to threaten them their death.  
Thirdly, men are full of assurance when as they see such as equal them not, or do not exceed them in power, make no demonstration of fear; conceiting that they are assured, they have more cause to continue constant. Men not only hold them inferior unto them whom they have exceeded, but also such as cannot enter into comparison with them, or at the least are not more pow●rfull than those whom they have vanquished,  
Again men are full of Courage and resolution, when as they see themselves furnished with all those things which may make them fearful to their enemies. Among the which we put store of coin, disposition of body, greatness of mind, extent of Empire, support of friends, the power of Armies, and a great provision of all that is necessary for the maintenance of a war.  
Moreover, men hold themselves assured when they have not offended any man, or when such as they have offended are not able to revenge the injury. And withal, men are much assured, when as they think that God is favourable and assistant in their designs. Wherefore, in old time great Captains of war were not wont to give battle, before they had sacrificed unto their gods, and had seen in the entrails of their sacrifices some happy presage of divine assistance. For the same occasion they consulted with Oracles, attended the answers, and were careful to observe the signs which were seen before the battle: so that sometimes the flying of an Eagle hath assured Armies that were amazed.  
But without all these signs and presages, men think that God is favourable, when as they think they fight for a good cause: As when they have taken Arms for religion; for the service of their Prince; for the maintenance of his Crown; and for their Country: yea, when as they imagine, that the revenge they pursue is just, and that they have been unworthily abused. The reason is, for that Choler which is always inflamed by the injury received, and not by that which we do unto others, makes men hardy, persuading themselves, that God assists them that are wronged and unjustly persecuted. Lastly, they that begin a war are commonly hardy, especially when they have a conceit that the action will succeed, and that the event will answer the expectation.  
As for the constitution of the body, which may contribute to the Hardiness and resolution of man: It is certain, that such as have much blood and spirits, and which abound in heat, are most commonly hardy and valiant. For they have great minds and full of generosity, which makes them to contemn dangers. And if in the midst of hazards some part of the blood retires inwardly, yet the better part keeps her seat, and remains firm and constant: so as they never grow pale, nor tremble like to other men. But if before they fight the apprehension of danger, makes any impression in their souls, they recover themselves suddenly, and expel the fear which would surprise them. And for the same reason, they which are full of wine, may become more hardy: not that this defect of itself doth contribute any thing to the greatness of Courage, but for that wine inflames the blood, & by accident makes men valiant; and withal, they that are overtaken with wine, have their reason captivated, and their judgement troubled: so as they cannot consider duly of the greatness of peril, but imagine, that all dangers are inferior to their force and resistance.  
In the mean time we observe, that many which show a great Hardiness and courage to cast themselves into danger, as soon as they find themselves engaged, are often amazed; as we see in those that go valiantly to a charge, but finding resistance, they turn their backs to the enemy: where of we can give no other reason, but that they are not valiant by judgement, but by the bounty of nature. So as apprehending not the greatness of the danger before they enter, but imagining that they shall vanquish whatsoever opposeth itself against them; when as they find resistance which they did not expect, they are amazed at the strangeness of this accident, and their hearts grow cold and relent in such sort, as sometimes they fly before their enemies. But the contrary happens to those that are truly valiant; for when as they govern their courages by wisdom, and measure their forces, attempting nothing above their strength or against reason, there is no sudden accident that may befall them, that can trouble them in any action of Arms; whereas commonly they find less resistance than they expected before they entered the fight, so as their resolution is always fortified and never decays. And then propounding honour only before their eyes, the fear of the loss of life cannot amaze them, but their virtue surmounting all accidents, it causeth them (notwithstanding all hazards) to persist courageously in that which they have gloriously begun. Yea, commonly they show themselves more cold in the beginning, then at the ending; for that it is not the Passion that doth animate them, but it is judgement which doth act in their courages. By reason whereof, in the beginning of the action they are more cold, & are not inflamed but with fight. But it hath been observed in many valiant men, which had their hearts all covered with hair: whereof we have a famous example in that courageous Lacedaemonian Leonidas, who with five hundred men kept the straight of Thermopiles against that huge Army of Xerxes, & who had the courage and resolution to pass through the midst of his armed soldiers, to wrest the Diadem from his head. For when as after his death the King of Persia (amazed at so great a resolution) had caused him to be opened, his heart was found all covered with hair. Some, it may be, would put this among the prodigies, or rather among the scorns of Nature; but the reason is easy to be given, for they that are extraordinarily valiant, have an exceeding heat, which draws from their heart a fume of excrements, which thickens, and is converted into hair; the which is a mark of their courage, and a sign of valour.    


CHAP. 1. Of Fear or Dread.  
ALTHOUGH it seems that fear is a dead Passion & that it should not make any great impressions in our souls, nor cause any strange alterations in the world: yet as there be certain stars, which being in a manner continaully hidden, have notwithstanding very malign and pernicious influences: so although she seem not to be so active as the rest, and remains as it were covered & hidden, yet she doth cause strange accidents in the life of man; for that she hath sometimes ruined powerful Armies, brought Kingdoms and States into dangers, and overthrown the fortunes of private persons. Wherefore we have seen great Commanders in war, who troubled by some sinister and unexpected accident, in a day of battle, have had recourse to vows and prayers, and have promised to build temples to Fear and paleness, to divert the ruin that threatened them, if the amazement spread over the whole Army, had not been as it were miraculously dispersed.  
Wherefore seeing that Fear doth produce such powerful changes in the affairs of men, and withal, that this life is daily threatened with infinite miseries, which give us still cause to fear; we must see wherein she consists, how she is framed, and in what souls she doth reside. Fear then is no other thing, but A grief and distress of the soul, troubled by the imagination of some approaching Evil, wherewith man is threatened, without any appearance to be able to avoid it easily, although it tend to the destruction of his being, or cause him some strange calamity in the course of his life.  
It is first of all a grief and a distress; for that as pleasures fill the senses with delight and joy, so the imagination of an infallible evil, which cannot be avoided, fills us with grief and heaviness. But secondly the causes of this grief, are not always solid nor true, but many times they are vain and imaginary: for that we do frame or rather forge to ourselves the miseries, whereof the apprehension afflicts our minds, and torments our senses.  
The which made an Ancient say, that there are more things which amaze us, than that press us: and that most commonly opinion and apprehension, doth us more harm than the thing itself. Wherein doubtless the condition of man is lamentable, for that as if he were not environed by a sufficient number of true miseries, he forgets others which are not in nature, to increase his miseries.  
For we see daily that although there appear no presages, nor any signs of a calamity that doth threaten us, yet our minds do frame false imaginations, and vain fears, which many times are the causes of our ruin.  
There are some things which torment us more than they should do, others trouble us before the time, and some afflict us without cause or subject, for that we either increase our griefs and pains, or we forge them ourselves, or else we run before them and anticipate them: And whereas we should strive against these jealousies and false opinions which cause them, we suffer ourselves to be vanquished, resembling therein certain Soldiers who being amazed at a little dust raised by a flock of sheep, turned their backs, as if the enemy had been at their heels.  
These vain fears may sometimes grow from the ignorance of things which they imagine to be of bad presage, although they be mere effects of nature which they should observe without trembling, as we have many times seen an Eclipse of the Sun or of the Moon which have their natural causes, trouble whole Armies and terrify their Commanders. Thirdly, we must observe that to cause Fear, the evil that doth threaten us must not be present but to come; for that when it is present, it is no more a Fear but a mere heaviness. And then the evil which we doubt must be full of horror, and threaten us with the loss of life, or some other great prejudice: For things of small weight, are not capable to make any impression of Fear, at the least if there remain any spark of generosity in our hearts.  
Yea all kind of calamities how great so ever, are not able to cause Fear, if it be not accompanied with a certain horror which amazeth the senses. As for example, men apprehend not to become unjust, or wicked, although they be things more to be feared then all the miseries of this life. But the nature of vice is such, as the horror of her presence is not sensible unto us, for that she seems not to destroy our being, nor to cause in us any great alterations that should afflict us. Moreover, to be terrified with any evil, it must be as it were hanging over our heads, and threaten us with a ruin at hand; for when as we imagine that it is far from us, how fearful soever the form be, yet we are not amazed. Even so although that death be the most horrid & fearful thing that may fall into the thought of men, yet for that every man presumes it is not ready to seize upon him, we do not apprehend it as we ought, but we suffer it to come and prepare not ourselves.  
There rests now to see what things we have just cause to apprehend. An Ancient makes three sorts, that is to say, poverty, diseases, & the outrages of the mighty. The two first, that is to say, poverty, and diseases, make the least show; but the outrages of the mighty present themselves unto our senses with much bruit, and terrify our eyes and ears. For even as an executioner is the mor● fearful when he brings forth divers instruments to torture & torment the patient, so as many times they which would have endured their punishment patiently, are dismayed, seeing so many deaths at one instant before their eyes; even so among the calamities which oppress our spirits, those cause most terror which march with the greatest show, for that they represent unto our thoughts irons, fire, chains, prisons, gibbets, wheels, and whatsoever is most horrible and fearful in this life. But let us hear Aristotle, who also sets three kinds of things which give us apprehension and fear. In the first rank he puts those which tend infallibly to the destruction of our being. For this reason, we do justly fear thunder and lightning; for that the life of man is full of the examples of such as have been miserably burnt. We Fear in like manner great inundations, and deluges of water, which are the cau●es of so many ruins upon earth. For the same reason, being in Forests and deserts, we apprehend the encounter of savage beasts, which are enemies to the life of man. And for the same subject we apprehend to fall into the hands of those whom we think we have offended.  
In the second rank of fearful things, he puts those which cause pinching vexations and griefs, as the loss of our kinsfolks and friends, banishment, imprisonment, and other punishments. In the third he placeth those which are as it were the signs and presages of these kind of miseries. Not that these signs of themselves cause us any prejudice, but for that they are as it were the forerunners of the danger into which we fear to fall. The which makes kings and Princes apprehend the rising and apparition of Comets, for that they have been persuaded they are foretellings of the death of great men. These signs which amaze us, may be reduced to four heads, which are found in the course of this life, and in the affairs of the world. For we are accustomed to Fear the wrath, and hatred of those which have power to be revenged; for that their wrath and hatred is as it were an infallible sign of our ruin; seeing that having power to undo us, there is no question, but (by a disease commune to all men,) they will be naturally inclined to revenge.  
But secondly, we apprehend our enemies more, when they are not stayed by some honest Fear of justice, or some other respect, but are ready to tread all divine and humane laws under foot to satisfy their revenge. For men which have thus renounced all the feelings of virtue, wanting no power, & having a wicked inclination, are always ready to do evil; and apprehend not to show their valorous disposition. So we have great reason to Fear such as in the liberty of crimes, find themselves above the laws, and cannot be punished by any man. As for example, Tyrants which have seized upon Estates & Empires, are much to be feared; for that having force & power to oppress whom they please, there is no doubt but they will speedily put it in execution; for that these savage spirits, knowing that those whom they have made subject to their Empire, (having just cause to hate them,) have no other design but to take from them all means to hurt them, by weakening them, and terrifying them with the Fear of punishments. They are also to be feared, not only for that they have power, but also for that to settle their Empire, they are inclined to commit all outrages and violence.  
It is true on the other side, that the same Tyrants should apprehend the fury of the people, who do but seek occasions to root them out, and to abate their power. Wherefore we see the life of these plagues of mankind, is full of jealousies and distrusts, which torment them day and night more cruelly, than those which they make their miserable subjects to suffer, who groan under the burden of their Tyranny. For although they be environed with their guards; that they have powerful alliances; that they command great Armies; and have strong towns & Forts at their command, yet nothing can assure their consciences, but they are in perpetual terror; which makes their condition like to that of savage beasts, which fly all the world, and all men abhor them.  
Thirdly, we have cause to fear resolute men, who make profession of honour, when we have offended them: for that being sensible of injuries, it is certain their courage will carry them to revenge.  
Lastly, we should apprehend those which have just cause to fear us, at the least, if they have power to hurt us. For being in continual apprehension, lest we should attempt something against their lives, they had rather prevent us, then suffer us to surprise them. From hence it follows, that there are diverse persons whose enterprises we should fear, and have a special care of. First, we should fear those to whom we have imparted some great and important secret, which being revealed, may be the cause of our ruin: for the weakness of man's mind is such, as it may be, they will either be corrupted, or induced by promises to discover us; or the fear to be found confederates if the matter should be revealed, they will seek to justify themselves in accusing us, and ruin us to save themselves. Secondly, we should apprehend such as have power to hu●t us, for that commonly the will follows the power, and they will easily take liberty to effect that which is in their power. Thirdly, we should dread such as we have offended, or that think we have wronged them, being likely, that they will not leave this injury unrevenged, but will endeavour to take revenge when occasion shall be offered. Fourthly, we should fear those which have wronged us, and which are subject to fear us: for that doubting lest we should apprehend the injury we have received, and having forces at command, it is likely they would free themselves of this fear by preventing us, as we have formerly said. Fifthly, we should distrust those which dispute or contend with us, for honour, or for any good thing, which we cannot enjoy jointly together. For to take away this obstacle in their pursuites, it is to be presumed that they will attempt something against us. Sixthly, we should dread such as are fearful to greater personages than ourselves. For that if they may strike a terror into the mighty, they will more easily do it in them that are weak. Seventhly, we should be watchful of those, which have already tried their forces against such as are more powerful than ourselves, and have prevailed; or that have used some surprise or treachery, to be revenged of such as were not equal to us in power. For that the first may easily persuade themselves to be able to master us, having vanquished those that did exceed us. And the second, seeing their success against the weaker, they will take courage in their crime, and promise themselves the like success against them that are more powerful; to whom they imagine they should be fearful, by reason of that which they had formerly done. Eighthly, we should apprehend the friends of those whom we have offended: not such as are prompt to choler, and which speak much, for that it is easy to discover them, & to beware of them; but those that are close, dissembling, and full of art, for that it is a difficult thing to know what is in their souls, and to discover if they practise any thing against our lives.  
Among the things which make an impression of Dread, the most fearful are those which surprise us, and which we had not forethought. The which happens for two reasons: the one, for that befalling us thus unlooked for, they take from us the means to think of the remedies, whereof we do commonly make use against the disasters that do threaten us: and the other, for that speaking of the accidents of this life, be they good or bad, the more we consider of them, the more the opinion which we had formerly conceived, is extenuated. In regard whereof, as there is no grief so violent, but time doth mollify, so there is no apprehension so great, which is not in some sort diminished by preparing ourselves for the miseries which threaten us. Wherefore Fear increaseth when we are surprised, and have not means to think of the remedies.  
Secondly, those things are most fearful, when as if we commit a fault, it is no more in our power to repair the error, but if there be any remedy, it depends wholly on the will of our enemies. For this reason we have often seen generous resolutions, and great Captains, apprehend much to give battle, for that as the events of war are doubtful, so if he chance to lose it, there is little means to repair the error, but most commonly he must receive a law from the Victor, in stead of giving it him.  
Thirdly, among fearful things, we apprehend those which stir up compassion in our souls, and mollify the heart with grief, if we see them befall other men: as shipwracks, burnings, racks, tortures, executions, desperate diseases; the loss of goods, kinsfolks, or friends, and all other accidents which may make men miserable. We must not forget that ●eare augments in us, when as the causes which produce it come to increase. Wherefore as it riseth from the consideration of dangers which threaten us: so many times, they which do exactly consider the hazards and dangers which threaten this life, are most subject to Fear; as wise and discreet men, such as have had a long experience of worldly affairs: whereas fools, drunkards, and young men apprehend nothing, but hope for all.  
Moreover, the excess of danger increaseth Fear, especially when it is near unto us, when it presseth us, and when we see no remedy nor means to avoid it; as when an Army or a City is surprised, and neither Captain, nor soldier endeavours to repulse the enemy. Yea, after that any one hath escaped a great danger, the very imagination to have been freed from so great a misfortune, is able to kill him; for that the imagination hath that force, to represent unto us the thing, as if it were yet present, and as if we were in the midst of the danger. As they report of a jew, who having by night past a bridge, whereas no man did pass by reason of the danger; who when he came to think of the peril wherein he had been, was so surprised with Fear and horror as he died.  
On the other side, it helps much to dissipate Fear, to imagine there is no kind of danger in that wherewith they would terrify us. The which may proceed from two causes, that is to say, either from an exact knowledge of the nature of the things which we have carefully observed and known, and find therein no subject of Fear; and this course is full of discretion: Or else from mere ignorance, which makes us to judge of things otherwise then we ought; imagining, that there is no danger in places or things which are full of amazement; which is a sign of want of judgement.  
Finally, there is a kind of people which fear nothing; that is to say, such as have renounced all feeling of things, whereof we have just cause to apprehend the loss.  
As they which have lost all honour, abandoned all shame, wasted their fortunes and their goods, and those whose lives are tedious unto them. For what can they fear, who have nothing remaining to trouble them? For this reason we must greatly apprehend desperate persons, and such as have abandoned the love of this life: for as an Ancient said, He that contemns his own life, is master of another man's. Yet there are diverse things which may free our souls from all Fear whatsoever presents itself. For as they that are persuaded that nothing can hurt them, have no apprehension nor Fear: yea, if the heavens should fall, they would not be amazed at their ruins: In like manner men do not fear to lose those things, which they think are safe from the outrages of their enemies. As wise and virtuous men do not fear that the rage of Tyrants can prevail over their minds to blemish their constancy.  
If Tyrants threaten them with any shameful death, they are ready to say, as a resolute spirit did once unto a Prince who threatened to hang him: This (said he) would amaze the gallant Courtiers, but as for me, it is indifference whether I ro●te in the Air, or in the Earth.  
Thirdly, men Fear not those whom they think have not power to hurt them, although in effect they should apprehend them. This false persuasion hath o●ten ruined great Commanders in the war, who contemning the enemies, and making show not to Fear them, have lost the victory, and fallen miserably into their power. In like manner, men Fear not when as they conceive that the occasions which should make them Fear, are taken away: As they which apprehend the persecution of a Tyrant, lose all Fear when as they see his power overthrown: Whereby it appears that men Fear, when there is appearance that they may suffer some injury: Or when as he that is threatened is exposed to outrages: Or when as they that threaten are powerful: Or that time and occasion favours him that would do an injury.  
By all this we may gather, that there are two kinds of men which are above all feared. The first are such as are very happy, which have many friends, abundance of wealth; great Spirits, great power; and which have not yet tried the miseries of this life. For this great felicity, this immoderate wealth, this exceeding power, and the other advantages of nature and Fortune, make men hardy, insolent, outrageous, and to contemn all the world. Whereas on the other side, poverty and weakness make men fearful, for that the calamity which doth press us, being the object of Fear, they which neither have means nor power to defend themselves, have cause to apprehend.  
The second sort of men, are they which think they have suffered the cruellist afflictions that can be endured in this life, and whom the custom of forepast miseries have made insensible of future calamities, as they that are led to execution, after that they have been tortured in prison.  
But the chief reason why these men have abandoned all Fear, is that which Aristotle allegeth, that To have an apprehension of the things which afflict us, there must be some hope or some show, to be freed from it by industry. And therefore Fear makes us fly to Counsels, and to seek out remedies: For no man consults of a business that is desperate. So as these men seeing no relief in their affairs, as they have no more hope, so they cannot Fear. And touching that which Aristotle saith, that Fear makes us fly to Counsels; some one may make a question, whether that Fear doth contribute any thing to make men more wise, and more disperse their Fear. Whereunto the answer is easy, that Fear makes an impression in us of greater care to seek for Counsel to fortify us against the calamities that do threaten us; but many times it doth hinder us from reaping the fruits which we might gather without this apprehension.  
The reason of the first is, that Fear representing the danger hanging over our heads, and hard to be avoided, it binds us to seek the means to divert it, and makes us to crave advice of our friends, to supply our weakness. The reason of the second is, for that they which are troubled with Fear, or transported with any other Passion, imagine things to be greater or less than they are; so as they that love, value the things beloved much; & they that Fear, represent them more horrible. Wherefore in that regard all Passions are enemies to wise Counsels, and good resolutions.   

Of the Effects of Fear. CHAP. 2.  
THE Effects of Fear are divers & strange; for to leave the impression which it makes in the mind of man, (whereof we will speak hereafter,) she doth produce all these effects upon his body. First, she shrinks up his heart, and doth weaken it by the lively apprehension which she doth give it of the affliction; By reason whereof all the heat that is in his face is forced to fly unto it to succour it: and when as that sufficeth not, the blood of the other parts flow also unto it: So as they that are affrighted grow pale. For provident nature to preserve the life of man, having thus called back the blood and spirits from all the parts to succour the heart which is the fountain, speedily leaves the other parts wholly unfurnished and naked. In regard whereof the blood being that which gives colour, and makes man to have a sanguine hue, it being fled, his complexion fades, and he grows pale. For the same reason they that are amazed, are presently surprised with a continual shaking, for that the heat which resides in the blood and spirits, being that which supports and fortifies the members of man; being destitute thereof they can hardly support themselves, but tremble and shake in that manner. And whereas the hands and lips show greater signs of alteration than the rest, the reason is, for that those parts have a more strict bond with the heart, and have less blood than the rest; and therefore cold doth more easily make an impression upon them.  
Finally, the members which have a particular connexion with the heart, have also a particular feeling of his agitation: wherein it is strange, that as trembling is an effect of the want of heat, and that Fear chaseth the heat unto the heart, to preserve the centre of life; yet they that are terrified, have their hearts agitated, and they beat in them, as if they were destitute of heat.  
The reason is, although that provident nature to preserve the heart sends down the heat from above, yet Fear doth not suffer it to subsist long there, but doth chase it lower; for that in them that fear, their spirits grow thick, and become more heavy by reason of the cold which imagination doth produce, that they are not able to resist the danger which doth threaten them: So as the spirits being grown thus heavy, by reason of the cold which this imagination leaves, tends downward, and remains not about the heart. They that are surprised with fear, feel strange alteration; and are wonderfully dry; for that the heat which nature hath drawn about the heart, burns and fills the bowels with an exceeding heat, which makes him to desire cold and moist things, wherein thirst consists, to quench this troublesome alteration, to refresh the Creature, and to free it from this insupportable heat.  
And for that in this motion of fear, the heat descends, it made Homer to say of him that was without courage, that his heart was fallen to his heels, after which there commonly follows many accidents which slacken and unknit all the joints and ligatures of the body; but especially they that are terrified have their tongs tied & can hardly speak, causing them to ●umble in their discourses: yea their voice is very shrill and weak, for that it is abandoned by the heat which should entertain her force; whereas in choler it shows itself more strong, for that the heat which ascends fortifies it, & makes it more powerful. Moreover fear makes the hairs to stand up with horror, for that in the absence of hea●e, the cold congealeth, and stops the conduits by which it passeth: So as the hair as it were oppressed in the roots, by the cold which diverts their natural nourishment, for that they cannot suffer a strange humour full of excrements which doth rot them, they stand upright with horror; the which sometimes works so strange an effect by her vehemency, as they make young men grow grey in an instant: whereof we have a memorable example in the age of our fathers, during the reign of the Emperor Charles the fifth. For Francis Gonzague, having caused a young man of his house to be committed to prison, for that he suspected he had conspired against him; this miserable young man was so terrified with his affliction, as the same night he was cast into prison, his hair grew all white. In the morning his Keeper seeing him thus changed, went and made report thereof to Gonzague, who being amazed at this prodigy, conceived that it was a testimony of his innocence; whereupon he pardoned him.  
This sudden change of the prisoners hair, proceeded without doubt, for that the vehemency of his fear caused the heat retire from his brain: As in like manner old men grow white, for want of heat, which decays with age: Finally, they that have little hot blood about the heart are naturally fearful: So as those Creatures which have great hearts to the proportion of their bodies, (as Stags and Panthers) are more subject to fear; for that having little heat, it is weakened, dispersing itself into a large extent, even as a little fire cannot so warm a large room, as it would do one that is less. So as the blood grows cold, & is less able to warm the heart, which is the seat of courage.  
Whereas other creatures which have more heat, and the heart proportionably less, are more hardy and courageous. For that the heat abounding in them, it is more active, and the subject where it works, dispersing not her action by extent, she works more powerfully: so as she inflames them to all generous erterprises, and glorious designs.  
But let us come to the effects which Fear breeds in the mind of man. Besides all these strange accidents which she doth produce in the body, she causeth other disorders in the soul, filling it with such confusion, as she leaves him neither memory, nor judgement, nor will, to encounter any danger that threatens his ruin. Wherefore it is not the work of an ordinary courage, to have a constant resolution in the midst of greatest dangers, and suddenly to find remedies against the mischiefs that threaten him. As histories give this commendation of Hannibal, jugurth, Caesar, Alexander, and some few of those great spirits of former ages; whose judgements were never daunted with apprehension of any danger, but in the midst of combats they could speedily redress all accidents, which happening suddenly, might amaze their Armies, and deprive them of the victory.  
Moreover, Fear (like a servile and base Passion) deprives man of all courage: and whereas the apprehension of danger is a spur to generous spirits, to fortify them, and to make them seek powerful means to avoid the danger; it doth so deject faint-hearted and fearful men, as they remain, as it were, immoveable, and uncapable of all action.  
Moreover, it makes a man ashamed and confounded, and to contemn himself; he crosseth his arms, and flatters them basely and unworthily, whom he thinks may ease his grief. It fills him also with amazement, and as if it were able to convert him into a rock, it reduceth him to that stupidity, as he forgets himself, and becomes, as it were, insensible of the miseries which oppress him, although they vex him worse than death.  
But you must remember that we speak of a disordered Fear, which doth wholly trouble the imagination of man: for there is a kind of moderate fear, which striking reason but gently, makes us advised (to the which the Stoics give the name of circumspection) to provide with judgement for that which concerns us: for that it makes us careful and attentive to look to our affairs, and to give order for that which is necessary to shelter us from storms.    


Of Shame. CHAP. 1.  
SEEING that Shame is, as it were, a shoot or a Sience of Fear, we must show wherein it consists, and what effects it doth produce, to the end we may leave nothing behind that may concern this subject. Shame then is, A grief and a confusion, which grows from the apprehension of some crosses, which may make man infamous: And under this kind we comprehend those calamities which are present, past, or yet to come; so as they be of that nature, as they may trouble and breed a confusion in the soul of man. And impudence on the other side, is a contempt of the same misery, for want of feeling. By the definition of Shame, we may gather, that men are ashamed of those things that they think will breed them infamy, or lay some aspersion upon them, or their friends, or upon such as belong unto them. So as first of all, all vices, and all things that do resemble or have any show of vice, are capable to breed Shame in our souls. As for example, it is a shameful thing to fly from the Army in a day of battle; for that this flight is a sign of baseness and want of courage. In like manner it is a shameful thing to refuse to restore that, which hath been left with us in guard, and which hath been consigned to our fidelity; for that this refusal is a proof o● our injustice & disloyalty. It is also a shameful thing to run indifferently into all dishonest places, in the which (as Diogenes said to a young man) the farthe● he enters, the more his infamy increaseth; for that it is a testimony of intemperance and dissoluteness. And again, it is a very shameful thing to seek to reap profit from all base and abject things; like ●o that Roman Emperor, who said, The favour of gain was always sweet, from whence soever it came: for it is a sign of a prodigious covetousness. Moreover, it is a shameful thing to refuse to relieve them that are in misery, and implore our aid, with money or any other thing; for it is a sign of our inhumanity: yea, it is a Shame not to assist them bountifully according to their means. But especially when they are our kinsfolks, our Allies, our friends, or such persons, as at another time may require the offices we have done them in their necessity. It is a Shame to beg for favour or to borrow money of an inferior, or that is poorer than ourselves; and we cannot but blush to require money of him in lone, who hath first demanded it of us; or to require of him, who would gladly be paid that which we owe him.  
All these things cannot proceed but from a base mind, and void of integrity. Moreover, we blush when as we praise any one above his merit, and when as we seek to excuse in him the defects that are inexcusable, to the end that we may obtain some favour, some present, or some assistance from him. And in like manner we cannot but blush, when as to insinuate ourselves into the favour of any one, we abandon ourselves to impudence, to extol his good fortune, and the success of his prosperity, without measure. As also we are ashamed of the extraordinary demonstrations we do usually make to men afflicted, to witness unto them the feeling we have of their grief: as when to comfort our Friend for the death of some one that was dear unto him, we wish (although it be far from our thought) that we were able to redeem him whose loss is so bitter unto him, with the loss of our own blood or life▪ for all these are signs of insupportable flattery, which cause even our friends to blush when they hear us.  
We blush in like manner, when as we refuse to endure the toil of honourable employments which are offered us; and that men of greater age, more unable, more tender, and of another quality than ourselves, accept them freely: for that this refusal is a sign of our effeminacy. Moreover, we blush to receive benefits and favours continually from the same person; and we cannot without some Shame reproach them we have bound unto us by our favours, for that it is a sign of great baseness.  
Finally, we are ashamed when as we attribute praises unto ourselves which are not due unto us; or that we brag unseasonably, or challenge the glory of goodly actions, which other men have ended: for that it is a note of our arrogancy and vanity. So all vices, and all the marks of vices, make an impression of shame in all those which are infected with them.  
Secondly, we are ashamed to see ourselves destitute of all honest qualities, which recommend all our equals generally, or at the least most of them. As for example, it is a great shame not to be adorned with valour, wisdom, knowledge, modesty, and other excellent parts; which shine commonly in those of our profession, of our age, of our blood, or of our quality. So Caesar seeing himself two and thirty years old, and having made no show of the greatness of his courage, nor done any great exploit, he grew ashamed, and began to weep, beholding the Image of Alexander who seemed to reproach him. All these defects are full of Shame and infamy, especially when as they proceed from our negligence, which shows that we have no cause to accuse any man but to blame ourselves.  
Thirdly, men blush when as they are forced to do or suffer things which are unworthy either of their condition, or of the nature of man. As for example if they would force a man of quality to do services unworthy of his rank, this fills him with Shame, and he cannot endure it, but with great grief and distaste: yea we read in Histories of generous spirits, who in the midst of their captivity remembering that they were borne free, had rather precipitate themselves and choose a voluntary death, then be forced to do services unworthy of their births. And therefore Nero should die for Shame to commit that excess which he did with the scum of the people upon the Altars and in the public places of Rome: But what grave or serious thing can we attend from that infamous monster, who hath dishonoured mankind with his impudencies? In like manner it is a matter which causeth extraordinary Shame in men of note and quality, when by the injuries of Fortune, or by their own baseness they see themselves reduced to that extremity as to suffer indignities and outrages which blemish their first lustre and glory: As those kings who having lost battles, & seen their Estates ruined & spoilt, to crown their miseries were led in triumph to Rome, to serve as a spectacle to that world of people, and to be the Images and shows of humane misery, and of the inconstancy of the world. Wherefore they branded them with infamous baseness, which did prostitute themselves to this Shame either through covetousness, or for want of courage. chose according to the custom of the time, when as Christian religion had not yet dispersed the vanity of Pagan errors, nor converted reproaches into exercises of patience, they observed great beams of generosity in a woman borne to pleasures, and bred up in the midst of all delights: For that being in the power of her enemy, she chose rather to kill herself by the biting of Aspics, then to be led in show, to serve as a fatal ornament to his triumph.  
But generally it is a very shameful thing in all conditions to do or to suffer things full of indignity and reproach: yet we must set a difference betwixt those that suffer them by their own baseness, and such as endure them by a violent constraint. For they that suffer them by their own baseness, are infamous; for that they expose themselues voluntarily to those affronts.  
But we must again set a difference betwixt those that suffer them by constraint: For either they resolve though timorousness and by an apprension, which should not fall into a constant soul; and than it is a sign of their weakness: Or else for that they cannot resist, being forced by such as are become masters of their persons; and than it is rather an effect of their misfortune then a sign of their baseness: As we see in those that suffer some indignity by them that are more powerful.  
But for that Shame riseth from a belief which we have to be wounded in our reputation, the which we measure according to the judgement & esteem which men make of us; it falls out many times that we are ashamed of the disgraces we suffer in the presence of persons which we respect much, and whose blame and censure we apprehend.  
In which rank we put those which have in their power the good chances whereunto we aspire, and of whom depends the honour or contentment which we affect with Passion. As for example, a soldier will be much more ashamed to have fled from the enemy in the view of his Captain▪ then to have committed this baseness in his absence; and a Lover will endure an injury done him in the presence of his best beloved, more impatiently, than all the affronts that can be done elsewhere. For the same reason our Shame increaseth, when as we receive any reproach before virtuous persons, and such as are held to be just: As when they are wisemen or reverend old men that accuse us; for that we think men will easily give credit to what they say of us. We are also ashamed if any infamous thing befall us in the presence of our equals, and of such which are as it were emulators and rivals of what we pursue; for that contending with them of honour, it is a wonderful grief unto us to see this breach made in our reputation in their presence. And generally we are ashamed of that which is done in the sight of men which observe it, or which have a malicious disposition, & which interpret all actions sinisterly.  
For we conceive, that if they do not pardon innocence, they will not spare us. Shame in like manner shows itself in the presence of such which are adorned with virtues contrary to the defects which appear in our actions, especially if they be severe men, who are not accustomed to pardon or excuse the errors which they see committed: As the Romans were ashamed to do any unworthy act before Cato, both for that he was a severe censor of the actions of the Citizens, as also for that he pardoned no man. It troubles us also to see ourselves reproved & scorned by ordinary jesters, and by such as make profession to show themselves in theatres; for that we conceive it is a testimony that we are publicly defamed, or at the least we fear that these people to the eternal infamy of our name, will tear our reputation in public assemblies. We are also ashamed to show our defects before those whom we think we have offended, and are not our friends: For that we know they will not fail to publish our imperfections. Finally, we blush when as any thing unworthy of our condition befalls us in the view of such whose favour & friendship we seek ambitiously; apprehending that this misfortune will be an obstacle to our pursuites, and a subject to make us be rejected.  
As in like manner we blush to see ourselves surprised in some notable fault, by such as had us in good esteem, especially if they be our familiar friends, or of our own family, which discover the error, into which we had never before fallen, or had always cunningly concealed it.  
There are also divers other subjects which make an impression of Shame; and for example, at our first speech to any one whom we know not well, we blush, for that being ignorant what account he makes of us, or how he is affected to us, we are in suspense betwixt hope & fear, and know not how he will entertain our discourse. And in like manner we are surprised with Shame, when as we are to speak before a great multitude and a concourse of people: For that in this great diversity of minds and humours we think it impossible, but there is some one who hath no great disposition to favour us. Moreover, when as we are to speak before a person of eminent quality, of exquisite knowledge, or of exact judgement, we blush and are amazed, by reason of the great respect we have of him; which makes us fear to fail before him, and this fear fills us with Shame, and makes us blush. We are also not only ashamed of our defects, but even of all the signs and tokens of our vices and bad inclinations: As we blush not only at uncleanness, but also at all the signs of wantonness; especially we are ashamed at licentious words, which offend chaste ears. Wherefore Alceus having opened his mouth to speak to Sappho, & then staying himself, and pretending for his excuse, that Shame had hindered his speech, she answered; If you had not had some bad desire, but had meant to speak that which was honest and not licentious, Shame had not appeared in your eyes, neither had it tied your tongue, but you would have delivered your thoughts freely.  
By all that we have said, it followeth, that men are not ashamed to do or say any thing whatsoever before such as they do not esteem, but contemn: Whereby it follows, that they neither respect nor fear the eyes of children nor beasts. But those before whom we are most ashamed to show ourselves in our misfortune▪ are our enemies, to whom we know our miseries are a sweet and pleasing spectacle: As Caesar seeing himself a prisoner in the hands of Pirates, said, That his enemy Crassus would be glad of the misfortune which had befallen him.  
To conclude, men are ashamed to see themselues defamed publicly; as to be led to execution in the midst of a multitude of people, to be witnesses of their ignominy. And yet the Poet Antiphon being condemned to dye with many others, by Denis the Tyrant, when as he saw his companions going to execution, & passing before a great multitude to hide their faces, as being ashamed; being come out of the City, he said unto them, What my friends, dye you fear that some one of these Gallants will see you again to morrow, and reproach you with your misfortune? But doubtless every man hath not this resolution, nor so great a courage in the last indignities of life.   

CHAP. 2. Of the Effects of Shame.  
AS there are certain Plants whose roots are venomous and mortal to such as use them, but their leaves are endued with excellent qualities, and proper for the preservation of the health of man: So there are Passions of the soul, which on the one side serve man as a spur to virtue, and on the other side precipitate him to vice. And this is particularly incident to Shame, the which doth sometime induce men to decline from wickedness, and sometime she diverts them from commendable & virtuous actions, by the apprehension of an imaginary dishonour.  
Timoleon conceiving that all the world did hate him, for that he had consented to the death of his brother, who was a plague to his common Wealth, wandered up and down the fields twenty years together, and could not resolve to embrace the defence of his Citizens generously. Others being ashamed to abandon their Country in public calamities, have carried themselves courageously to undertake things, for the which they knew, they should be unworthily recompensed by the ingratitude of their Citizens.  
But before we come to the effects which Shame produceth in the soul, let us see what impressions she makes in the body: for it seems she stirs up an effect far different from the cause from whence it proceeds. Shame, say the Philosophers, Is a kind of fear, which ariseth, for that man doubts some blame and some censure of his actions. As Fear then retires the blood, and makes it descend about the heart, how comes it that Shame should cause the blood to ascend unto the countenance, and make the face to blush? Whereunto they answer, that men may be threatened with two kinds of miseries, whereof the one is not only contrary to the inclination of their senses, but also tends to the destruction of their nature and being, as extreme dangers and perils of death. Others are only contrary to the desires of the senses, but do not threaten man with death or the decay of his being: As for example, the blame and dishonour which we apprehend for something we have done. When man then propounds unto himself the form of these first kinds of objects, that is to say, of those calamities which tend to the dissolution of his being: Nature being amazed by the impression which she receives from the senses, strives to succour them, and draws the blood and heat unto the heart, which is (as we have said) the fountain of life; whereupon the countenance being destitute of blood, man grows pale in these great terrors. But when as he apprehends only the calamities of the second kind, that is to say, those which tend not to the destruction of his being, but only to the decrease of his glory; Nature is not so powerfully moved by the senses, for that the ruin of her consistence is not directly in question; but leaves the grief in the senses, whose amazement doth not send the heat and blood into the body, but causeth it to mount into the face, which becomes all red and sanguine.  
Some believe that this blushing is as it were a veil, which Nature extends before her to cover her shame; as we see commonly, they that are ashamed carry their hands before their faces and eyes, for that those parts are most afflicted with shame, in regard they are the most noble. And the impression is particularly made in the eyes, which the Ancients have called the seat of modesty: and therefore Plato brings in Socrates covering his eyes, when as he would make a discourse of Love, wherein he thought there was some shame for a man, making profession of deep wisdom. The reason thereof is, for that we are ashamed to see our defects known to men, whom we greatly respect and reverence.  
The Ancients did always hold it for a good sign and presage in young men, to see them blush easily; wherefore they called this blushing The colour, or vermilion of Virtue. Yea, that great Roman Censor said, that he loved them better that blushed, than such as grew pale, for that to be pale, is a sign they feared some danger: So as they that grow pale, seem to have an apprehension to be called in question for some crime, and punished: whereas they that blush, show they are ashamed, and apprehend even the very suspicion of doing ill.  
But there is no kind of people in whom an honest bashfulness is more commendable; yea, upon the lightest occasions, then in Virgins, and Women: for to blush for words, for motions, and for the least licentious actions, is a sign of an exact modesty, which is the rarest and the most rich ornament of their sex.  
But to return to young men, as it is a good sign to see them blush, for that being naturally inclined to follow their passions (by reason of this great heat of blood which abounds in them, and inflames them) it is a commendable thing to see that Shame is, as it were, a bridle to retire them from vice. But this kind of shame is not much commendable in men of ripe age, who have not this spur to incite them to evil; and moreover, virtue should have taken deep root in their hearts, whereby all their actions should be commendable and full of glory, so as they have no subject to blush. But if they fall into this defect, it is a sign that they judge themselves, and that their virtue is not perfect nor complete proportionable to their age.  
Let us now come to the effects which Shame produceth in the soul: there are some good, as we have said in the beginning, but she also produceth bad. Many times she hath made them valiant, who were faint-hearted and fearful; yea, we have seen whole Armies being amazed and terrified, have resumed courage by the presence of Caesar's, Alexanders, Scipios, & other great Commanders, who have brought back their soldiers in battles; for that the great esteem they had of such excellent Captains, made them blush to fly before them; yea, to choose a most certain death, rather than to be held cowards by such wotthy men.  
Moreover, there have been soldiers, who having faintly maintained an encounter, the next day to wipe away this shame, have performed wonders, whereof the Greek and Roman histories, furnish us with many examples. Besides, Shame doth retire us often from dishonest things, as appeared in him who confessed freely that he played not at dice, for that he was ashamed any one should see him lose his time in so bad an exercise.  
But on the other side, Shame diverts us many times from commendable things; yea, and from those which are profitable, and which concern the preservation of our lives. As for example, you see at banquets, some being pressed to drink extraordinarily, are ashamed to refuse them which invite them; and overruled by their unjust entreaties, fall into surfeits which ruin their health.  
Others in like manner seeing themselues importuned or conjured in bad companies, not to be so modest before their friends, suffer themselves to be carried away, to commit great disorders, as with women, or at play, or to do other execrable villainies, for the which they are grieved in their souls, but they have not the courage to refuse such as press them: whereby it happens often, that flying the smoke they run headlong into the flame, that is to say, for that they are not able to resist an imaginary Shame, they fall into an eternal reproach, being blamed by all virtuous men, when they hear of their baseness.  
There have been some also who fearing that there have been plots laid to kill them, or to poison them, yet surmounted by Shame, have abandoned themselves to the danger.  
So Dyon being advertized of the conspiracy which was practised against him, and his host and friend Calippus; being ashamed to refuse to go whither they were both invited, which was the place where the murder was intended, he went rashly to his death.  
So Antipater the son of Cassander, lost himself for that he durst not refuse to sup with Demetrius, where he was slain. Young Hercules, the son of Alexander the Great, was surprised by Polipherchon and Cassander, being ashamed to refuse their requests to sup with them, who tended only to have a means to murder him. By all that we have said, we may gather that Shame is sometimes profitable, and sometimes pernicious; but it is always commendable, when it serves us as a bridle to retire us from vice.    


Of Hope and Despair. CHAP. 1.  
HEe which said that Hope was a dream which presents itself to them that wake, hath excellently described the nature and effects of this Passion. For as dreams in the night fill us with illusions and vain forms, which abuse us, and which make us imagine that we are rich in our extremest poverty, that we are happy in our greatest misery, that we enjoy Sceptres and Crowns, in the midst of bonds and irons, that we command great Empires when we are restraided in a hard and slavish captivity; in like manner, Hope, abusing our imagination, fills our souls with vain contentments, and represents unto us that all things are subject to our power, that the whole world should receive a law from us; and if that there appear any obstacle to hinder our designs and desires, that we are able to surmount them. Yea in the midst of our greatest disgraces, we flatter ourselves with this conceit, that humane calamities and miseries have their bounds, and that they are weary to be always about one man; as the winds and storms in the end break, and are pacified after the most violent gusts. We represent unto ourselves the constitution of heaven and earth; we call to mind that the Stars which are in the West return suddenly to the East, that the day follows the night, that a calm season succeeds a storm, and that fair weather follows thunder and rain: Finally, we believe that we must assure ourselves to see a change in the course of this life, and that the day which we attend will make our condition better, and convert our misfortunes into incomparable felicities: So as I doubt not but even among those wretched slaves whom miseries consume in the Turks galleys, there are some which dream and think of the Sceptre of the Empire of Asia.  
Wherefore an Ancient said, that there was nothing so common in the life of men as Hope, which remains even to them that are deprived of all other good and content: For that the miserable after an absolute shipwreck, entertain Hope, as the last anchor of their ruined fortune. But to leave the illusion and deceits which we frame in ourselves; who knows not that when they are well ordered, they serve to mollify the pains, and to encounter all the crosses and accidents of this life? What had become of the Romans after the battle of Cannae, wherein they lost the flower and chief of their men of war, if a better Hope had not revived their courages, to revenge the loss and disgrace which they had received? Had not their common-weath without it, been a prey to Hannibal, and the Carthaginians? Had not their Estate been overthrown, and their rich provinces made desolate? But these great personages representing unto themselves that many suffer shipwreck in the Port; and chose others, save themselves among rocks; fortified themselves with Hope, which made them not only repair this loss, but also to give a law unto the victors. How many other Estates, Empires, and Kingdoms, through Hope have maintained themselves against the injuries of Fortune?  
During the reign of Charles the sixth, in that great deluge of English, which overflowed in a manner all France; in those domestic treacheries, in that general revolt of all the Orders of the Realm, what had become of the fortune of France, if those great ornaments of our History, those worthy men, which lived at that time, by an infamous baseness had abandoned the ship in the midst of a storm, and had lost all Hope to preserve the King, and his Crown? Was not their hope seconded by a thousand miracles which God wrought to prevent the shipwreck of the State? And in our days, amidst the powerful conspiracies of Spain, and the violent factions of the League, into what misery had this goodly Crown fall'n, if great Henry, the miracle of our age, full of good Hope, which never abandons great resolutions, had not supported it, and by his va●o●r overthrown all the obstacles, which his enemies had set before his throne to hinder his rising? But if Hope hath great power to maintain public fortunes, it hath no less to assure those of private men. So as we may say, that most men live by Hope, & entertain themselues with the future, this Passion never abandoning any man until he goes to the grave. Wherefore if we should search out the nature of any Passion exactly, it is of this in particular, which hath such power over the other affections of our souls. We must then gather the definitions dispersed here and there in the writings of Philosophers. Hope, said an ancient, is an expectation of good: Hope, said another, is a cert●●●e confidence which we have, that what we imagine shall befall us. And a third writes, that Hope is a motion and passion of the soul, by the which, upon the impression which we have of a future good, which presents itself to our imagination as difficult to obtain, we endeavour to pursue it, conceiving that we are able to attain unto it, and in the end to get the possession. From this last Definition, which doth explicate the true nature of Hope, we gather that there are four conditions required in the object. First, it must have bounty, for that Hope tends always to that which is good. Wherein it differs from fear, which hath for object the evil wherewith man is threatened. Secondly, this good which we hope for must be to come, for that the presence and enjoying of this takes away the Hope. So Alexander going into India hoped to conquer it, but having finished his conquest, this Hope vanished, and was converted into the enjoying and possession of that which he had hoped for. So in this life we hope for the glory of heaven, but when we shall enjoy it▪ this hope shall be quenched and extinguished. And therein Hope differs from joy, which is a contentment of a good which we possess.  
Thirdly, there must be a pain and difficulty to attain unto the good whereof we have conceived an Hope, for no man hopes for that which is in his power. And therefore the Philosophers observe, that Hope is always mixed with some fear, by reason of the obstacles which present themselves, and may hinder man's enjoying of the good he hopes for; wherein she differs from Desire, which extends generally to all kind of good, without any apprehension of difficulty: And therefore Desire belongs to the Concupiscible appetite, whereas Hope is subject to the Irascible.  
Fourthly, amidst the difficulties which man doth apprehend in getting the good which he hopes for; yet notwithstanding he must imagine, that it is in his power to prevent all the obstacles which might hinder his enjoying; for no man did ever hope for things which he holds impossible. So Caesar would never have hoped to finish the conquest of Gaul, if he had not first persuaded himself that the industry of a generous Captain, might bring that enterprise to a good end, although it were difficult and dangerous. Whereby we may gather, that although Hope hath her seat in the Irascible appetite, which hath the good for her object: yet as it is the property of powers endued with knowledge, to excite those which are capable to desire, representing their objects unto them; her motions depend of the imagination which man frames in himself of a good which he believes confidently to obtain, notwithstanding that he apprehends great crosses in the pursuit. For man, who is a credulous creature, and always flatters himself in his hopes, doth also assure himself to compass that which he thinks is not above his forces, although he be not ignorant that he shall find some resistance. So as this belief begets in the Irascible part a certain confidence, which makes him undertake that which he desireth, assuring himself to surmount all obstacles which may cross him and hinder his enjoying. And it is certain, that even bruit beasts have motions of hope and despair as well as men. For the interior passions of creatures discover themselves, and are known by their exterior motions, wherewith they are agitated; whereof we have daily experience, in the Sparrow-hauk, Tassel, Sacre, Lanner, and other Hawks, who seeing their game far from them, and not in their power to overtake it, they never bate after it, nor offer to pursue it; whereas if they see it in a reasonable distance, they presently take their flight to seize upon it. And in like manner the Lion going to hunt after his prey, to satisfy his hunger, runs not after those beasts which he thinks can easily fly from his fury, but sets upon those which he imagines cannot escape him.  
But we must understand, that to frame the Hope of any thing in our souls, it is not necessary that we know evidently that it shall happen, and that it is in our power to attain unto it, but it sufficeth that we have some opinion and conjecture grounded upon the appearance, which makes us believe that there is means to obtain it: for that when we persuade ourselves upon any reason whatsoever, as imagining that others have attained unto it, that it hath at other times succeeded, and that the same events attend us; that time assists us, that the place is favourable unto us, that we have friends, or that we are able enough of ourselves to compass our designs; we fill ourselves with Hope, and doubt not but all will succeed happily. So as there is no reason how light soever, but it is sufficient to make us hope for that which we propound unto ourselves; wherein it seems, that amidst the miseries of this life, and all public and private calamities, which otherwise would be intolerable, the wise providence of God hath provided us this remedy, to fortify our constancy and to keep us from shrinking, and falling under the burden of adversities. The which the Poets would represent unto us, under the fable of Pandora, in whose box (being emptied of all good things) there remained nothing but only Hope upon the brim of the vessel.  
And therefore a Rhodian being cast into an obscure and cruel prison, among serpents and venomous beasts, and conjured by some of his friends, to make an end of so many miseries by a voluntary death, he answered wisely, that man hopes still whilst he breathes: as if he would say, that death only could deprive man of the hopes of life, and a better fortune.  
The persons which fill themselves with Hopes, are first of all those which have had a long experience and a perfect knowledge of the affairs of the world. As for example, such as have been in many encounters, and have gotten great victories, promise still unto themselves a power to vanquish, yea, when they have been beaten. And therefore that Roman Consul which escaped from the battle of Cannae, where his companion had been slain, and the whole Roman Army defeated, was commended for that he hoped well of the Commonweal.  
And here we must remember what we have formerly said, that the object of Hope is a difficult good, but yet possible to attain, for thereby follows, that one thing may contribute, and serve to entertain our Hope after two manners; that is to say, either in making the thing truly possible, and put the effects into our power: Or at the least, in making us believe that it is not impossible, and that we may attain unto it by means, which are not above our forces. In the first sort, whatsoever makes us more powerful increaseth our Hopes. And in this kind we put riches, Arms, Courage, Crowns, Empires, yea, and a long experience of things: for so we see that men powerful in wealth assure themselves to compass any thing.  
As Philip of Macedon said, that he could force any place whereas money might enter. And great Kings measuring erterprises, rather by their power and courage, than the obstacles which present themselves, have an imagination to accomplish them happily.  
And in like manner experience, by means whereof man hath gotten the knowledge of means fit to procure things to succeed easily, makes him conceive a certain Hope, to have good success of that which he projects. Wherefore an Ancient said, that no man apprehends to undertake that which he hath learned well and can do accordingly,  
In the second sort, whatsoever makes us esteem things easy, or which diminish the difficulties, may also serve to fortify our hopes. And of this sort an exquisite knowledge, or a powerful remonstrance may contribute much. And therefore in great battles, Generals have been accustomed to represent unto their soldiers their valours tried in many occasions, the little courage of their enemies; and whatsoever may assure them of the victory.  
In this manner their experience may prevail much: for by the experience which a man hath of things, he persuades himself that what others hold impossible, may notwithstanding succeed happily. It is true also that experience may weaken Hope, according to the resolution or want of courage where it resides. Wherefore Aristotle said, that old men have weak or bad hopes, for that the long experience they have of things, the changes they have seen, the deceits which they have tried, the frauds wherewith they have been circumvented, the practices wherewith they have been abused, and the little integrity and sincerity they have found in the actions of men; fills them with jealousy and distrust. Adding moreover, that they live rather by memory then Hope; for that they have a small share in future things, which is the ground of Hope, and that they have a great Idea of what is past, which serves to entertain the memory.  
But chose young men are full of Hopes, for three reasons grounded upon three conditions, required in the object of this Passion, which we have said should be a good not yet present; difficult, but yet possible to obtain; for young men have little knowledge of what is past, and have a great part in the future, by reason of their age: In regard whereof memory being of things past, and Hope of things to come, they do not much build upon their memory, but feed themselves with hopes, which are many times vain. And moreover young men have much heat, and abundance of spirit, which puffs up their hearts, and makes them aspire to great matters, little esteeming any difficulties which present themselves.  
Thirdly, as they that have received no repulse in their erterprises, nor found any obstacles in their designs, they persuade themselves easily that they shall attain unto their desires, young men having no experience of the crosses, and hindrance which are found in affairs, imagine that all will succeed happily, and therefore they are still full of Hope.  
They also which are surprised with wine conceive great hopes, both by reason of the heat and abundance of spirits, caused by the excess of wine, as also for that their spirits being drowned in wine, cannot apprehend the dangers, nor foresee the obstacles which they may find in their designs. For the same reason mad men, who are neither capable of counsel nor judgement, are easily carried to Hope, for all that which they imagine; and they undertake foolishly whatsoever comes into their fancies; for as Aristotle saith, to speak of all things and leave nothing uncensured, is a mark of folly; so to attempt all things, and to Hope for all, is a sign of little judgement.  
If against this which we have propounded, (that young men, such as are overtaken with wine, and madmen are commonly full of great hopes) they object, that neither the one nor the other have any kind of experience whereof they may make use, nor any firm resolution, neither yet any great power to effect their designs, all which are necessary conditions to frame hopes; they must remember that although these men in effect have none of these qualities, but are for the most part unprovided, yet they are rich in imagination, and think they enjoy them.  
And we have said, that the objects of Hope, make not their impression in our souls, by the truth alone of things, but also by the vain imaginations which we frame in ourselves. Wherefore although they be without experience, without resolution, and without great means to effect what they have propounded, yet they do promise much unto themselves, and Hope for all.  
And although that love be the fountain of all the Passions of the soul, yet Hope may be the cause that we love any one. For Hope may propound unto itself two things, that is to say, the good which we hope for, and the means to obtain it. Wherefore an object of good presenting itself unto us, which we are not able to attain unto, but by the assistance of some other; for this reason, Hope doth also regard those that assist us, and make the thing easy.  
Seeing then that Hope regards the objects which we propound unto ourselves, undoubtedly love is the root and cause of Hope; for that we hope not for any thing but that wherewith we are in love, and whereunto we have tied our affections, desiring passionately to enjoy it. But for that hope regards him which doth open to us the means, and makes the thing possible; love is a bud of hope, seeing that we love him, for that we hope to attain unto our desires by his assistance. So as the first impression which the object we pursue makes in our souls, is an effect of the love we bear it, conceiving it to be a good fit for us. But the consideration of the means to attain unto it, which comes from others, makes a second impression in us, and induceth us to love him that doth procure it, representing him unto us as profitable unto our design, and therefore worthy to be beloved.  
Touching that which concerns the effects of hope, we will not make any particular discourse, but content ourselves to say, that as the North Star is the mariners guide who look continually upon her light to assure their navigation: so Hope is that which inflames us to all the difficult actions we undertake.  
And as the brightness of this Star doth fill them with joy that sail by sea, but when as it shines not they are dismayed, & fear hourly to perish by the violence of some storm, or to see their ship split upon some rock: So whilst we have any remander of hope, our souls are content; but if it be quite vanished, we hold out selves miserable, and begin to neglect and forget ourselves.  
The first effect of Hope is, that it breeds a singular content in us, which makes our pursuites pleasing. Wherefore all the Philosophers concur in this Maxim, that hope fortifies our resolutions, and makes them more prompt in their actions. The which is for two reasons. The first, for that she hath for her object a good hard to be obtained. But the apprehension of the difficulty, which presents itself in the pursuit of the good whereunto we do aspire, doth usually make us gather our forces together, to vanquish all obstacles, and to attain unto it, notwithstanding all the difficulties that may be encountered: And therefore we employ more care and diligence, by means whereof we attain more easily to the end of our designs.  
Secondly, Hope breeds this pleasure and sweetness whereof we have spoken, which makes us more active and more ready to pursue that which we desire; for that we behold nothing painful wherein we take delight▪ We must then remember here, what we have spoken elsewhere, that Hope is a sweet imagination which we frame in ourselves, of a good whereunto we aspire. And that this imagination begets in our souls a second contentment, for that it is accompanied with this belief, that we may attain unto it.  
Wherefore as pleasure makes all actions delightful unto men, so the content we receive from our hopes (according unto the Philosophers) makes us to pursue with more heat and less pain, that which we have once conceived in our thoughts. This joy which proceeds from a certain hope we have of enjoying, deriving from the soul, disperseth itself into all the members of man, the which do joyfully receive the impressions of the moving faculty, yielding upon this occasion a more prompt obedience to execute the commandments of the Irascible, the which of the one side is inflamed with desire to encounter & vanquish whatsoever opposeth itself against her, and on the other she is sweetly entertained in this resolution, by the pleasure which imagination gives her, representing that she may vanquish all these obstacles, and be victorious in this combat, and in the end obtain the good whereunto she aspires.  
But particularly, this joy falls about the heart, which sends it back again and makes it ascend unto the eyes and countenance. Wherefore we read in their faces that are full of good hope, the contentment which their imagination gives them.  
In regard of the joy and contentment which hope gives us, we do easily devour all the toils and pains which present themselves in our pursuites, especially when the good which we pursue is endued with some excellent perfection, which makes us to esteem it greatly, or to love it ardently. As for example, at the siege of Troy, the Grecians were not discouraged with the tediousness of the time, nor with the toils and dangers of war; for that they imagined the beauty of Helen deserved their long labour to restore her to her husband, and to revenge the reproach and infamy of Greece.  
So jacob being passionately in love with fair Rachel, he patiently endured the rigours of her father, the toils of his service, and the afflictions of his mind, for that he lived daily in hope of this in comparable beauty: And therefore Hope hath so great power in humane affairs, in which there is found some kind of difficulty. The labourer would not expose himself so freely to the rigour of the air, nor endure with such patience the injuries of times, in tilling his land, if he did not promise unto himself a rich harvest for the fruit of his labour: the soldier would not cast himself into dangers, he would not mount up to breaches, nor thrust himself into the fury of combats, if the expectance of glory, or hope of booty did not animate his courage.  
The Merchant would not pass through rocks, fires, waves, and storms, running from Sea to Sea, and from Port to Port, if he did not promise unto himself great wealth, in recompense of his voyages and travails. Yea, Alexander himself going to the war of Asia, where he should expose himself to a thousand dangers, protested that he was wholly thrust on by Hope to enjoy all the glory and treasures of the East, by subduing those Barbarians. So as hope is as it were, the soul of goodliest actions, making us to surmount all the difficulties and obstacles, which might hinder the execution by the mollifying of our resolutions. Yea, it is certain, that Courage hath always been held an effect of good hope: for when as man hopes to surmount those fearful things, which seem to threaten him, he goes courageously to encounter them; whereas when he is surprised by fear, he faints, and abandons himself unto the misfortune, his despair rising from the difficulties which he apprehends in the good which he should hope for.  
But to have full knowledge of this subject, and of the whole matter, we must in the end of this chapter show, how despair is contrary to hope, and seek the reason why it may sometimes make men valiant, and to win great victories. First of all, you must remember what we have formerly said, that among the Passions of the soul, they observe two kinds of opposition. The first is found among those that have contrary things for objects: and that is only a-among the passions of the Concupiscible part: as for example, betwixt Love and Hatred, whereof the one regards the good, and the other the evil. The second is observed betwixt those that in truth regard the same object, but with divers considerations, and that is found among the Irascible passions, whereof the one seeks the good, and the other flies it, by reason of the difficulty which doth environ it. As for example, Courage and Fear do both regard an imminent danger, which presents itself to the imagination; but courage looks upon it to encounter and vanquish it, and fear regards it to avoid it and fly from it, if it be in her power. After this manner than despair is contrary to hope, for that the object of hope which is a good difficult to obtain, draws us of the one side, that is to say, so far as we do imagine a power to obtain it. But it doth reject us on the other side, as when we apprehend, that we have no means to enjoy it: for this apprehension daunts our resolution: or that, as Aristotle teacheth, the impossibility which we imagine in things, makes us to give over their pursuit.  
Wherefore in this consideration, despair is quite contrary to hope. But some one may say, How comes it that many times in war, despair makes men valiant, and gives them great victories, as well as Hope, for that it is not the custom of nature to produce the like effects from contrary causes? To which we answer, that when in the midst of despair men resolve to fight valiantly, as we read of the English in the plains of Poitiers, where they took one of our King's prisoner; it happens for that they have not lost all hope: for they that see no appearance of safety by flying, and apprehend that it cannot preserve them from falling into their enemy's hands, but will purchase them eternal shame with their misery; losing all hope of that side, they resume new courage, and resolve to sell their lives dear, and to revenge their deaths gloriously. Wherefore great Captains have always held opinion, that enemies should not be thrust into despair being put to flight, but rather make them a bridge of gold, & to give them means to pass rivers, lest that finding themselves stayed, and despairing of all safety, they should take more courage, and generously revenge their first baseness, by a cruel slaughter of their enemies.    


Of Choler. CHAP. 1.  
OF all the passions of the soul, there is not any one that takes such deep root, or extends her branches farther than Choler; whereof, neither age, condition, people, nor nation, are fully exempt. There are whole Countries which living under a sharp & rough climate, are not acquainted with pleasures: There are others, who contenting▪ themselves with those benefits which nature presents unto them, are not inflamed with any ambition. Some there be, to whom misery is familiar, as they fear not any accidents of fortune. But there is not any, over whom Choler doth not exercise her power, and show the excess of her rage: Yea, she inflames whole kingdoms and Empires; whereas the other passions do only trouble and agitate private persons.  
We have never seen a whole Nation surprised with the love of one woman. It was never found, that a whole City hath been transported with a desire to heap up treasure: Ambition doth puff up but certain spirits. But we see Cities, Provinces, and whole States, inflamed with Choler, and transported by this fury, with a public conspiracy of great & small, young and old, men, and children, Magistrates, and multitude: we see Commonalties, whom this fury hath incensed, run all to Arms, to revenge a disgrace, or a wrong, which they pretend hath been done them. We have also seen great and powerful Armies, which have been the terror of the world, ruin themselves by this fury, which hath thrust them into mutiny against their Commanders. Wherefore if there be any passion which is pernicious unto mankind, it is this, which seems neither to have bounds nor limits, nor any show of reason. It shall be therefore fit to know the nature, properties, and effects thereof; to the end, we may find out some remedy, to divert the miseries which she brings into the world.  
Let us begin by the Definition, which gives a full light of the Essence of the thing, and makes us to know perfectly.  
Choler is an ardent passion, which upon the appearance there is to be able to revenge ourselves, incites us to a feeling of a contempt and sensible injury, which we believe hath been unjustly done, either to ourselves, or to those we love. Whereby it appears first, that Choler is accompanied with a heat, which is framed and engendered in us, for that this passion inflames the blood and spirits, which are about the heart, by means of the gall, which in this heat exhales itself, and ascends unto the brain, where it troubles our imagination. This heat differs from that which proceeds from love, for that the heat which is found in love, tending to the thing beloved to unite itself with it, is mixed with a certain sweetness, so as the Philosophers compare it to the moderate heat of the air or blood.  
Wherefore we say, that sanguine complexions are most capable of love, & that the bounty of the liver whereas the blood is framed, induceth to love. But the heat of Choler is boiling, full of bitterness, and accompanied with sharpness, which tends to the destruction of the object which it pursues, and is properly like to the heat of a great fire, or to adust choler extraordinarily moved, which consumes the subject whereunto it is fixed, and therefore the Philosophers maintain, that it proceeds from the gall.  
It appears also by the Definition of Choler, that she hath always for object the particular persons which have wronged us. Wherein she differs from hatred, which extends to a multitude of men. As for example, we detest all murderers, all thieves, all poisoners, and all slanderers: even as we abhor all serpents, vipers and venomous beasts. And therefore it is not sufficient to satisfy our Choler, that he that hath done us wrong fall into some disaster, which might suffice to give satisfaction to our hatred: But moreover (to give us full contentment) he must know that we have procured him this cross, and that we are the authors of the revenge and afflictions which he endures.  
So Ulysses having put out the eye of Cyclops, dissembled his name no longer, as he had done before, but would make himself known unto him; as if he had not been sufficiently revenged of this monster, unless he had let him know that he was the author of his disaster. We learn also by the same definition, that to incense us to Choler, it is necessary, that he who is theobiect have done us wrong; or to some one whom we love, or that belongs unto us. As for example, we are discontented with those that wound our reputation, which attempt against our lives; which cross our pleasures, or undertake any thing against our kinsfolks or friends: But we cannot be angry with him which causeth a jew to be put unto the chain at Constantinople, or a Moor to be whipped at Rome; for that the outrage done unto these persons doth nothing concern us. But if it do casually happen that one man is angry against another, having received no cause of distaste from him, only by a certain antipathy and contrariety of humours▪ the reason is, for that in this natural antipathy, he that is angry against the other, conceives in his imagination that he is able to do him some wrong, or at the least he hath such a distaste of him as it is troublesome unto him to look on him.  
So as this antipathy supplies the place of an injury, and works the same effect that the imagination did to have received some wrong.  
We gather also from the same definition, that to excite Choler we must imagine that we are able to execute the revenge whereunto we aspire: And therefore we dare not be angry, or at the least very lightly, against kings, and great personages that have wronged us; for that we know their authority protects them from our revenge.  
Yea there hath been a father, whose son a great King having slain in the midst of his cups with the shot of an arrow, suppressed his grief in such sort (seeing he could not revenge it) as forbearing to complain of this monstous cruelty, he commended the Prince's dexterity in shooting. But we may say, that this action savoured more of flattery then of constancy,  
For the last observation we must remember that the causes which excite Choler are not always true, but many times are such as we frame in our own imaginations; for this Passion with her other defects hath also that evil, that she is witty to find out means to cloak her violence and fury. As it appeared in that Roman, who transported with this fury, supposed three crimes to put three innocents to death, under some colour of justice.. By that which we have formerly said, it may be gathered that Choler is always accompanied with some kind of pleasure, which proceeds from the hope we have to revenge the wrong which hath been done us. For there is a content to promise unto ourselves to be able to attain unto that which we desire passionately; whereas no man man wisheth for those things which he thinks are above his power. Wherefore as he that is incensed against any one, pursues a revenge whereunto he thinks he may attain, this hope fills his soul with joy, and gives him a singular content; wherefore Homer makes Achilles to say, that Choler disperseth itself in the hearts of generous men, with a sweetness which exceeds that of honey.  
But this great content doth not only arise from the hope we have to be able to revenge ourselves; but it also proceeds from the working of our imagination, which thinking continually of the same object of revenge, breeds in us a pleasure like unto that which they feel that have delightful dreams, and which take pleasure in their vain apparitions. Yet we must remember that Choler is also full of grief and bitterness, for that it propounds the injury received, the which she cannot easily digest, presupposing that it is accompanied with some notable contempt which tends to the impairing of his honour and reputation. So as the sweetness which is found grows from the opinion of revenge; and the bitterness proceeds from the conceit of the injury which we cannot endure. Finally, as our Choler is inflamed by the contempt and bad opinion which they seem to have of us; as there are divers kinds of contempt, so it may grow from divers subjects. For many times although the contempt be not accompanied with any injury, making only a show that they do not hold us in such esteem as we think we are worthy of, this simple contempt provoketh us to Choler, holding ourselves wronged, for that we are not honoured as we think we have deserved.  
As if we should yield to a King all the honours of the world, and yet forbear to give him the title of a King, this were sufficient to inflame his Choler: At it appeared in Alexander, to whom Darius having written a letter full of great and large offers, but had forgot to give him the title of King; this generous spirit bore it so impatiently, as in the end of that which he sent for an answer, he added for the last conclusion of all their conferences by writing, Finally, when thou writest unto me, remember that it is not only to a King, but even to thy King that thou writest. The which he added for that he had defeated Darius in battle. In truth he that yields not to any one the honour that is due unto him, makes show to contemn him, and that he deserves not the honour which he doth enjoy: For that if he regarded him as he ought, he would not seek to diminish those honours which all the world besides yield unto him. And therefore we may provoke any one to Choler by our silence, for that it may be a sign of our contempt. But the wrong we receive from those which deprave us openly, and dishonour us either in deed or word without any cause, is more hard to digest. For that he which doth this outrage without any subject, makes a visible demonstration that he doth not esteem us: it being most evident that when as we hold any good regard of a man, we are careful not to offend him without cause; yea we endeavour to insinuate ourselves into his friendship.  
There is another kind of contempt which provokes Choler more than that whereof we have spoken; as when any one takes a pleasure to wrong us and to cross our designs, reaping no profit by the crosses which he gives us, but the contentment to have crossed us, and to have hindered the course of our intentions. For it is an apparent sign of a wonderful contempt, seeing that he wrongs us in a thing whereof he reaps no profit but the discontent he gives us, & withal he shows to have an opinion that we are not able to hurt him; otherwise he would apprehend to wrong us upon so weak a subject: and that he attends no kind of goodness from us; for if he did hope to reap any profit by our friendship, he would seek it and cherish it by all good offices, and not take that liberty to discontent us. So as having so many testimonies of contempt, and of the little esteem he makes of us, we think we have just cause to be moved, and to revenge ourselves of him. But when as this contempt proceeds to outrages, and that any one without cause seeks to blemish our reputation by scandalous reports made in companies: Then our Choler hath no bounds, but is inflamed beyond measure, and makes us burn with desire to revenge so great an affront.  
In like manner he, who without provocation doth us wrong both by word and deed, and who dissembles not his bad disposition, but doth publish it in all places, makes show that he doth wonderfully contemn us. For as he is not ignorant, that so sensible an injury deserves revenge, seeing that he makes no difficulty to do it, but in despite defames us in all companies where he comes; he shows plainly how basely he esteems us, and that he thinks we are either too faint-hearted to undertake, or to weak to execute the revenge, which so sensible an affront deserves.  
In the mean time we suppose that he which hath wronged us in this manner, doth it for his pleasure, having not given him any apparent subject of discontent: for if it were to repel a former injury which he had received from us, it were no more a contempt or an outrage, but a revenge which he would take of us.  
But you must not wonder at that which we have said, that there are some people, which take a delight to commit outrages: and the reason is, for that naturally men cannot endure that any one should exceed them in those things wherein they take delight: yea, they desire to excel those whom they think are competitors with them in that which they undertake. Wherefore if they encounter any one that is able to oppose himself against them, they contend with him, and upon the first occasion do him some affront, to the end they may show how much they exceed him in power. And therefore young men, and such as are rich and powerful, do most commonly fall into this excess. For young men, and such as have their blood hot and boiling, are wonderfully ready to commit insolences: and as if they wanted better employments, they busy themselues to do harm; yea, unto those which have not offended them. Whereof we have great and notable examples in the life of Alcibiades, who scandalised the whole City of Athens, by the insolency of his actions.  
Rich men in like manner, and such as are powerful, are full of this vain ambition to seem great, by the outrages they do to their inferiors, imagining that this insolency is a mark of their greatness. For they presuppose that they are far advanced above those, whom they dare so visibly wrong. And therefore they take a certain kind of content, to do them some affront, which is also the ordinary end that they propound unto themselves, which take a delight to wrong others.  
Finally, we must remember, that men are commonly moved to Choler, when as they see themselves contemned in any of those manners which we have related. And if we shall seek the cause in the Centre, we shall find that the reason is, for that men desire passionately to see themselves honoured, and they believe, that such as are inferior unto them, be it in nobility, power, virtue, or any other eminent quality, are bound to yield them all sorts of duty and respect.  
Rich men also will be reverenced and respected by the poorer sort, who are inferior unto them in the goods of fortune. And he that is endowed with singular eloquence, desires that such as have not attained to the like perfection, should acknowledge the advantage he hath over them.  
In like manner men of authority and command, will have such as are subject to their government, honour them with their service. And if their inferiors fail to yield them the honour which they think is due unto them, they cannot endure this injury, but fall into rage; which makes them to seek all occasions to punish this contempt.  
And therefore it was truly said, That the indignation of a King is great and fearful; for that when as a great king is incensed against any one that is not of his quality, although he temper and moderate his choler for a time, yet he smothers it in his breast, and is never satisfied until he hath made him feel the effects of his power, that durst presume to offend him.  
Wherefore an Ancient said, that Choler encountering with a great power, was like a thunderbolt, which breaks in pieces whatsoever stands in its way. But not only Kings, but every private person is impatient to see himself contemned by those which are his inferiors. And to speak truth, there is nothing but the wisdom of God, and the Law of jesus Christ, that can pull out of our souls, this feeling of a contempt, or of an injury received unworthily.  
For a conclusion of this chapter, we will observe, that Philosophers make three kinds of Choler: and that as among serpents, there are aspics, Vipers, and Dragons, whose poison increaseth daily; so they hold opinion, that of these divers kinds of Choler, some are accompanied with more violence, and show more fire than the rest. For there is a kind of Choler, whose motions are sudden and prompt and which inflame upon the first occasions, and the first objects which present themselves.  
Aristotle calls those that are subject to this passion, sudden, active, choleric, and adust; for that this suddenness to be moved, riseth from the abundance of adust choler, or from the gall. But as it is kindled suddenly, so it is quenched with little pain, like unto the waves of the Sea, which rise and break at the same instant There is another kind of Choler, which takes root, and is fashioned in the soul, by a long continuance of time, during the which, man doth represent unto himself the form of that party which hath wronged him, and preserves the memory of the injury he hath received.  
Aristotle terms these men sharp, bitter, and secret: Such was the choler of Achilles, which the death o● so many brave Princes slain at the siege of Troy, during his despite, could hardly mollify. There is a third kind (although it differs not much from the second) the which doth wholly transport men, torments them perpetually, and never gives them any rest, until they have satisfied their revenge. Aristotle calls those that are agitated-with this frenzy, violent, outrageous, and insupportable. The first is found in the best dispositions, but the two other are signs of bad inclinations. To conclude, there is not any one of them, but we should avoid and fly from, as a poison which kills charity, which should shine in all the motions and actions of Christians. And if we are at any time surprised, let us be angry, but sin not; let Nature work her first effect, but let us stay her violence, and above all, let not the Sun go down upon our wrath.   

Of those against whom we are angry. CHAP. 2.  
HEe which said that man was a creature which is passionate for glory, seems to have discovered all the roots of Choler: for if we observe the objects which excite it, and against whom we are angry, we shall find it generally true, that it never discloseth itself in our hearts, nor is framed in our souls, but upon a conceit we have, that they seek to diminish our glory, and to blemish our reputation, with some notable contempt, or by some great outrage which we cannot bear: so as this passion is kindled first, by a contempt and an injury which we imagine we have received, the which maketh an impression in our souls: the grief and discontent to have been wronged, makes us to seek means for revenge, being thrust on by the nature of grief, which always seeks ease, and which in this occasion cannot find it but only in revenge, the desire whereof makes his heart to swell, and stirs up his courage. For it is certain, that revenge quencheth the heat of Choler, and we are pacified, when as we see the wrong which we have received, sufficiently punished: For that we conceive by this means that our reputation is repaired, and the contempt revenged. But before this revenge, the grief of the injury sticks fast unto our souls and imflames, us to seek reparation.  
An Empress of Constantinople having let slip certain words of contempt against Narses that generous Captain, who had reduced Italy under the obedience of the Empire: and said in disdain that they must send for that Eunuch and make him spin amongst her women; this valiant man being incensed at this outrage, protested in the midst of his grief, that he would weave such a web for the Emperor and his Empress, as all their power and industry should not be able to undo: And thereupon he drew the Lombard's into Italy, and dismembered those goodly provinces from the Empire: whereby it appears how dangerous it is to incense a great spirit. Secondly, when we are much transported with Passion, and do vehemently affect any one thing, wherein we are crossed & have some obstacle given us, be it directly or indirectly, by overt means, or secret practices, our Choler is inflamed against those that are the authors of this let: And therefore sick men are angry with such as to repair their health, refuse them water or fruits, or some other thing which they earnestly desire: And they that are in love, frown on them that flatter not their Passion, and which seek to divert them from the pursuit of that they love. But above all, men are bitterly incensed, when as they contemn their present condition, and the estate whereunto some calamity or their own indiscretion hath brought them.  
Hence grow the complaints and vexations of the miserable, of poor people, of the diseased, of those which apprehend some notable afafliction, and of those which see themselves exposed to the violence of the mighty, yea there have been men which have died of sorrow & grief, for that they were reproached with an imperfection of nature which they brought with them into the world. Moreover we are discontented against those who we think are the authors or abettors of any disastrous accident which we expected not, holding them for our friends.  
For as any great felicity which befalls us beyond our expectation, fills us with extraordinary joy; so great misfortunes which happen, not foreseen, and contrary to our expectance, afflicts us strangely, and excites us wonderfully to Choler. And sometimes the circumstance of places where we are, the humours, wherein we are, the time wherein they take us, with a thousand such like serve to provoke us to wrath. As for example when we are sad and full of sorrow, Choler doth easily become mistress of our senses oppressed with grief: And in like manner, if they give us any words of contempt in company or before such persons as we love, we bear them impatiently, and let slip the reins to Choler. These are the chief roots of anger which breeds in our souls, and these are the powerful objects that may excite it.  
But moreover there are other moving causes which have power to provoke it, although they be always grounded upon the contempt which is done us: For men are also discontented against those that cause them to suffer some indignity, or that scoff at them, or at such persons whose reputations are as dear unto them as their own. So the Citizens of Milan being besieged by the Emperor Fredrick, having spoken something against the honour of the Empress, the Emperor bore it so impatiently, as having them in his power, he caused them to suffer all the indignities that might be inflicted upon the vanquished; yea he ruined their City and sowed it with salt, to take from them all hope of rising or to see it built again. The reason of this extraordinary Choler is, for that these opprobrious scoffs are signs of a notable contempt. Men are also moved against those which do them some sensible outrage, the which brings no profit to the author, but dishonours him that receives it. Wherefore Choler made a powerful impression in the soul of the Emperor justinian the second, by reason of the outrage which they of Constantinople (deposing him from the Empire) caused him to suffer, in cutting off his nose; who being restored to his estate, whensoever there distilled any humour from his wound, he sent for some one of them whom he thought to have had a part in the conspiracy, and put him presently to death, or sent him into exile.  
The reason is, for that these kinds of outrages blemish the things wherein they take any kind of content, as they that are passionately affected to arms, canno● endure to hear the profession taxed without Choler: Neither had it been the means to win any great favour with Caesar, Alexander, and Great Henry, to have made discourses unto them in disgrace of Martial exercise.  
And in like manner they that love Philosophy, cannot see it contemned without perturbation. Yet we must observe, that such as think they have attained to the perfection of any thing, are not so apt to be moved for words that are spoken to the disgrace of their profession, as they that have but weak beginnings, and are but new apprentices; and which think they have no great opinion of them, or which know their own defects: For these men are easily incensed for any thing that is spoken against the profession they embrace: Whereas the others being assured by the knowledge they have of their own merits, make show to neglect the blame is given them without judgement. But there is no contempt more insupporable than that we receive from our friends, and from such as we think are bound to contribute to our glory: for when as we see that instead of advancing our honour they seek to blemish it, we can no longer master our despite.  
Wherefore we have seen great personages, who finding themselves unworthily entreated by their commonweal, or by their Citizens, for whose preservations they had exposed themselves to a thousand deaths, have borne this injury so impatiently, as they have given way to despite; and having no other means to revenge this ingratitude, for the last monument of their wrath, have denied their ashes unto their Country, desiring to be buried in other places. Wherefore the Ancients held opinion, that the Choler of brethren was cruel and hard to pacify: For that the love of brethren being tied by the most powerful bonds of nature, being once broken, Choler turns into fury, which continues even after death.  
Again, men are moved against those which having made profession to honour them, grow cold again, and yield them not that respect which they had formerly done: For that they imagine this coldness proceeds from some kind of contempt, as if they had discovered some imperfection in them, the which they had not formerly observed: for they discourse in themselves; if these men had not changed their opinions, and if they had not conceived some new contempt, which withdraws them from us, they would live as they had formerly done; the which they neglecting, they attribute it to an opinion which those men have conceived, that instead of honouring them, they should be honoured by them.  
Men are also incensed against such as they hold ingrateful, and who they think have no feeling of the benefits they have received from them: For they imagine that this ingratitude is a mere contempt both of them and of their favours, as if they had been due unto them, or that they were much their inferiors. They are also discontented against those which take a contrary part to that which they embrace, which contradict their counsels; oppose their resolutions, and which are of another opinion in all occasions which are offered: for they conceive that this contradiction proceeds from the little esteem the opponent makes of their sufficiency & industry, and also from a concyit they have to be more capable and sufficient, which is a visible contempt.  
But men are wonderfully incensed to see themselves disdained by the base sort, which are in no estimation, holding this contempt to be much more insupportable, then that of eminent persons, and which are in reputation. The reason is, for that as we have said, Choler riseth from the indignity of the contempt; but we cannot endure a contempt accompanied with a greater indignity, or a more sensible outrage then that which comes from base persons, and which are our inferiors, who should yield all honour and respect to those that exceed him in dignity and merit. Wherefore men of honour cannot endure but with much impatiency, to see themselves contemned by the scum of the people.  
Men are also discontented against their friends, if they refuse to commend them, or to oblige them by their courtesies and favours, but especially if they do the contrary: that is to say, if they brave them, and reject them, seeming to be ignorant of their necessities, or if they accommodate not themselves to their desires and passions. And in truth it is a great sign of contempt, when as any one feigns not to know that which his friend desires and affects with passion: for that we strive to know the affairs and inclinations of those, of whom we have any care and love dear.  
Men are also incensed against those which rejoice at their calamities, or have not the true feeling they ought. For to scorn, or take delight in them, is a mark of Hatred; and not to care for them, is a sign of contempt. Men are also discontented with such as neglect them, and hold it an indifferent thing to displease them, or to do an act that may offend them. Wherefore we do commonly hate such as bring ill news, conceiving that if they had borne us the respect they ought, they would not have been the messengers of that which they knew would afflict us, lest they should give us occasion of discontent, but would have left the commission to some other.  
In like manner they are moved against those which take delight in scandalous speeches made to the prejudice of their reputation, or which laugh with the rest, or take pleasure to be spectators of their miseries: for that the first argues a contempt, and the second shows an hatred. So as we see true friends undertake words of reproach delivered in the absence of their friends, and are moved with grief, when as they happen to be spectators of their misfortunes. As it chanced to that poor man, who held himself happy to be upon the coast of Egypt, not far from Alexandria, where as Pompey's slaves performed his last funeral rites, to the end he might witness his grief, and pity for the misery of so great a Personage. But men are particularly moved against those which contemn them before four kinds of people: that is to say, before those with whom they contend for honour and glory. As Alexander could not endure the contempt of those which preferred Darius before him: Nor Caesar such as equalled Pompey unto him. Or before such as they admire, or by whom they desire to be admired: As Alexander could not without grief endure they should blemish the glory of his conquests before the Athenians: for that having their virtue in singular recommendation, he desired in like manner to be admired by them, and attended from them the most glorious ornaments of his triumphs. Or before such as they love and honour, as children grow into choler against those that contemn them before their parents; and he that is passionate in love with a woman, cannot endure an affront which is done him in her presence. Or else before those by whom he will be reverenced: As fathers grow bitter against such as discover their imperfections to their children, by whom they cannot endure to be contemned.  
Moreover, men are discontented with those that contemn or offend such as are dear unto them, whom they are bound to assist, unless they will be partakers of their disgrace: the which hath been the cause of great wars to revenge an injury done to the wives, daughter's sisters, and mothers of Kings: Princes hold themselues interessed to revenge the reproach done unto those people, that Nature hath tied unto them by so powerful bonds.  
Moreover, they are angry with such as do not thank them, nor acknowledge the favours they have received from them: for when as they see themselves deprived of this just acknowledgement, which they had propounded unto themselves, for the fruit of their good turns; or at the least, which they expect from the good disposition of those they held obliged unto them, they attribute it unto a mere contempt. And their choler is kindled against those which have deprived them of an honour whereof they held not themselves unworthy.  
They are angry also with such as dissemble things, and make a jest of that which they have done seriously: for this dissimulation and diversion of their intentions, is a sign of scorn.  
Finally, men are discontented with those which do good to all the world, yet do none to them in particular: for they are conceited, that such as have no care to bind them unto them, showing an inclination to oblige all the world, witness thereby, that they esteem them not as they do other men, but have a most base conceit of their merit.  
This consideration hath bred discontents in the courts of great Princes; for every one holding himself as worthy as his companion to attain unto the offices of State, when as any one is advanced without mention made of them, they conceive that his good fortune is a blemish to their glory, & makes them to be esteemed inferior to his merit. To conclude, forgetfulness provokes choler, for that forgetfulness is a sign of the little care they have of men. And this little care is a mark of contempt, for that the things whereof they make account, are most carefully recommended to memory.   

CHAP. 3. Of the Effects and remedies of Choler.  
AMONG all the Passions that trouble & transport the soul of man, there is not any accompanied with so great violence, which shows such brutishness, or that produce such fatal and tragical effects, as Choler; which seems properly to be the spring from whence flows all the miseries and ruins which happen in the world. For whereas other passions, as Love and joy, Desire and Hope, have certain beams of sweetness, which makes them pleasing; Choler is full of bitterness, & hath no sweeter objects then punishments, blood and slaughter, which serve to glut her revenge.  
These be her delights, these are her joys, these are the sweetest and most pleasing spectacles which she can behold. But if you desire to see how she is the fountain of all the horrors which are dispersed over the world, and make it desolate: read in histories of the sacking of Towns, of Provinces ruined and made deserts, observing the eversion and overthrow of Empires; Diadems trodden under foot; Princes basely betrayed, and smothered by poison; Kings murdered; great Commanders in War cast into chains; and serving as an example of humane misery. Consider that whole multitudes have been put to the sword, or made Gallyslaves; whole Nations rooted out; the Temples (whereas Divinity dwells) profaned; the Altars beaten down; and whatsoever was most holy and most reverend among men, unworthily violated, and they shall find that all these tragical spectacles are the effects of that cruel and inhuman fury. But setting apart the horror of the effects which she produceth generally, let us observe the miseries whereof she is the cause in private persons that suffer themselves to be transported with this Passion.  
First then if the saying of Physicians be true, that of all the infirmities wherewith we are afflicted, there are none worse nor more dangerous than those which disfigure the face of man, and which make it deformed and unlike unto himself; we must conclude by the same reason, that of all the Passions of man, there is not any one more pernicious, nor more dreadful than Choler, which altars the graceful countenance and the whole constitution of man. For as furious and mad men show the excess of their rage, by the violent changes which appear in their bodies; even so a man transported with Choler gives great signs of the frenzy that doth afflict him: his eyes full of fire and flame which this Passion doth kindle, seem fiery & sparkling; his face is wonderfully inflamed as by a certain reflux of blood which ascends from the heart: his hair stands upright and staring with horror, his mouth cannot deliver his words: his tongue falters, his feet and hands are in perpetual motion. He vomits out nothing but threats, he speaks of nothing but blood and vengeance: Finally, his constitution is so altered, and his looks so terrible, as he seems hideous and fearful even to his dearest friends. What must the soul then be within, whose outward image is so horrible? Wherefor an Ancient said, that Choler was a short fury: And another maintained, that all violent Choler turned into madness: The which we may confirm by that which is written of Hercules, who growing furious knew not his own wife and children, upon whom he exercised his rage, tearing them inhumanely in pieces; even so they over whom Choler hath gotten absolute power, forget all affinity and friendship, and without any respect make their own kinsfolks and friends feel the effects of their fury. For it is a Passion which grows bitter against all the world, which springs aswell from love as from hatred, and is excited aswell in sport as in the most serious actions.  
So as it imports not from what cause it proceeds, but with what spirit it encounters: As it imports not how great the fire is, but where it falls; for the most violent cannot fire marble, whereas the smallest sparkles will burn straw.  
Hereby we gather, that this Passion domineers principally in hot and fiery constitutions; for that heat is active and wilful, and gives an inclination to these kinds of violence, making us to grow bitter easily, yea upon the least subject that may be. Finally, to return to our first purpose, Choler doth not only disfigure the body, but many times it ruins it wholly: For some being extraordinarily moved, have broken their veins, and vomited out their soul with the blood; yea they which have slain themselves, owe their misfortune to Choler which hath forced them to this last fury: having then left such cruel signs of rage upon the body, she assails the mind, she doth outrage to the soul, and smothers reason in man, and like unto a thick cloud, will not suffer it to enlighten him, and by this means fills him with disorder and confusion. So as he begins to shut his ear to all good advice, he will no more hear speak of that which may help to mollify his courage, which is full of bitterness and violence; so as taking pleasure in his own affliction, he abhors all remedies, and flies the hand of the Physician which might cure him: yea in this transport he is offended at any thing, and imitates the savage beasts, whom the most cheerful colours thrust into fury: An innocent smile, a shaking of the head which signifies nothing, a glance of the eye without design, is capable to draw him to the field.  
But how often have we seen this inhuman fury dissolve even the most sacred friendship upon very frivolous subjects? hath she not provoked dearest friends to duels, and made them serve as spectacles of infamy both to heaven and earth, for quarrels embraced without any ground? It is then very apparent, that this Passion is not only infamous, but also most wretched, seeing that under an weak pretext of revenge she doth precipitate men into most horrible villainies, & makes them tread all divine and humane laws under feet, to satiate her in●olency and rage. Wherein doubtless she is more to be blamed then all the other Passions wherewith the soul of man is afflicted: For that the other Passions have this property, that even at the very instant when as they are as it were in the height of their transport, give way somewhat to reason, and yield in some sort unto her commandments, when as she presents herself to pacify them▪ Whereas Choler doth like unto Mariners which are amazed or corrupted, and will give no ear to the voice of their Pilot: Or as mutinous soldiers, which will not hear the advice of their Leaders: Yea she despites truth if she opposeth against her rage; and although she come to know the innocency of the party whom she persecutes, yet she holds obstinacy more honourable than repentance: So as nothing shallbe able to make her desist from her unjust and violent pursuites.  
And continuing this Injustice against himself, she sometimes constrains the most covetous profusely to cast away their most precious treasure, and to make a heap of their wealth, and then to set fire on it; and many times also she forceth ambitious men to refuse and reject the honours which they had passionately affected before their despite: who doth not then see that this Passion, (more than any other) quencheth the light of reason?  
The cause is, for that of all the Passions, whether they have the good for their object, or regard the evil, those cause the greatest perturbations in our souls which are the most violent; there is not any that doth exceed or equal Choler in violence, which doth inflame the whole blood, and all the spirits which flow about the heart, which is the most powerful organ of Passions: by reason whereof there follows a wonderful disorder not only in the sensible and corporeal powers, but even in the reason. For although she use no corporeal organs in her proper functions, yet to produce them forth she hath need of the powers of the senses, whose actions are crossed and disquieted by the trouble which riseth in the heart and the whole body; by reason whereof Choler doth darken, yea hinder the whole light which she strives to cast forth: whereof we have two apparent signs, for that the members, wherein the image of the heart doth most shine, as the tongue, the eyes, & the countenance, feel the most violent force of this fury.  
It is true that Aristotle saith, that Choler doth in some sort give ear to reason: But that must be understood touching the report which she makes of the injury received, wherein she takes a singular content; but she gives no ●are unto her, but rejects her advertizements in the measure and moderation which she ought to hold in the revenge. So as in truth there must be some kind of reason to provoke Choler; for that men which are stupid & dull are not capable of these motions; but when this Passion is fully inflamed, than she doth wholly darken reason.  
And as the same Philosopher saith, that they which are full of wine and drink, are not moved with any thing for that their reason being drowned in wine, they are not capable to balance an injury, or to observe a contempt: But such as are not fully drunk, are moved to Choler, for that there remains some weak beams of judgement to discern that which hath an appearance of injury or outrage; but this Passion riseth in them without subject and without any great occasion, for that their reason is captivated by the wine which hath gotten the mastery.  
Even so in the beginning of Choler, reason may give some light to the Irascible power; but when she hath gotten the absolute command, and is become Mistress of the senses, Reason is darkened, and is of no use in a soul thus transported.  
But we must not conceive that this mischief is absolutely incurable, but we must rather imagine, that as Helleborum hath power to cure mad men, so there are remedies against Choler. The most powerful are those which are taken from the Law of God, who teacheth us nothing but patience, charity, mildness, humanity and sufferance. But we will rest satisfied to set down the instructions of Philosophy, which may serve to this effect: First of all, Philosophers advice us to entreat this passion as they do monsters and serpents, whom they strive to smother as soon as they are disclosed: for they will that man should have a care to the beginning of Choler, which many times ariseth from so light an occasion, and so poor a subject, as it is unworthy a great spirit should be transported therewith And as it is easy to quench a fire of straw in the beginning, but if we suffer it to take hold of more solid matter, it passeth all our labour and industry, and makes a pitiful ruin: even so, he that will observe Choler from the beginning, seeing it begin to fume and kindle for some light quarrel and small offence; it is easy for him to suppress it, and to stay her course. But if she be once settled and begins to swell, and that he himself blows the bellowes; that is to say, if he stirs it up and inflames it, it will be hard for him afterwards to quench it, whereas he might easily have done it before by silence,  
Wherefore as Pilots foreseeing a tempest, do usually retire themselves into a road or under the Lee of some rock, before the storm come; so he that feels the first motions of Choler, should have recourse to reason, and oppose it to the passion, to control her violence. For the first means to vanquish Choler as an unjust tyrant, is not to yield any obedience to her, nor to believe her in any thing she saith or doth, to inflame us to revenge, we find in other Passions, that the liberty we give them, brings some ease. As when young men which are inflamed with Love, go in mask, make dances, combats, or feasts, in favour of the party they love; all this gives some ease unto their passion: and when as they suffer those that are afflicted to weep in the midst of their afflictions, the tears they pour forth, carry with them a part of their grief, But Choler hath nothing of all this, she grows bitter, and is incensed by the liberty we give her, and is inflamed the more in that we give way to her fury. And as they that are subject unto the falling sickness, having any sign or beginning of their fit, retire themselves suddenly, and take all the remedies which may divert so troublesome an accident, or at least, hide the shame; so they which see themselves transported with Choler, should retain themselves, and strive to moderate their passion, and divert the infirmity which seeks to seize upon them. Whereunto they should the more willingly resolve, for that all other passions do but draw men to evil, but this doth precipitate them; those do shake them, but this doth overthrow them; Those when they have the upper hand, suffer themselves to be kerbed, but this being mistress will obey no law; like unto the thunderbolt, which being once fall'n from the cloud wherein it was enclosed, can no more be stayed. Other Passions stray from reason, but Choler treads it under feet, and leads it as it were, in triumph. Wherefore by all these considerations, men should be careful not to fall into the hands of so furious a mistress.  
The second remedy that may be given, is to represent the defects of this passion, & the miseries wherewith she is accompanied; the which are such, as it seems they carry the Palm of vice, and to be more detestable than all other crimes, wherewith the soul may be polluted. Avarice, in truth, is a shameful greediness of getting, but yet it sometimes gathers together that, which falls into the hands of a good man that succeeds a miser: whereas Choler scatters all. For what expenses, what profusion doth she not to attain unto the revenge which she doth meditate? How often doth she make a man ruin his own fortune? the husband to separate himself from his wife; the son abandons his father; the people arm against the Magistrate; and he which aspired to honour, checks himself, and gives over his pursuit.  
Choler is also worse than voluptuousness, for that lusts make men to plunge themselves in particular pleasures; whereas Choler makes them of so bad a disposition, as he is delighted in another man's miseries. It is much more wicked than Envy: for that if Envy desires to see any one miserable, it is Choler which procures the misery.  
But we must not continue our great desires in the revenges of Choler, for generous spirits are as it were, impenetrable to offences; whereas they that cannot resist, show their weakness; whereby we see that women, children, sick folks, and old men are most subject to these motions and impressions.  
The highest and goodliest part of the world, and nearest to the firmament and stars, is never covered with clouds; and in whose bosom there is never any hail, rain, winds, nor other tempests congealed: there is never any thunder nor lightning, although the thunderbolts fall from thence upon the earth. In like manner, a spirit truly elevated, a generous soul, is always quiet, moderate, and grave, never suffering itself to be transported with the furious motions of Choler; she represents unto herself the defects of this passion, she sees that they which abandon themselves unto it, disrobe themselves of all shame, and lose all reason: for who is he that in the midst of his despite & wrath, seems not to have renounced all moderation, and modesty? Can he refrain his tongue, or contain the other parts of his body in their duty? But how many great personages have we seen expose themselves to be a scorn of the world by the excess of their Choler? Witness that famous Prince, who wrote letters to a Mountain, and who caused a River to be whipped, which had been an obstacle to his passage.  
Wherefore as in seeing the shameful motions of them that are drunk, we conceive a certain horror of the excess of wine: so great spirits seeing the deformity of Choler, endeavour what they can not to be infected with a vice, which is as it were a reproach to humane Nature. But to prevent it, we must first fly all affairs that are above our reach, lest that finding ourselves oppressed, as with an insupportable burden, grief kindle our waywardness and Choler. We must also fly the company of quarrelsome persons, lest by a certain contagion they poison us with their Passions.  
Drunkards provoke to drink, voluptuous men mollify the most courageous, and avarice poisons those that haunt the covetous. In like manner, choleric men infuse into us their troublesome humours, or at the least in frequenting them, we expose ourselves to the dangers of quarrels with them; whereas conversing with quiet men (besides the good example) we are freed from that danger.  
Philosophers produce other remedies to cure Choler, advising them that have any inclination to this passion, to leave all great and weighty occupations of the mind, yea, the most serious studies: and they exhort them to imitate those that are weak sighted, who ease themselves in fixing their eyes upon the most cheerful colours; above all things they conjure them to avoid the occasions and subjects which are given them, to remember that it is not expedient for man to see all nor to hear all, and that we must let many things pass which are spoken against us; for that many times having neglected them, it is a kind of justification. That which provokes us to Choler (say they) is the opinion we have to have been outraged; but we must not so suddenly give credit to this opinion, nor presently receive the reports which are made unto us, how clear and evident soever the proofs of the injury may seem unto us; for there are many things which having a show of truth, are notwithstanding false; so as we must reserve one ear to hear the reasons of him that is accused, or else shut them both to the reporters, who many times take a delight to sow discord, and to breed quarrels for their own pleasures.  
And doubtless we may many times repent to have run rashly to revenge, whereas we have cause to be glad to have deferred it. For the same reason we must fly suspicions and jealousies, which many times incense us, as well as the justest subjects of Choler; for that taking in ill part a look, a smile, or some other light action, we conceive a despite, and run to field against those that are innocent, and which had no desire to wrong us.  
Finally of things that offend us, some we have by report, others we have either seen or heard ourselves. As for those which are reported we must not easily give credit unto them, considering the practices which are used at this day to abuse the most credulous: A flatterer will seek to insinuate himself into favour by accusing an innocent; he will suggest an outrage & make a bad discourse to persuade that he hath heard it with grief of mind; another will seek an occasion to dissolve the most sacred bonds of friendship: Another full of venom & poison will desire to have the sport of a quarrel, and will be glad to be spectator of a combat which he hath kindled, so as he be none of the party. It is then a notable lightness to condemn a friend suddenly before he be heard, and without an exact knowledge of the matter whereof he is accused; and it is a prodigious injustice to be incensed against him before that he know who accuseth him, or what crime is imposed upon him.  
As for those things whereof we ourselves are witnesses, we must consider the disposition & will of those that have committed them; if it be a young man, let us impute it to his age and bear with his youth. Is it a father? Having received so many other benefits from him, it is reason we should endure, and that remembrance of things past should mollify our present bitterness; and we must duly consider with ourselves whether he hath not just cause to entreat us with that rigour, whereof we now complain.  
If it be a woman, this sex doth not always follow the motions of reason, and her weakness should serve her for an excuse. If they be persons subject to a greater power, it may be they have been forced, and being solicited by such as they could not disobey, would you then be angry against necessity? another may offend us after that he hath been outraged by us: and what wonder is it if he requite us with the like? If he be a Magistrate or a judge from whom we pretend to have received some injustice, his sufficiency must be of more weight than our private opinion, and we should rather accuse our own crime then suspect him of corruption. If it be a King or Prince, that punisheth some malefactor, we must believe that he doth it justly: But if he oppress an innocent, we must not complain, but give way to the miseries of humane nature, remembering that the weaker are subject to the laws of mighty.  
If it be a bruit beast or a piece of timber or stone that hurts us, we must beware that we become not more stupid than senseless things, thinking to revenge our injuries of them. If it be a good man, we should not think that he had any will to hurt us, being confident of his innocency. If he be a wicked man, why are we amazed if the effects resemble the cause? Moreover if we think that we are wrongfully oppressed, let us remember that many times we think that unjust, which is not so in effect: This proc●eeds from too great a love which we bear unto ourselves: and in a word, it is ignorance or insolency that thrusts us into Choler, never remembering that humane nature (like unto a field full of weeds and thorns) brings forth spirits that are ingrate, treacherous, envious and wicked. He that shall duly consider this, will not easily give way to Choler.  
These are parts of the remedies which Philosophers propound against this furious Passion. There are others which were too long to relate; and to say the truth, most of them are rather remedies of Empirics which palliate the evil, then solid medicines which cure our Passions. The sovereign remedy is to cast our eyes upon the examples of patience which the servants of God and the Saints have taught us in this world, and especially to fix them upon those which the Son of God hath left us, who being outraged by men did not curse them; being persecuted, he did not threaten his excutioners; being crucified, he prayed for his enemies; and who in the end by a Philosophy far different from that of the world, hath put our salvation in his cross, our triumphs in his reproaches, and our glory in his punishments.    


Of Mildness and Gentleness. CHAP. 1.  
AS CHOLER enflaming man to revenge, transports him in such sort as many times he seems to be deprived of all kind of humanity; and that it hath converted him into a savage and cruel beast, which breathes nothing but blood & slaughter, so there is a motion contrary to this Passion which restores man to the estate of man, and casting as it were water upon the fire of his wrath, makes him tractable to pardon the outrages which he pretends to have been done him unworthily. This Passion hath no proper name, but may be called Gentleness, Mildness, or clemency, according to the subjects where it encounters; and it is no other thing but a motion which reduceth the soul to a quiet estate, and makes him forget all kinds of injuries & revenges.  
Wherefore as men are ordinarily incensed against those that contemn them, & this contempt being an injury which proceeds from the will of him that offends us, it is visible that our Choler is easily pacified when as we see there is no cause of contempt in us; for that they of whom we might complain, have done it against their inclination, and not by any affected malice: And the reason is, for that humane actions depend of the intention of him that doth them. Wherefore imagining that they have no bad intention against us, we hold them free from crime.  
By the same reason we do easily forget the Choler which we have conceived against those, who being mistaken show their grief, and desire to live otherwise; for that this desire is a testimony that their will hath been surprised. As for example, a friend in our infirmity may give us a receipt which he thinks fit to cure our disease, but having taken it, our pain increaseth; yet we are not bitterly incensed against him, for that it appears his will was to give us ease, although our pain increased. And particularly we show ourselves easy to pardon those which do unto themselves what they have done unto us: For that we cannot conceive that they have contemned us in those things wherein themselves are engaged; being apparent that no man contemns himself. We also pardon those easily which confess their faults freely, and show repentance for their offences; for that we imagine this grief is a sufficient punishment for their wrong.  
Whereof we have a familiar example in our servants; reprehending more sharply, and punishing more severely, those that palliate their offences, or that answer us arrogantly; and we entreat them more graciously which acknowledge their faults and demand pardon. And the reason is, for that it is a sign of impudence to maintain an error which is apparent, and th●s impudence is a notable contempt of him against whom they contest so boldly: for that we contemn those with whom we show no respect or reverence.  
We are easily pacified, when as they whom we pretend have offended us, humble themselves before us, endure our reproof, and do not contradict us; for that this submission is as it were, a sign of fear or reverence which they bear us, whereby they silently confess, that they are our inferiors: so as we conceive they do not contemn us: for that no man contemns him whom he fears. Wherefore every man lays aside all choler against those that humble themselves: we have an example in the Lion, a generous beast, who never shows his fury, but pardons those that lie prostrate upon the ground to save themselves. We also show ourselves mild to those which making the same profession, honour us, and speak not slanderously of us: for that this respect shows they have us in good esteem, and that they contemn us not.  
We also pardon those willingly, from whom we have received some notable favour, & particularly when they entreat us and conjure us with passionate prayers, to forget the injuries they have done us, and not to take revenge of them; for that these kind of ●ntreaties are signs of their submission.  
We also pardon those willingly, which are not reputed to be insolent, slanderers, mockers, or contemners of others, but are known to be good men, doing outrage to no man unless it be to the wicked, among whom we desire not to sort ourselves. We check and control our choler, when as we know that they that have offended us are powerful persons, from whom we might fear some greater injury, if we should attempt to revenge that which they have done us▪ for we seldom make demonstration of choler against those whom we fear, being impossible that at the same instant we should fear any man, and yet be in choler against him. Yea, we pass over their faults lightly that have wronged us in the heat of their choler: so as if we are incensed against them, it is with less feeling and bitterness, for that we conceive that what they have done, was not through contempt, seeing that no man ever contemned him whom he held worthy of his choler: for that contempt is without grief and apprehension, but choler is full of grief and feeling of the injury received.  
Places, times, employments, companies, help many times to make us mild and quiet, and to keep us from being transported with choler, if it be not for some outrageous injury: for in sports, at banquets, and public feasts, among our friends, in the midst of our great prosperities, during the happy success of our affairs, and in the midst of our good hopes, we do not easily receive any impressions of choler, unless (as we have said) they do us some notable outrage which exceeds all patience.  
In like manner, when as we suffer much time to pass before we seek revenge of the injury, by little and little we forget it, and time having assuaged our heat, we lose all desire of revenge. But one of the things which helps most to quench our choler, is, when as some other than that party against whom it is inflamed, hath been severely punished or sent to execution, before we could satisfy our revenge against him.  
Wherefore Philocrates, being demanded why he did not purge himself of the crimes whereof he was accused, during the time the people were in choler against him; answered, that the reason was, for that he expected some other should be unjustly accused and condemned before him; imagining (as it is true) that when as men have poured forth their choler and spleen upon any one, than they grow more mild, and their rage is turned to pity. As it happened to Ergophilus, against whom although his judges were more incensed then against Calisthenes; yet they pronounced him innocent, and freed him from punishment; for that the day before they had condemned Calisthenes.  
Moreover, men show themselves mild and tractable to those over whom they have gotten some favourable decree, and also to such as they see exposed to more cruel afflictions, than they would have imposed upon them for their revenge: For they conceive that they are punished sufficiently for their offence, and that for their part they are fully revenged of the injury they have received.  
But particularly our choler is not often inflamed when as we conceive the injury that we suffer is done us justly, & that we have well deserved that chastisement; for than it rather makes show of a revenge justly pursued, then of a contempt or injury unjustly procured. Choler hath injustice for her object, be it true or apparent: for that as we have observed in the Definition, it is a feeling of an indignity which we think we have received wrongfully, and without merit: wherefore when as we apprehend there is no injustice in the wrong we receive, our choler breaks not forth and runs not hastily to revenge. And therefore when we will reprehend any one, it is fit to represent unto him the subject wherefore we use this severity, that making him know we have just occasion, it may stay him from choler. The which we should practise particularly with our servants, who will take our reprehensions in better part, and serve us with more affection when we show them that they have erred, and let them know the offence which hath moved us to this rigour. Our choler is not easily moved against such as we hold insensible of any thing that we shall do or say; for that Choler will have her effects known. Wherefore no man of judgement will be angry against insensible things. But the choler which we show against the living, is mortified in regard of the dead, for that they have endured the last misery of life, and they have no more feeling nor knowledge of injuries, which choler doth wonderfully desire. Wherefore Homer to pacify Aclilles, who insulted over the dead body of Hector, let him know, that he did but beat the earth, and outrage an insensible thing. These are briefly the persons to whom Mildness or clemency extends, and which can command their choler.  
This Mildness is commendable in all men, for that it is a bud of true humility, or rather a true character of the children of God. But it hath a greater lustre and a more eminent show when it is found in the souls of kings and Monarches of the earth: For what praise, what triumph, and what glory is it to a great Prince, to have the command of so many millions of men, to be arbitrator of their lives, to be master of their goods and fortunes, to be able in an instant to levy fearful Armies, and in the twinkling of an eye to ruin Towns & Countries, without the fear of any Laws? And yet in this prodigious power, not to suffer his eyes to be daxeled with so great a splendour, nor to be transported with choler, and in offences not to use severity; to spare blood, to contain his Passions, and to make it his whole glory to do good to those that are subject to his authority.  
Wherefore this bounty and clemency in Princes, makes them not only to be beloved, but even to be adored by their subjects, who are ravished with a sweet excess of joy, when as they see themselves subject to a power which hath nothing insolent, but all things tend to their preservation, and propound unto themselves no more glorious objects than their safety.  
Subjects hide not themselues from these good Princes, and fly not from them, as if a Tiger, a Lion, or some other savage and cruel beast, did present itself; but they run to meet them, to behold them, and admire them, as stars of good influence, of whom depend all their happiness. The subjects run unto their Temples for such good Princes, & pour out their vows and prayers for their honours and safety. It is for them they watch and are in care, and it is for them they are ready to suffer a thousand deaths, rather than any attempt should be made against their lives, whereunto they know their safeties are tied: For their mildness and clemency, as a powerful charm binds the affections of their subjects unto them, and doth purchase their love, which is the most powerful bond and the safest guard whereby monarchs may assure their estates: For there is no Empire nor government, more firm than that which pleaseth the subjects; whereas those that are odious, are soon ruined: yea, they that could temper their authority by Clemency, have always enjoyed a happy success in their government. And to speak in a word, clemency is as a sovereign ornament to all the other royal virtues; yea; it is to Princes as a way to heaven, and immortality to use so eminent and fearful a power moderately; to love their subjects, to pardon the humble, to abstain from all cruelty, to do no violence, not to bathe their hands in blood, to let their time pass, to pacify their choler, and to procure peace and quietness to the world. For these reasons their subjects apprehend not them, but apprehend only for them: whereas the violence of Princes strikes a terror into the minds of their subjects, but it makes them neither more powerful, nor to be more respected by them.  
And these fears and terrors of the subjects are weak ties and bands of their affection and love: for when as they imagine they have no more subject of fear, they begin to hate. But admit that the horror of punishments and tortures were able to settle Empires: who knows not, that as it is an incomparable shame for Physicians to fill up graves, putting their skill in practice: So it is a great reproach to Princes to maintain their greatness by tortures. They should understand all the defects of their estate, but wisdom binds him to excuse some: and if they be forced to use severity, they must do it in punishing crimes which deserve no pardon; yet with a testimony of grief and remorse. And finally, they must show their clemency to those where there is some hope of amendment, not always seeking to inflict punishments, but sometimes to be satisfied with the repentance of them that have offended.  
They must remember that it is a glorious thing to pardon him whose offence hath already made miserable, and that it is a severe punishment to be forced to crave pardon for his crime. They must imagine that cruel and violent commands are more sharp than durable; that no man can be feared of many, but he must fear much: and that the life of Princes, is as a perpetual war, and a perpetual death, if they be forced to distrust, and to guard themselues from so many millions of men which hate their power, if it be insolent and insupportable.    


CHAP. 1. Of the divers Passions of men, according to their ages and conditions.  
AS all the Countries and parts of the world, are not equally shaken with the tempests of the air, yet there is not any corner of the earth, nor portion of the Universe, in which there riseth not some little wind, or some small storms: Even so, although that all men are not subject to the furious motions of the same Passions, yet there is not any age nor condition which doth not feel some effects, & is not in some sort agitated. Only there is this difference, that the one have a feeling of one sort, & the other of another: some are more violent, and other have them more quiet and temperate. For some are Passions befitting young men; others are incident to men of perfect age; and some are those of old men: Some the rich and mighty are subject unto, and others transport the poor and miserable.  
And first touching that which concerns the Passions of young men, they are hot and fiery by reason of the blood which boyles in their veins; and what they once desire they affect with vehemency. Yet they show this heat more particularly in the motions of Love, whereunto their age which is in the flower, gives them a violent inclination, which appears in the heat of their pursuites. But they are subject to all kinds of changes, and have no constancy in their affections; so as their Passions are properly like to the hunger and thirst of sick persons, which pass away with the fit of their disease. Or to speak more properly, they resemble Meteors, or wand'ring fires which are kindled in the air, and suddenly extinct.  
They are in like manner very ready to the motions of Choler, and are easily transported with disdain, especially when as they seek to blemish their honour, or to do them any kind of outrage. They are also ambitious, and love glory passionately, so as they prefer victory before any other thing, for that it is the highest degree of excellency whereunto they aspire. But they are not covetous, neither do they love money, for that they have not yet tried the miseries of poverty: like unto him whom an Ancient reproached, that the contempt he made of gold, was a sign that he had not yet felt the sweetness thereof; for if he had tasted it, his hands would be more ready, and he would be more diligent to gather it together. Neither are they maliciously disposed, but show more plainness then cunning in their actions, for that they have not yet learned the subtleties, nor tried the malice of the world. But they are credulous, and do easily believe what is said unto them: for that they have not yet tried the frauds of men, nor have been often abused.  
Moreover, they are full of great hopes, like unto them that are surprised with wine; both in regard of the heat which abounds in them, as for that they have not yet felt the injuries of Fortune: And therefore they live in hope; for that Hope regards future things, as memory is employed about that which is past. And as for them, they apprehend, that the time they have to live, is long; and they make no account of that which is past. And for the same reason in the flower of their age, they remember not what is slipped away before their time, but hope for all that is to come, so as they are easy to be deceived: for that having this belief and hope, it is easy to make them believe and hope for that which is not. By consequence they are valiant and hardy, both for that they are choleric, and also for that they are full of good hopes: for Choler takes from them all fear, and hope makes them hardy; whereby they have a great confidence of the success of that they undertake.  
Moreover, young men are bashful, knowing nothing in this life, but what they have learned from the Laws, or from their education: wherefore when as any thing presents itself, of whose nature they are not well instructed, they remain as it were in suspense, and know not what to resolve, and therefore they are commonly subject to blushing. They are also magnanimous and generous, both for that they have a good opinion of themselves, as also for that they have a proud conceit of their courage, holding themselves fit for any great action: and in like manner, for that they have not yet tried the calamities and miseries, which overthrow the fortune and constancy of men, but are ignorant of the afflictions whereunto this life is subject.  
Finally, they desire rather to undertake those things which are honourable, then that which concerns profit. For that they govern themselves rather by their own courage, and the bounty of their nature, which hath the honesty of things for object, then by the discourse of reason, which doth commonly propound for end, that which is most profitable. Young men do also love indifferently the company of such as are of their age and condition, not making any curious choice of their friends; the which shows, that they have more curiosity than care of that which may avail them in the course of their lives.  
They are also violent, and observe no moderation in their motions and actions: so as if they love, they love furiously; and if they hate, it is extreme: and so in all other things they keep no mediocrity. The which grows from their presumption, and for that they have a conceit to know any thing; which makes them to speak boldly, and to defend their impertinencies wilfully. They commit many errors, but commonly they are the defects of youth, which proceed from the heat of blood, so as there is more insolency in their actions, than affected crimes.  
They are moreover pitiful and gentle; for that measuring others by their own innocency, they believe that all the world is good; and that they which suffer any extraordinary misery, have not deserved it: and for that reason they have compassion of them.  
Finally, young men are pleasant, witty, and love to laugh, and to hear a witty jest, which they think is a sign of a good spirit, and therefore admire him. They also love horses, dogs, hunt, combats, and other exercises, which have some kind of violence or pleasure.  
To conclude young men are commonly rich in invention, but poor in matters of judgement: they are fit for execution, but incapable for any great design. They are borne to excite troubles, but are not able to pacify them: they embrace much, but hold little: they aspire to the end, but look not to the means: and when they have committed an error, they will hardly acknowledge it and leave it; like unto those resty horses, which leap and bond▪ and will neither stand still nor go forward.  
As for those that grow to age, they have Passions in a manner quite contrary to young men: for having lived long, and been often deceived, having themselves committed many errors, and knowing also that the world is full of subtlety and villainy; they are not assured of any thing, but look upon all things with distrust: and if they deliver their opinion in any business, it is with a kind of fear: so as it seems they will make it known, that in all things there is more conjecture than certainty: wherefore their ordinary restriction in their answers and discourses, is, It may be, peradventure it is true. The which proceeds from the great Idea they have of the inconstancy of things, & the deceits of men. For the same reason they are malicious, being a mere malice to interpret, as they do, all things in the worst sense; and for the same reason they are also distrustful and suspicious: suspicious by reason of their distrust, and distrustful, in regard of the experience they have of things. Finally, they never love entirely, neither is their hatred furious, but they love commonly as if they should hate, and they hate as if they should he moved to love.  
Moreover, their courage is weak, both in respect of the coldness of their blood and spirits, as also by reason of calamities past, and the miseries which they have tried. And for this reason, unless they have some spice of folly, they do seldom attempt any hardy erterprises, nor hazard their fortunes and honours, but they are content to seek that which may protect them from necessity: whereby they are covetous and fast, fearing to diminish that which they think is necessary for them: whereunto they are drawn by experience which hath taught them, how hard a thing it is to gather great wealth, and how easy it is to lose it. They are in like manner fearful, and increase their apprehensions by imagination, and by the foresight of the future: wherewith they are always troubled; the which proceeds from the coldness of their blood. For this coldness which is common to old men, makes them inclined to fear, whereas heat incites courage and resolution.  
Moreover, they love life much, and especially upon the declining of their days; for that men desire that naturally, whereof they have great need; and when as they fear it should fly from them, than they desire it more passionately. They commonly pour forth complaints, which are signs of their weakness, and which makes them importune: And then they rather embrace that which is profitable, than what is honourable: wherein they show themselves commonly extreme, even base, the which grows from the love they bear unto themselves: For profit is the good of that private person that doth enjoy it, but honour tends to good absolutely, without consideration of the interest of any particular.  
After this they are rather impudent then bashful; for respecting not honour so much as their own commodities, they care not for the opinion of the world, but contemn it. Finally, they renounce in a manner all good hopes, and have none but bad, both for that they are distrustful and fearful; as for that experience hath taught them, that most things are bad, and that they impair daily: so as they live rather by memory then hope, for that they have not long to live, and have lived long: for hope is of future things, and memory of what is past.  
And this is the cause that old men are great talkers, for that they take a singular content to commend the times past: In our times (say they) we did this, we did that: taking a wonderful content to remember what is past. As for their choler, it is sudden and violent; but it is like a fire of straw, that is soon quenched. Their desires are mortified or weak, and cannot be quickened, or receive any vigour, unless the love of money possess them. And therefore they are temperate, and love frugality, which is a kind of sparing, for that they govern themselves rather by the discourse of reason, then by their own genius, or their proper inclination: for (as we have said) discourse aims at the end; and courage hath a respect to honesty as a companion to virtue. Their faults savour more of injustice than insolency or outrage. They are inclined to mercy, yea, more than young men, but for diverse reasons; for young men are pitiful by humanity, and old men by weakness, whose age makes them apprehend the miseries wherewith they see other men afflicted, as if it hung over their heads; which is a consideration (as we have said elsewhere) moves to mercy and pity: And for this reason they do nothing but complain, and they love not to see any one laugh, neither do they willingly frequent any that are pleasant and jovial; for that their age hath cooled the blood, and made an impression of melancholy which loves severity.  
As for vigorous and perfect men, such as are betwixt these two ages, they participate of both their humours, yet they prune of● that which proceeds both in youth and age. Wherefore they observe a mediocrity in all things, so as they are neither too audacious nor too timorous, but they hold a mean, neither trusting in all the world, nor distrusting every thing, but they examine all affairs by the rules of wisdom & truth. And in like manner they are neither, miserable nor prodigal, but measure their expenses by the laws of their power & by honesty. And in like manner they observe this mediocrity in the other motions of the Irascible and Concupiscible powers. Their valour is tempered, and their temperance is accompanied with courage, wherein they participate both with young and old: For young men are valiant, but without moderation; and old men are temperate, but full of apprehension and fear. And to say in a word; all the good qualities which are found divided both in young and old, are as it were united and tied together in a middle age, which contains itself within the bounds of his temper, and natural inclination: And as for those which have any excess or superfluity, either in youth or age; a man that is in this middle age, checks them and cuts them off, reducing them to the point of virtue and honesty.  
We must now see what the Passions of men be, in regard of their fortunes: that is to say, we must know the Passions of Noblemen, of Rich, and of the powerful of the Earth; namely of Kings, and Princes. Noblemen have this particular Passion, to desire honours vehemently: For as all men naturally wish to increase the goods they enjoy; Noblemen seeing themselves rich in glory, and full of honour, desire to augment their treasure, to the end they may not seem to plant their triumphs upon that which their Predecessors have left them. But as they have given them light by their glory, so they desire to transfer the same beams of brightness to their posterity: and commonly, Noblemen hold it a generous vanity not to continue in the same rank, with those which have been equal to their Ancestors; yea, many times they contemn them. Wherefore they desire to add some thing to the ornaments of their birth, and to have a subject to recommend themselves above others. For in truth, the trophies of Families are sometimes so ancient, and so worn with time, as it is an easy thing to surmise any thing. Wherefore generous spirits should preserve that which nature and their birth gives them; otherwise, if they degenerate, it is a famous spectacle of infamy & reproach. As in truth there are some, which degenerating from the magnanimity of their fathers, make us to see thick clouds in the midst of their shining glory, as it was said of the son of Great Scipio.  
This misery happens to Families as to fields where corn and fruits grow; for whilst the soil is good, it yields good fruits and rich harvests, but growing barren, it yields nothing that is pure and excellent. So good Families continuing in their vigour, produce worthy plants for a time: But this generous vigour decaying by little and little, they yield not such brave and valiant men as formerly they did. In this Realm alone, how many great and worthy Families (whose names are so many stars, and so many flowers which beautify our ancient Histories) are extinct and lost? Or if there remain any Relics, they rest unknown.  
Finally, when as Nobility comes to degenerate, it gives us monsters of fury: for he that is puffed up with the glory of his Ancestors, and will stray from their virtues, imagineth, that he cannot make better show of the splendour of his birth, then by the insolences and violences which accompany their actions: Whereof we have seen prodigious examples in the carriages of the descendants of Dionysius the Tyrant, and Alcibiades. And it is a misery in humane things, that as good trees grow wild and savage, either for want of pruning and manuring, or for that the soil is not favourable: So great Families lose the glory of those that were their founders. And as Philosophers affirm, that there is no worse corruption then that which grows from things sovereignly excellent, as we find in the corruption of perfumes: so it happens that Families full of magnanimity and courage, degenerate into dull and stupid spirits, as we have seen in the posterities of Simon, Berides, and Socrates, forbearing to speak of our own age.  
As for the Passions of rich men, they are known to all the world, for that every man sees that these menare proud, insolent, and outrageous. For feeling themselves supported by their wealth, they imagine that all things are in their power. For that riches, through the covetousness of men, set as it were, a price of all other things which they may buy.  
Rich men are also voluptuous, effeminate, and full of ostentation, and vanity, that makes them to glory of their treasure; they are voluptuous and effeminate by reason of the continual delights wherein they plunge themselves: they are vain, and glory of their wealth, for that their thoughts are perpetually employed in the imagination of their abundance, whereof they are rather slaves and Idolaters, then true possessors and masters. And moreover they imagine, that all the world loves what they love. Wherein they are not much deceived, for that infinite numbers of persons have need of the assistance of riches. Wherefore a Philosopher being demanded by a Princess, whether it were better to be rich or wise: he answered, that it was better to be rich; for, said he, we commonly see wise men at rich men's gates to beg their favours. Rich men also have commonly this vanity, that they hold themselves worthy of great employments, because they are rich, in regard whereof, they think it reasonable they should command others: And to speak in a word, the riches of a happy man (destitute of wisdom) discovers his inclination. But there is great difference betwixt the Passions of those that are newly raised to great fortunes, & such as have enjoyed them long: And we must not doubt, but that they that have newly gotten their wealth, are more vicious and more insolent, than such as have enjoyed it from their Ancestors; for they enter into their riches as into a new possession, in the which they are altogether ignorant. As for the crimes which either of them commit, they savour more of insolency & incontinency, then of malice; for commonly they are polluted with adulteries, and do outrage to such as resist their desires.  
It rests now to speak of Princes, Kings, and the great men of the earth, whose Passions also are well known, for that they much resemble those of rich men; yet we must confess, that they have sometimes been more moderate and more mild; for great men are commonly more jealous of their honour, and more generous than the rich: for that they are employed in greater actions, and have a more eminent glory to preserve. Wherefore they are contented to maintain their dignity, not caring for any affected gravity: for that dignity gives a greater splendour unto men. And therefore they show themselves temperate, and hold a mediocrity, for that dignity is sweet, and gravity is reverend.  
Finally, when they once break out, they commit no small mischiefs; For that commonly the effects are proportionable to their causes; and finding themselves armed and powerful, they execute their Passions violently, and do unspeakable wrongs; like unto great rivers, which breaking forth spoil the harvest, and ruin the labourer's hope. Whereunto we may add, that prosperity doth also make them more insolent; for that seeing themselues powerful in means, and fortunate in their designs, they grow proud, and live without any consideration of virtue or vice, by reason of the favours of Fortune which blind their eyes. And yet there are some good natures, who in steed of growing proud, or forgetting themselves in the height of their fortune, become more temperate, more religious, and more fearing God: for that they acknowledge their greatness as a gift and favour of his providence, to the which for this consideration they are more affectionate, and more devout than other men, considering the great benefits they have received.   
FINIS.