A DISCOURSE OF THE PRESERVATION OF THE SIGHT: of Melancholic diseases; of Rheums, and of Old age.  
Composed by M. Andrea's Laurentius, ordinary Physician to the King, and public professor of Physic in the University of Mompelier.  
Translated out of French into English, according to the last Edition, by RICHARD SURPHLET, Practitioner in Physic.  
AT LONDON Imprinted by FELIX KINGSTON, for RALPH JACSON, dwelling in Paul's Church yard at the sign of the Swan. 1599   

TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE SIR THOMAS WEST KNIGHT, LORD LA WARE, and the right virtuous Lady Anne his wife.  
IT hath been usual and accustomed (Right Noble and worthy Sir) in all ages, and amongst all sorts of people (though otherwise never so rude and barbarous) to adorn and eternize the manners, lives, conversation, gests, birth and sayings of their famous and renowned, with monuments either openly and in lively sort containing and specifying the same: or more closely and secretly insinuating as much, that so the praise and fame thereof might remain and live throughout all ages. The course was good and commendable; for so the excellent and renowned deceased had but his due: the excellent and renowned living, a glorious and beautiful spectacle, to stir them up unto courageous and undaunted perseverance in still making usury of their excellency: and the base, vile, and abject persons (the spots and blemishes, yea the puddle and mudpit) of active, pregnant, and nimble nature, might rouse themselves from the lolling bed of their continual snorting and dead sleep. I mean not to blazon and decipher particularly, and from point to point the original & antiquity of your Nobility: The uprightness, innocency, mildness, humanity, bountifulness and love, in matters concerning your own private affairs and businesses, wherewith your Honourable condition is richly set and garnished. (The vehement suspicion of undermining flattery, the discontenting of your affections leaning to the contrary, and the stirring up of adversary emulation and repining envy utterly dissuading me). Neither yet do I mean to proclaim and lay abroad your faithfulness in the actions of justice, your wisdom in the discerning of things necessary, and swaying of matters most conveniently for the weal public, or your prows and valorousnes in warlike feats and Martial affairs; howsoever the cause of God, your Prince and Country: your birth, Dignity and leisure, hath (I doubt not) put both you and many other godly and religious Noble men within this Realm in mind thereof, and stirred you up amongst other your godly cares and studies, to strive to become able and worthy, if her sacred Majesty should at any time call you or them unto the same. But leaving all these and whatsoever other praises, that might justly be given to the manifold virtues, shining both in yourself, as also in your Honourable Lady, holding out the marks of a good profession in the love of the truth, with sobriety, modesty, and a good conversation (notwithstanding the seas of sin roaring round about, and overflowing almost all estates and persons) and that so clearly in the eyes and minds of all such as do not willingly wink, and cover the bright light of inward touch, with the vail of wilful senselessness: my only endeavour and drift is to entreat your Honours to receive with favourable acceptation and good liking these first fruits of my public labours, as undertaken for the good of all: so especially dedicated and devoted unto your particular service and use, not so much in respect of any your present necessities, through any infirmities that I am privy unto, as to make way for the shutting out of such, as hereafter might creep upon you to your untimely annoyance, assuring myself that in the reading thereof you shall find a well stored treasury of rich and rare jewels, and in the practising of it, the comfort of health and contentation in satiety of days. Which the Ancient of days, with all increase of Honour, wealth, and piety grant and give unto you, and all your succeeding posterity.  
Your honours most unfeignedly affected: RICHARD SURPHLET.   

To the Reader.  
COnsidering (gentle Reader) the lamentable times and miserable days, that are come upon us in this last and weakest age of the world, partly by reason of the commonnes and multitude of infirmities, partly by reason of the strangeness and rebelliousness of diseases breaking out more tediously than heretofore: and considering herewithal how apt and prone the multitude and common people are to affect, nay (which is more) to dote upon and run after the painted crew of seeming Physicians and prattling practisers both men and women, gathering their skill, honesty and most precious secrets, from the rich mines of brazen-faced impudency and bold blindness: I could not but admonish thee, as thou tenderest thy health and wealth, to avoid such noisome vermin and deep deceivers. And on the contrary, I can but exhort and stir thee up to buy and read this and other such like treatises, that so thou mayst be the better prepared, (though not to take upon thee the cure of thine own or others their sick estate) to discern betwixt the ignorant and the learned, and the skilful in word only, and those which are skilful in deed. As also that thou mayst be the better able to manifest and make known by word or writing the state and true condition of thy disease, unto the profound and long studied in that profession, who for the keeping of a good conscience and thy welfare, have not spared their bodies or goods, or refused any good means, whereby they might become fit to furnish thee with wholesome counsel and due relief in the days of thy distress. Here shalt thou find by serious survey, great dimensions within small and narrow bounds. This volume shalt thou find stuffed full of Physic, as teaching by the lesser, what is to be conceived of the greater: and by a few, what is to be followed in many. Full of Philosophy, as not resting in the things of the body, but deeply and divinely laying open the nature of the soul. Herein is contained not only great plenty of precepts, but also many controversies of great moment and difficulty, sharply and pithily decided: and that with such variety of authority, as is not almost in any other to be found. This treatise shalt thou find full of pleasantness, as both the store of histories, and means of dispelling the mournful fantasies of melancholic moods, do give thee to conceive: full of delight as maintaining the sight, the conductor and conveyer of delights unto the mind: full of healthfulness, as teaching the way to avoid the rheum, that pregnant mother of so many maladies. And finally full of instruction and relief for the mitigating of the annoyances and inconveniences of drooping old age, as showing the manner how to square out and piteh down the firm and durable props of the continuing and long enjoying of strong and lusty years. Which if thou strive and seek accordingly to attain, then shalt thou be the better able to discharge the duties of thy calling whilst thou livest, and purchase to thyself a million of good witnesses, to rejoice and glad thy heart withal in the day of thy death and dissolution.  
Farewell.   

TO THE NOBLE LADY, MADAM, DUCHESS OF VZEZ, AND COUNTESS OF TONNERA.  
Madam, since the hour that I had the hap to become known unto you, you have done me the honour as to commit your health altogether into my hands, and to vouchsafe me as great credit, as if I had been a second Aesculapius. This affection and goodwill, which I acknowledge to proceed more of your kindness and natural inclination, then of any deserts of mine, have so prevailed with me, that neither the love of my country, nor the number of my friends, which was not small, nor the honourable place of public Lecturer, which I discharged with sufficient commendation in one of the most famous Universities of Europe, could stay or hinder me; but that passing over all difficulties, and breaking all these bonds, I have entirely and wholly devoted myself unto you, and have followed you, wheresoever it hath pleased you to command me. I have wherein I may exceedingly praise myself, and as hitherto to rest contented with my fortune, which hath been so favourable unto me, as to make all my service profitable and well liked of, I am verily persuaded Madam, that it was Gods will to use me as the means for the lengthening of your years, and making of your old age more blessed and happy. You have had sufficient trial thereof within these two years: for being very forcibly assailed with three of the most violent and extraordinary diseases that ever man hath seen, and which were strong enough to have shaken the best complexion in the world, and to have spilled the prosperous estate of a more flourishing age then yours, yet you have not felt any eclipse of your vigour and lustiness. This is of God alone, (which hath opened my understanding to find out fit remedies, and himself to give good success thereunto) to whom I am bound to render all glory. There now remaineth in you only your three ordinary diseases, which I labour to vanquish day by day, by observation of good Diet, and such gentle medicines as are no way able any thing to alter and hurt the good disposition of your natural constitution. In your right eye, you have some small beginnings of a Cataract, but the other is perfectly sound. You feel at certain times some touches of the windy melancholy, but so sleight, as that they vanish away like the smoke. The thing that is most tedious and troublesome unto you, is those petty distillations and fluxes of humours which fall down upon your eyes, teeth, arms and legs. Your spirit, which is able to conceive of any thing in the world, be it never so rare & strange, hath been very inquisitive to understand the causes, and to know from whence all these accidents should proceed, which I have oftentimes spoken largely of, and that both in vulgar and common speeches, as also in the artificial and plain terms of Physic. In the end my reasons became so well liked of by you, that (when you had withdrawn yourself to the Abbey of Marmonster, to sport yourself with the beauty of the place and goodness of the air) you commanded me to set down the same in writing, and to cause them to come to light, under the shield of your authority. I cannot with honesty deny it unto you, howsoever yet it were meet, that so weighty a matter according to the desert, should be garnished with infinite variety of authorities and proofs from the learned, which my memory could not afford, through my want of books. I have therefore fitted up and made ready three discourses for you, touching your three diseases: the first is, Of the excellency of the sight, and the means to preserve it: the second is, Of windy melancholy, and other melancholic diseases: the third is, Of Rheums, and the means for to heal them. And unto these in the end I have joined a little treatise of Old age, which may be for your use against the time to come. For there is no shadow of reason why I should as yet call you old, seeing you are not encumbered with any of the infirmities of old age. For is not this one of the miracles of our age, to hear your communication so wise and grave, to see your understanding and judgement so sound and uncorrupt, your memory so fresh and plentiful, and your senses so absolute, as that on your sound eye you use to read a far off the smallest letter that any man can bring unto you, without spectacles? Your hearing also continueth very easy and quick, and your taste also as exquisite and dainty as ever it was: your heart so courageous and lusty, as that notwithstanding all the assaults that ever your windy melancholy could give unto it, yet it hath not been able at any time so to shake it, as that it could make it alter his course: your liver so liberal, as that it ministereth store of blood more than is needful: in so much as that we are constrained to cause you to tame it once a year. I will say nothing of the goodness of your stomach, you yourself know it well enough; having an appetite at every hour, and digesting whatsoever you bestow upon it. Seeing then the faculties of the soul do every one of them so well execute and perform their functions and offices, can a man call the instrument thereof overworn or old? I am persuaded (Madam) that no man can call you old in any respect, if it were not that you are passed fifty, and that custom in accounts hath designed the first degree of old age to this number. You have great occasions to praise God: for this long and happy life is a certain testimony of his love, because the most excellent reward which he promiseth unto them whom he loveth in this world, is, that they shall live long upon the earth. Cheer up yourself then Madam, you are but yet on the first step of your old age, which is overgrown with flourishing green, and affording an undaunted courage; you have other two behind and remaining. God who hath given this strength unto your body, and which hath honoured you with so gracious and good a soul, vouchsafe to make them as happy, as your Ladyship can wish or desire them.  
Your most humble and obedient servant: ANDREAS LAURENTIUS. B   

The Author to the Reader.  
I Doubt not but that these treatises are in danger to be evil spoken of, and bitterly inveighed against by an infinite number of persons, which are borne for nothing else but to carp and find fault, before they be well known. Some Physicians will find themselves grieved, for that I have made vulgar the secrets of our Art, and they will be able to allege that the Egyptians (which were the first inventors of Physic) to the end they might not make so divine and sacred a gift of God profane and common, did write their medicines in enigmatical and unknown letters: but I will answer them with Aristotle, that a good thing by how much it is the more common, by so much it is the better, and that the Physicians of Greece came once every year into the beautiful Temple of Aesculapius, which was erected in Epidaure, to write in the sight of all the people, whatsoever rare and strange thing they had observed in their patients. The natural Philosophers, will be offended for that I now and then grapple with that great interpreter of nature, Aristotle: but they shall have no other reply of me, than that of Aristotle himself. Plato (saith he) is my friend, & Socrates also but yet the truth is more friendly unto me. I shall have more to do to satisfy them, which busy themselves with nothing else but fair speeches and proper terms: for without doubt they shall find an infinite number of rude words, which may offend their too dainty and delicate ears: but if they will not consider how that I make it not my profession to write in French, yet I would have them to hold me excused, because I am of opinion, as all other wise men are, that such curious sifting and hunting of words is unworthy of a Philosopher, and that therefore I am contented (avoiding barbarism, whereof I know they shall never be able altogether to condemn me) so to speak, as that I may cause to be understood the thing whereof I entreat. And as concerning all those envious and malicious persons which will not cease to bark at me though they know not how to bite me, I do one 〈◊〉 wish that they themselves would enter the lists and do something themselves, that so I might see if they were as good in correcting as in carping. I am certainly persuaded that this my small work will be accepted of all them Honourable: and it is to them that I frame and fashion myself, then boldly may I proceed under the shadow and covert of their wings.   

DECASTICON IN ANGLICAM versionem scripti Laurentiani.  
QVae de Oculis nuper Medicorum scripsit Ocellus  
De Senio, & Succis, Senibus, cunctaeque molestis  
Aetati, mira doctus Lauraentius arte;  
Surphlettus (tanto ne Gallia solapotiri  
The sauropossit) donavit vest Britanna.  
Gallia ne invideas, nec enim tibi nascitur uni  
Laurus tam florens; nostri hanc coluêre Britanni.  
Tit turpes oculi maculas Surphlette suetus  
Artisici removere manu; (non ultima laus haec)  
Nunc grato hoc multo melius noscêre labore.  F. Hering Med. Candidatus.  

Idem de eadem Idiomate Anglico.  
FAmous Fernelius, worthy heir Laurentius,  
To whom that Galen of our age did dying leave  
His divine Physic Muse 'mongst other learned works,  
This treatise fraught with skill, did write in vulgar tongue  
Of th'Eyes, Melancholy, Old-age, and troublous Rheum,  
Which Surphlet famous for his art-taught cunning hand,  
In cleared th'Eyes of spots, and noisome Cataracts,  
(Lest France the happy nurse and mother of great wits,  
Should sole enjoy this pearl) hath clad with English weed  
A work of worth for counsellors and men of great estate,  
For Ladies, Students, such as 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 love.  
Hence base Quacksalvers, boasting Thrasoes loathsome brood,  
Impostors, Parachymists, Latrons, Homicids,  
Who blindly and boldly rush into that sacred Art,  
Which none but Phoebus' sons and Darlings of minerve  
Can ever rightly exercise: Hence, hence apace,  
Pollute not with your filthy fists and purblind eyes  
These golden Theorems, these skilful Medicines:  
For you poor sots (I wisse) the pains were never meant.   

IN D. ANDREAE LAURENTII D. MED. TRActat. De conseruando visu: De Melancholia: Catarrhis: & Senio; in linguam Calydoniam, per D. Rich. Surphlettum traduct. Carmen 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉.  
HVmanum mala quanta premunt, quot monstra fatigant  
Sedibiss infernis eiaculata, genus?  
Vertigo, Febris, Tussis, cum pest Catarrhus,  
Tabes, Syntexis, Stupor & Asthma, Bilis.  
Haec fera tartareis not vexant monstra flagellis,  
Nostraque funereo carcere corda premunt.  
Haec multos tetricas mittunt Acherontis ad undas,  
Quos fovet in cunis torua Megaerasuis.  
Ergo Deus nobis languentibus obtulit artem,  
Morborum tolli qua genus omne potest.  
Artibus, huic nomen Medicina, celebrior ullis,  
Sola levat morhos, corpora sana facit.  
Hac sine nullasalus, properantis munera vitae  
Prorogat, & longos dat Medicinna dies.  
Tu Surphlette pijs studijs addict, peritus  
Arte Machaoniâ, quam, Deusipse dedit.  
Perge salutiferà morbos depellere dextrâ,  
Regnaque Plutonis fac populosa minus.  
Sic te fama feret candentibus aurea pennis,  
Sicque tui celebris fama laboris erit,  
Inter honoratos Medicos numeraberis olim,  
Te dicent Coo, Phylliridaeque parem.  
GABRIEL. POWEL.   

Ineruditissmum D. Andr. Laurentij Tractatum Anglicè versum, 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉.  
DAs Surphlette tuis longaevae munera vitae,  
Quid melius nobis vivere vita dabit?  
Obstas ne stygij per lurida transtra Charontis  
Ferali Parcâ corpora raptamigrent.  
Cumque dolent homine, illis das rite valer●  
Attollens morbos. Pharmaca sana doce●  
Extremis obstare malis, vitaeque labantis  
Arte gravescentes multiplicare dies.  
Omnia quid referam? neque enim bona novimus illa:  
Deficit ars artes sat celebrate tuas.  
Hac mortale genus, licet, immortale videtur:  
Si quid in hac vita, vincere fata valet.  
EPHRAIM PAGIT.   

In commendation of M. Andrea's Laurentius, Doctor of Physic, his Treatise of Sight, Melancholy, Rheums, and Old-age: Englished by M. Rich. Surphlet.  

IF thou desire preservatives for Sight;  
If Melancholic sickness thee onnoy;  
If noisome Rheums thou wouldst avoid outright;  
If thy old age thou wouldst in health enjoy:  
Sith fading Sight, Rheums, Melancholy, Age  
Are vital spirits harm, and lives engage.   

Lo here a sovereign salve for sickly Eyes,  
A good restraint for Melancholies rage,  
A drier up of Rheums that do arise,  
And a conserver of declining Age,  
For Darkness, Dumps, Catarrhs and forces failed,  
Light, Mirth, Mercury fixed, and Strength unquaild.   

Right worthy then thy praise O Surphlet flies  
Through whirling air, as famous for thy art,  
In curing of blind catarrhacted eyes,  
And for this work performed on thy part;  
So that unto thy labour and practise,  
A twofold praise most justly doth arise.   
john Nut-hall Gent.   

Roger Fox Gent. to the Reader.  
INgenious Surphlet finding in this work  
Such store of treasure in abstruse to lurk,  
Thought he should do his Countrymen great wrong,  
Had he it shrouded left in foreign tongue.  
Wherefore in love unto his native soil,  
He took upon him this laborious toil.  
Yet toil no toil, he doth the same account,  
So kind acceptance to his hope amount.  
Thank's all he craves, than cun him thank 'tis small,  
If he have thanks he thinks it all in all:  
The profit yours, 'twas his industrious task  
To pluck you off that strange disguising mask.  
FINIS.   

A TABLE OF THE CHAPTERS CONtained in this Discourse.  

The first Discourse, wherein is handled the excellency of the sight, and the means to preserve it.  
That the brain is the principal seat of the soul, and that in consideration hereof all the instruments of the senses are placed round about it, Chap. 1.  
How that the outward senses being the trusty messengers of the mind, are only fi●e, and all of them placed without the brain. Chap. 2  
That the sight is the most excellent of all the senses. Chap. 3  
Of the excellency of the eye the proper instrument of sight. Chap. 4  
Of the composition of the eye in general. Chap. 5  
A particular description of all the parts of the eye, and first of the six muscles thereof. Chap. 6  
Of the six coats of the eye. Chap. 7  
Of the three humours of the eye, of the beauty and excellency of the crystalline. Chap. 8  
Of the sinews, veins, arteries, and other parts of the eye. Chap. 9  
How we see, as whether it be by receiving in or sending forth something. Chap. 10  
How many ways the sight may be hurt. Chap. 11  
A brief rehearsal of all the diseases of the eye. Chap. 12  
A general and most exquisite order of Diet for the preservation of the sight, in which is showed very particularly all that may hurt or do good unto the eyes. Chap. 13  
Choice remedies for the preservation of the sight, and the order to be observed in applying of them. Chap. 14   

The second Discourse, wherein is entreated of Melancholy diseases, and of the means to cure them.  
That man is a divine and politic creature, having three special principal powers: Imagination, Reason, and Memory. Chap. 1.  
That this creature full of excellency is now and then so abased and altered, by an infinite number of diseases, as that he becometh like a beast. Chap. 2  
Who those should be that are called melancholic, and how we ought to put difference betwixt melancholic men that are sick, and those that are sound. Chap. 3  
The definition of melancholy, and all his differences. Chap. 4  
Of melancholy which is seated in the brain, and of all the accidents that follow it, and whence ariseth fear, sadness, watchings, terrible dreams, and other accidents. Chap. 5  
Whereof it cometh that melancholic persons have particular objects quite differing, whereupon they dote. Chap. 6  
Histories of certain melancholic persons, which have had strange imaginations. Chap. 7  
An order of diet for melancholic men, that have their brain sick. Chap. 8  
How to cure such melancholic men, as have the disease settled in their brain. Chap. 9  
Of another sort of melancholy, which riseth of outrageous love. Chap. 10  
Chap. 11 The means to cure those which are foolish and melancholy by reason of love.  
Chap. 12 Of the third sort of melancholy called windy melancholy, and the differences thereof.  
Chap. 13 Of the signs of windy melancholy, and from whence the accidents which follow it, arise.  
Chap. 14 Histories worthy the observation, of two parties troubled with the windy melancholy.  
Chap. 15 Of the curing of the windy melancholy.   

The third Discourse, wherein is entreated of the generation of Rheums, and how they are to be cured.  
Chap. 1. That the brain is the seat of cold and moisture, and by consequent the wellspring of Rheums.  
Chap. 2 What this word rheum doth signify, what disease it is, and wherein his nature consisteth.  
Chap. 3 The differences of Rheum.  
Chap. 4 The causes of Rheum.  
Chap. 5 A general order of diet to be observed in Rheums.  
Chap. 6 A general method to cure Rheums.  
Chap. 7 The means to preserve the teeth.   

The fourth Discourse, wherein is entreated of Old-age, and how we must secure it.  
Chap. 1. That man cannot continue in one state, and that of necessity he must wax old.  
Chap. 2 A very notable description of old age.  
Chap. 3 An order of Diet to preserve the life long.  
Chap. 4 What air is to be chosen for the lengthening of life, and which is most fit for old folk.  
Chap. 5 General rules to be observed in eating and drinking, thereby to lengthen the life.  
Chap. 6 How we must in particular nourish old folks, and with what victuals.  
Chap. 7 What drink is most fit for old folk.  
Chap. 8 Of the exercises of old folk.  
Chap. 9 What rules are to be kept in sleeping.  
Chap. 10 How we must cheer up and make merry old men, putting them out of all violent passions of the mind.  
Chap. 11 What medicines are fittest for old folk, and by what skilful means we may help to amend the infirmities of old age.    

THE FIRST DISCOURSE, WHEREIN IS ENTREATED OF THE excellency of the sight, and the means to preserve it.  
That the brain is the true seat of the Soul, and that for this occasion all the instruments of the senses are lodged round about it.  

CHAP. 1.  
THe Soul of man (that most noble and perfect form, that is under the face of heaven, bearing for a sign and token of his excellency, the lively and true image of the Creator) although it be in all points like unto itself, not consisting of matter, or subject to any division, and by consequent whole in all the body, and wholly in every part of the same: yet the case so standeth, that in respect of the diversity of his actions, of the difference of his instruments wherewith it serveth itself, and of the variety of objects set before it: that it may seem and appear to the common people (after a certain manner) to consist of divers parts. The Philosophers themselves seeing the noblest powers thereof to shine more in one place then in another, have gone about to lodge, and (as it were) to bond the limits thereof within the compass of one only member: in like manner as the Divines (carried away by the wonderful things which more clearly manifest themselves in the heavens, then in any other part of the world) do say that the heavens are the throne of God, although his essence be infinite, incomprehensible, and stretching itself through every thing that is). 
divers opinions of the seat of the soul.  For Herophilus believed that the Soul was lodged only in the lowed part of the brain: and Zenocrates (on the contrary) in the uppermost part thereof: Erasistratus, in the two membranes covering the brain, called of the Arabians, Mothers: Strato, betwixt the brows: Empedocles, suborned by the Epicures and Egyptians, in the breast: Moschion, in the whole body: Diogenes, in the arteries: Heraclitus, only in the circumference of the body: Herodotus, in the ears: Blemor an Arabian, and Syreneus a Physician of cypress, in the eyes, because that men in them as in a glass, do behold all the passions of the soul: but all these in my judgement are nothing else but fantasies and mere fooleries. 
Aristotle his opinion.  There is a great deal more likelihood in the opinion of Aristotle, that great expounder of nature, who thought that the soul had his proper seat in the heart, because that natural heat, the principal instrument of the soul, is found in the heart, and this (saith he) liveth first and dieth last, the only storehouse of spirit, the original of veins, arteries and sinews, the principal author of respiration, the fountain and wellspring of all heat, containing within the ventricles thereof a subtle and refined blood, which serveth as a burning coal to kindle and set on fire all the other inferior and smaller sorts of heat, and to be brief, the only Sun of this little world. And even in like sort, 
The heavens and the heart finely compared together.  as the heavens are the principals, whereon depend and rest all other elemental generations and alterations: so the heart is the first and principal original of all the actions and motions of the body. The heavens bring forth their, wonderful effects, by their motions, heat and influence: the heart by his continual moving (which ought no less to ravish us, than the flowing and ebbing of Euripus) and influence of his spirits, doth put life into all the other parts, endoweth them with this beautiful and vermillionlike colour, and maintaineth their natural heat. The moving and light which are in the superior bodies, are the instruments of the intelligences and of the heavens: of the intelligences as being the first cause of moving in others, being themselves immovable: of the heavens, as first moving the other, and being themselves moved. The moving of the heart and vital spirit, which distributeth itself like unto light, throughout, and that as it were in the twinkling of an eye, are the instruments of the mind and heart: of the mind, which is a chief and principal mover, and yet not moved: of the heart, as of a chief and principal mover which is moved of the mind. It is therefore the heart, according to the doctrine of the peripatetics, which is the true mansion of the soul, the only prince and governor, in this so excellent and admirable disposing of all things in the government of the body. Chrysippus and all the stoics have followed the same opinion, and do believe that all that region which containeth the parts which we call vital, is named of the Grecians and Latins Thorax, because it keepeth within it, as it were under lock, this heavenly understanding (so called of Anaxagoras): this burning heat, (so called of Zeno) replenished with a million of sciences: this admirable fire, which Prometheus stole out of heaven to put soul and life into mankind: this altering spirit, whereof Theocritus made so great account. Behold how these Philosophers have diversly spoken of the seat of the soul. It is not my mind to bestow any time in the particular examination of all these opinions, either is it mine intent in this place to enter into any dispute, intending to content myself with the simple delivery of the truth. 
That the brain is the principal seat of the soul.  For I assure myself that it shall be strong enough to overthrow all these false foundations. I say then that the principal seat of the soul is in the brain, because the goodliest powers thereof do lodge and lie there, and the most worthy actions of the same do there most plainly appear. All the instruments of motion, sense, imagination, discourse and memory are found within the brain, or immediately depending thereupon. Anatomy manifesteth unto our eyes, 
The reasons to prove the same. The first.  how that there issue out from the lower part of the brain seven great pair of sinews, which serve at a trice to convey the animal spirit unto the instrument of the senses, and do not any of them pass out of the head except the sixth pair, which stretch out themselves to the mouth of the stomach. We see also that from the hindermost part of the brain (where the great and little brain do meet together) doth proceed the admirable tail, the beautiful and white spinal marrow, which the Wiseman in his book of the Preacher calleth the silver thread, how it is carefully preserved within a sacred channel, as Lactantius calleth it. From the same, men see that there rise a million of little sinews, which convey the powers of moving and feeling, unto all such members as are capable of the same. Men do also perceive the outward senses placed round about the brain, 
The second.  which are as the light horsemen and messengers of the understanding, the principal part of the soul. Philo saith, that when men come within the view of a prince's guard, they think himself not to be far off: we see all the guard and servants of reason, as the eyes, the ears, the nose, the tongue, to be situated in the head: whereupon by consequent we ought to judge that this princess is not far off. Experience also giveth us to understand, that if the brain have his temperature altered: 
The third.  as for example, if it be too hot, as it falleth out in such as are frantic: or over cold, as it falleth out in melancholic men; it corrupteth presently the imaginative faculty, troubleth the judgement, weakeneth the memory: which is not incident in the diseases of the heart, as namely, either in a hectic fever, or when a man is poisoned. The soul (saith that divine Philosopher Plato) doth not please and content itself with that brain which is too soft, 
The fourth.  too close and compact, or too hard: it requireth a good temperature. If the proportion of the head be but a little out of square, so that it be either too great or too little, or too coppeld, as that which men read of Thersites in Homer: or altogether round and not flat on the sides, as naturally it ought to be: men may perceive all the actions of the soul to be depraved, and thereupon do call such heads, foolish, without judgement, without wisdom: all which ought to make us as well to believe that the brain is as much the organ and instrument of all these actions: as the eye is the instrument of sight.  
Furthermore, this kind of round shape which is peculiar unto mankind, 
The fift.  this head thus lifted up to heaven, this great quantity of brain (which is almost incredible) doth show very well that man hath something in his head, more than other living creatures. The wise Sages of Egypt have very well acknowledged the same: for they did not swear by any other thing but by their head, they ratified all their covenants by the head, and forbade the eating of the brains of living creatures: for the honour and reverence sake which they bore to this part. I think also that the falling sickness was not for any other reason called sacred of the ancients, but because it did assail the sovereign and sacred part of the body. Let us then acknowledge the brain to be the principal seat of the soul, the original of moving and feeling, and of all the other most noble functions of the same. I know well that some curious spirits will ask me, how it can be the author of so many goodly actions, seeing it is cold, and that the soul can do nothing without heat. But I answer, 
The cause why the brain feeleth not.  that the brain hath not any particular feeling, for that it being the seat of common sense, must judge of all such objects, as about which sense is occupied. But a good judge ought to be free from all passions, and every organ (saith Aristotle) must be without quality, according whereunto agreeth that, that the crystalline humour hath no colour, the care hath no particular sound, nor the tongue any taste. But and if it come to pass, that any organical part decline from his nature, as if the crystalline become yellow, all whatsoever presenteth itself to the sight of that eye, will seem to be of the same colour. As then the brain neither seethe nor heareth, nor smelleth nor tasteth any thing, and yet notwithstanding judgeth very rightly of colours, sounds, smells and tastes: so neither was it any reason, that it should have any particular sense of feeling, which should cause it to feel the excess of those qualities, which are termed the objects of feeling and handling; it is sufficient for it to have the knowledge and discerning thereof. As touching the other point, I affirm that the brain is in very deed hot, and that it cannot be called cold, but as it is compared with the heart. It behoved it of necessity to be of this temperature, that so it might temper the spirits which were of a fiery nature, 
The causes why the brain is of such temperature.  thereby the better to continue the kinds of living creatures, and to preserve them long alive. For and if the brain were as hot as the heart, there would day by day arise trouble and sedition amidst the noblest powers of the soul: all the senses would be straying and wandering, all the motions would be out of square, all our discourses mixed with rash headiness, and our memories very float and fugitive, even as betideth unto frantic ones. Let nothing then hinder us from acknowledging the brain to be the most noble part of the whole body. This is that magnificent and stately turret of the soul, this is that goodly royal palace, the consecrated house of Pallas, this is the impregnable sort, environed with bones, as with strong walls, wherein is lodged the sovereign power of the soul, (I mean reason) which comprehendeth and compasseth as with embracing arms, the whole universal world in a moment, without touching of the same, which flieth through the air, soundeth the depths of the sea, and surmounteth at the same instant, the pavements of the heavens, and which walking upon their stages, measuring their distances, and communicating with the Angels, pierceth in even unto the throne of God, and at such time as the body is asleep, suffereth itself by a holy flight, or delectable and sweet ravishment, to be carried even to the beholding of God, according to whose image it was first framed. To be short, it is all in all (as saith Aristotle) for that by the power it hath, it possesseth all, as being the place wherein (I say) this great princess would rest herself as within her castle, from thence to command the two inferior regiments, to hold in subjection the two lower forces, (I mean the Irascible and concupiscible) which would every day be ready to fall away and revolt. And yet I dare be bold to add further, and (in stead of having named it among the chief and principal) to say that there is not any other part of the body besides the brain, which can truly be called noble and sovereign, and that because all the other parts are made for the brain, and pay tribute thereunto as to their king. Behold here the strength of my argument, 
Most clear and evident proof of the excellency of the brain.  which in my judgement is as clear as the Sun in his brightest shine. Mankind differeth not from beasts in any thing but reason: and the seat of reason is in the brain: It is requisite the more commendably to reason and discourse, that the imaginative part of the mind should set before the understanding part of the same the objects whereabout they be occupied altogether simple without mixture, without matter, and freed from all corporal qualities. The Imaginative part can not conceive them of itself, if the outward senses (which are his trusty spies and faithful reportsmen) make not certificate of the same. Hence then rise the necessity of framing the instruments of the senses, the eyes, the ears, the nose, tongue and membranes as well inward as outward. The senses the better to take acknowledgement of their objects, have need of a local motion. For man, if he should not stir from one place, but abide immovable like an image, should not be able to convey any store of variety unto the imagination. It is necessary then for the benefit and perfecting of the senses, to have certain instruments of motion: these instruments are two, the sinews and the muscles: the sinews by reason of their continued conjunction and adherence unto their original, (being like unto that of the Sun beams with the Sun) do convey from the brain that moving power, seated in a most subtle body, namely, the animal spirit: the muscles after the manner of good subjects obey unto their commandment, and incontinently move the member either by stretching it forth or bowing it in, as the appetite or imagination shall wish and desire. The brain then (as is manifest) commandeth: the sinews carry the embassage, and the muscles obeying thereunto, express the intent of the mind. And even in like sort as the skilful horserider manageth the horse with the bridle, causing him to turn on the right hand or on the left, as best pleaseth him: even so the brain by the sinews boweth or stretcheth the muscles. These two instruments of voluntary motion; should not know either how to be, or undergo these their offices, if they were not fixed unto some  and immovable body. Therefore it was behoveful to raise up pillars, such as are the bones and cartilages, from whence the muscles do rise, and into which they do insert themselves again: and for that the bones could not be joined or fastened together without ligaments, it must needs follow that they should have their membranous coats to cover them withal. And all these parts for their preservation, stood in need of natural heat and nourishment: this heat and nourishment being derived from elsewhere, must needs have their passages prepared by certain pipes, and those are the veins and arteries: the arteries draw their spirits from the heart, the fountain of the same: the veins receive their blood from the common storehouse of the same which is the liver. And thus returning by the same steps, by which we came hither, we shall well perceive, 
The conclusion.  that the heart and liver were not made for any other thing, but to nourish the heat of all the parts: the bones and cartilages, for rests and props unto the muscles and sinews, the instruments of voluntary motion: the muscles and nerves for the perfecting of the senses: the senses, to set before the imaginative power of the mind their outward objects: the imagination to carry along the forms of things void of substance, to be more deeply weighed of reason, which thereupon commendeth them to the custody of memory her treasuresse. Thus every thing yielding obedience unto reason, and the brain being the principal seat of reason, we must needs affirm, that all the parts of the body were made for the brain, and must therefore acknowledge it as their chief and Sovereign.  
I will yet add one other plain and evident argument (which in my judgement is not common) to testify the excellence of this part: which is, that it giveth shape and perfection unto all the rest. For it is most certain, that of the shape and quantity of the brain, dependeth the grossness, greatness, smallness: and in a word, every manner of proportion happening to the head, forasmuch as every containing thing doth conform itself continually unto the contained, as the thing for which it was created and made. jointly after the head, followeth the back bone, which is framed of four and twenty vertebres, besides the bone called Sacrum, and maketh that which men call the trunk of the body. If that hole in the head through which the marrow of the back falleth be great, then must also the vertebres be large. Upon this back bone do all the rest of the bones stay and rest themselves, as the upper timbers do upon the keel of a ship. As by name upon high the shoulder bones, (whereunto are fastened the arms aswell on the one side, as on the other) and the twelve ribs: and below the bones of the small guts and hips, into whose hollow cavities the heads of the bones of the thighs are inserted: so that if all their proportions be duly observed, it will appear that the greatness and grossness thereof is answerable to that of the head, and by consequence to that of the brain, as the chief and principal. Unto the bones are fastened the muscles, the ligaments, and the most of the other parts of the body do rest themselves thereupon, and within their circuit and compass are shut and made sure the most noble parts and the bowels. In few words: the bones impart unto the whole body the shape which themselves have received from the brain. This is the same which divine Hypocrates hath very well observed in the second book of his Epidemiques, saying, that of the greatness and grossness of the head, a Physician might judge of the greatness of all the other bones and parts also, as veins, arteries, and sinews. Let us therefore conclude with the truth, that the brain having such advantage against the other parts, aught to be esteemed the chief and principal seat of the soul.   

CHAP. II. How the outward senses, the proper messengers of the soul, are only five, and all placed without the brain.  
SEeing it is most evident that the soul is shut up within the body, as it were in a dark dungeon, and that it cannot discourse, neither yet comprehend anything without the help of the senses, which are as the obedient servants and faithful messengers of the same: it was needful to place the instruments of the senses very near unto the seat of reason, and round about her royal palace. Now the senses which we call external are only five; 
Why there are but five senses.  the fight, the hearing, the smelling, the taste and handling, of which altogether dependeth our knowledge, and nothing (as saith the Philosopher) can enter into the understanding part of our mind, except it pass through one of these five doors. Some men striving to show reason for this number, 
The first reason.  say that there are but five senses, because that whatsoever is in the whole world, is compounded and made of only five simple bodies, as the four elements and the firmament, which they call the fift simple nature, being much of the nature of the air, free from all impurities, and abounding with shining lights. The sight (say the Platonists) which hath for his instrument these two twinne-borne stars, all full of bright strains and heavenly fire, which giveth light and burneth not, representeth the sky, and hath the light for his object. The hearing, which is occupied about nothing but sounds, hath for his object the beaten air, and his principal instrument (if we believe Aristotle) is a certain air shut up within a little labyrinth. The smelling participateth the nature of fire: for smells have their being only in a dry quality caused through heat, and we receive it for a principle, that all sweet smelling things are hot. The taste hath moisture for his object. And handling the earth for his.  

The second.  Othersome say that there be but five senses, because that there are but five proper sorts of objects, and that all the accidents which are to be found in any natural body, may be referred, either to colours, or sounds, or smells, or tastes, or to those qualities whereabout touching is occupied, whether they be those which are principal, or those that spring of them.  

The third,  Some there be which gather the number of the senses to be such, from the consideration of their uses, which are their final ends. The senses are made for the benefit of man: man is compounded of two parts, the body and the soul: the sight and hearing serve more for the use of the soul then of the body: the taste and touching more for the body then the soul: the smelling for both the twain indifferently, refreshing and purging the spirits, which are the principal instruments of the soul. But of the five senses I say that there are two altogether necessary and required, to cause the being and life simply: and that the three other serve only for a happy being and life. Those without which one can not be, are taste and touching. Touching (if we will give credit to natural Philosophers) is as the foundation of livelihood (I will use this word, because it expresseth the thing very excellently). The taste serveth for the preservation of the life. The sight, hearing and smelling serve but for to live well and pleasantly. For the creature may be and continue without them. The two first (for that they were altogether necessary) have their mean inward, and so joined to the member, as that it is (as a man would say) inseparable. For in tasting and touching, the Physicians do make the mean and the member all one. The other three have their mean outward, and separated from the instrument, as the sight hath the air, the water, and every such body as is through clear, for his mean. Aristotle in the beginning of his third book of the soul, hath played the Philosopher in more serious sort then any of all these, but yet so darkly, as that almost all his interpreters have found themselves much busied to find out his meaning, in such manner, as that he may seem to have gone about to hide the secrets of nature and mysteries of his Philosophy, not with the vail of feigned fables, as do the Poets; neither yet with any superstitious conceit of numbers, as Pythagoras his sect were wont to do; but by an obscure brevity: resembling the cuttle fish, which to the end that she may not fall into the hand of the fisher, casteth up a blackish water and so hideth herself. 
The fourth.  The senses (saith Aristotle) are but five, because the means by which they work, cannot be altered any more than five ways. 
Aristotle his proof for the number of the senses.  The means by which we have the use of our senses, are only two, the one is outward, the other is inward: the outward is the air or the water: the inward is the flesh or the membranes. The air and water do receive the objects that are outward, either as they are transparent, and then they serve the sight; or as they are movable and thin bodies, and then they serve the hearing; or as moist ones do receive and embrace that which is dry, and then they be the subjects of smelling. The flesh or membranes may be considered of two manner of ways; either according to the temperature of the four elemental qualities, and then they be the subjects of feeling; or else according to the mixture of the qualities dry and moist, and then they are the subjects of relishes for the taste. But howsoever the case standeth for the reason of this number, we see there are but five external senses, which are all placed without the brain. These are the proper posts and messengers of the soul; these are the windows by which we see clearly round about us. These are the watch or door keepers which make us way into their most privy closet: if they perform their faithful service unto reason, then do they set before her a million of delightsome objects, whereof she frameth marvelous discourses. But (alas and woe is me) how oft do they betray her? Oh how many dangers do they enwrap her in, and how subject are they unto corruption?  

The senses become the cutthroats of reason.  It is not without cause that this thrice renowned Mercury doth call the senses tyrants, and the cutthroats of reason: for oftentimes do they make captive the same unto the two inferior powers; they make her of a mistress a servant; and of a free woman, a drudge and thrall to all slavery. She may well command, but she shall be obeyed all one, as laws and Magistrates are in an estate troubled with civil dissensions. Yea tell me, how many souls have lost their liberty through the sight of the eyes? 
How that the senses steal away and rob reason of her liberty.  Do not men say that that little wanton, that blind archer doth enter into our hearts by this door, and that love is shaped by the glittering glimces which issue out of the eyes, or rather by certain subtle and thin spirits, which pass from the heart to the eye through a strait and narrow way very secretly, and having deceived this porter, do place love within, which by little and little doth make itself Lord of the house, and casteth reason out of the doors? How oft is reason bewitched by the ear? If thou give thine ear to hearken unto these crafty tongues and cogging speeches, unto these cunning discourses full of honey, and a thousand other baits, doubt not, but that thy reason will be surprised: for the scout watch being fallen asleep, the enemy stealeth upon them softly, and becometh master of the fort. The wise Ulysses, did not he stop the ears of his companions, fearing lest they should be bewitched and besotted with the melodious tunes and sweet songs of the Sirens? The licorishnes of the taste, surfeiting and drunkenness, have they not spoiled many great personages? And the sense of feeling, (which nature hath given to living creatures, for the preservation of their kind) being the grossest and most earthly of all the rest, and so by consequent the most delicate of all the rest, doth it not oftentimes cause us to become beasts? Reason then is never overtaken, but through the false and treacherous dealing of these door keepers: no man can at any time come within her palace, but by the privity of these watchmen, for that (as I have said in the beginning of this chapter) the soul being fast shut up within the body, cannot do any thing but by the aid and assistance of the senses.   

CHAP. III. That the sight is the noblest of all the rest of the senses.  
AMongst all the senses, that of the sight, in the common judgement of all the Philosophers, hath been accounted the most noble, perfect and admirable. 
Four things proving the excellency of the sight.  The excellency thereof is to be perceived in an infinite sort of things: but most principally in four: as first, in respect of the variety of the objects which it representeth unto the soul: secondly, in respect of the means of his operation, which is (as it were) altogether spiritual: thirdly, in respect of his particular object, which is the light, which is the most noble and perfect quality that ever God created: and lastly, in respect of the certainty of his action. First therefore it is out of all doubt, 
The first.  that the sight causeth us to know greater variety and more differences of things, than any of the rest of the senses. For all natural bodies are visible and may be seen, but all of them cannot be felt, neither do they all afford smells, tastes or sounds: the heaven, the world's ornament, and most noble substance amongst all the rest, will not suffer us to touch the same; neither can we hear the sweet harmony which proceedeth of the concord's and agreements of so many diverse motions. There is nothing but the sight which acquainteth us therewithal: soft bodies make no sound; neither is there any taste in the earth or fire, and yet every one of these may be seen. The sight, besides his own proper object, which is colour, hath an infinite sort of others, as greatness, number, proportion, motion, rest, situation and distances. And this is the cause why the Philosopher in his Metaphysics calleth it the sense of invention, as for that by the means thereof, all the goodliest Sciences and Arts have been invented and found out. By the means of this noble sense, it came first to pass that man should begin to play the Philosopher: for Philosophy was not begot, but by admiring of things; and admiration sprung not from elsewhere, then from the sight of pleasant and beautiful things. Whereupon the mind raising itself on high toward heaven, and ravished with the consideration of so many marvelous things, was desirous to know the cause of them, and thereupon began to play the Philosopher. And yet I will say further, that the sight is the sense of our blessedness. For the chief felicity of man consisteth in the knowledge of God. But there is none of the other senses that giveth us better directions for the same, than the sight. The invisible things of God (saith the Apostle) are manifested and made known unto us by the visible. This first and principal cause, which is infinite and incomprehensible, cannot be known but by his effects. Moses never knew how to see God, otherwise then upon the back and hinder parts; for from his countenance proceeded such a shining brightness, as that it did altogether das●e his sight.  

A thing worthy to be considered of Atheists.  Come hither then thou Atheist whosoever thou art; set on work this noble sense thoroughly to view, this excellent and perfect workmanship of God, this huge mass which containeth all things. Lift up thy sight up on high from whence thou hast taken thy beginning. Behold the throne of his Majesty, which is heaven, the most complete and fully furnished of all his corporal and sensible works: look upon this infinite number of burning fires in the same, and among the rest, those two great flames which show us light, the one by day, and the other by night. Mark the gloriousness of the Sun when it ariseth, how it stretcheth forth his beams in a moment, from the one end of the world unto the other, and how at night it sinketh his chariot in the Ocean Sea. Consider the variable disposition of the Moon in changing her face and shape, the diverse motions of the Planets, which move continually with an incredible swiftness and equalness, and that in such sort as that they never strike one upon another. If thou be ashamed to look up to Heaven, for fear of being constrained to confess a Deity, then cast down thine eyes upon the waters or earth: see and mark in the Sea a great wonder, how continually it threateneth the earth, and yet never overfloweth it: how it swalloweth up all the rivers of the world, and swelleth never a whit the more, neither hath it been seen thereby to pass his limits. Weigh with thyself how the earth hangeth in the air, and so beareth up itself, notwithstanding the huge massines of the same. Call to mind the differences of living creatures, which are all most perfect in their kinds; the beauty of stones; the infinite number of plants, the which are not less variable, then admirable for their properties. If all this cannot stir thee up to the acknowledgement of this first and principal cause; if thy delight draw thee away, and steal from thee that time which thou oughtest to spend in the due consideration of such a manifold variety, then come hither, I will show thee in less than nothing, the sum and brief of the great world; the head and chief of all that ever God wrought; the portraiture of the universal world: that then being ravished with so marvelous and cunning a piece of work, thou mayst be constrained to cry out with the great Magician Zoroaster, O man, thou wonder and uttermost endeavour of nature. I will not at this time set before thine eyes any more than the head, in as much as the clear signs and marks of the divine nature do shine therein most evidently. View well this royal palace within, without, and throughout; behold the cunning workmanship of the brain, the three pillars which bear up the roof of this magnificent buildings, as an Atlas supporting the Heavens with his shoulders: behold also his four closerts or cells, wherein the principal powers of the mind (if we will believe the Arabians) are lodged, as for example, the imagination in the two foremost, the reason in the middlemost, and the memory in that which is hindermost: observe moreover his christallike clear looking glass, his admirable net, which like to an intricate labyrinth is woven of a million of small arteries, interlaced and wrought one within another, in which the spirits are prepared and refined; the original of sinews, the silver thread, and his incredible fecundity in the bringing forth of sinews; the channels and water pipes, through which the excrements of the brain are purged. But and if thou will not be kept up within this royal palace, come forth and thou shalt see in the forepart of the head these two bright shining Stars, the two looking glasses of the Soul, as those that shadow out unto us all the passions of the same: thou wilt admire their beautiful crystalline humour, which is more clear and pure, than any oriental pearls; the polished and exquisite garnish of the coats, the marvelous nimbleness of the muscles, but especially of the amorous pulley. On the sides thou shalt see the ears, which will no less astonish thee: for is it not a witty exploit of nature to close up in so small a hole, a drum hard laced, having on the hinder part two small strings, and three little bones, resembling a forge, a hammer and a stirrup, three small muscles, and a labyrinth containing the inward air; two windows, round, after the fashion of an egg, one nerve, and one gristly vessel, which stretching itself to the roof of the mouth, causeth that goodly sympathy or mutual suffering, which is betwixt the instruments of hearing and speaking? And what wilt thou say to that little piece of flesh which moveth itself a hundred thousand ways, like unto an Eel, I mean the tongue, which is the revealer of all our conceits, the principal messenger of the mind, which singeth (as saith the Apostle) praise unto his Creator, and oftentimes curseth men, which ravisheth, bendeth, thundereth, encourageth the generous mind to fight, which hath power to destroy and overturn most flourishing empires, and to set them again in their former state. To be short, O thou Atheist consider at once, and all together (if thou be not disposed to take the pains with every part by itself) the beauty and majesty shining in such sort in the face, as that it causeth all other living things to tremble thereat: shalt thou not find therein some sparkles, or rather I know not what bright beams of the Deity? Shalt thou not therein also find the marks and engraven form of the Creator? And having viewed the whole proportion or the same, shalt thou not, whether thou wilt or no, be constrained to cry with the kingly Prophet: Thy hands O Lord have fashioned me, I will magnify thee as long as I live. How surpassing excellent then is the sight, seeing that in acquainting us with so many wonderful things, and such diversity of objects, it leadeth us as it were by the hand unto the knowledge of God?  

The second proof of the excellency of the sight.  The second point, declaring unto us the excellency of the sight, is the means of his operation, which is altogether lively: for the sight performeth his office at an instant, and that in places far removed and distant, without moving itself from place to place. I intent (to the end that every one may know the perfection of this sense) to compare the same, and make it like unto the understanding. Even as the understanding part of the mind receiveth from. the imaginative the forms of things naked and void of substance: 
A comparing of the sight and understanding together.  even so the sight is the subject of forms without body, which the Philosophers call intentionals. The understanding comprehendeth the universal world, no place or room in the understanding taken up, or any whit more pestered thereby, it containeth Heaven and earth, without any manner of encumbrance from the one to the other so contained therein: the sight comprehendeth also the Heaven, without admitting of any place thereto; the hugest mountains in the world do enter all at once, and that undiminished through the apple of the eye, without any manner of offence through straightness of entrance. The understanding judgeth at one and the very same time of two contraries, as of right and wrong, placeth them indifferently in itself, attaineth to the knowledge of the one by the other, and bandeth them under one and the same science. The eye at one instant receiveth and is occupied about black and white, and distinguisheth them perfectly, the knowledge of the one being no manner of impeachment to the knowledge of the other, being that which the other senses are not capable of. For if a man have tasted any bitter thing, his knowledge to judge aright at the very same instant of that which is sweet will fail, & deceive him. The understanding in a moment whirleth round about the world: the sight likewise receiveth at one instance of time the whole wideness of heaven. All the other senses do move by intercourse of time. And this is the reason why men see the lightning, before they hear the thunder, although that neither of them be made before or after other. The understanding is free of it own nature, and hath a will either to discourse or not to discourse: The sight in his function hath as it were a certain kind of liberty, which nature hath denied unto the other senses. The ears are always open; so as the nose is also, the skin is always subject unto cold and heat and other the injuries of the air: but the eyes have eyelids which open and shut when we will, for the furtherance or staying of our sight, as best shall please ourselves.  
The third thing which I have to testify the excellency of the sight, is the certainty of the function. For it is out of all doubt that this is the most infallible sense, and that which least deceiveth: according to that which men are wont to say, when they will assuredly avouch any thing, namely, that they see it with their own eyes. And the proverb used amongst men of old time, is most true, that it is better to have a witness which hath seen the thing, than ten which speak but by hear say. Thales the Milesian Philosopher said, that there was as much difference betwixt sight and hearing; as betwixt true and false. The Prophets themselves to confirm the truth of their prophecies, called them by the name of visions, as being most true and certain things. Finally, the excellency of the sight appeareth in his particular object, 
The third proof of the excellency of the sight.  which is the most noble, common and best known of all others: I call it the most noble, because it is endowed with the goodliest quality that is in the whole world (that is to say) the light, which is of an heavenly offspring, and which the Poets call the eldest daughter of God. I call it the commonest, because in differently it communicateth itself unto all. And I call it the best known of us, in as much as all other natural bodies do more or less consist of mixed colour: and for that there cannot be any part thereof in the world, but that it will be attained and gotten by sight. Let us then say with Theophrastus, that the sight is as it were the form and perfection of man: with the stoics, that the sight maketh us to draw near unto the divine nature: and with the Philosopher Anaxagoras, that it seemeth that we were borne only to see.   

CHAP. FOUR Of the excellency of the eye, the proper instrument of sight.  
IF the sense of sight be wonderful, the member or instrument serving for the same can not but go beyond all wonder: for it is framed so cunningly, and of such beautiful parts, as that there cannot be the man, which is not ravished with the consideration of the same: and for myself, I know not whether with Plotine and Sinesius I should call nature some magical enchantress or iuglar, for having enclosed in so small a star so manifold gracious influences, and made a work so far surpassing all other her common and ordinary ones. The Egyptians have worshipped the Sun, and called it the visible Son of the invisible God: and wherefore shall not we admire the eye, which (as the ancient Poet Orpheus affirmeth) is the Sun of this little world, more notable without comparison, then that of the great world? The great Sun by the stretching forth of his beams doth enlighten the whole world, 
A comparing of the Sun and the eye together.  but it reapeth neither profit nor pleasure by this his ministery, neither doth itself see any thing of all that, which it causeth us to see: The eye, that petty Sun, in representing unto us whatsoever coloured bodies that there are, doth therewithal see and acknowledge them all itself, yea it pleasantly delighteth itself therein together with the mind, and also perceiveth the fashion, greatness, and distances of the things about which it is occupied, which no other of the instruments of sense can do. Plato for the honour he bore unto this divine part, called it celestial and heavenly, he believeth that the eye is all full of such strains and fire as the stars have, which shineth and burneth not. Orpheus' called the eyes, the looking glasses of nature: 
The eyes are the looking glasses of the mind.  Hesichius, the doors for the Sun to enter in by: Alexander the Peripatecian, the windows of the mind, because that by the eyes we do clearly see what is in the same, we pierce into the deep thoughts thereof, and enter into the privities of his secret chamber. And as the face doth shadow out unto us the lively and true image of the mind, so the eyes do lay open unto us all the perturbations of the same: the eyes do admire, love, and are full of lust. In the eyes, thou mayst spy out love and hatred, sorrow and mirth, resolution and timorousness, compassion and mercilessness, hope and despair, health and sickness, life and death. Mark I pray thee, how in the feats of love the eyes can craftily flatter thee, how they become courteous, kind, full of favour, crafty, alluring, 
All the passions of the mind are to be espied and seen in the eye.  rolling, and strangely enchanting thee: in hatred how they look fierce and stern; in bold attempts, lofty and continually glistering; in fear cast down, and as it were set fast in the head; in joy, pleasant and clear; in pensiveness, all heavy, mournful and dark. To be short, they be wholly given to follow the motions of the mind, they do change themselves in a moment, they do alter and conform themselves unto it in such manner, as that Blemor the Arabian, and Syreneus the Physician of Cypress, thought it no absurdity to affirm that the soul dwelled in the eyes: and the common people thereabout, think so until this day, for in kissing the eyes they think they kiss the soul.  

Momus condemned.  See here thyself condemned, O shameless find fault, and utterterly overthrown in thine action, and delay not but come and make condign satisfaction, by honourably recompensing of nature, whom thou hast so maliciously and falsely accused of folly, in the framing of man's body, for that she did not set two windows, next neighbours to the heart, through them to spy all the passions of the same. Canst thou wish more goodly windows than these of the eyes? Dost thou not see therein as in a glass, the most hidden things of the mind? The poor man, at the bar doth he not read written in the eyes of his judge his sentence either of condemnation or absolution? There is (saith Theocritus) a broad trodden way betwixt the eye and the heart: a man can not so dissemble the matter, but that such will be the passion of the eye, as is the passion of the heart. It grieveth me that ever I should find so vain a discourse, as should contain the eager desire of any man to have the bread framed of crystalline clearness, to the end he might see what is within the heart, seeing we are already possessed of this round crystalline humour within our eyes, which casteth forth most lively light, much like the glittering beams coming from a shining glass moved in the Sun. But if it may be granted me to mix one dram of Physic amongst the large mass of these Philosophical and Poetical sentences, I dare avouch that in the eyes we perceive and discern, the whole estate of the health of the body. 
That the eyes do show the whole estate of man's health.  Hypocrates that sacred Oracle of Greece (which all the world as yet even to this day hath in singular reverence and rare admiration) hath observed the same very well in his Epidemickes, and in his treatise of Prognostications he commandeth the Physician, when he goeth to see the sick party, to behold and look well upon the face, but chief upon the eyes, because that in them as in a glass, is easily espied the strength or weakness of the animal powers: if the eye be clear and bright, it maketh us well to hope: but and if it be dark, withered, and cloudy, it presageth death. Galen calleth the eye a divine member, & that part of every living thing which most resembleth the Sun, and therewithal doth so highly steam of it, as that the verily believeth that the brain was made only for the eyes. The Lawyers do hold it as a Maxim, that a blind man cannot plead or handle a case well, because he cannot see the majesty of the judge. Arislotle that light of nature, in his second book of the generation of living things, saith, that from the eyes men take infallible signs of fruitfulness, as, if in dropping some bitter water into a woman's eye, she by and by feel the taste thereof upon her tongue, it is a sign of her aptness to conceive. The eyes (saith the same Philosopher) are full of spirit and seed: and this is the reason, why in new married persons, they be so much the lesser and as it were languishing. But what need I to allege so many proofs concerning the excellency of these two Suns, seeing that nature herself doth sufficiently demonstrate the same unto us? Let us read in the book of nature, 
Nature's care for the preservation of the eyes.  and see how careful she hath been to preserve the eyes, as her most dear and trusty messengers: let us admire the art and skill she hath used in working their safety and defence, we shall find her not to have forgotten or left out any thing, but so to have bestirred herself, as those men which have a purpose to fortify a place, and make it impregnable. 
The fortifications serving for the safety of the eye.  First she hath lodged them, as in a bottom or little valley, that so they might not be subject to the assaults of manifold dangers and hurts: and to the end that nothing might command this little valley, she hath raised up four notable bulwarks all fortified with bones, as hard as any stone, which in such sort do swell and bunch out, as though they were little hillocks made to receive the blows, and bear off the violence of every enemy that might assail them. Above them is the brow bone, underneath them the cheek bone: on the right and left hand the two corners, the one of them somewhat greater than the other, and is that which is next the nose; the lesser one being that which is set right over against it. And for as much as the forepart of this place lay wide open without any cover, (for fear that the prince commanding the same (which is the eye) should be overtaken or offended with too much wind, cold or smoke) nature hath made as it were a drawbridge, to be pulled up and let down as the governor shall command, and this is the eye lid, which openeth and shutteth as best pleaseth us. The chains by which this bridge is drawn & let fall, are the muscles, the instruments of voluntary motion. It appeareth then plainly enough, by this great care which nature hath for the preservation and defence of the eyes, how excellent they are, and therewithal we have our lesson taught us, how careful we ought to be for the preservation thereof.   

CHAP. V Of the composition of the eye: in general.  
SEeing it is now time to lay open the skilful workmanship of these bright stars appearing and rising together, I purpose to describe them in such lively sort and perfect manner, as that the most curious, and such as are borne only to carp (it may be) will content and hold themselves satisfied therewithal, letting pass all those notable objections and questions, which might be made about the parts of the eye, for that I have at large handled them in the sourth book of my anatomical works. And even as Cosmographers and those which travailing apply themselves curiously to observe and mark things, do first inquire of the names of the provinces, view and consider the situation, beauty, largeness, strength and entrances of cities, together with whatsoeverels may be seen without, before they enter into them: so will I describe the form, situation, fortresses, largeness, use, and number of the eyes, with whatsoever else may be marked in general, before I enter into any particular search of the particular and petty parts of the same.  

The names of the eye.  The Grecians call the eyes 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, because they make us see, and the Poets affirm that they are the children of the Nymph Thea. The Hebrews have called them by the name of High, to put us in mind from whence we sprung, as also to teach us, that our eyes must serve us to behold the things which are high. The Latins call them Oculi, because they are as it were hidden and enclosed within a hollow valley.  

The form of the eye.  The shape and figure of the eye is round, but not every way: for it is somewhat long and steeple fashioned, having his foundation outward, and his top inward towards the sinew of sight. This figure was most agreeable unto it, 
The cause of the roundness of the eye.  to the end it might contain much, move nimbly, and free itself of offered injuries. The Mathematicians do maintain, that the spherical figure is of all other most apt to contain much: and Ophthalmists do confidently affirm, that if the eye had not been round, it could never have comprehended the hugeness of great bodies, neither yet could ever have seen at one time many objects, because that no man can see but by a direct line. On what side soever then that the eye turneth itself, many lines do offer themselves at once to the apple of the eye which is round: but this could not by any means come to pass if it were flat or foursquare. This circular shape doth also serve the eye, that it may move the more nimbly and easily, whether it be upward or downward, to the right hand, or to the left, or circularly: for spherical bodies do move as it were of themselves, being stayed and resting only upon a narrow point. And I conceive this roundness not to be unprofitable for the defence of the eye: for amongst all the sorts of figures the spherical or round figure is the strongest, and withstandeth the assaults of outward hurts and harms, because it is all alike, and hath no unevenes in it: therein a man shall neither find corner nor point, which may work the ruin and dissolution of the same. The eyes are seated upon high in the body, in the forepart thereof, 
The situation of the eye.  and as it were in a valley. Upon high, to discover from a far, and to keep that nothing may assail us at unwares: they serve the creature for spies and watches, and are oftentimes called Phares in the holy Scripture. 
The cause why they be situated on high.  But watchmen are usually wont to be placed in such plots as do overlook all the rest: and no man assigneth any other place to the lantern, but the top of the tower and highest place of the ship. They are set in the forepart of every creature rather than behind, 
And the cause why before.  because that every living thing moveth forward: by which means it hath the opportunity to spy out whatsoever might offend it: and indeed it is not at any time permitted the watch, to stand with their backs or blind sides toward the enemy. Such as write of Anatomy, say, that it was necessary to place the eyes forward: for that the sight had great need of a very soft and marrowish sinew, that by it upon the sudden there might great store of spirits be brought unto the eyes: and that such sinews cannot possibly be found to put forth backward, seeing that way there is none that spread themselves, but such as are too hard and dry. I myself have elsewhere approved this reason, but having afterward observed, that all the nerves do rise from the hinder part of the brain, and having seen the optics to rise also from thence as well as the rest, I was enforced to change mine opinion. 
The cause why they be set in a hollow place.  Finally, the eyes are fastened within a little hollow pit (which the common people call a collet) for their better safetic, and to prevent the prodigal expense of spirits. This little valley is fortified and entrenched on every side, either with the brow bone, or with the bone of the nose, or the cheeke-bone, all which are raised round about the same in manner of little hillocks: and and for that the forepart was without any thing to cover it, nature hath shut it in with a lid, which openeth and shutteth at our pleasure, for fear that the eye should be corrupted and turned from his nature, either by the offence of too much light; or left that it being always open, his spirits should spend and quite vanish away; or least in sleeping, it might be hurt by outward causes. To which causes I will yet add one other of mine own, which is, that if the eye should never shut, and thereby the spirits uncessantly be gazing upon the light, it would come to pass that they would be unable to withdraw themselves so speedily into their centre, and our sleep would never be so peaceable: for the Philosophers are of opinion, that sleep is caused by the retraction of the spirits into their secret and inner rooms.  

The substance of the eye.  The nature of the eye, which men call in anatomic all terms the substance of the eye, is altogether soft, bright and shining clear, thick and waterish: soft that so it may readily admit and receive the forms of things: shining and through clear, that so the light may pierce it through, as also that thereby the instrument may have some correspondency with his object: thick, to the end that his objects may have, wherein the better to rest themselves. Now it is the water alone, that can have all these properties: whereupon it cometh to pass that the eye is of a waterish substance, and not of a fiery substance, as Plato said: which thing I shall handle more largely in the 10. chapter.  
The use of the eye is double: 
The use.  the one is to serve as a guide and watch to discover whatsoever might annoy, and this is common to all living creatures: the other is proper to man alone, being to teach him the knowledge of God by the things that are visible, to perfect his understanding, and thirdly to consummate his happiness: for by the sight man is made partaker of the beauty of the heaven, by which means his understanding part is much beautified and enriched, and he himself made as it were like unto his Creator.  

The number.  The eyes are two, and that because of the excellency and necessity of this sense, that thereby the one might serve, if that the other were either diseased or utterly lost. They be also two in respect of the better perfecting of the sight, for by that means a man may see many things at once: for if that man had but one eye, and that placed in the midst of the forehead, as the Poets feign of the Cyclops, we should only see the things right afore us, and not those which should be on either side. These two eyes, although they be far enough separated the one from the other, 
That they can not move the one without the other.  have such a fellow-feeling, and do so well agree the one with the other in their actions, as that the one of them cannot move without, or otherwise then the other: for it is not in our ability, to look up with the one and down with the other, or else to stir the one and hold the other still. 
Aristotle his error.  Aristotle imputeth this to the conjunction of the sinews of sight, and is persuaded that the eyes do move together, because they have the original and principal cause of their motion, which is found to be in the conjunction of the sinew of sight: common. But this worthy man deceiveth himself in this, as he is overtaken almost in all other things, wherein he hath to do concerning Anatomy. The nerve optic meddleth not at all with the motion of the eye, it only bringeth the spirit of sight: for being stopped in the disease called Gutta Serena, the sight is quite lost, and yet the motion thereof abideth still. It behoveth us therefore to attribute the cause thereof, to the end and perfection of this sense. The eyes must move together, that so the objects thereof may not seem double. For if we could look up with the one and down with the other, at one and the same time, this sense which is the worthiest of all the rest, should evermore delude itself and become most imperfect, in as much as every single thing that it should behold, would appear double: the proof whereof may easily be had, if with thy finger thou force the one of thine eyes either higher or lower than the other.  

Their tempenature.  The temperature of the eye is cold and moist. It feeleth most exquisitely, and hath a marvelous fellow-suffering with the brain.  

Their feeling.  Man alone hath his eyes of sundry colours: and this variety cometh either of the humours, 
The colours of the eyes.  or of the grape coloured coat, or of the spirits. The variation by humours, is because they altar three ways, as either in their situation and placing in the eye, which is sometime more deep and inward, and sometimes more superficial and outward; or else in their substance, as that which may be gross or subtle, clear or dim: or lastly in their quantity. If the crystalline humour be very bright, clear and subtle, if also it be large, and placed forward in the eye, the eye will seem fiery and sparkling; if contrariwise it be duskish, gross, and set very much inwardly, the eye will show black or brown: the grapelike tunicle, being oftentimes of diverse colours, is also a cause of this variety, and the spirits do not a little further and serve to procure the same.   

CHAP. VI A very particular description of all the parts of the Eye, and chiefly of the six muscles of the same.  
IS it not one of the wonders of the world, that this little member (which seemeth as though it were nothing) shall be made of more than twenty sever all parts, all differing one from another, and yet so decently joined, and incorporated one with another, as that all the wit of man is not able to blame the same, either of want or surplusage? I purpose to describe one after another, and that in such order, as is to be observed, if one should go about to dissect or anatomise the same. The eye than is framed of six fleshy strings, 
A briese rehearsal of the parts of the eye.  which men call muscles, and these cause it to move upward, downward, to the right side, to the left, and circularly, of six coats or tunicles, which enwrap all the parts together, nourishing and containing the humours every one of them, within their own precincts and bounds; of three humours, all clear and thorough-shining, which do receive, altar and keep all the objects of sight; of two sinews which convey the animal spirit, the one serving the sight, and is therefore called the nerve optic, the other serving for the motion of the eye, of many small veins which serve for victuallers; and of as many arteries to prolong the life thereof; of much fat, by his slipperines to make it nimble, and of two little glandules or kernels, which keep it moist and fresh, least by his continual motion it might be over heat, and so over dry.  

The description of the muscles.  The muscles were of necessity provided and given to the eye, that so it might move on every side: for if the eye stood fast, and immovable, we should be constrained to turn our head and neck (being all of one piece) for to see: but by these muscles it now moveth itself with such swiftness and nimbleness, without stirring of the head, as is almost incredible, and this is the cause why they are termed of the Poet rolling. 
The four straight muscles.  The muscles of the eye are only six, four direct or straight, and two obliqne or crooked ones; the direct serve for direct motion, as the first of them draweth the eye up, the second down, the third towards the nose, and the fourth from the nose. The old writers being grossly conceited in matters of Anatomy, 
The error of the old writers.  have thought that these four muscles sprung from within, from the membrane called Dura matter, but they were foully deceived, for so they ought not, and much less could they. They ought not, because the said membrane is a very sensible part, and covereth the sinews of sight, in such manner, as that the muscles performing their offices, and moving backward toward their root and original, should press the sinew, hinder the passage that should be at liberty, for the spirit to pass through, and for the exquisite sensibleness that is in Dura matter, their motion should be always joined with much pain. They cannot rise from thence, because their foundation and stay would not be firm and fast enough, their pillar would have been to weak, for it is a point of necessity, that the drawing part should ever be stronger than that which is drawn. We must therefore believe and hold, that these four muscles do take their begininng from within the collet, from some part of the bone, called Sphenoides, and holding diverse courses, do fasten themselves unro the white coat: the two other muscles called obliqne, 
The two obliqne muscles.  do stir the eye in his obliqne, and as it were circular motion, the one above, and the other below, always outwardly, and never inwardly, because the eye hath nothing within to behold or look upon. The first of the obliques springeth from the place of the four direct ones, 
The amorous pulley.  and as it cometh near unto the great corner, it maketh a round and white string, which passing through a little pipe or cartilagenous ring inform of a pulley, maketh a semicircular motion, and inserteth itself in obliqne manner into the membrane conjunctive, or white coat before spoken of. This skilful piece of work hath lain secret until this age, wherein an ingenious Anatomist, named Fallopius, hath detected the same. The other there springeth from the great corner, 
Pleasant devised names for every one of the six muscles.  and fasteneth itself in the little, drawing the eye in obliqne manner towards the ear. We will give for sport sake, unto every muscle his proper name, and so that which draweth the eye upward, shall be called proud and haughty: and that which moveth it downward, humble and lowly: that which moveth it toward the nose, reader, or drinker, because in reading or drinking, we turn our eyes toward our nose: the fourth which moveth the eye toward the less corner, disdainful or angry, for that it maketh us look awry: the two obliqne or circular ones shall be called rolling and amorous, because they make the eye to move privily, and to cast out wanton glances. 
The error of the old writers, about a sementh muscle.  All Anatomists do add a seventh muscle, which should cover the nerve optic, keep it firm, and stay the eye that it go not out of his place: but they are deceived, for there is no such found, but in fourfooted beasts, which have their eyes so much hanging down toward the earth; but man ordinarily carrying his face lifted up to Heaven, had not need of any such, Some there be which think this muscle to be as necessary for men as beasts, to the making of a settled and direct motion, and such as should resemble the musical rest, as also to keep the eye stayed and steadfast, when we do earnestly behold any thing: but I assure you, that such direct and bend motion is made, when all the six muscles together indifferently do stretch their fibres, as in like sort, when they slack themselves, the eye standeth not still but moveth incessantly. If these assertions do not satisfy them, then let them show me this seventh muscle, that I may behold it with mine eye, and I will believe them.   

CHAP. VII. Of the six coats of the eye.  
THe eye being christallike clear, and of a waterish substance within, required necessarily, some staying hold by bodies more stable and steadfast, for otherwise the humours would tumble as storme-beaten ships, never being at rest. 
The necessity of the coats of the eye.  Therefore nature to prevent this mischief, hath framed certain little films or skins (which are called of some tunicles or coats) which unite and fasten together the whole eye, cause the several humours to abide within their proper bounds, and therewith all, convey their nourishment unto them. The certain number of these tunicles is not thoroughly concluded of: for some make more, and some fewer. Hypocrates doth acknowledge but four, Galen hath observed five, 
That there are but five tunicles or coats.  and the Anatomists of our time make up the number of nine. As for myself, having with all carefulness perused the leaves of this book of nature, I cannot find any more than six, which are, the white, the horny, the grapelike, cobweblike netlike and glassy coat. For whereas some do count of one that should be like unto the eye-bries; it is nothing else but an appendent part of the vitreous: as that which they call the hard coat, is a parcel of the horny. As concerning the ninth, which is made of the ends of the muscles, there is no show of reason, why it should be called a tunicle proper to the eye. For if this were granted, it would also follow, that the common membrane which covereth the muscles of the eye, should be graced with the same privilege. The first therefore and largest of all the rest, 
That the white tunicle is the first.  is called the white coat, or the white of the eye, or otherwise the conjunctive membrane: I say nothing in this place of the greek and latin names, for that a man may see them in mine Anatomy. This tunicle is very strong, and riseth from the edges of Pericranium: it compasseth not the eye round about, or every where: for it endeth at the circle called Iris, by reason of the variety of the colours thereof. I confess that there are three uses of this coat. 
The threefold use of the same  The first whereof is, that it letteth all annoyance which might happen to the eye, by the hardness of the bones about it. The second, to hold the eye firm, lest that either by some manner of excess, or else some over violent motion, it should fall out of his place. The third and last, is to stand fast unto all the six muscles, as whereupon they should not fail to find sure footing.  

The horny membrane.  The second membrane is called Cornea, or horny, because it is clear & polished, as the horns of lanterns be: or because it may be divided into many little skins or thin membranes: it is also called hard, because of his hardness, and for that it cometh from the thick membrane compassing the brain, called Dura matter. The substance thereof is thick, for the better withstanding of outward miuries: it is also transparent or through clear, that thereby the light may quickly pass through it: it is smooth, polished and without all colour, because that serving as a glass or spectacle unto the christialline humour, it would have made every thing which we should have looked upon, to have been of the same colour with itself, if it had been of any colour at all: this is also the cause, why there are not any veins or arteries to be seen in it. But if it happen that this skin grow white, as sometimes it doth through ulcers in the same, or by having been scorched by some hot thing, (in such sort as the Turks use them which will see Mahomet his sepulchre) the sight is lost, the glass being darkened. This tunicle serveth for three purposes. 
The threefold use of this coat.  For first it serveth to defend the humours: secondly, to compass and keep them in: and thirdly, to be in stead of a spectacle unto the crystalline humour.  

The grapelike coat.  The third tunicle is called Vuea, being like unto the skin of a black grape: it is also called Choroides, because it containeth all the vessels which serve for the nourishing of the other coats: or because it cometh from the thin and tender skin compassing the brain called Pia matter, which is of Galen oftentimes called Choroides.  
This skin compasseth the eye round about, except before only, where being bored through, it maketh a little round hole, which is called the apple, and is the principal window of the eye, which being shut in by catacacts, causeth us to line in continual darkness: and this is the only coat that is particoloured. On the fore side it is as it were black, thereby to hold together the form of objects: on the innermost or hinder side it is blue, green, and of many other colours, thereby to refresh the crystalline humour when it is wearied. This skin doth notable good service to the crystalline humour, and other parts of the eye. 
The offices of Vuea.  For first it is the means to hinder that the hardness of the horny membrane should not hurt the crystal: than it refresheth the same with the variety of his colours: thirdly, it keepeth together and hemmeth in the spirits, which otherwise would spend and disperse themselves abroad: and lastly, doth store with nourishment, the horny and netlike membranes, as also the humours: and this is the cause why nature hath made it soft and full of vessels.  
The fourth membrane is called Aranoides, because it is very fine, and resembleth the ciper web, 
The cobweblike coat.  or threads which the Spider draweth out with her feet: it covereth and lieth close unto the crystalline humour, and serveth to unite and retain the forms of things, as the lead doth in looking glasses.  

The netlike coat.  The fift is the netlike tunicle, overcast with a million of little threads, after the fashion of a net. It groweth from the softest part of the sinew of sight, which naturally is given to dilate and widen itself: and this is the cause why when it is cast into water, one shall perceive it to be all white, soft, and as it were marrowlike. The use thereof is to convey the inward light, 
The use thereof.  which is the animal spirit, unto the crystalline humour, and to carry back again whatsoever received forms first unto the nerve optic, and from thence to the brain to judge thereof.  

The glassy tunicle.  The last is called the vitreous or glassy tunicle, because it covereth and containeth the glassy humour. The learned of ancient time have not known it. There is to be seen in the midst thereof a round circle like unto the eyebrie: I suppose it to be a number of small veins, which convey blood unto the said vitreous humour, that there being laboured, it may be made white and fit for the crystalline humour.   

CHAP. VIII. Generally of the three humours of the eyes: but more specially of the becautie and excellency of the crystalline humour.  

The excellency of the crystalline humour.  Lo thus all veils, shadows and covert being taken away, it is now time to make a plain and open show of the most precious jewel of the eye, that rich diamond, that beautiful crystal, which is of more worth than all the pearls of the East. This is that icelike humour, which is the principal instrument of the sight, the soul of the eye, the inward spectacle: this is that humour which alone is altered by colours, & receiveth whatsoever forms of the things that are to be seen. This is that crystalline humour, which in more hardy wise than Hercules, dares to encounter two at one, 
That all the parts of the eye are servants to the crystalline.  namely, the outward and inward light. This is that only crystalline humour, which all the other parts of the eye acknowledge their sovereign, and themselves the vassals thereof: for the horny tunicle doth the office of a glass unto it: the apple, the office of a window: the grapelike coat is as a fair flowering garden, to cheer and rejoice the same after wearisome labour: the cobweblike coat serveth as lead to retain such forms as are offered: the waterish humour as a warlike forward, to intercept and break off the first charge of the objects thereof, assaying all upon the sudden, and with headlong violence to make breach and entrance: The vitreous humour is his cook, dressing and setting forth in most fit sort his daily repast: The nerve optic, one of his ordinary messengers, carrying from the brain thereto, commandment and power to see, and conveying back again with all speed whatsoever hath been seen: The muscles are his lofty steeds and courageous coursers, whereupon being mounted it advanceth itself aloft, casteth itself allow, turneth itself on the right and left hand: and finally in every such sort, as seemeth best unto itself. In brief, this is the principal part of the eye, which I intent to describe, when I shall have showed you that which is before it, I mean the waterish humour. All the Anatomists agree that there are three humours in the eyes: the waterish, 
The description of the waterish humour.  the crystalline, and the glassy. The waterish, called also the white humour, hath this name, because it is of the consistence of water, and is (as it were) like unto the white of an egg. 
Why the watery humour is set before the crystalline.  Nature hath placed it before the crystalline to be in stead of a rampire, to the end it might not be hurt by the hardness of the membranes, and that the first and fierce assaults of objects, might be somewhat rebated: and in such manner, as that it may seem to be an inward mean to convey the forms of objects unto the crystalline humour. And look how the lungs undertaketh the first encounter of the air, and maketh it true favourite unto the heart: even so the waterish humour altereth the light which cometh from without, and reconcileth it to that which is within. This humour serveth also to water the crystalline and to keep it moist: for being dry it can not admit the forms of things. It manageth also the spirits, which otherwise of their own nature would always be mounting aloft and wandering abroad, and will not suffer them in such sort to spend themselves, being set before them as a bar to keep them in. It also keepeth asunder the grapelike coat and the crystalline humour, and stretcheth forth and filleth continually the horny membrane, that so by the withering and shrinking thereof the sight may not be lost. This humour having all these goodly virtues: 
That the watery humour is a part of the eye.  it is not very like that it should be an excrement of the crystalline humour, as Avicen the prince of Arabia for Physic hath seemed to affirm. And I am so far from being of his mind, as that I take it for a spermaticke part, not yielding any thing in title of eldership unto the crystalline, as having over and beside his limited proportion or permanent quantity, his constant abiding place, and his double partition-wall of two membranes, keeping it and the crystalline asunder: whereunto may be added, that (contrary to the nature of an excrement) if it be once lost or spilled, it can never be recovered again, but causeth us to lose our sight.  
The next in sequence is the crystalline humour, 
The description of the crystalline.  which is bright and icelike, as is the crystal which is pure and well polished. This is the steele-glasse of the mind, by which it looketh upon the forms and faces of things, and combineth the lights which before were several and asunder. Some men are of judgement, that the invention and use of spectacles was taken from the crystalline humour, because that if it be laid upon a written paper, it causeth the letters to show twice so great as they are. The substance thereof is waterish, 
The substance thereof.  but it runneth not abroad as the others do; it is faster and more , to the end that the forms of objects, may settle themselves therein; it is also through-cleere, and full of light, to the end it may have some correspondency with his object, which is lightsome; it is of no colour, that so it may receive all manner of colours the more indifferently: for if the crystalline humour should be tainted either with green, or red, or yellow, all the objects thereof would appear and seem to be of the same colour. 
Why the crystalline humour is not nourished with blood.  Here we cannot but wonder at the providentnes of nature, which would not have this crystalline to be nourished with blood, as all the other parts of the body are, for fear that the blood should make it red, but for the better assurance hath dedicated unto it the vitreous humour, to turn his nutriment into a white colour, and play the part of a cook, according as the need thereof should require. 
His shape.  The shape is round, and yet not altogether and exactly spherical, but some what flat on the two sides as is a fetch, or the end of a pestle: and this is the reason why the Grecians have called it 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉. I conceive that it was thus shaped, that so it might abide more firm, and not to be thrust out of his place upon every violent motion of the eye. For such things as be exquisitelyround, do move (as it were) of themselves, and have no stay, resting themselves but upon a point. 
His situation.  It is placed in the midst of the eye, as in his centre, to the end it may equally and indifferently entertain and admit of both the lights. On the hinder part it is underlaid with the vitreous humour, and feemoth (as it were) to swim upon the top of the same: on the forepart it hath the waterish humour, and round about it is wrapped in his proper coat called Aranoides.  

The glassy humour.  The third and last humour is called glassy, because it resembleth in colour and consistence the molten glass. The chief use thereof is to prepare nourishment for the crystalline humour, not that the crystalline humour should feed upon it own substance, as Avicen hath thought. For one part is never nourished or fed of the substance of another: but this doth blanche or turn white the blood, and serve for cook to the crystalline. It presserueth also the crystalline from all annoyance that might happen by the hardness of the membranes, and keepeth in the spirits.  
The quantity thereof is in greater abundance than any of the rest: it is clothed with his own coat, which is more than the ancient learned in this profession did ever attain unto to know.   

CHAP. IX. Of the sinews, veins, arteries, and other parts of the eye.  

The sinew of sight.  THere are as yet remaining untouched, though necessary sarie helps to the sight, two pair of nerves, and certain other small arteries. The first pair is called optic, 
From whence it springeth.  and it bringeth the animal spirit and inward light unto the crystalline humour. This pair springeth not from the first ventricle of the brain, as the Arabians would have it, neither yet from out of the midst of the lowest part of the brain, as the Grecians have persuaded themselves, and as all Anatomists of our time do as yet believe; but from the hinder part of the brain, where the great and little brain do join together. This observation is new, but most true, and I receive it, because I have often seen it. 
Why the sinews of sight do grow into one.  The optic therefore coming from the hinder part, and having finished more than half his course, incorporateth itself the one with the other, and so becometh one, not growing one unto another only, as the common sort doth think, much less only touching one another, as the mullet doth the millstone, but (as hath been said before) they do in such sort incorporate themselves the one with the other, as that no man is able by any cunning skill to separate them. 
The first reason.  This incorporation was needful for that they being very soft, and having such a large piece of ground to traverse, might have bended and becoming crooked, could never have carried directly forward their spirit, if they had not by this their combination, one strengthened the other. It was meet and convenient that these two nerves should 
The second.  apply themselves wholly to the service of the crystalline, and that they should be drawn along as in the same level or directline with the eyes, otherwise the sight would have been continually false, for every simple object would have appeared double. But in very deed it had not been possible for them to have continued their level, being so long and so tender, if they had not been thus united in the midst. 
The third.  I will yet add unto these fomer a third benefit by this union, and it is to show that by this means the perfection of the sight is greatly furthered and advanced: for by this means even in a moment the spirit may pass from one eye to the other, and then the one eye being stopped, the other will become fuller of spirit, and so more strong and able to see a far off: for so are we accustomed to do, namely, to shut the one of our eyes, if westrive to behold anything a far off. 
The insertion of the sinews of sight.  The optic nerves after this their union, do again divide themselves, and march on forward, either of them grafting himself into his proper eye: the inward part of the sinew being marrowish, doth in large itself and maketh the netlike tunicle: the outward part doth make the membranes called Cornea and Vuea. Herophilus, Galen, and almost all other Anathomists, have supposed this sinew to be hollow, but it is only spongy: for it is not possible for any man to find any cavity in the same. 
The sinews of the eye, serving for motion.  The other couple of sinews march on unto the muscles of the eyes, and serve to help their motion: their dividing of themselves is pretty, full of kindness, for they send to every muscle as it were a little fine thread.  

The veins and arteries.  There are in the eye many pretiesmall veins and arteries, which bring life and nourishment to the same: they all spring from the branches of the veins and arteries called jugulares and Carotides.  

The fat.  The fat that lieth about the eye doth keep it moist, thereby keeping it from withering: it keepeth it also from the injury of the cold, preserving his natural heat: which is the cause that the eye is never tainted with a shivering or quaking cold.  

The glandules.  There are belonging to the eye certain glandules or kerneiss which water the eye, as also drink up like a sponge, the moisture falling upon them from the brain.   

CHAP. X. How we see, as namely whether it be by the sending forth of spirits, or by taking in of the forms of things.  
I Think myself by this time to have deciphered exactly enough the whole workmanship of the eye, and of all his parts, let us now look about and see how it dischargeth his function, which is sight, and how it is accomplished. 
The things necessary to make us see.  All Philosophers have well agreed in this one point, that there are three things necessary for to make the sight perfect: that is to say; the instrument which is the eye; the object, which is the colour; and the means enlightened, which is the air, or the water, or some other thorough-cleare and christallike thing: but when it should come to pass that they should join these three together, and show the manner of this action, (which is the liveliest and briefest of all the other senses) they jar among themselves and cannot agree. Some of them would have that there should issue out of the eye bright beams or a certain light which should reach unto the object, and thereby cause us to see it: other some would have it, that the object cometh unto the eye, and that nothing goeth out of the eye: the first do hold that we see by emission or having something going forth of the eye, the latter by reception or receiving of the object into the eye. The former sect do ordinarily allege Plato as their prince and chief pillar: 
Plato his opinion, how that we see sending forth of some thing.  one of his princip all foundations standeth upon this, that the eye is all full of light, and of the nature of fire, not such as useth to burn and give light together, neither yet that which burneth but giveth no light, but such as giveth light and burneth not, like unto the celestial fire. This foundation seemeth to rest upon some show of truth, 
The foundation of this opinion.  for the eye being rubbed, (yea though it be when it is most dark) doth cast forth some bright streams: and commonly we see the eyes of such as are angry, all fierce and fiery. 
Reasons to prove the eye to be of the nature of fire.  Pliny hath observed that Tiberius Caesar did make afraid many soldiers with his only look, it was so quick and full of light. Aristotle reporteth that one Antipho, a young man, did always see his own image by the reflex of the bright strains which came forth of his eyes. Galen telleth of a soldier, who becoming blind by little and little, perceived every day as it were a light to come forth of his eyes, and returned not again. And do we not in the night perceive the Cat, the Wolf, and many other living creatures to have shining eyes. Moreover, the more than credible readiness and nimbleness of the eye, the performance of his actions in a moment, and without local motion, his steeple-like shape, do all evidently testify, that it is of a subtle nature, and full of fire: the eye also is never seen to quake through cold, although it be in the cold, because itself is all on a flame. Finally, it cannot be denied but that the instrument must be suitable to his object, the object of sight is colour, and ancient writers have defined colour to be a flame going out of bodies: it is of necessity therefore, that the instrument should be of the same nature. If this be true (I mean that the eye is full of fire and sparkling streams) we shallbe forced to believe, that the eye seethe by emission. This is also the most common received opinion, and that which hath drawn many great learned Clerks after it, as Pythagoras, Empedocles, Hipparcus, Democritus, Leucippus, Epicurus, Chrysippus, Plato, and in a manner all others which have written of the eyes. And now take a view of their principal reasons.  

Reasons to prove that we see, by sending forth something.  The Basilisk by his sight poysoneth all them which look upon him; women having their natural courses, infect the looking-glasses upon which they cast their eyes. Some report, that if a Wolf do first see a man, that then such a man will become hoarse. 
The first.  Men of old time have thought, that with the look one might be bewitched and enchanted, according to the complaint of the Poet: I know not what eye hath bewitched my tender lambs. 
The second.  If a man come near to one that hath inflamed eyes, and behold him earnestly which hath red eyes, without all peradventure he shall be troubled with the same disease: all which showeth that there cometh something out of the eye. Whereupon is it that a great whiteness doth hurt the sight, but only for that it wasteth the spirits which come forth of the eye? Wherefore should the eye grow weak with looking, 
The third.  but because there cometh out of it too much light, and that all the spirits vanish and fade away? 
The fourth.  Whence cometh it that such as would see a very little thing a far off, do clasp their eyes, & half close their eyelids? It is not that so they may unite the beams, and join together the spirits, 
The fift.  to the end that afterward they may cast them out more forcibly cibly and directly? Go not the Cats on hunting in the night? and than do they cast out some glittering streams. 
The sixth.  Furthermore, if we should not see by sending something forth of the eye, it should seem unnecessary that the eye should turn itself unto his object, the form thereof should offer itself sufficiently to us, yea, we should see in not seeing. 
The seventh.  If we should see only by taking and receiving something into our eyes, then great eyes should see better then small ones, because they are the more capable: and so also such eyes as have large apples should see better than those which have small ones, which is quite contrary to truth: a small thing should be assoon seen as a great, 
The eight.  and it would be as easy to see a far off as near, if the forms be all in the air. Look well (say they which writ of the eyes) upon a small needle which hath his point standing up, yet at the first cast thou shalt not disceme the point: but afterward having turned thine eye on the one side and the other, thou shalt see it, because that by such turning, some one bright strain or other, will have met with it: of the same reason and nature is that which happeneth in small things that are on the earth, 
The ninth.  a man cannot tell how to behave himself to see them at the first dash. Finally, if we see by taking something into the eye, the eye should contain at one and the same instant two contrary things, which is against the laws of nature, neither could it being so small contain the greatness, no nor yet the shape of great mountains: whereupon we must needs conclude, that we see by sending forth something. Behold here all the fair and goodly forces on this side, which I am now about to pitch and plant in the plain field: and now let us go to view the squadrons on the contrary side.  

The contrary opinions of such as hold that we see by taking in something.  Chief captain and general of the same is Aristotle, whose followers be the whole band of the peripatetics, as also averrhoes, Alexander, Themistius, and an infinite number of others. All these hold that we see by receiving something into the eye, and that there doth nothing go out of the eye which may help us to see, but that either the object or the form there of doth come unto the eye. The foundation and main reason is clean contrary unto that of the Platonists: for Plato was verily persuaded, that the eye was all full of fire, and Aristotle maintaineth that the eye is all full of water, and this he demonstrateth most excellently, and therefore accordingly I will do my endeavour to set it out most plainly. 
A clear and plain proof, that the eye is all of water.  The instrument of the sight must be through clear, and transparent, that is to say clear as crystal, to the end there may be some likeness betwixt the object and the instrument, and that there maybe some equality betwixt the thing doing, and the thing suffering. This principle is clearly agreed upon in natural Philosophy. But of the things which are christallike clear, some are of subtle and thin bodies, and othersome are more compact and thick. The eye was not to be made christallike clear and thin, because that so it could not have retained his forms, they would have speedily passed away, not finding any resting place, as do the bodies which are in the air: and the glass itself which is in looking glasses, would never make show of any picture or resemblance, if it were not steeled or leaded on the backside? Whereupon it followeth that the eye must be christallike clear and thick. Now of all the elements there is no one that is so clear and thick besides the water, for the air and fire are in deed clear, but therewithal thin: it followeth therefore, that the eye is of the nature of the water. This firm and demonstrative argument is underpropped by another which cannot be gainsaid. 
Another plains and strong proof.  The chief part of the eye is the christallike humour, which is nothing else, but a congealed water, which hath before it the waterish humour, and behind it the vitreous which doth feed and nourish it: if you pierce the eye, you shall not perceive any other thing to come forth but water, so that we must rather believe that the eye is of the nature of water, then of fire. 
Reason's proving that we see by taking in something.  This foundation thus laid, it will be easy to make sure the rest of the building, and to maintain that we see by receiving of some thing into the eye; and the rather, because it is the property of moist things to receive and take in. Lo here the chiefest reasons of this sect as they follow. The action of every sense is a suffering, and to do the office of any of the senses, is nothing else but to suffer: 
The first.  every action therefore of the senses is accomplished by receiving, and not by sending forth of anything, which is an action; as for example the ear heareth by receiving of sounds; smelling, by receiving of odours; taste, by receiving of tastes; and feeling, 
The second.  by receiving of such qualities as may be felt: and then why should the eye be debarred of this receipt? Aristotle saith, that they which have their eyes very moist, do seem to see things bigger than in deed they be, which argueth that the forms of things are received into, and as it were, graven in the crystalline humour: for bodies seem always to exceed themselves in greatness, being within the water. Every object exceeding in his quality, 
The third.  doth destroy his sense, as an exceeding great whiteness doth dim and dazzle the sight: than it must follow, that it is violently received. Aristotle in his Problems moveth a question, 
The fourth.  which may be of some force in this place: as, wherefore the right hand is ordinarily more nimble and strong than the left, and not one care given to hear more readily than the other? Whose answer is, that the faculty which causeth the hands to move, setteth itself on work, and that that which causeth sight and hearing is set on work: in such sort as that the eyes and cares may equally receive and suffer. Old men commonly do see things a far off, 
The fift.  better than those which are at hand, and this cannot happen of any fiery streams or light, going out of the eye, because that those in them are of small quantity, and greatly delayed with darkness; the cause must needs be referred to the form, which coming from a thing far removed, becometh more fine and subtle, and less participating of material substance, and by consequent no more fit to be received. 
The sixth.  In winter if the weather be calm and fair, the Stars are often seen at midday; which never happeneth in summer; which is, because in winter the air being more gross and thick, the forms thereof do consist and abide more permanently, as also in greater number in the air: but in summer by reason of the thinness and subtleness of the air, their said forms, have no staid abode or means to multiply: and this showeth, that we see by receiving in, and not sending forth of any thing. Finally, the eye is like unto the looking glass, 
The seventh.  and this receiveth all such shapes as are brought unto it, without sending any thing of it own unto the object. They differ only in this, that the looking glass hath no power to recommend his forms and shapes unto their judge, as the eye doth unto the common sense by the nerve optic. Lo here the two battles orderly in array, and right over one against the other, I could wish myself able to agree them, being the same that Galen hath attempted, but in deed there is little likeliehoode. For the truth cannot uphold and defend two things, 
The Author his opinion.  contrary one to the other. I will therefore set in foot with the stronger side, and maintain with Aristotle, that we see by receiving only and that there goeth nothing out of the eye, which may serve for the making of us to see. I will use for my first encounter this reason, which as it seemeth me is sharp enough. If there go any thing out of the eye, it is either some fine and subtle body, 
Arguments plainly convincing the Platonists.  as the animal spirit, or else some stream only. If it be a body, how can it be carried forthwith and in a moment as high as heaven, seeing that every bodily substance requireth time to move in, but the sight is finished at one instant? This bodily substance shall it not be beaten, scattered and deceived by the winds, before it come to the object? This body thus going forth of the eye, shall it pierce the air? or shall the air give place to it? pierce it cannot, because that nature can no more abide the piercing of bodies, than she can abide that there should be a place wherein should be no body: if the air make way for it, than there will never be any sight: for so the coherence and continuity of strains would be interrupted, because the air would follow it hard at the heels, and thrust itself betwixt the two. If to avoid the push of these pikes, 
That it cannot be any bright beam which goeth out of the eye.  which yet are sharp enough, thou wouldst say, that that which goeth out of the eye is a bright beam or light, which pierceth the air, and communicateth itself in a moment with all that which is the mean, as doth the shine of the Sun, which enlighteneth the whole air without any motion; I will urge thee more nearly, and will cause thee to see that there is not light enough in the eye to reach up to heaven. Mark well and consider, that a flame of fire casteth not his streams any further than the proportion of the bigness there of will bear it out: one candle cannot give light enough to one whole parlour, and how canst thou imagine that this little member should be able in a moment to reach heaven with his bright beams? It is no difficulty for the Sun, because it is as great as the whole earth, to cast forth his beams, and to spread them over the whole world, but it cannot be so said of the eye. Therefore there can nothing go forth of the eye, that can reach to the things to be seen. Furthermore, if the streams going forth of the eye should be the cause of sight, than they should return unto the eye again, or else stay by the way: if they come not back again, neither can they make return of such bodies as they touch; if they do come back again, yet there is nothing but bright glittering bodies, which can be seen, because no other than these give any reflection, and so it should follow, that huge and great hills should not be seen. Let us say more, that if these streams serve to cause us to see, that then of necessity, they must either return empty or laden with their backs full of bodies: if they come empty, there will be nothing to see: if they bring forms or semblances of things with them, then have we our desire, that is, that we see by receiving something into the eye. 
The ground-proofes of the Platonists.  As concerning the foundations of the Platonists, it is easy to overthrow them all. I confess that the eye hath great quantity of brightness in it, but it proceedeth not from fire, it cometh of the crystalline humour, and of the shining of the tunicles: for all polished substances, being after the manner of the horny membrane, do shine in the dark. The action of the eye performed on the sudden, and the great quickness of the same, cannot compel me to think that it is full of fire. For, the action is sudden, because the eye receiveth but the bare shapes or likenesses of things without matter and body. For the nimbleness and dexterity thereof, we may conceive that it is no great piece of work for six muscles readily to move so small a member. The eyes do not at any time quiver with cold, because (as Aristotle saith in his Problems) they be full of fat, which accidentarily doth keep them warm, as our garments do us: or because they be in continual motion. There is no fire then within the eyes, there is nothing to be found but water, crystal and glass. 
Answer to the reasons of the Platonists.  And as for the reasons which they allege, they be very light: for the Basilisk and the inflamed eye do not infect us by the bright beams which come from them, but by a natural substance, which is very subtle, that is to say by a vapour insensibly breathing out of the whole body, which infecting the air, is by it transported to us. That which is alleged of the wolf, 
The second.  is no better worth then to be derided. And as for any enchantment proceeding from the eye, we hold, that naturally there can no such thing be. Exceeding much whiteness doth overthrow the sight, because it draweth out all the spirits, which ought to keep within the eye, to enable it the more unto the performance of his office. 
The third.  The eye groweth weak and weary with looking, as every other part will do, which is, for that the natural heat and spirits (which labour and take pains in the motion of the eye, as also in the holding of the same still) do spend and waste themselves. 
The fourth.  We do half shut our eyes, when we would see a far off, not to the end to unite the shining strains of the eye but rather that the outward light should not suddenly rush in and scatter the inward. 
The fift.  The eye must needs turn itself towards his object, because sight doth never act but by a direct line. 
The sixth.  Great eyes, and those apples of eyes which are broad, see not so well as the contrary, because the inward spirits are thereby lost, being very necessary in the receiving of those forms which are to enter into the eye. 
The seventh.  As concerning the needle, I answer▪ that at the first we see not the point▪ because it is not proportionable. The receiving of two contraries and of the most huge mountains, 
The eight.  is no absurdity, seeing the eye in all cases meddleth with nothing but the forms of the things, which are without all matter and substance. Wherefore let nothing let us to conclude, that the sight is effected by the receiving in of some thing. 
A plainer declaring of the manner of receiving in something.  But the manner of this receiving is a very difficult thing, and understood of a very few. To make plain therefore the same, I will do my endeavour to search out, what it is that the eye receiveth; in what part it receiveth the same; when it receiveth in any thing and how. Concerning the first point, 
What it is that the sight receiveth or taketh in.  I find great odds in opinions. Democritus and Leucippus do firmly hold, that we receive in bodies more small than that they will suffer any division. Epicurus thinketh that we receive in the only beams of the object. Alexander the Peripatetic, the image of the object, and that not as in his proper subject, but as it were in a looking-glass. Aristotle maintaineth, that we receive in nothing but the form which is produced of the object, and multiplied or continued in an unseparable continuity in and by the air, as the body maketh and produceth the shadow, and the Sun the light. And this is the soundest judgement of all the rest, but such as needeth a plainer declaration: 
That the eye receiveth nothing but the forms of things.  for every man is not able at the first blush, to understand what is meant by the form of the object. We affirm then that this form hath not his seat and place in the understanding, as also that it is not the same which schoolmen call Ens rationis, 
What this form is.  but that it is a certain real thing seated in the air and eye. Now whatsoever hath a real being, is either a substance or an accident. This form cannot be a substance, because that thereby it should be more noble and perfect then his object which is colour. Then it is an accident. But what kind a one? Shall we call it a quantity? No, for than it would have the allowance either of height, breadth or depth: and we dare not call it a relation, because relation hath not the force to do any thing, but this form causeth us to see. And least of all may we reduce and bring it unto the predicament of Action: It must then needs be a quality, without matter or body, and uncapable of all manner of division: such a form is called of the Philosophers intentional, which hath respect unto the object, and is immediately produced and made show of, as the shadow of the body. This form doth multiply itself throughout the air: for the air being subtle & moist, is apt to receive all the forms: and receiving one part of the object, representeth the whole object. This form is not seen, but maketh us to see, for there is nothing but the object which can be seen.  
Question. Some man may demand; how this form altereth the sight in uniting or dispersing of the spirits, itself being void of all matter? for whiteness disperseth the spirits, and blackness keepeth them together.  
Answer, I answer, that this alteration cometh not of the form, but of the light which cometh of the colours. And it is most certain that a great light wasteth the sight, because our spirits which are very subtle and light, come forth to join themselves unto this outward light: on the contrary, they beholding darkness and a black colour, withdraw themselves, shunning their enemy. There is nothing then but a form without matter which is received, and hence it is that we see a thing in a moment, and not by intermission of time, as all the other senses have their operations and actions. 
In what part of the eye this receipt is made.  Now let us see in what place, that is, whereabout or in what part of the eye this form is received. Some there are which think it to be received in the brain, because it is the seat of common sense, and for that there is none of the senses which hath not his original from the brain. Avicen did verily think, that this receipt was where the nerves optics do join together, and that the object doth not appear double, because the forms are united in this conjunction of the sinews. Others are of mind, that this receipt is accomplished in the cobweblike tunicle, which is more clear and bright than any looking-glass. But we hold with Aristotle, Galen, and the truth also, that this receipt is effected in the crystalline humour, because this is the most noble part of the eye, having such a substance as none other hath, and the same seated in the midst of the instrument, as in his centre, where the two lights do meet each other; the outward, which entereth at the apple of the eye, as at a window; and the inward, which is brought thither by the nerve optic. Notwithstanding, if thou be disposed to reconcile all these several opinions, 
The true and proper means by which we have sight.  thou mayst say that the receipt is made in the crystalline humour, the rebating of their violence in the tunicles, the perfect consummation in the conjunction of the nerves optics, the knowledge, trial, or discerning of the same in the substance of the brain. Of all this long discourse these are the fruits which we shall reap; that the sight is effected only by receiving of some thing into the eye, and not by sending any thing out of it; that the crystalline humour (being the chief instrument of sight) receiveth nothing but forms, which are as the shadows of things that may be seen; that these forms being produced and multiplied along throughout the air, are by a direct line and not else received, and that at an instant. I am constrained to add this disputation in this small treatise of the eye, as having been urgently pressed, or rather expressly commanded to do the same.   

CHAP. XI. How many ways the sight may be endamaged and hurt.  
THe whole discourse, which I have gone about to make concerning the excellency of the sight, the cunning workmanship of the eye, and of all his parts, (besides the delight which it will bring to such as are curious) will not (in my judgement) be unprofitable unto them, which shall earnestly desire to know the diseases of the eyes, and would undertake to heal and cure the same. For we hold it for a principle in physic, that no man can know that which happeneth contrary to nature in any part, if he do not first know that which is natural unto the same part. The direct (saith Aristotle in his first book of the soul) or strait line, is a rule both to judge itself and the crooked by. It behoveth then that the Physician should know the natural state of the eye, and whatsoever is needful for the execution of his office, if so be he be desirous to know how many ways it may be hurt. Every action (as Galen observeth in many places) may be hurt three ways, 
How many ways a function may be hurt.  for either it is wholly lost, or else greatly impaired, or else corrupted and depraved. These three faults may happen to the sight, the impeachment or weakness thereof is ordinary with old folks; the sight is then depraved, when the object showeth other than it is, the utter loss thereof is called blindness. The sight groweth weak, 
How the sight is weakened.  either through default of his faculties, or through the evil disposition of the instrument. The faculty which is that power of the soul, which maketh us see, hath his seat in the brain: if then the brain be altered in his temperature, (as when it falleth out to be too hot, cold, moist or dry; or when it is not fashioned well & commendably) then all the senses will bewray a great impeachment in their actions, but above all the rest the sight, because the eye being next neighbour unto the brain, and of a marvelous sympathy with the same, will suffer first of all. The evil disposition of the eye, weakeneth the sight very oft, although that the faculty be entire and strong. Such disposition is found sometimes in the whole eye, as when it is too fat and great, or too small and lean, sometimes in some special parts thereof, as in the tunicle, humours, muscles, spirits, sinews, veins and arteries, unto every of which do happen their particular diseases, which I will run through in the chapter following.  

The sight depraved and falsified.  The corrupting or falsifying of the sight falleth out; when the object showeth itself to be of another colour, form, quantity or situation than it is; as for example, if a white thing should show yellow or red, because the instrument of sight is tainted with some colour: this it is which maketh them that have the yellow jaundice, to see every thing yellow: when the thing which standeth fast, seemeth to move, as it falleth out in them which have the disease, called Vertigo, through the disordered and extraordinary moving of the spirits; and when one single thing seemeth two, and this falleth out, either through default of the instrument, or through the evil situation of the object, or of the eyebeames. If both the eyes be not in one and the same level, but that the one be high, and the other low, out of doubt every thing which they behold will show double: the causes hereof are oftentimes a palsy in the one, and a convulsion in the other. The nerve optic also being relaxed and mollified on the one side, causeth all things that are looked upon to seem double, as it happeneth to such as are drunk. If you press and bear down the one eye with your finger, not touching the other, you shall see every thing double▪ of which missight the situation of the instrument is the principal cause: and the situation of the object is the next. As if you whirl a staff round about, you would think that it were a circle, and if long wise, you would judge it to be nothing but a long stretched line; which happeneth by the swift moving of the object out of his place, for so, before the first figure be worn out, a second cometh into his place. The last cause consisteth in the diverse situation of the eye beams; as if you look yourself in a cracked looking glass, your face will seem two faces unto you.  

The loss of the sight.  The utter loss and deprivation of the sight, which we call blindness, cometh either of the dryness of the humours, or of the hindering of the two lights, that they cannot meet and join together in the crystalline humour. The inward which is the animal spirit, is hindered by the obstruction of the nerve optic, and this disease is called gutta serena; the outward is hindered by the cataract, which shutteth the apple of the eye, the window of the crystalline humour. Therefore the sight cannot be hurt, but by one of these three ways.   

CHAP. XII. A brief rehearsal of all the diseases of the eye.  
I Do not intend here to trouble my mind in drawing forth an exquisite description of all the diseases of the eye, the attempt would be too great, and I could not make so few as twenty chapters of the same, seeing there are so many particular diseases of the eye. I will content myself to lay out the way and best ordered course thereunto, for the benefit of young Physicians and Surgeons, for whose sake I have made choice of this chapter.  

The division of the diseases of the eye.  Now then as concerning the diseases of the eye, some of them are common to the whole member, some others are proper unto some particular part of the same. Those which concern the whole eye, are either similar or instrumental, or common. The similar one's, are the moist, the dry, the hot, the cold distemperature, 
The diseases to be referred to the whole eye.  as also the simple, the compound, the distemperature without matter, and that which is accompanied with matter. The instrumental do show themselves in the evil shape of the eye, as when it is over great or over little, or not so situate as were requisite for comeliness and use. The diseases coming of the bigness of it, are when the eye is either too great or too little; 
The greatness of the eye.  the great eye is called the ox eye, it hindereth the action of the eye, for the sight is not so quick, by reason of the excessive expense of spirits, neither is it so ready in motion. The cause of this greatness is either the error of the first form and shape committed by nature, or else some accident whether phlegmatic humour, or inflammation, or else some great flux of humours falling down upon the same. The disease contrary to this, 
The smallness of the eye.  is the smallness of the eye, which either is the work of nature, and is called the pigs eye, or else happeneth by some other means, as by wasting of the natural heat, by suffering of intolerable pains, much watchings, sharp rheums, and continual agues; in such cases the whole eye being weakened, it attracteth not his natural nourishment, or though it do, yet it cannot concoct it, and this disease is called the pining away, or leanenes of the eye.  

The eye bolted out.  The diseases of situation is when the eye is out of his place, as when it cometh out, and when it falleth quite down; if it come forth, it is called a falling out of the eye, in greek 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉. Avicen observeth, that it happeneth either of an outward cause, as of a blow, a fall, or strain in coughing, vomiting, blowing, or of an inward cause, as of some sudden falling down of humours, which looseth all the muscles and whole body of the eye, or of a great inflammation or other humour.  

Solution of continuity.  The common disease is called the solution of continuity, which happeneth when the eye is burst, or when all the humours thereof are mingled and jumbled together.  
Lo these be the diseases which may be referred to the whole body of the eye: for the diseases called Nictalopia, Myopiasis, and Amblyopia, are Symptoms, touching only the spirits or humours, and not the whole eye.  

The particular diseases of the eye.  The particular diseases differ according to the parts of the eye. Now we have already observed for parts of the eye, the humours, coats, sinews, and muscles of the same: so then there are diseases proper unto every one of these parts. I will begin to describe those which happen to the humours, as being the noblest parts of the eye, as also because Galen in his book of the causes of accidents hath taken the same course.  

The disease of the crystalline humour. Glaucoma.  The crystalline humour is subject to all manner of disease, but the most usual is a dry distemperature, and his going out of his place. His dry distemperature is the cause of an accident, which the Grecians call 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, which is a shrinking together, and drienes of the crystalline humour, thereby becoming as it were white. Hypocrates in his third book of Aphorisms observeth that this disease doth seldom happen but to old folk, and we judge it incurable. The crystalline may shift out of his place many ways: for either it may shift to either side, or rise higher, or fall lower, or it may shrink further into the eye, or come forward toward the forepart of the eye. Howsoever it remove and shift, 
The accidents that fall out when the crystalline humour is removed out of his place.  it hurteth the sight very much: if it be sunk far back into the eye, it causeth that we cannot behold things which are near at hand: if it be set too forward, it letteth from seeing a far off: if it be more to the one side or to the other, we see a squint: and when it is too high or too low, every thing seemeth two, because they are not level.  

The diseases of the watery humour.  The waterish humour being also a part as well as the others, hath his particular diseases. If it be too much dried, as it falleth out very oft in cataracts, it taketh the sight clean away. If his store be greatly diminished, the crystalline humour drieth, the grapelike coat withereth, the horny membrane shrinketh, and the outward light is not rebated. As concerning the glassy humour, writers have not noted any diseases properly belonging thereto: but, in my judgement, it is subject to the same affects that the waterish, both in his temperature, substance, and quantity.  

The diseases of the coats.  The tunicles of the eye are six, but there are not any more than three, which have been noted to have particular diseases, that is to say, the conjunctive, the horny, and the grapelike: for no man hath designed any unto the cobweblike, netlike or glassy one.  

The diseases of the white coat. Inflammation.  The diseases proper unto the conjunctive are three; inflammation, the nail called in Latin Pterigium, and mortification. The inflammation of this membrane is sometime so sleight, as that it healeth of itself, and then it is called of the Grecians 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉. The cause thereof is for the most part outward, as smoke, wind, the Sun, dust, open air, the smell of onions: if this inflammation be greater, it is absolutely called Ophthalmia: if it be very great, in so much as that it causeth the white to be very much puffed up, and thereby the apple of the eye to seem to stand in a hollow, the Greeks' do call it 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉. There are inflammations proceeding of blood, others proceeding of choler, others of phlegm, 
The differences of the inflammation of the the eye.  and some of melancholy: Galen speaketh both of moist & dry ones; Hypocrates of symptomatical and critical ones; Trallian of such as are accompanied with a consumption, and such as are not of malign ones, such as are usual in the plague time, & such as are not malign, of continual ones, and such as keep ordinary returns. 
The nail.  The second kind of disease is called Pterigium. This is a sinewy flesh, which beginneth to grow most commonly at the great corner of the eye, and from thence spreadeth itself like a wing unto the apple of the eye: it is also sometime like unto a nail, it followeth very often the inflammations that are not orderly cured, it is accompanied with some itching, as also with a little redness and with some tears. 
The several sorts of it.  There are many kinds of it, which are all distinguished either by their colour, or manner of fastening of themselves, or by their substance, or greatness. As for the difference of colour, there are white, red, and yellowish ones. They differ in respect of their fastening, because some stick fast and close to, whereas others do suffer themselves to be easily separated. They differ in substance, because some are thick, and some thin, some soft, some hard, some membranous like skins, some fatty and like unto grease, and some varicous, which are like unto a net, knit and made of many small veins and arteries. The bigness maketh the last difference: for some are so small that they pass not the white: othersome so great, as that they reach unto the apple of the eye, and do greatly hinder the sight.  
The third and last disease proper to the white tunicle, 
Mortification.  is called 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 blackness, or the mortification of the eye. Paulus Aegineta and Aetius, had defined it a bursting of the veins of the eye, which causeth the blood to settle itself all under the white tunicle, and the horny also, making all things seem red unto the eye. The cause hereof is ordinarily outward; as some blow or fall: sometimes it is inward, as the fullness of the veins and the thinness of the blood. There are some other diseases of the white tunicle; as pustules and white spots in manner of a scar, but they are common with this unto the horny membrane.  

The diseases of the horny membrane. Pustules.  The diseases of the horny membrane are, pustules; common, malign, and cankerous ulcers; the retention of purulent matter called 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉: the scar and the rapture. The pustules are called 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 of the Grecians, and Bothor of the Arabians. These are like unto little bladders, proceeding of a thin and waterish humour, which gathereth amongst the small skins of the horny membrane, and setteth them upon the stretch. 
The divers sorts of pustules.  Their differences are known by their colour: for some are black, and therefore growing betwixt the first and second leaf: and some are white, and do grow betwixt the third and fourth leaf. They differ in situation, because some are more superficial, and others more deep. They differ in respect of matter, because some do rise of a choleric humour, others of a clear and thin water. 
Ulcers commonly happening in the horny membrane.  If the purulent matter continue long after that the pustules be broken, it maketh an ulcer in the horny membrane. The Physicians both Greek and Arabian make seven sorts of ulcers, three inward, and four outward: the first of the inward is called 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, 
Three ulcers within the horny membrane.  of Paulus Aegineta and Avicen annulus, of others Fossula: that is to say, a small, straight, hollow ulcer, having no matter in it: the second is wider and not so deep, Paulus calleth it 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, Avicen, lilimie: the third is very filthy and croustie, the Grecians call it 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, the Arabians Alficume. The outward ulcers are four: 
The four ulcers in the utter part of the horny membrane.  the first is like unto a gross smoke, and maketh the apple of the eye black, they call it 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉: the second is more white and deep, and is called 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉: the third is round, and appeareth in the circle of the eye; this is Paulus his 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉: the fourth and last is very filthy, of the colour of ashes, much like to a lock of wool, which is the cause that Avicen calleth it the woolly ulcer. Galen was the first that observed all these differences, in a little treatise of the eyes, but he gave not particular names to every of them: 
The correcting▪ of a piece of text in Galen.  and throughout this whole treatise there is one notorious fault to be found, which is, that this word inward is always put for the word outward, and contrariwise. Manardus hath gone about to carp at Avicen, for notes of difference which he hath set down about these ulcers, but he hath no just reason so to do. There grow other ulcers in the horny membrane which are malign, and are termed 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, 
Malign ulcers.  and these fret and spread unto the muscles and eyelids. There are also in the horny membrane cankerous ulcers accompanied with pricking pains; 
Cankerous ulcers.  these are bred of a sharp and melancholic humour, being of the nature of a canker. The scar is a disease of the horny membrane: 
A scar in the horny membrane. Hypopion,  for it taketh from it his colour and clearness, making it altogether white, it is called 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, or Albuge. Hipopion cometh very near unto it, for it is a collection of purulent water, possessing the black of the eye. 
Rupture in the horny membrane.  Lastly, the horny membrane is sometimes bursten, and then it causeth a disease, which is proper unto the grapelike coat, which we will describe hereafter.  

The diseases of the grapelike coat.  In the grapelike tunicle we are to consider a body and a hole, which is the apple of the eye: the body or substance of it hath a particular disease, which is the falling down of the same: the apple of the eye is subject unto three notable diseases, which are the excessive wideness and narrowness of the same, and the cataract. The falling down of Vnea is called of the Greeks' 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, 
The falling down of Vnea.  which cannot happen without the bursting or fretting asunder of the horny membrane which is made to serve in stead of a bar unto it: the rapture of Cornea is almost always of an outward cause, but the fretting a sunder of the same is of an inward. 
Four kinds of the foresaid disease.  There are ordinarily made four kinds of this falling down of Vnea, which differ only in greatness: for if it do fall down but a very little, it is called 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 the head of a fly, but of Avicen, Formicalis, if yet it fall down more, and as it were to the greatness of the skin of a grape, it is called 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 if yet is fall down further and hang as it were a little apple, it is called 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉: if unto all this it grow hard and been me brawny, it shallbe called 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, Clauns.  

The diseases of the apple of the eye.  The apple of the eye hath three diseases, for either it becometh too broad or too narrow, or else altogether shut up. The over much broadness called of the Greeks 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, 
The disease Mydriasis.  is a disease of the instrument, because that the hollowness thereof is greater than it ought. Galen maketh two kind of this dilatation, the one natural, the other accidental, both of them do hurt and hinder the sight very greatly, because the inward light doth spend itself too fast, and as Avicen saith the forms of things are not received so quickly and sharply as they should: 
The causes of such dilatation  This dilatation cometh of too much narrowness of the grape like tunicle, and it is made narrower, either by being swelled up by too much moisture, or drawn together by extreme dryness: moisture if it be without mixture paraliseth the membrane, but if it be joined with matter, as it is in the tumors, abscesses, and other fluxes falling upon the eye, than it trusseth it up (as it were) into a narrower room. Dryness doth pull in the edges of Vnea making larger the hole, as we see parchment that is very dry. The disease contrary to this is called of the Greeks' 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, 
The diminution of the apple of the eye.  the consumption or straightness of the apple of the eye, that which is according to nature, is very available tor the sight, but that which is accidentary, doth no good, but hurteth always: the cause hereof is the falling together of the edges of the grapelike coat: it shrinketh together through great store of moisture, which is no where else, but on the side of the hole; or else by reason of the wasting of the waterish humour, which filled all this space. 
The Cataract.  The last disease of the apple of the eye, is called of the Grecians 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, of the Arabians a drop or water, of the common people a Cataract or a pin and a web. We define it to be an obstruction of the apple of the eye, caused of an unnatural humour, which having fallen down thither, groweth thicker by little and little, betwixt the horny membrane, and the crystalline humour. 
The cause of the Cataract.  The next cause thereof (called the continent cause) is an unnatural humour, and herein it differeth from Glaucoma, which happeneth through the congelation of the natural humours of the eye; this humour at the first floweth like water, but in the end it thickneth and resembleth more an earthy substance. This is the cause why Paulus in his third book defineth a Cataract or suffusion by this word effusion, and in his sixth book by this word concretion, or congelation, in the first place, speaking of that which was the beginning of the disease, and in the second, of that whereunto it was grown. This humour, 
The place where the humour causing the Cataract is settled.  if we will believe Halyabbas, Haly, and Azaravius, is gathered betwixt the grapelike coat, and the crystalline humour; but if we had rather believe Avicen, Mesue, and Albucasis, we must think that it gathereth betwixt the horny and grapelike tunicle. As for myself, I think it may abide in all that space, which is from the inner part of the horny coat, even unto the crystalline humour, and that it oftentimes mixeth itself with the waterish humour. This web or spot doth hinder the sight many ways: for if it stop all the apple of the eye, which is the window of the eye, the sight is clear lost: if there be but one part of the window shut, as the right or left, the upper or neither, the eye will then see the objects that shall be set before it, but it cannot see any more than one at a time: if the obstruction be even in the midst of the apple of the eye, all the things which it beholdeth, will seem to be divided, and as it were cloven, and withal it is not possible for such persons to see the midst of the object: if the water be not as yet gathered close together, but that it be scatteringly dispersed here and there, one shall see as it were flies to fly in the air. The differences of Cataracts are gathered from their greatness, 
The differences of Cataracts.  substance, colour, fastening, situation and manner of growing. For there are some great, and some small, some thick, and some thin, some white, some of colour like ashes or chalk, some red, some black, 
Their inward causes.  and some of a citrine colour. The inward causes are the humours and vapours which grow thick, the humours come either from the brain, by the sinews, veins and arteries, or else are engendered in the member itself, by reason of the weakness of the concocting and expelling faculty. 
The imaginations going before Cataracts.  Cataracts have always for their forerunners, certain false visions, which men call imaginations: for men think they see flies, hairs, or threads of a spider web in the air, which yet are not there. The cause of these visions is a dark shadowy vapour, got betwixt the horny membrane and crystalline humour. This vapour showeth not itself in his proper form: for then the grapelike coat should as well be seen, but in one of those forms which are in the air: it is true that the crystalline humour judgeth these vapours to be without the eye, because it is so accustomed to see outward objects, that it thinketh that which is within the eye to be without it. These vapours rise sometimes from below, sometimes from the humours which are in the brain, or in the eye itself.  

The diseases of the muscles of the eye. The wrested eye.  The diseases of the muscles of the eye, are principally three, the wrested or wry eye, the shaking eye, and the astonished eye. The wrested eye is called 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 or 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, and is caused either of a Palsy, affecting some of the muscles, and then the part diseased, yieldeth unto the sound part: as it happeneth in all other parts that have the Palsy and opposite muscles: or else it is caused of a convulsion, affecting some of the muscles, and then the sound part of the eye yieldeth unto the diseased. Whatsoever it is, this disease is caused either of dryness, or of superfluous moisture: now in this disease the eye is wrested and set a wry many ways, 
The diverse sorts thereof.  as on high, a low, and then there is nothing seen but the white of the eye: Hypocrates calleth it 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, where the eye is wrested to either side, and maketh the squint eye. The shaking eye, 
The shaking eye.  called 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 is a fault in the muscles of the eye, being so much weakened, that they cannot hold the eye still. All the ancient writers have believed, 
The error of the ancient writers.  that this shaking of the eye did proceed of a seventh muscle, which doth embrace the nerve optic, but they deceived themselves: for it is not found in men as I have showed in the history of the eye. I believe then that as the pausing motion, which naturally holdeth the eye firm and immovable is then accomplished, when all the six muscles draw equally: that even so this shaking is caused, when the said muscles lose their fibers, not drawing or bending the same at all. 
The fixed eye.  There is a disease clean contrary to this, as when the eyes are let in the head, and cannot move. Hypocrates calleth it 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 and 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, and it happeneth then when the muscles have lost all their power of moving, either by obstruction or Palsy possessing die sinew that bringeth motion.  

The diseases of the sinew of sight. Obstruction.  The diseases of the nerve optic, are obstruction, compression, the Palsy, the falling and bursting thereof, a hard and melancholic humour, inflammation. Obstruction is suddenly caused through a cold & gross humour, in as much as the hollowness of the sinew is very small: It is pressed together through some blow: 
Compression. Palsy.  the Palsy taketh it, by reason of some thin and waterish humour, which doth mollify and soften it. The falling thereof is called in Greek, 
The falling of it together.  〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, when the membranous ends thereof fall together not leaving any space for the marrowie substance which should be betwixt them: the bursting thereof cometh of a blow, 
The breaking of it.  after which the eye first starteth out, and after sinking in again, pineth away. All these diseases of the sinew of sight, do make one common disease, which the Greeks' call 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, and the Arabians, Gutta Serena. This as Aetius doth very well define it, 
Gutta Serena.  is a blindness and utter loss of the sight, without any fault or let appearing in the eye: this blindness cometh by hindering of the course of the inward light.  

The disease of the spirits. Day blindness. Night blindness.  The best learned Physicians do number the spirits among the parts of the eye, and assign them their diseases, as 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, and 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉. In the first, one cannot see but in the dark, as in the dawning of the day, and twilight, for at midday this disease will not let a man read. In the other it falleth out clean contrary, for it causeth that a man cannot see, except he be in a very clear light; some impute this unto the spirits: those which have subtle and thin spirits cannot see in a great light, because such spirits 〈◊〉 thereby scattered: such as have gross spirits have need of a clear and bright light to enlighten them.  
Lo here in a short brief, the principal diseases of the eye. I meddle not with those of the eyelids, of the corners of the eye, or of the bordering parts, because I fear me I have wandered too far out of my way already, having purposed with myself only to show the excellency of the sight, and how men may learn the way to preserve the same: I will therefore return again into my way.   

CHAP. XIII. A general and most exquisite regiment for the preservation of the sight, in which it handled very particularly, whatsoever may hurt the eyes, as also whatsoever is profitable for them.  
IT is now high time to mix some profitable thing with the pleasant and delightsome: whosoever they be that feel some impairing of their sight, or fear some future weakness of the same, shall see in these two chapters whatsoever precious and excellent thing that is to be found in the gardens of the Greek, Arabian, or Latin Physicians, for the preservation thereof, seeing I have sometimes delighted myself to crop and pick out thereof, whatsoever I could find or see to be fair and for profit. But for as much as one of the principal causes of the weakness of the sight (yea I dare be bold to say, that it is more common than any of the rest) doth proceed of a superfluous moisture of the eye, and of the impurenes of the spirits: I will ordain an exquisite order for the same, which shall serve for a pattern and scantling the better, to aim at the curing of all the rest of the diseases of the eye. The art which teacheth to heal diseases, called by one word of the Grecians 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, is ordinarily performed by three instruments, as Diet, or the manner of living, chirurgery, and Medicine.  

Good diet hath the first place in the curing of whatsoever diseases.  The manner of living is always set in the forefront, and hath been judged of the ancient learned to be the chief and most noble part, because it is most favourable and familiar to nature, not disturbing her any manner of way, or molesting her in any respect, so, as medicines and manual operations do. This manner of living doth not consist only in meat and drink, as the common people imagine, but in the ordering of the six things which the Physicians call not natural; and these are the air, meat and drink, sleep and watching, labour and rest, emptiness and fullness, and the passions of the mind.  

The power of the air.  I will begin my order of diet at the air, in as much as no man can want it the least minute, and for that it hath a marvelous force to alter and change our bodies on the sudden: The direct passages thereof is through the nose to the brain, and through the mouth to the heart, by the pores of the skin and moving of the arteries it goeth throughout the whole body: it provideth matter and nourishment for our spirits. This is the cause why that famous Hypocrates did note very well, that of the constitution of the air doth wholly depend the good and ill disposition of our humours and spirits. 
The qualities of the air.  In the air we must look unto his first and second qualities: his first are heat, cold, moisture and dryness, of which the two first are called active, and the two latter passive: the second qualities are when the air is gross, thick, subtle, pure, dark, light: but let us now make our profit of all this. 
What air is good for the sight.  It behoveth us for the better preservation of our sight to choose an air which is temperate in his first qualities, as being neither too hot, too cold, too moist or dry. It is not good to abide in the heat of the Sun, neither in the beams of the Moon, or in the open air. The Southern and Northern winds are hurtful to the eyes. 
The winds that are bad for the sight.  Read that which Hypocrates writeth in his third section of Aphorisms. The South wind (saith he) maketh a troubled sight, hardness of hearing, a heavy head, dull senses, and all the body lazy and lither, because it begetteth gross spirits. The North wind is very sharp, and therefore (as saith the same author) it stingeth and pricketh the eyes. The places that are low, waterish, moist and full of marshes, are altogether contrary to the welfare of the sight. It is better a great deal to dwell in dry places, and such as are somewhat rising. If a man be forced to dwell in moist places, his help is to alter and rectify the air with artificial fires, 
How to correct the air by art.  made of the wood of Laurel, juniper, Rosemary and Tamariske: or otherwise to very good purpose he may make the perfume invented of the Arabians, and use it in the chamber where he keepeth most. Take of the leaves of Eyebright, 
A perfume.  Fennell, and Margerome of every one an ounce, of Zyloaloe finely powdered a dram, of Frankincense three drams: mingle them altogether, and perfume your chamber oftentimes therewith.  

How the air must be affected in his second qualities.  As concerning the second qualities, a gross, thick, and foggy air is contrary to the sight, we must choose such a one as is pure and clean, purged from all waterish, earthy, nitrous, sulphurous, and other such like metal like vapours, especially those of quicksilver: the dust, fire, and smoke do wonderful harm to the eye: and this is the reason why such as have a weak sight should never intermeddle with Alchemy, for so at once they should consume both their sight and their purse: the vapours arising out of standing waters and from dead bodies are very noisome. Neither yet must the air be too lightsome: 
What light is bad for the sight.  for an excessive light doth scatter the spirits, and causeth the sight oftentimes to be lost. We read that Zenophanes his soldiers having passed the snow, became all of them as it were blind: and Dionysius the tyrant of Sicily, did after the same manner put out the eyes of all his prisoners: for having shut them up in a very dark hole, caused them to be led forth on the sudden into a very bright light, so that they all thereby lost their sight.  

What colours do comfort the sight.  Unto the light we will adjoin colours. All colours are not profitable for the sight; the white colour scattereth the spirits, drawing them to it; the black maketh them too gross: there is not any but the green, blue and violet, which do much comfort it. And this hath nature taught us in the framing of the eye: for she hath died the grapelike coat with green and blue, on that side which is next unto the crystalline humour. The colour of the sapphire and Emerald is very commodious for the sight. If you desire often to look upon these two colours mixed together, I will show you to attain thereunto very easily. Take of the flowers of Borage, & of the leaves of Burnet, and when you are disposed to drink cast them into the glass: and this will serve you for two purposes. The colour will comfort your eyes, and the herbs by their property will repress the vaporousnes of the wine. And thus much let be said of the air.  

Of meats and drinks.  The second point of ordering thy diet aright, consisteth in meat and drink. It behoveth therefore to know what victuals are good, and what they be which can hurt the sight. A man must altogether refrain such victuals as are of gross nourishment, as also slimy, vaporous, salt, windy, sweet, and sharp meats, and such as make many excrements, there must also be made a more spare supper then dinner.  

Of bread.  The bread must be made of clean wheat, well leavened and some what salted, wherein may be put Fennell or Anise-seede: it must not be eaten new, nor after it is above three days old. Unleavened bread doth hurt the sight extremely, especially if there be any darnel therein: for some are of opinion that the use of darnel doth destroy the sight. I have sometimes read in Plautus a pleasant treatise of a page, who not daring to call his companion blinkard or blind-beetle, mocked him with having eaten of darnel.  

Of flesh.  All flesh that is easily digested, and doth not abound with superfluous moisture, is most fit to be eaten, as Chicken, Capon, Hen, Partridge, pheasant, Pigeon, Larks, Turtles, and other mountain birds, which may be stuffed with sage or mountain hissope .. There are certain sorts of flesh which have a certain special property for to strengthen and clear the sight, as the flesh of the Pie, the Swallow, the Goose, of Vipers well prepared, of the Wolf, of the he-gote, and other ravenous birds. The Arabian Physicians have observed, that the eyes of living creatures, do (I know not by what property or sympathy) comfort the sight. They do often use the flesh of Swallows and Pies dried in an oven to pepper their meats withal. They forbidden us the use of gross flesh, as of Pork, Hare and Hart.  

Of fish.  Fish (if we credit Avicen) is enemy unto the eyes: but I think he understandeth it of such as live in standing waters, which have a slimy substance and flesh, or such as be salted: for such as have a fast flesh, as Trout, Rochets, and such like, are not against the eyes. New and soft eggs with a little sugar and Cinnamon, do marvelously clear the sight: but if they be fried with butter, they hurt exceedingly.  
All meats made of paste, all baked, and milk meats do hurt the eyes.  
As concerning salt meats, spices and fauces, all of them are not forbidden: we use to make artificial salts, which serve marvelously to clear the sight: and therewithal must ordinarily meats be salted. 
Of artificial salts.  The salt of treacle is most excellent, whereto may be added some Nutmeg, Mace, Cloves and Fennell seed. There is likewise made salt of Eyebright, after this manner: Take of common salt one ounce, of Eyebright two drams, of cinnamon and Mace the weight of half a crown, mix them altogether, and use it as salt unto your meat. There be some which add unto these salts, the powder of the flesh of a Pie dried in the oven.  
Strong spices, 
Spices.  as Ginger, Pepper, and mustard do hurt the eyes: it is meet to rest contented with Nutmegs, Cloves, cinnamon and a little Saffron.  
All pulse is mightily against the sight, except it be lupines, which strengthen and help them by a certain property.  
As for herbs that are good for the eyes, 
Herbs.  these are commended; Fennell, Sage, Margerome, Rosemary, betony, Mints, Mountain time, Asparagus, Burnet, Succory, and Parsley: On the contrary side these are forbidden; lettuce, Cresses, Dill, Basill, Purslane, Leeks, Coleworts, Garlic, Onions, and all bulbous roots, as also Waterchestnuts, and Toadstooles. The Arabians, which were more addicted to dishmeate then the Greeks', do commend Turnips: but with all these it is very certain that we must mix Fennell or aniseed, because they be very windy.  
Raw fruits, 
Fruits.  and such as abound with much moisture, do hurt the sight: before meat presently, one may use stewed Prunes, and presently after meat a Pear or Quince well preserved, to close the mouth of the stomach, and to hinder vapours from ascending up into the head. It will not be amiss after meat to take a little Fennell or anise seed comfits, a morsel of Cidoniatum, or of preserved Mirobalanes or Nutmegs. Figs and Raisins are not forbidden, but nuts, Chestnuts, and Olives that are very ripe, are well forbidden. And thus much for meats.  

Drink. What quantity is to be used. What quality it must be of.  As for drink, we are to observe two things therein, the quantity and the quality. Archigenes the great Physician, speaking of the quantity saith, that in all diseases of the eyes, it is very hurtful to drink much. Aristotle in his Problems speaking of the quality saith, that they which drink water have their sight more subtle: notwithstanding Avicen and Rhases do condemn the use of water, and I am verily persuaded that they do not displease the sect of good fellowship, which had rather lose their eyes then their wine. To grant the same which they affirm, I hold it needful to allay the wine well with water, and to make choice of some small wine, so that it be not sharp or vaporous: sweet and new wines are very fuming, thick wines stay too long in the stomach, and send too great a quantity of vapours unto the brain. We use to make an artificial wine of Eyebright, 
Artificial wines.  which is very singular for the preservation of the sight. Arnaldus de Villanova, a famous Physician doth confidently affirm, that he cured an old man almost quite blind, by the only use of wine of eyebright. Also it will do well to cast a bunch of Eyebright in the wine which one drinketh ordinarily, or otherwise, as I have already said, some Burnet with the flowers of Borage; for besides that they comfort the sight with their colour, they will help to purge the spirits, and to repress vapours. The herbs are common enough, and to be come by at all seasons. Such as will not use wine, 
Hydromell.  shall drink a simple honeyed water, or else compound one in manner as followeth. Take of cistern or fountain water fifteen pounds, of good honey one pound, mingle them both together in a pot, adding thereto some Fennel, Eyebright, and Mace, made up in a little bag, the weight of a French crown, boil all together, unto the consumption of the third part, evermore looking well to the taking off of the scum of the honey.  

Of watching and sleeping.  In watching and sleeping, it behoveth to keep a mean: to sleep very long hurteth the sight, and to sleep at noon maketh ablowne pair of cheeks, troubleth the sight, and maketh all the body lither and lazy: it is best to sleep upon the side, having the head raised high enough. Immoderate watching do spend the spirits, cool the brain, and hurt the sight infinitely.  
It is good to go to bed three or four hours after supper, and to rise very early, to walk up and down the chamber, to hake and spit, to cleanse the ears, to empty the body of his ordinary excrements and after that to comb the head, and that always against the hair, keeping it very clean, and not to accustom to wash the face and eyes with cold water, as is ordinarily accustomed; for cold is an enemy to the eyes and brain: it were better to use in steed thereof, a little white wine warm, with some Fenell and Eyebright water.  

Of the exercising of the whole body.  The moderate exercise of the whole body, is good in a morning, neither in deed can any man live in health (as Hypocrates noteth) if he labour not, to waste the superfluities of the third digestion.  
Particular exercises also, as the rubbing of the thighs and legs, will be of good use, to divert and turn away the vapours which rise up to the eyes.  

The particular exercises of the eyes.  The eyes have their particular exercise: to move them very suddenly and circularly, doth weaken them: as also to keep them fixed a long time in one place, and as it were immovable, doth yet weary them more, for that in this pausing motion, all the fibres of the six muscles are equally stretched, as we see in birds which hover in the air, not stirring out of their place. It is better therefore to keep them in a moderate motion, for that the muscles performing their actions successively, do comfort and relieve one another. It is not good to read much, especially after meat, nor yet to trouble himself with too small a letter, or any other curious and choice piece of work, because that both the faculty or power, and instrument are put to great pains, being occupied about these little things. It is not good to behold things that move swiftly, nor yet such as turn round.  

Of the passions of the mind. The belly must be kept soluble.  All passions of the mind do much hurt the sight, but above the rest, melancholic dumps and much weeping.  
The belly must be soluble always in all the diseases of the eyes: which Hypocrates observed by the example of them, which have blood-shotten eyes, as also such as are vapour-eyed. But and if it be costive, it must be helped by all means that are gentle and easy, as laxative broths, Prunes and Raisins laxative, lenitive clysters and such others. Some cause damask Prunes to be stewed in a syrup, with Seine, Agaricke, and Sugar, whereof four or five are to be taken in the morning before breakfast or dinner.   

CHAP. XIIII. Select and choice remedies for the preservation of the fight, and the order that is to be kept in the application of them.  
SEeing that the weakness of sight cometh ordinarily, either of the distemperature of the brain, or of the evil disposition of the eye: the rational and methodical Physician ought always to have regard unto these two points. The brain if it be too moist, must be dried; and the eye if it be weak, must be strengthened. Plato in a dialogue of his, doth counsel us, never to attempt the drying or strengthening of the eye by outward remedies, without having first purged the head. 
The purging of the whole body and of the brain.  We will therefore take our beginning at the purging of the head; and for as much as it is hard to purge the same well, if the whole body (which doth ordinarily send great store of excrements thither) be not very clean, it will be requisite to choose a remedy, which in purging the brain, may gently empty the whole body also, and therewithal somewhat respect the eye. That form which is proper to pills, is most fit for this purpose. The Arabians commend the pills, called Elephangine, the pills of Agaricke, and pillulae lucis maiores and minores: We may prepare a mass of this mixture.  

A description of such pills as are to be used.  Take of Aloes well washed in Fennel and Eyebright water, three drams, of good Agaricke one dram and a half, of Rhubarb, a dram, of the flesh of Citrine mirobalanes, chafed in the oil of sweet Almonds, four scruples; of Seine of the East well powdered a dram; of Mastic, Ginger, and cinnamon, of each half a scruple, of Trocisks all and hall five or six grains to acuate it withal, infuse all these in the juice of Fenel, and syrup of Stechadoes, and make up a mass thereof take a dram twice every month, either at evening or morning. Or else,  
Take of the powder of Hiera two drams, of good Agaricke four scruples, of Anise seed, Fennel seed, and Seseli seed, of each half a scruple, of Maces, cinnamon, and Myrrh, of each five grains, with honey of Roses, Rosemary flowers and the water of Fennel; make these up in a mass, and take thereof a dram every week: they which cannot swallow pills, shall use this magistral syrup.  

A magistral syrup.  Take of the root of Fennel, Acorus, and Elecampane, of every one an ounce, of the leaves of Eyebright, Betonie, fumitory, Mercury, Succory, Germander, and Vervain, of every one a handful, a dozen of damask Raisins, and as many Prunes, of Anise and Fennel seed two drams, of the flowers of Sage, Stecados, Rosemary, and eyebright, of every one a pugil: boil them all in fair water, and when you have strained it, add thereto the expression of three ounces of Seine which have been infused a good while in the foresaid decoction warm: as also the expression of an ounce of Agaricke, with a dram of cloves and as much cinnamon: boil them all together again with a sufficient quantity of Sugar until it have the consistence of a syrup that is well boiled, aromatize it with half a dram of Nutmegs and as much of the powder of Diarrhodon. If in the end and shutting up of this syrup there be put thereto the infusion of the weight of half an ounce of Rhubarb strongly pressed out, it cannot choose but be a great deal better. Hereof one shall take every five days the quantity of two ounces, more or less according to the working, and that in some broth or decoction appropriate unto the head and eyes. 
Clysters.  The often use of Clysters is requisite in all the diseases of the eyes, ears, and head.  

Decoctions provoking sweat.  If the brain should be very moist, and that the temperature of the body do not withstand, the use of the root China, or of Zarza, Perilla, putting thereto of the leaves of Eyebright, and of the seed of Fennell, would be of very good effect. For together with the consuming of the superfluous moisture of the whole body, it would strengthen the brain and the eye: and yet I believe that the use of Sassafras having the smell of the Anise-seede, would be a great deal more fit.  
The body being purged by these universal remedies, the brain may afterward with greater security be evacuated by the mouth and nostrils, which are the ordinary drains that nature hath ordained for the cleansing thereof; I should better allow of Masticatories than Irrhines, because the nose is seated very near unto the eyes, and communicateth greatly therewith, 
Masticatories.  by the hole which goeth through them to the great corner of the eye, in such sort as that there being any forcible attracting of any humour through the nose, it might be the occasion of drawing the same unto the eye, which is the part that is diseased. This is also the appointment, of that great Physician Hypocrates, in the second section of his sixth book of Epidemical diseases. It is meet and necessary (saith he) that humours falling upon the eyes, should be diverted unto the palate and mouth. It were better therefore to chaw and masticate something as damask reasons, sprinkled with a drop or two of the essence of Fennell, or else to rub the palate with the said essence alone, whose vapour ascending up to the brain and eye, will shengthen them, and not suffer them to attract any vicious humours.  

Rubbing of the head.  Fricasies and rubbings of the head, made against the hair with bags, perfumes, and artificial coiles, such as we will prescribe in the chapter of rheum, will evacuate the brain by insensible transpiration.  
Hypocrates in the diseases of the eyes, 
Cupping-glasses.  apply cupping glasses unto the neck, and hinder part of the head, to the shoulders and thighs.  
We must not forget among the particular evacuations of the head, 
Caustics.  to speak of cauteries: it is very true in deed that Physicians do not accord of the place where they are to be applied. Some there be that apply them upon the top of the head: but I am jealous of that place, for that I have seen fearful accidents to happen by reason of Pericranium, when the caustic hath searched too deep: and I could like it better, that it should be applied behind: for such rewlsion would work more effectually, and further, it is very certain that the rising of all the sinews lieth behind. This is a worthy thing to be noted, 
A worthy observation of the original of the sinews.  and that which but a few men have marked, I have oftentimes showed the same both in my public and private dissections. There is a certain Italian Physician, which boasteth himself to have been the first founder and finder of this matter: but I have long since read the same observed of Hypocrates in his book of the nature of bones. This cautery is not to be applied upon that part of the head called Occiput, because that thence there would issue nothing, 
The fittest place for the application of cauteries.  but over against the space which is betwixt the first and second Vertebre: being the very place, where Seton's also are ordinarily set. In old and inveterate diseases of the eyes, I could approve of that derivation made by cautery behind the ears, because the branches of the veins and arteries called Carotides and jugulares, (from which the eye hath all his outward store of veins and arteries) do pass along that way. And these are the most proper & fit means (in my judgement) to evacuate as well sensibly as insensibly the whole body, the head and the eyes. I have not spoken of blood-letting, because there is not any place for it here: 
Blood-letting.  and it is so far off from profiting them which are weak sighted, that it weakeneth them more, taking away blood, which is the storehouse of nature, and that juice, whereby it is most cherished. And yet in great pains, inflammations and sudden fluxes of humours, it may do good.  
After evacuation, we must think how to strengthen the brain and the eye, to which use and purpose there are opiates, lozenges and powders, which have property to clear and strengthen the sight, as Treacle and Mithridate are greatly commended and commanded, for such as have their brain and eyes very rheumatic and moist.  

Medicines to strengthen and sharpen the sight.  The conserves also of the flowers of betony, Sage Rosemary and Eyebright, there may be framed a composition or Opiate in manner as followeth. Take of the conserves of the flowers of Eyebright, Betonie, and Rosemary, of each an ounce, of old Treacle three drams, of conserve of Roses half an ounce, of the powder of Diarrhodon a dram and a half, of Maces two scruples: make an Opiate hereof with the syrup of Citrons, and take thereof of oftentimes in the morning when you rise.  

A confection.  One may also make a confection, with two ounces of rosed Sugar, and as much of the sugar of Borage flowers, with two drams of the powder of Diarrhodon, and half a dram of the powder of Eyebright, Betonie and Fennell, which may be taken in the morning.  

A powder to be taken at night.  At night going to bed, there are certain powders to be used and taken inward, that so the virtues thereof may be conveyed, together with the vapours of the meat. Take of Eyebright three drams, of Fennell two drams, of Anise and of Seseli a dram, of Mace two scruples, and of cinnamon and Cloves as much, of the seed of Rew and Germander half a dram, of the seed of peony a dram, of roses Sugar so much as needeth: make them into very fine powder, and take thereof a spoonful at your going to bed.  

A powder helping concoction.  After meat also one may use digestive powders, with Coriander, Fennell, red Roses, Coral, Pearl, Eyebright, Mace, and rosed Sugar: or else use this condite. Take of Fennell and Coriander Comfits, of each half an ounce, 
A condite.  of the rinds of Citrons and Mirobalanes condited, of each two drams, of dried Eyebright one dram, of Mace half a dram, of rosed Sugar so much as needeth: make thereof a condite, whereof take a spoonful after every meal.  
The Arabians do highly commend this powder to be taken after meat. Take of the Trociskes of Vipers a dram, of the powder of Eyebright four scruples, of sweet Fennel two scruples, of the stones which are found in the eyes of a Pike, one scruple, of rosed Sugar four ounces: and make thereof a powder.  
And hitherto concerning inward medicines, which serve for the cleared and strengthening of the sight: and now we are to lay out the outward, which are waters, colliries, and ointments. There are an infinite number of receipts, but I will put down three or four of the most exquisite and best approved. 
Outward remedies.  As for to wash the eyes in the morning use these distilled waters. Take of the crops of Fennell, Rew, Eyebright, Vervain, Tormentil, Betonie, 
A distilled water.  wild Roses, of male Pimpernell, Burnet, clary, agrimony, chervil, mountain Hissope, and mountain Siler, of every one two good handfuls: shred all these herbs very small, and infuse them first in white wine, and afterward in the urine of a young boy that is in perfect health, and thirdly in woman's milk: and lastly in good honey: after which distill the whole, and keep this water carefully, putting every morning a drop thereof into the eye. You may also every morning wash your eyes with wine, 
Another water.  wherein hath been boiled Fennel, Eyebright, and a little of Chebule Mirobalanes. Some make a water of the juices of male Pimpernell, Germander, Clarie and Rew: putting thereto afterward of Cloves, Mace, and Nutmeg two on three drams, and have infused them all together in white wine, to distill them with good honey. I find the remedy which I now set down, 
A very good medicine for the eyes.  to be very good for the preservation and strength of the eyes. Take of the water of Eyebright and Roses well distilled, four ounces: afterward provide two or three small bags in which is contained a dram and a half of Tutia well prepared, and of good Aloes a scruple: hang these bags in the waters aforesaid, and wash your eyes therewith every night.  

An excellent water of bread  The water of bread (so called) is very excellent. You must make paste with flower grossly sifted, and the powder of Rew, Fennel and Clarie, which they call great Celondine: of this paste you must make a loaf and bake in the oven, which so soon as it is baked must be cloven in two, and put betwixt two silver plates, or pewter dishes, made very close in such sort as that there may nothing breathe out: and so you shall thence gather a water, which must be kept for the eyes. Some also do much commend the extraction of Fennegreek with Honey. The water of blue flowers called Blew-bottles and growing in the corn, distilled, is excellent good for the preservation of the sight. Some also take the stalk of Fennell a little above the root, and cutting it, fill it with the powder of Sugar candy: whereupon cometh forth a liquor which is singular for the eyes. I cannot but highly praise this water, which I am about to describe. 
A water.  Take of White wine a pound and a half and as much of good rose-water, of Tutia well prepared an ounce, of the rind of Nutmeg called Mace, half an ounce: put all these together in a glass viol close stopped, and set it in the heat of the Sun twenty days, stirring it every day till it become very clear.  

An ointment for the eyes.  There is a singular ointment for the preservation of the eyes. Take of Hog's grease very new, two ounces: steep it in rose-water six hours: after wash it again twelve several times in the best White wine that may be got, by the space of five or six hours more, add afterward unto this grease of Tutia well prepared and finely powdered one ounce, of the stone Hematites well washed a scruple, of Aloes well washed and made into powder twelve grains, of powder of Pearl three grains: mix all together with a little of the water of Fennell, and make them up in an ointment, whereof ye may put a very little in both the corners of your eyes. There is great store every where of other outward remedies which may serve for the eyes, as Colliries, or Eyesalues and powders, which are blown into the eyes: but I find them not so fit for the purpose as waters.  

Washing of the head.  The Arabians use washing of the head, the better to preserve the sight but it is not very good in the weakness of the eyes to trouble the brain: but if there be any such thing used, it may be done in this sort. Take the lie that is made of the Vine ashes, of the leaves of Stechadoes, Betonie, Eyebright, Celandine and Camomile, of each a handful, of Agarick and Chebule Mirobalanes tied in a clout of each two drams: boil all together till the fourth part be consumed, and therewith wash your head. Or else take dried Eyebright, and make it into ashes: then add thereto the water of Eyebright, and make thereof a lie.  
Lo these be the means whereby we shall be able to preserve the sight, especially if the diminution thereof come by some great moisture of the brain and eyes, as is that of my Ladies the Duchess of Vzez, to whom this whole discourse is particularly dedicated. I do not set down the remedies, which are proper to the several diseases of the eyes, for so I should spend too much time. It was my purpose only to prepare this general regiment, which might serve as a pattern for the curing of all the rest. Monsieur Guillemeau the king's Surgeon, hath put forth a very learned treatise, wherein are to be found, the most exquisite remedies set down and used by the old and new writers. Unto his book I refer the reader, seeing it is extant in our common language.  
An end of the first discourse.    

THE SECOND DISCOURSE, WHEREIN ARE HANDLED THE diseases of melancholy, and the means to cure them.  

CHAP. I. That man is a divine and politic creature, endued with three several noble powers, as Imagination, Reason and Memory.  
ABdalas the Sarrasin being importunately pressed, and as it were forced to speak and tell, what it was that he found to be most wonderful in all the world: answered at last with great commendation, that man alone did surpass all other wonder whatsoever. An answer in truth beseeming a great Philosopher, rather than a rude and unlettered man. For man having the image of God engraven in his soul, 
The praise of mankind.  and representing in his body the model of the whole world, can in a moment transform himself into every thing like a Proteus, or receive at an instant the stamp of a thousand colours like to the Chameleon. Phavorine acknowledged nothing to be great here on earth but only man. The wise men of Egypt have vouchsafed him such honour, as to call him a mortal God. Thrice renowned Mercury calleth him the living creature full of divine parts, the messenger of the Gods, the Lord of the things below, and fellow companion with the Spirits above: Pythagoras, the measure of all things: Synesius, the Horizon of things having and not having bodies: Zoroaster in a certain kind of ravishment proclaimed him, the mighty work and wonder of nature: Plato, the marvel of marvels: Aristotle the politic living creature, furnished with reason and counsel, which is all, as possessing all things by power, though not really and in very deed (as Empedocles would have it to be) but by the comprehending and conceiving of the forms and several sorts of things: Pliny the ape or puppy of nature, the counterfeit of the whole world, the abridgement of the great world. Amongst the Divines, there are some which have called him, every manner of creature, because he hath intercourse with every manner of creature; he hath a being, as have the stones; life, as have the plants; and sense or feeling as the beasts; and understanding, as have the Angels. Othersome have honoured him, giving him the title of universal governor, as having all things under his empire and jurisdiction, as being he to whom every thing yieldeth obedience, and for whose sake the whole world was created. In brief, this is the chief and principal of God's work, and the most noble of all other creatures. But this his excellency, 
From whence the excellency of man springeth.  whereby he is more glorious than all the rest, is not in respect of his body, although the shape thereof be more exquisite, better tempered, and of more comely proportion then any other thing in the world, serving as Polycletus his rule for the fashioning of other things, and being as a platform, whereby the master builders may frame and contrive their buildings. This nobleness (I say) cometh not of the body, which consisteth of matter and is corruptible: no, the extract thereof, or that which is indeed excellent therein, is further fetched: It is the soul alone whereby he is so renowned, 
The excellency of mankind.  being a form altogether celestial and divine, not taking his original from the effectual working of any matter, as that of plants and beasts doth. It is created of God, and cometh down from heaven to govern the body, so soon as the members thereof are made: the effects thereof do sufficiently prove unto us, the worthiness of the same. For besides the vegetative and sensitive faculty, it enjoyeth three special powers and faculties, which extol and advance man, above all other living creatures: and these three are the Imagination, Reason, and Memory. Of these, 
The three excellent powers of the soul.  reason is the principal and chief: the other two, because they are her ordinary handmaids, (the one to report; the other, to register and write down, do enjoy the privileges of renowned excellency, do lodge within her royal palace, and that very near her own person, the one in her utter, and the other in her inner chamber. 
The imagination.  The imaginative faculty doth represent and set before the intellectual, all the objects which she hath received from the common sense, making report of wharsoever is discovered of the spies abroad: upon which reports the intellectual or understanding part of the mind, frameth her conclusions, which are very often false, the imagination making untrue reports. For as the most prudent and careful Captains undertake very oft the enterprises which prove foolish and fond, and that because of false advertisement: even so reason doth often make but foolish discourses, having been misse-informed by a feigned fantasy.  

The opinions of the Grecians against the excellency of imagination.  Some Greek Philosophers there be, which would debar the imagination of her reputed renown and excellency, straining themselves to make her as base as the other actions of the senses: and I have in place where, read two several opinions to that end: the first is of such as think that the imagination and common sense is all one: the other is of them, which affirm that brute beasts have an imagination as well as men; and that either of these two being true, there is not any cause why it should be enthronized among the worthies. 
The error of the Philosophers.  But I will cause it to appear manifest unto every one, how fond they have suffered themselves to be abused.  
All such as have applied themselves to play the Philosophers after the most commendable sort and manner, do hold it for granted and out of all question: that the imagination is a certain thing surpassing the common or inward sense, which judgeth of all outward objects, and unto which as unto their centre, all the forms of the other senses do betake themselves: for the common sense, receiveth at one and the same instant with the outward senses the forms of things; 
The difference betwixt the imagination and the common sense.  and that (if I may be allowed to use school terms) with the real power of the object, but the imagination receiveth and retaineth them without any presence of the object. The imagination compoundeth and joineth together the forms of things, as of Gold and a mountain, it maketh a golden mountain, which the common sense cannot do: for the inward sense cannot take hold of any thing, save that which the outward senses perceive, but the imagination proceedeth further: for the silly Sheep having spied the Wolf, getteth himself by and by out of his way, as from his enemy; this enmity is not known by the sense, for it is no object of the senses, but it is the mere work of imagination to know the same. This then is a power far differing from the common sense, which in deed is found truly to be in beasts, but the other cannot possibly be found in them in that degree of excellency that it is in men. I would that every one should see the difference betwixt that imagination which is in men, and that which is in beasts. The imagination which is in beasts, 
The difference betwixt the imagination of men, and that of beasts.  serveth them only to follow the motions and passions of their appetite, and is not employed, but only about action, that is to say, either in following that which may do them good, or in avoiding of that which may annoy them. The imagination of man serveth both for action and contemplation. 
The first.  The imagination of beasts cannot counterfeit any thing further, then as it is present and before their eyes; 
The second.  but man hath the liberty to imagine what he listeth, and although there be no present object, yet it taketh out of the treasury, which is the memory whatsoever may content it. The beasts have their imagination occupied only when they are exercised, 
The third.  and not when they are out of work and labour; but man hath the use of imagination at all times, and at every hour. The beast hath no sooner imagined, but he moveth himself by and by, 
The fourth.  and goeth after that which his appetite stirreth him up unto; but man followeth not always the motions of his appetite, he hath reason to bridle the same with all, as when it findeth out any error therein. The imagination of beasts cannot frame to itself any mountains of gold, neither yet can it feign the things that are dark and subtle, 
The fift.  or flying asses, as the imagination of man can. Finally, 
The sixth.  the imagination of man seemeth to enter into some manner of discourse with the understanding. For having beheld a painted Lion, it perceiveth that it is not a thing to be feared, and at the same time, joining itself unto reason, doth confirm and make bold. Behold now, how the imagination of man doth magnify itself above that of beasts, and for what cause I have set it in rank amongst the excellentest and noblest powers of the mind. The Arabians have so highly commended it, 
The effects of imagination.  that they have verily believed, that the mind by virtue of the imagination could work miracles, pierce the heavens, command the elements, lay plain the huge mountains, and make mountains of the plain ground: and to be short, that unto the jurisdiction thereof were subject, all manner of material forms, and they called all the three powers of the mind, most excellent and renowned minds, and therefore that which is called imagination, is the first faculty or power of the mind.  

Of the understanding, the second power of the mind.  The understanding followeth next in order, and awaketh at the knock of imagination, it maketh things sensible, universal, discourseth, gathereth conclusions, reasoneth from the effects to the causes, and from the beginnings, even to the midst, and so to the ends and issues of things. 
Of understanding, called passable or suffering.  The Philosophers distinguish this understanding power, into a suffering and doing power: the suffering, is that which receiveth the forms of things, pure and free from all matter, and is as it were the subject of all manner of forms: 
Of active understanding.  the doing power is as it were a light, which maketh clear and perfect the suffering: in such manner, as that the one doth as it were serve in stead of the matter, and the other of the form, and both joined togetgher, 
Reason.  do perfit and make up reason the sovereign and predominant power of the mind, proper unto man, which can do much without the body, and unto which the body very oft is a let and hindrance, being that alone which is without matter, being also not subject to passions, immortal, differing from the senses, 
How reason differeth from the senses.  and all other corporal actions, because the senses are lost by the violence of some great object, as the hearing, by a strong and forcible sound; the taste, by tasting some extreme favour; the sight by an excessive whiteness; witness hereof is the Sicilian tyrant, who by cunning practice put out the eyes of all his prisoners: but the understanding, the more excellent and surpassing that the object is, the more it showeth forth his own perfection and nobleness, the contemplation of high and divine things doth ravish it, yea herein it findeth greatest contentation, herein it placeth his chiefest felicity. This is that only power which groweth more and more, when the body declineth, which then is in his chiefest strength, when the body groweth faint and feeble: which becometh strong and lusty, when all the senses grow weak and feeble, which whirleth through the air, and walketh over the wide world, when the body is immovable, which causeth us when we are in sleep, oftentimes to see some glances of his divine nature, in foretelling things to come, and, if it be not overwhelmed with the Sea of vapours, rising of excessive cramming in of belly cheer, it lifteth itself above the world, and even above his own nature, and beholdeth the glory of the Angels and mysteries of heaven. Finally, reason having thus swiftly conveyed herself to take the view of whatsoever is, and having discoursed and conceived a million of goodly and pleasant forms, being unable any longer to retain them, committeth them to the custody of memory, which is her faithful secretary, and wherein, 
Memory.  as in a place of greatest trustiness to keep the same, the most precious treasures of the soul are placed. This is that rich treasury, which encloseth within one only inner room all the sciences, and what else soever hath passed since the creation of the world, which lodgeth every thing in his several place, not shuffling them up disorderly together, which observeth time, circumstances and order, and which is (as Plato termeth it) a cistern to contain the running streams of the understanding: this faculty is called remembrance, and is proper unto man alone: for beasts have likewise a certain kind of memory, but they cannot call to mind the time, order and circumstances, this cannot be accomplished without a Syllogism. See here the mind of man attended by these three famous faculties, the imagination, reason, and memory, all which three are lodged in lemma self-same palace, and within this round tower, which we call the head: 
The diverse opinions concerning the seats of these powers.  but whether this fall out to be in all the brain equally, and alike, or that every one of them should have his several chamber, it is not fully resolved upon. I know very well that there is a great quarrel betwixt the Greek and Arabian Physicians, 
The Grecians would have them diffused through the substance of the whole brain.  about the lodgings of these three princesses, & that no man hitherto hath been able to reconcile them. The Greeks' would lodge them in every part of the brain; the Arabians quarter out every of them by itself. The Greeks' maintain that in all places where the reason is, that there the imagination and memory do accompany it, and that all the three are as much before as behind: finally, that they be all of them in all and every part of the brain. They allege for one principal reason on their side, that every similar action is wholly and entirely in every part of his subject, as for example, nourishment is equally and alike in all the bone, and whatsoever part of the bone it be, there is to be found continually these four faculties, that is, the attractive, retentive, digestive and expulsive. On the contrary the Arabians will have, 
The contrary opinion of the Arabians.  that every one of these faculties enjoy his proper seat: and they have very goodly reasons for that which they hold. 
The first reason.  First, it is very certain, that there are diverse petty chambers in the brain, which the Anatomists call Ventricles, these chambers are not for nothing, yea and there is no man that can think, that they were made for any other use, then to be lodgings for these three faculties: and that, as though the imagination should be lodged in the two first, Reason in the middlemost, and Memory in the hindermost: and the appearance of the truth of this thing is very great: for the imagination receiveth all the objects of the senses, and therefore aught to be placed very near unto the senses: but so the case standeth, as that all the senses are in the forepart of the head: the imagination presenteth all these objects unto the reason, which maketh them void of matter and universal, so that of necessity it must follow as second. The reason having after some time served and satisfied itself of these pleasant forms, committeth them to the custody of memory: whereupon it followeth of necessity, that it should be placed behind, and as it were in her inner chamber. 
The second.  Furthermore, imagination being effected by receiving in of forms, must have his seat in the softest part of the brain, because the prints of pictures are most easily set in a soft body: Memory which keepeth and retaineth the forms, craveth a more hard part, for else the picture would be defaced by and by after that it should be printed: Reason, as the greatest of renown ought to be placed in such a part of the brain, as is most temperate. But there is no doubt, but the forepart of the brain is the softest, and the hinder part the hardest, and the middlemost the most temperate: so than we must believe that imagination is before, and memory behind.  
Philosophers that have written of Physiognomy, 
The third.  say that such as have the hinder part of the head hanging out much, have a good memory; that such as have large and high foreheads, and therewithal as it were bossed, are of pleasant imagination: and that such as in whom these two eminences are wanting, are blockish, without imagination, and without memory. 
The fourth.  If we will (saith Aristotle in his Problems) enter into any serious and deep conceit, we knit the brows and draw them up: if we would call to mind and remember anything, we hang down the head, and rub the hinder part, which showeth very well that the imagination lieth before, and the memory behind. Men have very often marked, 
The fift.  that if the hinder part of the head be hurt, the memory is lost at the very same time. 
The sixth.  I will add further for the more strengthening of the side of the Arabians, that the fashion and wideness of the ventricles of the brain, do serve to point out with the finger, the places of these three faculties. The fourth ventricle is somewhat sharp pointed, to the end that forms may be the better united, and that the reflex thereof may the more fully cast itself upon the third, wherein reason lodgeth: the two first are the widest, for that they receive the first objects which are not as yet refined: that in the midst was fittest for reason, because it might receive the images or forms of the two first, and having forgotten them, might seek them out; as it were in her most close and secret place of custody, contrived for that end behind. Finally, 
The seventh.  that which hath made the Arabians to stand so stiffly in their opinion, and to maintain that these three faculties, have every one their several lodging, is because they have oftentimes observed, that one of these three may be hurt, and not the other; the imagination is very oft corrupted, the reason standing sound and entire: and contrariwise, how many frantic and melancholic men be there, which discourse very excellently, notwithstanding their foolish and vain imaginations. Galen writeth two histories of two frantic men, the one of which had his imagination troubled, and his reason sound, the other his reason troubled, and his imagination sound. We see an infinite number which have utterly lost their memory, and yet fail not to discourse very well. Thucydides mentioneth, that in that great plague which dispeopled almost all Greece, there were more than a million, which forgot every thing even to their own name, and yet notwithstanding did not thereupon become fools. Messala corvinus in his recovery of a certain sickness, did not remember his own name. Trapezontius was very wise whilst he was young, but drawing near unto old age he quite forgot all. Seeing therefore that one of these faculties may be hurt without the other, we must believe that every of them hath his particular place. 
The conclusion.  If it were committed to me to give judgement in this controversy, I should say that the Greeks' had played the more subtle Philosophers, and that their opinion is the more true: but that that of the Arabians will ever be more followed of the common people, for that it hath in it a greater show of evident clearness. I will not draw on this disputation to any greater length: it is enough for me to make it appear that the mind hath three most excellent faculties, all which lodge within the brain, and cause man to appear more admirable, than any other creature, which enable him also to govern all the world, and which give him the title of a sociable and politic living creature.   

CHAP. II. That this living creature full of the image of God, is now and then so far abased, and corrupted in his nature, with an infinite number of diseases, that he becometh all like unto a beast.  
Coming to extol man unto the highest degree and step of his glory, behold him I pray thee the best furnished and most perfect of all other living creatures, having (as I have said) in his soul the image of God, and in his body the model of the whole world. 
The misery of mankind.  And now I intent to set him out unto thee as the most caitiff and miserable creature that is in the world, spoiled of all his graces, deprived of judgement, reason and counsel, enemy of men and of the Sun, straying and wandering in solitary places: to be brief, so altered and changed, as that he is no more a man, as not retaining any thing more than the very name. 
The mind alone corrupted the body standing sound.  This alteration is seen oftentimes in the soul alone, the body standing sound and without blemish: as when a man by his malicious will becoming an apostate and revolt, defaceth the engraven form of the Deity, and cometh by the filth of sin to defile the holy temple of God, when through an unruly appetite, he suffereth himself to be carried in such headlong wise after his passions, either of choler, envy or gluttony, as that he becometh more outrageous than a lion, more fierce than a tiger, and more filthy and contemptible than a swine. I go not about to redress this deformity, I leave the discourse for the learned Divines. Yea and if a man do but take some pains in moral Philosophy to read it, he shall find right wholesome precepts, for the staying and bridling of these foolish passions.  

The mind corrupted through a corrupt body.  I come to the other deformity, which is violently thrown upon man, and may happen unto the most religious, being, when the body, which is as it were the vessel of the soul, is so greatly altered and corrupted, as that all the noblest faculties of the same, are likewise corrupted, the senses seem all of them to wander and go astray, every motion to be out of order, the imagination troubled, the reason foolish and rash, the memory altogether given to let slip and fly away whatsoever it should retain. The first deformity deserveth correction, as coming of a malicious mind and voluntary action: but as for this which is constrained and violently inflicted by diseases, it deserveth to be weighed of every one with a tender and charitable compassion. 
The diseases assailing our mind.  But the diseases which do most sharply assail our minds, and captivate and make them thrall unto the two inferior powers, are three; the frenzy, madness, and melancholy. Look upon the deeds of frantic and mad men, thou shalt not find therein any thing worthy of a man, he biteth, he shriketh, he belloweth out a wild and savage voice, rolleth about his fiery eyes, setteth up his hair, runneth himself headlong into every thing indifferently, and very oft murdereth himself. See how melancholic men do now and then so cast down and abase themselves, as that they become companions to the brute beasts, and have no pleasure to be any where but in solitary places. I am about to describe him out unto thee in most lively manner, and then thou shalt judge what a manner of man he is. 
The lively description of a melancholic person.  The melancholic man properly so called, (I mean him which hath the disease in the brain) is ordinarily out of heart, always fearful and trembling, in such sort as that he is afraid of every thing, yea and maketh himself a terror unto himself, as the beast which looketh himself in a glass; he would run away and cannot go, he goeth always sighing, troubled with the hicker, and with an unseparable sadness, which oftentimes turneth into despair; he is always disquieted both in body and spirit, he is subject to watchfulness, which doth consume him on the one side, and unto sleep, which tormenteth him on the other side: for if he think to make truce with his passions by taking some rest, behold so soon as he would shut his eyelids, he is assailed with a thousand vain visions, and hideous buggards, with fantastical inventions, and dreadful dreams; if he would call any to help him, his speech is cut off before it be half ended, and what he speaketh cometh out in fasling and stammering sort, he can not live with company. To conclude, he is become a savage creature, haunting the shadowed places, suspicious, solitary, enemy to the Sun, and one whom nothing can please, but only discontentment, which forgeth unto itself a thousand false and vain imaginations.  
Then judge and weigh if the titles which I have heretofore given to man, calling him a divine and politic creature, can any way agree with the melancholic person. And yet I would not have thee (O thou Atheist whosoever thou art) hereupon to conclude, 
Against Atheists which think the soul to be mortal.  that the soul of man suffereth any thing in his essence, and thereby to become subject to corruption: it is never altered or changed, neither can it suffer any thing, it is his instrument that is evil affected. Thou mayst understand this matter if thou wilt, by a comparison drawn from the Sun: for even as the Sun doth never feel any diminishment of brightness, although it seem oftentimes to be dark and eclipsed; for this happeneth either by the thickness of the clouds, or by reason of the Moon coming betwixt it and us: and so our soul seemeth oftentimes to suffer, but indeed it is the body which is out of frame. There is an excellent sentence in Hypocrates, in the end of his first book of diet, which deserveth to be written in letters of gold. 
A pregnant place proving the immortality.  Our soul (saith he) cannot be changed in his essence, neither by drinking nor eating, nor by any excess, we must impute the cause of all his alterations, either to the spirits where with it chief hath to deal, or unto the vessels, by which it diffuseth itself throughout the body. Now the instrument of these noble faculties is the brain, which is considered of by the Physician, either as a similar part, whose health and welfare consisteth in a good temperature; or as an instrumental part, and then the health and welfare thereof consisteth in a laudable shape both of the body, as also of the ventricles of the same. 
That a good temperature and laudable figure are requisite for the actions of the soul.  And both these two sorts are requisite for the well executing of these three faculties: It is most true that Galen attributeth more to a good temperature, then to a commendable shape, and in one whole book maintaineth with strong and firm argument, that the manners of the soul do follow the temperature of the body, as thou shalt see in the chapter following. And yet I for my part will not yield so much either to temperature or shape, 
That natural inclinations may be corrected by studied and laboured ones. A most excellent history of Zopyrus and Socrates.  as that they can altogether command and overrule the soul. For such qualities as are natural, and as it were borne with us, may be amended by those qualities which the Philosophers call acquisite, or purchased and gotten by other means. The history of Socrates maketh this plain enough. Zopyrus a great Philosopher, taking upon him to judge and know at the first sight, the disposition of every man, as upon a day he had beheld Socrates reading, and being urgently pressed of all them that sat by to speak his opinion of him: answered at last, that he well knew that he was the most corrupt and vicious man in the world. The speech was hastily carried to Socrates by one of his disciples, who mocked Zopyrus for it. Then Socrates by the way of admiration cried aloud; Oh the profound Philosopher, he hath thoroughly looked into my humour and disposition; I was by nature inclined to all these vices, but moral Philosophy hath drawn me away from them. And in very deed Socrates had a very long head and ill shaped, his countenance ugly, and his nose turning up. These natural inclinations then which proceed of the temperature and shape of the body (foreseen that these two vices be not exceeding great, as in melancholic persons) may be reclaimed and amended, by the qualities which we get unto ourselves by moral Philosophy, by the reading of good books, and by frequenting the companies of honest and virtuous men.   

CHAP. III. Who they be which are called melancholic persons, and how one should put difference betwixt melancholic men that are sick, and those that are sound and whole.  
ALL such as we call melancholic men, are not infected with this miserable passion which we call melancholy: there are melancholic constitutions, which keep within the bounds and limits of health, which if we credit ancient writers, are very large and wide. We must therefore for the orderly handling of this matter, set down all the sorts and differences of melancholic persons, to the end that the likeness of names may not trouble us in the sequel of this discourse. 
That there are four humours in our bodies.  It is a thing most freely agreed upon in Physic, that there are four humours in our bodies, Blood, Phlegm, Choler, and Melancholy; and that all these are to be found at all times, in every age, and at all seasons to be mixed and mingled together within the veins, though not alike much of every one: for even as it is not possible to find the party in whom the four elements are equally mixed; and as there is not that temperament in the world, in which the four contrary qualities are in the whole & every part equally compounded, but that of necessity there must be some one evermore which doth exceed the other: even so it is not possible to see any perfect living creature, in which the four humours are equally mixed, there is always some one which doth overrule the rest, and of it is the party's complexion; named: if blood do abound, we call such a complexion; sanguine; if phlegm, phlegmatic; if choler, choleric; and if melancholy, melancholic. These four humours, if they do not too much abound, may very easily stand with the health of the party: for they do not sensibly hurt and hinder the actions of the body. It is most true that every constitutions bringeth forth his different effects, which make the actions of the soul more quick and lively, or more dull and dead. Phlegmatic persons are for the most part blockish and lubberlike, having a slow judgement, 
The effects of phlegm.  and all the noblest powers of the mind, as it were asleep, because the substance of their brain is too thick, and the spirits laboured therein too gross: these are no fit men for the undergoing of weighty affairs, neither apt to conceive of profound mysteries; a bed and a pot full of pottage is fitted for them. 
Whereunto the sanguine complexion is inclined.  The sanguine persons are borne for to be sociable and lovers of company: they are as it were always in love, they love to laugh and be pleasant: this is the best complexion for health and long life, because that it hath the two main pillars of life, which are natural heat and moisture in greatest measure, and yet such folk are not the fittest for great exploits, nor yet for high and hard attempts, because they be impatient, and cannot belong in doing about one thing, being for the most part drawn away, either by their senses, or else by their delights, whereto they are naturally addicted. Choleric persons being hot and dry, have a quick understanding, 
The properties of a choleric persons.  abounding with many sleight inventions: for they seldom sound any deep and hidden secrets, it fitteth not their fist to grapple with such businesses as require continuance of time and pains of the bodies, they cannot be at leisure; their bodies and spirits do let them: their spirits are soon spent by reason of their thinness, and their weak bodies cannot endure much watching. I will add also that one thing which Aristotle mentioneth in his Ethics, as that they love change of things, and for this cause are not so fit for consultations of great importance. The melancholic are accounted as most fit to undertake matters of weighty charge and high attempt. 
That melancholic persons are ingenious and witty.  Aristotle in his Problems saith, that the melancholic are most witty and ingenious: but we must look that we understand this place aright, for there are many sorts of melancholy: 
That there are three sorts of melancholy.  there is one that is altogether gross and earthy, cold and dry: there is another that is hot and adust, men call it atrabilis: there is yet another which is mixed with some small quantity of blood, and yet not withstanding is more dry than moist. The first sort which is gross and earthy, maketh men altogether gross and slack in all their actions both of body and mind, fearful, sluggish, and without understanding: it is commonly called ass-like melancholy: the second sort being hot and burnt, doth cause men to be outrageous and unfit to be employed in any charge. There is none then but that which is mixed with a certain quantity of blood, that maketh men witty, and causeth them to excel others. 
Why melancholic men are witty.  The reasons hereof are very plain, the brain of such melancholic persons is neither too soft nor too hard, and yet it is true, that dryness doth bear the sway therein. But Heraclitus oftentimes said, that a dry light did make the wifest mind: there are but small store of excrements in their brain, their spirits are most pure, and are not easily wasted, they are hardly drawn from their purpose and meaning; their conceit is very deep, their memory very fast, their body strong to endure labour, and when this humour groweth hot, by the vapours of blood, it causeth as it were, as kind of divine ravishment, commonly called Enthousiasma, which stirreth men up to play the Philosophers, Poets, and also to prophesy: in such manner, as that it may seem to contain in it some divine parts. See here the effects of the four complexions, and how they may all four be within the bounds of health. It is not then of these sound melancholic persons that we speak in this treatise: We will entreat only of the sick, and such as are pained with the grief which men call melancholy, which I am now about to describe.   

CHAP. FOUR The definition of Melancholy, and all the differences of it.  
Disease's commonly take their names, either from the place which they seize upon, or of some irksome accident accompanying them, 
Whence melancholy took his name.  or of the cause which causeth them. Melancholy marcheth in his hinder-most rank: for this name was given it, because it springeth of a melancholic humour. We will define (as other good authors do) a kind of dotage without any serve, having for his ordinary companions, fear and sadness, without any apparent occasion. Dotage in this definition standeth for the Genus, the Greeks' call it more properly, 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 the Latins Delirium. 
The diverse sorts of dotage.  There are two sorts of dotage, the one without a fever, the other with a fever: that which is joined with a fever, is either continual, and haunteth the sick continually, or else it taketh him at certain times, distinguished by distance: that which is continual, is properly called frenzy, and it cometh either through the inflammation of the muscles, called Diaphragma: and this is the cause why the ancient Greek writers do call the said muscle 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 that dotage which cometh by fit, happeneth commonly in burning agues, and in the stage or full strength of fevers tertains, and it is called 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉. The other sort of dotage is without a fever, and it is either accompanied with rage and fury, and then it is called Mania, or madness: or else with fear and sadness, and then it is called melancholy. Melancholy therefore is a dotage, 
What dotage is.  not coupled with an ague, but with fear and sadness. We call that dotage, when some one of the principal faculties of the mind, as imagination or reason is corrupted. All melancholic persons have their imagination troubled, for that they devise with themselves a thousand fantastical inventions and objects, which in deed are not at all: they have also very oft their reason corrupted. 
Why melancholy is not accompanied with a fever.  Wherefore we cannot make any doubt, whether melancholy be a dotage or no, but it is ordinarily without a fever, because the humour is dry, and hath these two qualities, coldness, and dryness, which are altogether contrary unto putrefaction, so that there cannot any putrefied vapour breath out of them, (no more than there doth out of mere ashes) which might be conveyed to the heart, there to kindle the fire and procure a fever. Fear and sadness are unseparable companions of this miserable grief, for some reasons which I will set down in the chapter following. Behold here the description of melancholy, as it is a symptom or accident, which hath relation to some action, hurt and hindered, that is to say, to the imagination and reason depraved and corrupted. This accident is as it were an effect of some cause, and dependeth immediately upon a disease; for as the shadow followeth the body, even so the symptom followeth and accompanieth the disease. 
Melancholy is a similar disease.  All the Physicians both Greeks' and Arabians, do think that the cause of this accident is a similar disease, that is to say, a cold and dry distemperature of the brain. The brain than is the part grieved and hurt, 
How that in it the temperature of the brain is hurt.  but that not by reason of any misshapednes of the same, either by any tumour against nature, neither yet by any thing oppressing or obstructing his ventricles, as it happeneth in the Apoplexy and falling sickness, but in his proper substance and temperature; the temperature is corrupted, it is become too dry and cold. 
How it cometh to pass that melancholic men fall into the falling sickness.  Hypocrates hath observed the same in his Epidemikes and Aphorisms very excellently. Such (saith he) as have the falling sickness, become melancholic, and such as are menlancholicke fall into the falling sickness, according as the menlancholike humour doth possess the ventricles or the substance of the brain, if this humour corrupt the temperature, which he calleth the mind (because that it seemeth that the most excellent powers of the mind do execute their functions by the help of this temperature) without doubt it will cause melancholy: but if it shut up itself in the ventricles and cavities of the brain, it will cause the falling sickness, because the ventricles being stuffed, and the spirit not being able to pass freely to the sinews, the brain draweth itself together thereby to enlarge his ventricles, and in this retraction, doth equally, and as much draw and pull his great tail from whence all the sinews do arise, as itself, and thus thereupon ariseth an universal convulsion. I take it that the definition of melancholy is made clear and plain enough, by this little discourse: Now let us come to the differences and divers sorts thereof. 
The differences of melancholy.  There are three kinds of melancholy: the one cometh of the only and sole fault of the brain, the other sympatheticallie proceedeth from the whole body, when as the whole temperature and constitution of the body is melancholic; the third ariseth from amongst the bowels, but especially from the spleen liver and the membrance called mesenterium. The first is called simply and absolutely by the name of melancholy, the latter is called the windy melancholy with an addition. The first is the most tedious of all the rest, it vexeth the patiented continually, affording little or no breathing while unto him: that which riseth from amongst the bowels, doth handle the grieved nothing so roughly, it hath his periods, oftentimes making truce with the diseased. The first hath many degrees of afflicting: if it have nothing in it extraordinary, it shall not alter his name, but and if it fall out to affect the party altogether with savage conditions, it shall be called Wolves melancholy; if with raging and violent passion of love, Knight's melancholy. The flatuous or windy melancholy hath also his degrees, for there is some sorts of it but easy and light, and there are other some that are very fierce and violent. And now intending to handle all these sorts in order, I will begin with that which hath his seat in the brain.   

CHAP. V Of melancholy which hath his proper seat in the brain, of all accidents which do accompany the same: and the causes of fear, sadness, watchings, fearful dreams, and other Symptoms.  
THat melancholy with cometh of the dry & cold distemperature of the brain, is ordinarily accompanied with so manifold and tedious accidents, that it should stir up every one to be moved with pity and compassion; for the body is not only cast into a trance, but the mind is yet a great deal more violently set on the rack. 
The accidents happening to melancholic persons.  For here behold all the tyrannous excecutioners and tormentors of melancholy: fear keepeth company with it day by day, and now and then assaileth the party, with such an astonishment, as that he is made afraid, and becometh a terror unto himself; sadness doth never forsake him, suspicion doth secretly gall him, sigh, watchings, fearful dreams, silence, solitarynes, bashfulness, and the abhorring of the Sun, are as it were unseparable accidents of this miserable passion. Here we have ample occasion administered to enter into some Philosophical discourses: and for pleasure sake, I mind to recreate myself in searching out all the causes of these accidents, beginning with that of fear. The greatest Physicians are at controversy, from whence this fear in melancholic persons should come. 
Why melancholic men are always afraid. Galen his reason.  Galen imputeth all unto the colour which is black, and thinketh that the spirits being made wild, and the substance of the brain, as it were cloudy and dark, all the objects thereof appear terrible, and that the mind is in continual darkness. And even as we see the night doth bring with it some manner of fear, not only to children, but sometimes also to the most confident: 
averrhoes mocketh Galen.  even so melancholic persons having in their brain a continual night, are in uncessant fear. averrhoes that had deeper insight in Philosophy, than same for his skill in Physic, and being the sworn enemy of Galen, 
The colour of the humour is not the cause of fear. The first reason.  laugheth to scorn this reason. The colour (saith he) cannot be the cause of this fear, because colours can alter nothing but the eyes, being only the object of the sight, so that the mind can see nothing without the eyes. But there is never an eye in the brain; how then can it find itself aggrieved at the blackness of the melancholic humour, seeing that it cannot see it? 
The second.  I add for the more confirmation of averrhoes his argument, that the blackness of the colour is so far from being any cause of this fear in melancholic persons, as that it is rather that colour which they most love, as being enemies to Sun and light, and following darkness altogether, seeking after shadowed places, walking often in the night, and that with greater boldness then upon the day. 
The third.  Furthermore, madness is caused of an humour, as black as that which causeth melancholy, for the humour called black choler is altogether black and glistning like pitch, and therefore can make black the spirits and brain, as well as the other. But we see it falleth out, that mad men are nothing fearful, but rather bold and furious, not taking acknowledgement of any danger, as appeareth in their headlong casting of themselves into the devouring fire, 
The fourth.  and upon the murderous knife. Finally, if blackness should be the cause of such fear, it should follow on the contrary, that whiteness should make them bold; but how is it then, that such as abound with Phlegm are also commonly fearful? the colour therefore cannot be the cause of this fear. But saith averrhoes, 
Auerrhoes his opinion.  it must needs be, that the cause hereof is the temperature of the melancholic humour which is cold, and worketh effects contrary unto those of heat. Heat maketh men bold, quick of motion, and headlong in all their actions: cold on the contrary maketh them fearful, leaden-heeled, and not resolving of any thing. All such as are of a cold temperament, become fearful: old folks ordinarily are fearful, and so are gelded men also: women are always more timorous than men, and to be brief, the qualities of the mind do follow the temperament of the body. 
The author's judgement.  Lo here here the contrary opinions of these two great and famous men: I think they may be reconciled, if we would join these two causes together, that is the temperature of the humour, as the chief and principal, and the black colour of the Spirits, as that which may much further and help forward the same. The melancholic humour being cold, doth not only cool the brain, but also the heart, (being the fear of this courageous faculty of the Soul, which men call the instinct and proneness of nature unto anger) and rebateth the flames therein; hence creepeth out fear: the same humour being black, causeth the animal spirits, which ought to be pure, subtle, clear and lightsome, it maketh them I say gross, dark, and as it were all to be smoked. But the spirits being the chief and principal instrument of the mind, if they be black and overcooled also, do trouble her most noble powers, and principally the imagination, presenting unto it continually black forms and strange visions, which may be seen with the eye, notwithstanding that they be within. This is a deep reach, which no man hitherto (it may be) hath attained, and it serveth infinitely for the defence of Galen: 
That with our own eyes, we may see something within the same.  The eye doth not only see that which is without, but it seethe also that which is within, howsoever it may judge that same thing to be without. Those which have some small beginnings of a Cataract, do see many bodies flying, like to Aunts, flies, and long hairs, the same also do such as are ready to vomit. Hypocrates and Galen place amongst the signs and tokens of a critical flux of blood, these false apparitions, as when one seethe red bodies hanging in the air, which yet notwithstanding are not there, because that then every one should see them: this is an inward vapour which offereth itself unto the crystalline humour in his natural colour, and so if it arise of blood, it appeareth red: if of choler, yellow: and wherefore then should not the vapours of the melancholic humour, and of the spirits being black, ordinarily present themselves, and appear in their natural colour unto the eye, and so unto the imagination? The melancholic party may see that which is within his own brain, but under another form, because that the spirits and black vapours continually pass by the finewes, veins and arteries, from the brain unto the eye, which causeth it to see many shadows and untrue apparitions in the air, whereupon from the eye the forms thereof are conveyed unto the imagination, which being continually served with the same dish, abideth continually in fear and terror. That which maketh me to join the black colour with the temperature, is, because the brain is very oft of cold distemperature, and notwithstanding we find not the party troubled, either with such fear, nor yet such ghastly sights. Phlegm is yet more cold than melancholy, and notwithstanding it troubleth not the imagination, because his whiteness hath some resemblance of the substance of the brain, 
That the melancholic humour is altogether contrary to our spirits.  and with the colour and clearness of the spirits: but the melancholic humour is altogether opposite and enemy unto the same. Our spirits account cold and darkness to be their enemies, feeling the cold, they drawn themselves in, and as darkness presseth on more and more, so they fly black into their fort and castle, forsake the utter parts, and procure us to sleep: the melancholic humour hath both these properties, it is cold and dark, it ought not therefore to astonish us, if that we see it to molest the most noble and principal powers of the mind: seeing it tainteth and brandeth with blackness the principal instrument thereof, which is the spirit, which passing from the brain to the eye, and from the eye to the brain back again, is able to move these black sights, and to set them uncessantly before the mind. Lo here the first accident which haunteth melancholic persons: they are always full of fear, for they fear every thing, even that which is furthest off from fear: they are heartless, they honour their enemies, and abuse their friends, they conceive of death, as a terrible thing, and notwithstanding (which is strange) they oftentimes desire it, yea so eager, as that they will not let to destroy themselves: but this falleth out then only when fear is turned into despair, it is true in deed, that this happeneth so oft unto those whom melancholy simply assaileth, as unto those which are mad. 
Mad men do more oft kill themselves, then melancholic perspons.  We have very few examples of mere melancholic persons which have slain themselves, but of mad men very many are found, and those of great reputation. Empedocles Agrigentinus became mad, and cast himself headlong into the burning flames of the mountain Aetna. 
Examples.  Ariax the son of Telamonius was out of his wits, for that he was not thought worthy of Achilles' armour; but that it was adjudged unto Ulysses. Whereupon he passed over some part of his fury in killing all manner of cattle he met withal, thinking he had slain Ulysses and all his companions. Cleomenes being likewise out of his wits, slew himself with his own sword. Orestes having slain his mother Clytaemnestra, was so furiously outraged, that if his dear friend Pylades had not carefully watched over him, he had destroyed himself a hundred times. It falleth out therefore more oft unto mad, then to melancholic men to kill themselves.  

Why melancholic persons are sad.  The second accident which almost never leaveth melancholic persons, is sadness: they weep and know not wherefore: I believe the distemperature of the humour is the cause thereof: for as joy and cheerfulness proceed from heat and moisture well tempered, so heaviness and sadness come from the two contrary qualities which are found in this humour. For the most part of men of sanguine complexion are cheerful and merry, because they consist of a mixture of moisture and heat: choleric persons are way ward and unpleasant, because their heat is dry, and hath as it were an edge set upon it: melancholic persons are sad and perverse, because they be cold and dry. Even so it befell the silly Bellerophon, who (as he is very artificially set out in Homer) went wandering through the defart places continually mourning and lamenting. And the Ephesian Philosopher named Heraclitus, lived in continual tears, because (saith Theophrastus') that he was possessed of melancholy; and as his writings altogether confused; and darkened with obscurity do sufficiently witness the same.  

Why they be suspicious.  The accident of suspicion followeth the two former hard and close at the heels: the melancholic party is evermore suspicious, if he see three or four talking together, he thinketh that it is of him. The cause of such suspicion riseth of the former fear, and of a corrupt kind of reasoning: for being always in fear, he thinketh verily that one or other doth lie in wait for him, and that some do purpose to slay him. Melancholic men (saith Aristotle) do deceive themselves commonly in matters which depend upon choice, for that they oftentimes forget the general propositions wherein honesty consisteth, and choose rather to follow the motions of their foolish imaginations.  

The cause of their restlessness.  They are never at rest either in their bodies or in their spirits, they can make no answer to such questions as are propounded them, they oftentimes change from one kind to another. This disquieting and distracting of themselves, ariseth of the diversity of matters which they propound and set before themselves, for receiving all manner of forms, and stamping them with the print of dislike; they are constrained oftentimes to change, and to find out new things, which being no more acceptable to them then the first, do still continue them in these restless distractions.  

The cause of their sighing.  Melancholic folk are commonly given to sigh, because the mind being possessed with great variety and store of foolish apparitions, doth not remember or suffer the party to be at leisure to breath according to the necessity of nature, whereupon she is constrained at once to sup up as much air, as otherwise would serve for two or three times; and this great draft of breath is called by the name of sighing, which is as it were a reduplicating of the ordinary manner of breathing. In this order it falleth out with lovers, and all those which are very busily occupied in some deep contemplation. Silly fools likewise which fall into a wonder at the sight of any beautiful and goodly picture, are constrained to give a great sight, their will (which is the efficient cause of breathing) being altogether distracted, and wholly possessed with the sight of the image.  

Why they watch and can not sleep.  There is yet another accident which is very tedious, and even consumeth these poor melancholic men, even continual watchings. I have seen some that have abode three whole months without sleep. 
The causes of sleep.  Now the causes of such watchings are easy enough to understand, if we know what it is which causeth us to sleep. Men are given to observe in sleep the material, formal, final and instrumental cause. The material is a pleasant vapour, which is cast up from the first and second concoction, which when it cometh to slacken and stop all the sinews by his moisture, it causeth all sense and motion for to cease. The final cause is the repair of spirits, and the rest of all the animal powers which having been wearied by continual labour, do crave a little relief and recreation: this end cannot be obtained, if so be the mind which setteth all the powers of the body on work, be not vouchsafed some manner of peaceable rest: in this sort the silly Dido all over whelmed with musing pensiveness, could not espy the approach of night to the shutting up of her mournful eyes, or easing of her oppressed heart. The formal cause of sleep consisteth in the withdrawing of the spirits and natural heat, from the outward parts, to the inward, and from all the circumference unto the centre. The instrumental cause is the brain, which must be of good temperature: for if it be too hot, as in frenticke folks; or dry, as in old folks, the sleep will never be with peace and quietness.  

The causes of all that watchfulness which is in melancholic persons.  In melancholic persons the material is wanting, the mind is not at rest, the brain is distempered, the matter is a melancholic humour, dry as ashes, from whence cannot arise any pleasant and delightsome vapour, the brain is distempered, and greatly overdried, the mind is in continual restlessness: for the fear that is in them doth continually set before them tedious & grievous things, which so gnaw and pinch them, as that they hinder them from sleeping. But if at one time or other it fall out, that they be overtaken with a little slumber, it is then but a troublesome sleep, accompanied with a thousand of false and fearful apparitions, and dreams so dreadful, as that it were better for them to be awake. The causes of all these dreams are to be referred to the property of the humour: 
The causes of all their fearful dreams.  for as the phlegmatic partre dreameth commonly of rivers of water, and the choleric of flaming fire: so the melancholic person dreameth of nothing but dead men graves, and all other such mournful and unpleasant things, because he exerciseth his imaginations with forms altogether like unto the humour which beareth sway in him upon which occasion the memory beginneth to stir and rouse up herself, or else because that the spirits being grown as it were wild and altogether black, ranging the brain throughout, and bending themselves to the eye, do set before the imagination all manner of dark and obscure things.  

The cause why they love darkness.  Melancholic men are also enemies to the Sun, and shun the light, because that their spirits and humours are altogether contrary to the light. The Sun is bright and warm, the melancholic humour is black and cold. They desire solitariness, because they using to be busy and earnestly following their imagination, do fear to be drawn away by others their presence, and therefore do avoid it: but the cause of such their uncessant perseverance in their imaginations, is because their spirits are gross, and as it were immovable. They have their eyes fixed, and as it were set fast, by reason of the cold and dryness of the instrument; they have a hissing in their cares, and oftentimes are troubled with swimmering or giddiness: 
Why they love to be silent.  and as Galen observeth, they love silence out of measure, and oftentimen cannot speak, not for any defect of the tongue, but rather because of I cannot tell what manner of conceitedness: finally, they invent continually some one or other strange imagination, and have in a manner all of them one special object, from which they cannot be weaned till time have worn it out.   

CHAP. VI Whence it cometh that melancholic persons have all of them their particular and altogether divers objects: whereupon they dote.  
THe imagination of melancholic men bringeth forth such diversity of effects, according to the difference of the matters where about it is occupied, as that a man shall scarce find five of six among then thousand, which dote after one and the same manner. Whereupon ancient writers have compared this humour to wine: for as wine (according to the temperature and disposition of them that drink it) causeth sundry and diverse effects, 
A comparing of wine with the melancholine humour.  making some to laughed, and some to weep; making some lumpish and drowsy, and othersome over watchful and furious: even so this humour affect ethithe imagination after diverse sorts and fashions. 
Whence it cometh that melancholic men have so fearful objects.  This difference ariseth either from the disposition of the body, or from the manner of living, or from such studies as the parties do most apply themselves unto, or from some other secret and hidden cause. The disposition of the body doth propound and set down such objects as are all alike, or at the least or very near resemblance, foreseen that the occasion (that is to say some outward cause) be joined therewithal.  

The first cause.  Such as are of an extreme dry temperature, and have the brain also very dry; if they happen commonly to look upon some pitcher or glass (which are things very usual and common) they will judge themselves to be pitchers or glasses. Such as are troubled with worms either in the stomach or guts, will easily receive, if they be melancholic disposed, that they have some serpent viper, or other living thing in their bellies. Such as are trouled with very much windiness, will oftentimes imagine themselves flying in the air, and to become birds. They that abound in seed, will run a-madding after women, having the same for continual objects before their eyes. All these imaginations follow the disposition of the body: and as we see that in sleeping it befalleth us oftentimes to dream of a thousand strange things, which are suitable to the temperature of the body and natural humour, which doth chief reign (and this is the cause why such dreams are called natural) even so melancholic folkeboth waking and sleeping, may be haunted with a thousand vain inventions such as are suitable to the disposition of the humour. Notwithstanding there is difference in the manner of their impressions, for such fearful visions as in sleep are seen of the healthful, do speedily pass away, not making any abode, because such parties are but slightly affected: but in melancholic persons, the brain may seem to have gotten a habit, and therewithal the humour which is dry and earthy, having set his stamp in a body that is hard, suffereth not itself easily to be blotted out.  

The second cause of the dive: sitie of melancholic men their imaginations.  There are other imaginations in melancholic folks, that proceed not of the disposition of the body, but of their manner of living, and of such studies as they be most addcted unto. All the conditions of men and all their properties are not like. One man feedeth himself with covetousness, and another with ambition; this silly man is led captive of love, and religious devotion prevaileth with another. This humour than will imprint in melancholic men the objects most answerable to their condition of life and ordinary actions. If an ambitious man become melancholic, he strait way dreameth that he is a King, an Emperor, a Monarch. If he be covetous, than all his foolish imaginations will run upon riches. If he be given to be religious, he will do nothing but mumble of his beads, and you shall never find him out of the Church. If he be addicted to Venus' darlings, he will do nothing but plot the purchase of his love, and sometimes run after his own shadow. As much may be said of them which love to contend in law, or of them which in their health were devoutly addicted unto some one particular thing. 
The third cause  Finally, we observe and find such strange imaginations in some melancholic men, as cannot be referred either to the complexion of the body, or to their condition of life: the cause thereof remaineth unknown, it seemeth to be some secret mystery. The old writers have thought that there is some divine thing in this humour. Rhazis and Trallianus writ that they have seen many melancholic persons, which have oftentimes foretold what afterward hath come to pass. 
A comparison betwixt melancholic men, and a good huntsmen.  There is an Arabian Physician, which compareth melancholic men to good huntsmen. For even (saith he) as a good huntsman before he strike or let go the string of his bow, doth assure himself of the fall of the beast: even so the melancholic person, by the forwardness of his imagination, doth oftentimes see that which must come to pass, as though it were present before him. We read that one Marcus, and one other called Melanthius of Syracuse, became good Poets after their melancholy. Anicen noteth that melancholic persons sometimes do such strange things, that the common people imagine them to be possessed. How many famous men be there in this our age, which make scruple to condemn these old witches, thinking it to be nothing but a melancholic humour which corrupteth their imagination, and filleth them with all these vain toys. I will not cast myself any further into the depth of this question, the matter craveth a man of more leisure. Let us conclude therefore, 
The conclusion.  that the variety of things which the melancholic man busieth himself withal, cometh either of the disposition of his body, or of his condition of life, or of some other cause which is above nature. They which cannot at the first time conceive all these reasons, shall understand them (in my judgement) if they with patience will take the pains to read this little treatise, which shall very greatly further the making plain of this matter, and it shall not be from the purpose. It happeneth all alike to melancholic persons as to those which dream, and as much do we observe the causes of the one aas of the other: for dreams have recourse unto the imagination as well as melancholy. But let us make three sorts of drams; the one sort is of nature; 
Three sorts of dreams. Natural dreams.  the other of the mind; and the third is above the other two. Those which are of nature, do follow the nature of the humour which doth most rule: the that is choleric, dreameth of nothing but fires, fightings and burnings: the phlegmatic thinketh himself always to be in water. The knowledge of these dreams is necessary for a good Physician, thereby to know the complexion and constitution of his sick patiented. Hipocrates hath written a little treasite thereof: whereupon the famous man julius Caesar Scaliger hath commented. Galen also hath made another, wherein he teacheth that by these natural drams, one may foretell the issues of diseases. They (saith he) which should sweat, dream commonly that they are in a bath of warm water, or in some river. There was one that dreamt that his thigh was become a stone, and as he awoke, the same thigh fell into a palsy.  

Dreams rising of the troubles of the mind.  The second fort of dreams is that which cometh of the mind, as caused by some manner of disturbance happening to the same. Some define this kind of dream to be nothing else but that which hath passed the day before either through the senses, or through the understanding. This kind of dream happeneth oftest: for if we have seen, or thought upon, or talked of any thing very earnestly in the day, the night following the same thing will offer itself unto us. The fisherman (saith Theocritus) dreameth commonly of fishes, rivers and nets: the soldier of alatums, taking of nothing in the night, but of their loves object.  

Supernatural dreams.  The last kind of dreams exceed the course of nature, the power of the senses, and the reach of man's understanding: these dreams are either immediately from God, or from the Devil: those which come from God, 
Divine dreams.  do oftentimes put us in mind of that which must happen unto us, and maketh us partakers of revelations, containing in them great mysteries. Such have been in the old Testament of the dra,s of Abraham. jacob, joseph, Solomon, Nabuchadnezzar, Pharaoh, Daniel, Mardoche: and in the New Testament, of holy joseph, the three kings of the East, and Saint Paul.  

Dreams stirred up the devil.  The dreams called Diabolical, happen very oft of the subtlety of Satan, who goeth walking round about us every day, and seeketh to entrap us waking or sleeping. Wherefore he setteth before us oftentimes strange things, and discovereth unto us hid and unknown secrecies in our sleep, even such as nature herself may seem to have concealed, he troubleth our imaginations with an infinite number of vain illusions. Lo, here be all the causes of dreams.  

The imagination of melancholic men is troubled three wares.  We may say as much of melancholic persons. Their imagination is troubled only three ways: by nature, that is to say, by the constitution of the body: by the mind, that is to say, by some violent passion, whereunto they had given themselves: and by the intercourse or meddling of evil angels, which cause them oftentimes to foretell & forge very strange things in their imaginations.   

CHAP. VII. Histories of certain melancholic persons, which have had strange imaginations.  
I Have largely enough described all the accidents which haunt those which are properly to be termed melancholic persons, and have searched out the causes of all these varities: it behoveth me now in this chapter, (to the end I may somewhat delight the reader) to set down some examples of such as have had the most fantastical and foolish imaginations of all others. 
Strange histories.  I will pick some out of the Greek, Arabian, and Latin writers, and I will add some such as I have seen with mine own eyes. Galen in his third book of diseased parts, maketh mention of three or four, very well worth the marking.  

The first.  There was a melancholic man which took himself to be a pitcher, and prayed all that came to see him, not to come near unto him, lest they should dash him in pieces.  

The second.  Another imagined himself to be a cock, and did crow when her heard other cocks crow, and bet his arms, as the cocks do clap their wings.  

The third.  Another melancholic man was greatly perplexed in himself, fearing that Atlas in the end would be weary of bearing up heaven, and so might let it fall down upon him.  

The fourth.  Aetius writeth of one, which thought himself to have no head, and did speak it openly every where, that there was one which had cut it off for his tyrannous dealings. This man was cured very cunningly, by the skill of a Physician named Philotimus. For he caused a skull of iron weighing very heavy to be put upon his head: and he thereupon crying that his head did grieve him, was by and by confirmed by all them that stood by, which also cried: than you have a head; which he acknowledged by this means, and so was freed from his false imagination.  

The fift.  Trallianus writeth, that he saw a woman which thought that she had swallowed a Serpent, he healed her causing her to vomit, and casting now and then a Serpent (which he had and held all ready in his hand) into the basin.  

The sixth.  I have read that a young scholar being in his study, was taken with a strange imaginaton: for he imagined that his nose was so great and so long, as that he durst not stir out of his place, lest he should dash it against something: and the more he was dealt with and dissuaded, so much the more did he confirm himself in his opinion. In the end a Physician having taken a great piece of flesh, and holding it in his hand secretly, assured him that he would heal him by and by, and that he must needs take away this great nose: and so upon the sudden pinching his nose a little, and cutting the piece of flesh which he had, he made him believe that his great nose was cut away.  

The seventh.  Arthemidorus the Grammarian, having seen a Crocodile, was taken with such a fear, as that he forgot all that ever he had known, and settled this opinion so deeply in himself, namely. that he had lost an arm and a leg, as that he could never be persuaded the contrary.  

The eight.  There have been seen very melancholic persons, which did think themselves dead, and would not eat any thing: the Physicians have used this sleight to make them eat. They caused some one or other servant to lie near unto the sick party, and having taught him to counterfeit himself dead, yet not to forsake his meat, but to eat and swallow it, when it was put into his mouth: and thus by this crafty devise, they persuaded the melancholic man, that the dead did eat as well as those which are alive.  

The ninth.  There hath been seen not long since, a melancholic man, which affirmed himself the most wretched and miserable in all the world, because he was nothing.  

The tenth.  There was also of late a great Lord, which thought himself to be glass, and had not his imagination troubled, otherwise then in this one only thing, for he could speak marvelously well of any other thing: he used commonly to sit, and took great delight that his friends should come and see him, but so as that he would desire them, that they would not come near unto him.  

The eleventh.  There is yet an honest man, and one of the best French Poets that is in this Realm, which is fallen within these few years into a foolish conceit. Being coursed with a continual fever, which was accompanied with much watching, the Physicians appointed for him a stupefactive ointment, called Populeon, and therewith rubbed his nose forehead, and temples, since which hour, he hath Populeon in such hateful loathsomeness, as that ever since, he casteth them from him, and will wear them no more: in other points he is able to talk very sensibly, and ceaseth not to go forward in his Poetry. It hath been attempted by all the skilful means in the world, to take from him this foolish conceit, he hath been showed the description of the ointment, to put him out of doubt that there goeth no dangerous thing to the making of it, he knoweth it, and is of the same mind, but yet this conceit is so deeply printed in him, as that hitherto no man hath attained to know how to displace it.  

The twelfth.  Aretaeus in his first book of long diseases, saith that he hath seen a melancholic man, who hath imagined himself to be of brick, and would not drink therefore, fearing least thereby he should have been dissolved.  

The thirteenth.  Another imagined that his feet were made of glass, and durst not walk lest he should have broke them.  

The fourteenth.  A Baker had conceived that he was made of butter, and no man could make him come near either the fire or his oven, he was so much afraid of being melted.  

The fifteenth.  The pleasantest dotage that ever I read, was of one Sienois a Gentleman, who had resolved with himself not to piss, but to die rather, and that because he imagined, that when he first pissed, all his town would be drowned. The Physicians showing him, that all his body, and ten thousand more such as his, were not able to contain so much as might drown the least house in the town, could not change his mind from this foolish imagination. In the end they seeing his obstinacy, and in what danger he put his life, found out a pleasant invention. They caused the next house to be set on fire, & all the bells in the town to ring, they persuaded diverse servants to cry, to the fire, to the sire, & therewithal send of those of the best account in the town, to crave help, and show the Gentleman that there is but one way to save the town, and that it was, that he should piss quickly and quench the sire. Then this silly melancholic man which abstained from pissing for fear of losing his town, taking it for granted, that it was now in great hazard, pissed and emptied his bladder of all that was in it, and was himself by that means preserved. As concerning those which think themselves Kings, Emperors, Popes, Cardinals, and such like, seeing that such foolish conceits are common enough. I have purposed only to name those which are most rare. And thus much for melancholy, which hath his seat in the brain, which is caused of a cold and dry distemperature, either simple or mixed with matter. It followeth sometimes the hot sicknesses of the brain, as frenzies and burning fevers, and then the face appearethred. Avicen observeth that stammerers, and such as have rolling eyes, and such as are hairy and black, such also as have great veins and thick lips, are most incident to this kind of melancholy: sadness, fear, deep muses, the use of gross and melancholic meats do oftentimes cause this disease.   

CHAP. VIII. An order of diet for such as have this melancholic disease in the brain.  

How greatly good order of diet doth avail and profit in old diseases.  IT seemeth to me that I have read some where in Aretine, that (in old diseases, which have gotten some certain habit) the manner of living is to more purpose, than whatsoever can be drawn out of the most precious boxes of the Apothecary. Avicen the chief prince of the Arabians, doth teach us, that the manner of living being neglected, may corrupt the best state and constitution in the world, and contrary wise being carefully observed, may amend the worst. And therefore I will begin the cure of these melancholic men, by setting down the way to order and govern themselves.  

The air.  They must make choice of such an air, as is temperate in his active qualities, and which is moist concerning the passive. It may be made such by art, casting abroad in your chamber good store of flowers, of Roses, Violets, and water lilies. Or else you may have a great vessel full of warm water, which will keep the air moist continually. It will be needful to perfume the chamber with Orange flowers, Citron pills, and a little Storax: the chamber must be lightsome, and standing toward the East. A gross, dark, gloomish, stinking air, is very contrary, howsoever such persons do desire the same altogether. It is good to accustom them to behold red, yellow, green and white colours.  
As concerning their meats, all such as are gross, slimy, windy, 
Meats.  melancholic, and of hard digestion, do hurt exceedingly.  
They must have their bread of good wheat, which is pure, 
Bread.  and purged from bran, without fault, and which is (if possibly it may be) knodden with rain or fountain water.  
Their flesh must be very young, for that is the best, 
Flesh.  as for example among the rest that which is of a calf, kid, mutton, pullet, partridge: and contrarily, that which is old, and maketh a gross nourishment, as is beef, pork, hare, waterfowles, and all wild beasts, as the wild Boar & Hearts, are very bad. Galen forbiddeth the flesh of he-goats, Bulls, Asses, Dogs, Camels, and Foxes, but he might have spared this his inhibition, for their daintiness is not such, as that men should delight in, much less dote upon them. The Arabians commend the brains of things to be good against melancholy, by I cannot tell what property: but in my judgement, they be not very proper and fit, seeing they are enemies unto the stomach, and I take them to have been too superstitious in a great number of things.  
The fishes that live in standing waters, as also those of the Sea, 
Fish.  which have a gross and melancholic flesh, as the tunny, Dolphin, Whale, seal, and all such as have scales are evil, and not to be used in this disease: one may eat of the fishes which live in clear and bright waters, and running streams. Salted or powdered fish is stark nought. Eggs that are new, soft and potched, and eaten with vinegar, or veriuce, are very good.  
The use of pottage and broths is very good and necessary, 
Pottage.  because this humour being dry, must be moistened. The herbs ordinarily to be used in them, are Borage, bugloss, Burnet, Endive, Succory, Hops, and a little Balm; there must great heed be taken, that there come not any Coal, Blites, Rocket, Cresses, Turnips, Leeks, or very bitter and biting herbs in them: husked Barley, blanched Almonds, and gruel, do serve very excellently well, to send up pleasant vapours unto the brain.  
There must care be had to abstain from all manner of pulse, 
Pulse.  as peason, beans, and fetches.  
As concerning fruits, 
Fruits.  we will allow, Plumbs, Pears, sweet Pomegranates, Almonds, Raisins, Pine apples, Citrons, Melons, and especially those apples which have a marvelous property in curing melancholy: we forbidden dry Figs, Meddlers, cervises, Chestnuts, Nuts, Artichokes, Thistles, and old chief.  
As concerning drink, 
Drink.  there is some disagreement amongst Physicians, for some do allow, and othersforbid wine. I am of mind, that as concerning mad men, and them which have much heat about the inward parts or bowels, and in the brain, wine is very contrary: but in melancholic persons that are cold and dry, as those of whom we entreat in this place, a little white or claret wine, which is neither sweet nor thick, but indifferently delayed, is very good. Zeno said oftentimes, that wine doth mitigate the sharpness of men's manners, as water taketh away the bitterness of lupines. And Auerrhoes writeth, that wine rejoiceth the mind and spirits. 
Artificial wine.  One may make in the vintage time, an artificial wine with Borage and bugloss, (which is most singular in all melancholic diseases) and drink his first draft thereof, either at dinner or at supper. If a man doubt the sweet sent, he may cast a bunch of the flowers of Borage only, or of the herb itself also into the wine which he ordinarily drinketh.  
Watching is altogether enemy to those that are troubled with this disease, for we must with all the skill and cunning we can, procure sleep, the means to do it, follow in the next chapter. Moderate exercise may serve to very good purpose, but it must be done in pleasant and delightsome places, as gardens, meadows, greene-plots, in places where there are many water springs, or some rivers: a man must not tire himself in these exercises, he must rest himself oft.  
Melancholic persons should never be alone, they should always have some such company left with them, as might best like and please them, sometimes they must be flattered, and yielded unto in some part of that which they desire, for fear lest this humour which is rebellious by nature, and given to self wilfulness, should grow raging and furious: some whiles they must be chid for their foolish imaginations, as also reproached and made ashamed of their cow-hardinesse, they must be emboldened to the uttermost that we can, and praised in their actions: and if they have in some cases done something worthy of praise, we must put them oft in mind thereof, uphold them with merry tales: we may not call to their mind any thing that might cause them to fear, not yet bring them any unpleasant tidings. To be short, we must turn back and drive away as much as we can from their understanding, all manner of passions overthrowing the mind, especially choler, fear and sadness: for as Plato saith in his Dialogue called Charmides, the greatest part of the mischiefs that fall upon the body, do come from the mind. 
Music very meet for melancholic persons.  The old writers do commend Music in all melancholic diseases, whether they be hot or cold. The Arcadians did reclaim the manners of such as were savage and unnurtured, by Music. Empedocles Agrigentinus, did mitigate and appease the furiousness of a certain young man, with the melodiousnes of his song. Clinius the Musician as soon as he perceived his melancholic fit to come upon him, would betake him to his harp, and keep back by this means the motions of the humour. David also when the evil spirit came upon Saul, made him merry with his harp, and he found ease thereby.  

The belly must be kept soluble  The belly must be kept always soluble in all melancholic diseases, and therefore if it need we must stir it up by all the means we can.   

CHAP. IX. How we must cure such melancholic persons, as have the disease growing in the brain.  

All melancholic diseases are rebellious and very hard to be cured.  DAily experience plainly teacheth us, that all melancholic diseases, are rebellious, long and very hard to cure, and the reason thereof is as clear: for the melancholic humour is earthy and gross, enemy to the light, contrary to the two principles of our life, heat and moisture, resisting the means and remedies, neither giving ear to good advise, nor yet obeying the wholesome precepts of Physic. And to be short it is the very scourge and torment of Physicians. Aristotle in his seventh book of ethics saith, that melancholic folk have always something which doth gnaw and feed upon them: and this is the cause why they are always running after the Physician, and yet we ought not to leave them helpless. I will set down in this chapter the most special remedies that I have been able to observe, together with the order how such melancholic persons must be handled.  

Three sorts of remedies requisite in melancholic diseases.  It seemeth unto me that for the cure of melancholy, we had need of three kinds of remedies, that is to say, diminutives, alteratives, and comfortatives. The diminutives are either letting of blood, or purgation. As concerning the letting of blood which is universal, 
Blood-letting respecting the whole body.  Galen appointeth it to be ministered, in that melancholy which is within the veins, and throughout the whole habit of the body, and willeth that if the blood issuing show fair and thin, that it be stayed by and by: but in that melancholy which hath his seat in the brain, and which cometh of a cold and dry distemperature, he hath forbidden it most expressly. The Arabians commend in the cure of this kind of melancholy, 
Blood-letting respecting some particular parts.  the letting of blood called particular, to the taking away of the conjoined cause: they open the veins of the forehead, of the nose, and of the ears; they set cupping-glasses upon the shoulders, having first scarified the place; they apply horseleeches upon the head, and in all melancholic diseases, whether essential or accidental; they cause the hemorrhoids to be opened, having the eleventh Aphorism of the sixth book for their ground and warrant, which saith, that in melancholic and mad men the varicous tumour or hemorrhoids appearing, do heal the same: but all these particular openings of a vein have no place in the beginning of this disease. 
Purging.  We must begin with that other kind of evacuation, which is purgation. It may be performed by the often using of Clyster, Decoctions, syrups, and Opiates: the form of an ordinary Clyster for melancholic persons, shall be such as followeth. Take of the roots of hollyhock one ounce, of the leaves of Mallows, Mercury, 
〈◊〉 Clyster.  Violets, and Hops, of each a great handful; of Anise and linseed, of each two drams, of Damask prunes one dozen, of the flowers of Borage and Violets, and of Barley a handful: boil all together in clear water, and strain them; add thereto afterward of Cassia an ounce, of Catholicon half an ounce, of oil of Violets two ounces, and as much of honey of Roses: make thereof an ordinary Clyster. 
A potion minorative.  The Arabians use in the disease of melancholy, pills of Aloes of Hiera, and of Lapis lazulus: but I do not so well like of this form as of the liquid: it were better therefore to use decoctions. This potion may serve in the beginning for a minorative. Take of Licotice half an ounce, of polypody of the oak three drams, of Borage, bugloss, Balm, and Hops, of each half a handful, of Anise and Citron seed, of each adramme, of oriental Seine three drams, of the three cordial flowers a pugil, boil them all: take of this decoction four ounces, and infuse therein of Rhubarb a dram and a half: after the straining of it, dissolve therein of the syrup of Roses an ounce, and of the syrup of Apples as much: make thereof a decoction, which you must take in the morning, and keep your chamber. There are some which take in the broth of a chicken half an ounce of Seine: others an ounce of Cassia, or else the infusion and expression of ten drams of Catholicum.  

The manner of preparing of the melancholic humour.  This sleight purgative having gone before, the rest of the humour must be prepared: for, to think of the rooting out of the preparing of whole at the first blow forcibly, (as the Empirics do) were to overthrow the sick party. We must attenuate, soften, and dissolve the same, and follow the precept of famous Hypocrates, which saith in his Aphorisms, that when we will purge any body, we must first prepare it and make it fit to flow: for such preparation there is good use to be made of julebes and Apozemes.  

An Apozeme  Take of the roots of bugloss and Elecampane, of the rinds of the roots of Capers and Tamariske, of every one an ounce, of the leaves of Borage Hops, Succory, fumitory, Capillus Veneris, crops of Time and Balm, of each a handful; of Anise, Fennell, and Citron feed, of each two drams; of the three cordial flowers, of the flowers of Oranges and of Epithymum, of each a pugil: boil them all in fountain water, and after you have strained out a pound and a half, put thereto of the syrup of Hops two ounces, and as much of the syrup of fumitory, and make thereof an Apozeme, clarify it and aromatise it with a dram of the powder of cinnamon, or of Electuarium de gemmis: it must be taken four mornings together.  

Stronger means for the purging of this humour.  The humour being thus prepared the body may be purged again with the decoction before appointed, whereto you shall put of Catholicum, or else of Confectio Hamech, which purgeth melancholy very well: or it you please, you may prepare an Apozeme, which will purge every second time it is taken: the same which is already set down will serve, if you boil some oriental Seine and polypody in it. If this humour be too rebellious, and that you cannot purge and avoid it by these benedict's and gentle remedies, you must be forced to come to such as are stronger. Piolomeus the king used in rebellious melancholy Electuarium Hieralogadium: but the Hieras do dry over much. The Arabians commend the pills of Lapi, lazulus, Pillulae Indae, pills of fumitory, and those of Lapis armenus. There are some which make a powder for melancholic persons, and it is an excellent one. 
A purgative powder.  Take of Lapis lazulus, well washed in Violet water, an ounce, of oriental Seine two ounces, of good polypody an ounce and a half, of Anise and Citron seed, half a dram; of Sugar candy three ounces, of the four cold seeds, two drams; of the flowers of Elder-tree three drams: make thereof a powder; take thereof the weight of two French crowns. All, both Greek and Arabian Physicians, do appoint in such diseases of melancholy, 
The use of Hellebor.  as are old and hardly removed, Hellebor should be given. It is true indeed that we must in this case use discretion, and not to give it in substance: for the decoction or infusion thereof must be taken, and choice made of that which is black and good: for the Apothecaries do oftentimes sell for black Hellebor a kind of Aconitum, which is very hurtful and pernicious, the white is not to be used at all in these cases: there must also diligent care be had not to mixc any thing with the Hellebor we use, which hath any astringent or binding faculty, such as are Mirabolanes, lest thereby it might be stayed too long in the stomach. The Poets that have written long ago, have acknowledged this property of Hellebor that it hath against melancholic diseases, when as they send melancholic persons unto Anticyra where the best Hellebor groweth: and in Homer in his second Odissea, Melampus a great Physician is brought in healing the four daughters of king Pretus with Hellebor, who because they would be equal in beauty to juno, were for a just punishment of their arrogancy and pride, made fools. Some there be which use Antimony prepared: 
Antimony.  but all such forcible means must be prescribed advisedly and with discretion. I could like it better to use milder things, and to reiterate them the oftener, as a good magistral syrup, or else some Opiate. 
A magistral syrup.  The syrup may be made of the juices of Borage, bugloss, and Apples, with some Seine: or else you may use the syrup of the Apples of Sabor the king. There may an Opiate be made after this fashion. Take of good Cassia drawn in the vapour of the decoction of Mallows, an ounce and a half: or (if you will have it somewhat stronger) in the vapour of the decoction of black Hellebor, for so it will retain some little part of the force & virtue thereof: afterward take of Tamarisk an ounce, of Catholicum six drams, of Seine half an ounce, & as much of Epithymun, 3. drams of good Rhubarb besprinkled with the water of Endive, until it become soft and relenting: incorporate all together, and mingle them with the syrup of Violets or Apples, and make thereof an Opiate: whereof you shall take every five days in form of a bowl, the quantity of an ounce more or less, according to the effect and working thereof. And thus much of purgatives.  

Alterative medicines.  The second kind of remedies is such as doth alter the melancholic humour, that is to say; which doth take away the distemperature thereof. This humour offendeth in coldness and dryness, but more in dryness, & this is that very quality which maketh it so rebellious, & hardly to be removed: the alteration of it then doth consist in the moistening of the same. 
That there is more good done by moistening then by purging of the melancholic humour.  Galen in his third book of diseased parts, as also Trallianus do make more account of these alteratives, than they do of the diminutives, & do confidently profess to have cured more melancholic persons by moistening the humours then by purging of it. This moistening is accomplished by inward and outward means: the inward are broths, apozemes, syrups. I have sometime caused a melancholic man to use for a long time together the broth of a chicken, with Borage bugloss, 
Broths.  Succory, Burnet, and a little Saunders, and Sassefras, which I caused to be added thereto: whereupon he found himself exceedingly well amended. The sympe of Apples, bugloss, Hops, 
syrups.  and Violets do macerate this humour in very good sort: You may prepare an apozeme with the same herbs which I have mentioned here above. The use also of Whey, and Goats or Ass' milk will serve well to water and moisten this humour withal.  

Outward remedies.  The outward remedies are either universal or particular; the universal are baths. Galen boasteth himself to have cured many melancholic persons with the only use of baths of warm water, 
Baths.  or else you may if the whole body be very dry, and the skin very rugged, make an artificial one with the roots of Holibocks, leaves of Mallows, Violets, Lettuses & Succory, with the seeds of Melons and Gourds, Barley, and the flowers of Violets: you must bathe oft, and stay long in at a time, but not so long as to cause any sweat. At the time of being in the bath you may have two bags filled with sweet and bitter Almonds, and the seed of Melons, grossly pownded, and therewith rub all the skin over. If you will make your bath well, you must put warm water in your bathing tub over night, and there let it stand and breath till morning, 
Ointments for the whole body.  at which time you shall go into it. There be many practitioners in Physic which make such baths of milk only, as also it is oftentimes done in the case of consumption. In coming forth of the bath, there are some which enjoin the body to be anointed all over with the oil of sweet Almonds, Violets, or new & fresh butter. 
Applying of remedies unto the head.  There are which apply remedies unto the head as being the part most affected, and they use such as do moisten, whether they be lotionsor embrocations, and these made of warm water, and of the same decoctions, or else of the oils of the seed of Gourds, sweet Almonds, and Violets, or else of milk.  

Comforting medicines.  The third kind of remedies good in melancholic cases, is of such as do strengthen and cheer up the spirits, which are (as Avicen saith) become wild and duskish. It behoveth therefore to strengthen the brain, and to cheer up the heart: the which intentions are effected by inward and outward means: the inward Sytupes, Opiates, Lozenges and powders: 
Inward remedies.  the outward are Epithemes, bags and ointments. I will give you an example of each of them: 
An excellent Syrup.  The fittest syrup that I have found both for the cheering and moistening of melancholic persons, is this, which I am about to set down, being first invented by Mounsieur Castellane mine uncle, and one of the greatest and happiest Physicians of his time, and ordinarily employed in his calling by Kings and Queens. Take of the juice of Borage and bugloss a pound and a half, of the juice of apples that are very sweet a pound, of the juice of Balm half an ounce, of Dyer's grains infused in the former juices a long time, and after strained out, three drams; of Saffron half a dram, of fine Sugar two pounds: make these in a syrup boiled to his height, and aromatize it with a dram and a half of the powder of the Diamargaritum that is cold, and four scruples of the powder of Diamber, there must be taken of it evening and morning two or three spoonful.  
There are many sorts of Opiates, but I will content myself to set down this one. Take of the Conserve of the roots of bugloss, 
Opiates.  and of the flowers of Borage, of each one ounce, of preserved Mirabplanes, and of the rinds of Citrons condited, of each half an ounce, of the confection of Alkermes three drams, of the powders of Diamargariton and of the Electuary of precious stones, of each one dram: make thereof an Opiate with the syrup of Apples, whereof you must take a little in the morning, drinking after it some Claret wine delayed with the water of bugloss. I will set down some receipts of lozenges and powders in the chapter entreating of that melancholy which is begot amongst the bowels and called the flatuous or windy melancholy.  

Outward remedies for the cheering up of the spirits.  The outward remedies are applied unto the brain and heart. Unto the brain there are applied powders, and caps. But in as much as the greatest part of these aromatical things are hot and dry, we must use them but sparingly. Unto the heart we may more boldly apply Epithemes, Bags, and ointments. 
An epithem for the heart.  Take of the waters of Borage and bugloss, of each half a pound, of the waters of Balm and scabious of each four ounces, of good white wine two ounces, of the powder of cold Diamargaritum one dram, of the confection of Alkermes three drams, of the seed of Balm, and Dyer's grains, of each one dram; mix all together, and make Epithemes thereof and apply them to the region of the heart with a piece of scarlet. If liquid Epithemes dislike you, than you may use a  one, with the cordial conserves, or else you may wear bags upon the region of your heart; the descriptions whereof I leave until I come to the chapter of windy melancholy, where they shall come in more fitly for the purpose, in as much as those which are troubled with the windy melancholy, have almost continually the panting and beating of the heart. And thus much for the three kinds of remedies, which are (in my mind) needful for the curing of that melancholy which is settled in the brain, being purgatives, alteratives, and comfortatives.  

The means to remedy too much watchfulness.  There remaineth as yet unremoved a tedious and trouble some accident which is continual watching, which now and then whippeth melancholic men so cruelly, as that thereby many have been plunged into the pit of despair. Wherefore I will address myself with all the best wits I have or devices I can invent to set down the means of their comfort. 
Inward means to procure sleep.  Sleep is procured by inward and outward means. We will have divers sorts of the inward, because melancholic persons do love variety. We shall make for them mundified barley, a Condite, an Opiate, a Tart, a Restaurative, a Potion, a bowl, and mass of pills: all given to procure sleep. 
A mundified barley.  The mundified barley is made with the flower of barley prepared as is meet, with Almonds which have been infused in Rose water, with the four cold seeds, the seeds of Poppy, & rosed Surgar. 
A Condite.  The form of the condite shallbe such. Take of the conserves of the flowers of Borage and bugloss, of each three drams, of the pulp of Gourds confected and of the rinds of Citrons, of each two drams, of white Poppy and Melon seeds, of each a dram, of rosed Sugar so much as is needful: make thereof a condite, whereof you shall take at night two or three, spoonfuls. 
An Opiate.  The Opiate shall be thus made. Take of the conserves of the pulp of Gourds, and of the roots of lettuce, of each an ounce; of the conserve of Roses and Waterlillie, of each half an ounce; of the powder of the cold Diamargaritum a dram, of Poppy seed two scruples: make thereof an Opiate with the syrup of Violets. Of this you must take at night the quantity of a chestnut. For variety sake you may make a Marchpane. 
A Marchpane.  Take of sweet Almonds blanched and washed in hot water, and afterward infused in rose-water, a pound and a half; of white Poppy seed very new and well mundified, three ounces; of fine Sugar two pound: work them into a paste, and with the water of Roses make a Marchpane: of this you shall take when you go to sleep. There are in like manner resumptives, 
Restauratives.  or restauratives of a liquid form. Take the white of a good Capon, of water of Roses and water-lilies, of each a quart; of bugloss, Purcelane, and Sorrell waters, of each four ounces; of the powder of cold Diamargaritum, two drams: distill all these together in Mary's bath. The potion may be prescribed after this manner. 
A Potion.  Take of the syrup of Violets, Apples and Poppy, of each half an ounce, of the powder of Diamargaritum, a scruple: make hereof a potion with the decoction of Lettuses and Endive. And for such as may delight in a bowl, this which followeth may serve. 
A Bole.  Take of the conserve of Roses three drams, of Requies Nicolai, one dram: and with a little Sugar make a bowl. Orelse: Take of the conserve of the flowers of red Poppy two drams, 
Pills.  of new Treacle one dram, and with a little Sugar make a bowl. If pills be in request, then let there be made as followeth. Take of the pills of Hounds-tongue, or of Styrax, one scruple, let them be moistened with the syrup of Apples. The Chemists make a Laudanum. But in the use of all these stupefactive medicines taken inwardly, we must take heed to deal with very good advise, for fear that in stead of desiring to procure rest unto the silly melancholic wretch, we cast him into an endless sleep.  

Outward means to procure sleep.  The outward remedies are not altogether so dangerous, and we may frame ten or twelve sorts of them: as head powders, frontlets, bags, emplasters, ointments, epithemes, nosegays, pomanders, and lotions for the legs. Take of the flowers of red Poppy and red Roses, of each three drams; of lettuce, 
A powder.  Purcelane and white Poppy seed, of each two drams; of red Saunders and the seed of Coriander prepared, of each a dram and a half: make them all into powder, and cast it upon the head, the hair being shaved. 
A Frontlet.  Of the them same powder may a Frontlet be made, putting thereto of the flowers of water-lilies and a little Margerome. You may make great bags after the fashion of pillows, 
Bags.  which shall be filled with the flowers of Roses, and the leaves and seeds of white Henbane. 
An epithem.  You may apply this epithem unto the head. Take of the distilled waters of lettuce, Sorrell and Roses, of each three ounces; of the powder of cold Diamargaritum one dram; of red Roses and red Saunders two scruples: make thereof an epithem. Let the ointment be like unto this. 
An ointment.  Take of populeon half an ounce, and as much of Galens colling ointment; of oil of Roses an ounce, mix all together with a little vinegar, and therewith anoint the head, brows and nostrils. You may also make this plaster. 
An Emplaster  Take of Castoreum a dram and a half, of Opium half a scruple: mix both together with a little water of life, and make two small plasters thereof, and apply them to the temples. You may make Nosegays of flowers of Violets, 
Nosegays.  Roses, of Willow and a little Margerome, they must be dipped in rosed vinegar, and in the juice of lettuce and Poppy, wherein a little Opium and Camphire hath been dissolved. Or else: Take two heads of Poppy beat together, 
Nodules.  tie them up in three nodules or knots: then having in readiness of Styrax three drams, of Rose water six ounces, and a little Opium: dip these nodules in the liquor, and smell unto them oftentimes. 
A pomander.  There may also an Apple be made to smell unto. Take of the seed of Henbane, of the rind of the roots of Mandrags, of the seed of Hemlock, of each one dram, of Opium a Scruple, of the oil of Mandrags a little: mix all these with the juice of fumitory and Houseleek, and make an apple thereof: which if you smell unto, it will cause you now and then to sleep: put unto these to correct them a little Amber and Musk. There are some which with good success do apply Horseleeches behind the ears, 
Blood suckers or horseleeches.  and having taken away the Horseleeches, they put by little and little a grain of Opium upon the hole.  

Lotions for the legs.  Lotions for the legs do much avail to cause one to sleep. Take of the leaves of the Orange tree, and of Margerome, of each a good handful; two heads of white Poppy, of Roses, and Waterlillie flowers, and Camomile, of each a pugil, boil them all together in two parts of water, and one of white wine: and herewith you must wash the thighs and legs of the sick party at night, letting it be good and hot. I think that by this means you may procure sleep unto the most melancholic man in the world. It is true, that, to prevent that these cooling things may not altogether quench that small store of natural heat that is in them, you must cause them to take now and then some cordial syrups, or comfortable Opiates. And thus much for the cure of that melancholy which chief affecteth the brain. That melancholy which cometh of a dry distemperature of the whole body, is cured almost by the same helps. I come therefore unto the windy melancholy: but because there is one kind of this essential melancholy, which happeneth through raging and fond love, and that it requireth a special manner of curing, I will first speak of the same.   

CHAP. X. Of another kind of melancholy which cometh by the extremity of love.  
THere is another kind of melancholy very ordinary and common, which the Greek Physicians call Erotike, 
The names of amorous melancholy.  because it cometh of a fury and raging love; the Arabians call it Iliscus, and the common sort, the divine Passion; imputing the cause thereof to the petty god, which the Poets have made so great reports of. Cadmus' Milesius (if we may credit Suydas) hath written fourteen great volumes of this subject, which are not at this day to be found: I will only make two chapters of it, the one describing the malady, the other the remedies. I will not here curiously search out the crimologie of love, and why this name Eros was given unto it; neither will I undertake to define it, seeing very famous and worthy men have taken the work upon them, but have not brought it to any good end: neither will I examine the differences or royal descent of the same, let them that list, read what Plato, Plotinus, johannes Picus comes Mirandolae, Marius' Equicola, and Leon Hebraeus have written thereof: I will satisfy myself with the revailing of one of those thousand effects which it bringeth forth. I intent to manifest unto every man by the description of this melancholy, how greatly a violent and extreme love may tyrannize in commanding both mind and body.  

How love is begotten.  Love therefore having abused the eyes, as the proper spies and porters of the mind, maketh a way for itself smoothly to glance along through the conducting guides, and passing without any perseverance in this sort through the veins unto the liver, doth suddenly imprint a burning desire to obtain the thing, which is or seemeth worthy to be beloved, setteth concupiscence on fire, and beginneth by this desire all the strife and contention: but fearing herself too weak to encounter with reason, the principal part of the mind, she posteth in haste to the heart, to surprise and win the same: whereof when she is once sure, as of the strongest hold, she afterward assaileth and setteth upon reason, and all the other principal powers of the mind so fiercely, as that she subdueth them, and maketh them her vassals and slaves. Then is all spoiled, 
The effects of violent love.  the man is quite undone and cast away, the senses are wandering to and fro, up and down, reason is confounded, the imagination corrupted, the talk fond and senseless; the silly loving worm cannot any more look upon any thing but his idol: all the functions of the body are likewise perverted, he becometh pale, 
Signs and tokens of amorous melancholy.  lean, swooning, without any stomach to his meat, hollow and sunk eyed, and cannot (as the Poet saith) see the night either with his eyes or breast. You shall find him weeping, sobbing, sighing, and redoubling his sighs, and in continual restlessness, avoiding company, loving solitariness, the better to feed & follow his foolish imaginations; fear buffeteth him on the one side, & oftentimes despair on the other; he is (as Plautus saith) there where indeed he is not; sometime he is as hot as fire, and upon the sudden he findeth himself as cold as ice: his heart doth always quake, and his pulse keepeth no true course, it is little, unequal, and beating thick, changing itself upon the sudden, not only at the sight, but even at the very name of the object which he affecteth. 
The history of Erasistratus.  By all these tokens the great Physician Erasistratus perceived the disease of Antiochus the son of Seleucus the king, who was ready to die for the love of Stratonica his mother in law. For seeing him to blush, to wax pale, to double his sighs, and change his pulse so oft at the very sight of Stratonica, he deemed him to be troubled with this eroticke passion; and so advertised his father. Galen by the very same wile did find out Insta the wife of Boetius Consul of Rome her sickness and disease, as that it was her burning love she bore to Pylades. Lo here the effects of this affection, and all such accidents as accompany this amorous melancholy. Let no man therefore hereafter call it a divine and sacred passion, if it be not only to signify the greatness thereof: for the Poets would call the greatest fishes, sacred, and the Physicians have given the same name unto that bone, which is the greatest of all the vertebres. Neither let any man call it the sweet passion or affection, seeing of all other miseries, this is the greatest misery, yea so great as that all the tortutes which have been so exquisitely devised by the wit of tyrants, will never be able to exceed the cruelty thereof. 
The cruelty of love.  The Philosopher Thianeus knew well what to say to the K. of Babylon, which prayed him to invent some cruel torment for the punishing of a gentleman whom he had found in bed with his paramour: for (saith he) let him live, and in time his love will punish him sufficiently. The Poets have very well laid open unto us the cruelty of this passion, in that their feigned fable of Titius: 
The fable of Titius.  who for his exceeding love unto the Goddess Latona, is feigned to have his liver ordinarily fed upon by two gryphens, and the fibres thereof every day to grow again. But how should we not call this a miserable passion, seeing it hath brought many to such extremity and despair, as that they have killed themselves. Lucretius the Poet who had written the cure of love, 
Of such as have killed themselves for love.  became so mad of love, as that for it he slew himself. Iphis in despair to win the favour of Anaxaretes, hanged herself. A noble young man of Athens fell so far in love with a marble picture that was very cunningly wrought, as that having requested of the Senate that he might buy it at any price that they would ask, and being denied, as also forbidden to come near unto it, for that his foolish love did offend all the people: overcome of despair he slew himself. See here how love corrupteth the imagination, and may be the cause of melancholy or of madness. For in thus busying both the body and mind, it so drieth the humours, as that the whole frame of temperature, especially that of the brain, is overthrown and marred.  

A second kind of amorous melancholy.  There is another kind of amorous melancholy, which is a great deal more pleasant, as when the imaginations is in such sort corrupted, as that the melancholic party always thinks, that he seethe that which he loveth, running after it continually, and kissing this his idol in the air, daintily entertaining and welcoming it as though it were present: and, which is strange, howsoever the thing which he loveth be ill favoured, yet he thinketh it the most beautiful in the world: 
The description of perfect beauty.  he is always in hand with the deciphering of the rare beauty therein, he seemeth to himself to see long golden locks, finely friseled and curled with a thousand rounds and winding twirls; a high brow, like unto the bright heavens, white and smooth, like the polished Alabaster; two stars standing in the head very clear, resembling the beautiful flowers and sufficiently defended, casting out in most sweet sort a thousand lovely streams which are as piercing arrows; eyebrows black as the Ebon wood, little and arched like a bow; a pair of cheeks of white and vermilion colour, like unto the purple lily and damask rose, showing in their sides a little double trench; a mouth of coral, having within it two sets of small oriental pearl, white and close joined, and coming out of it a breath more sweet than Amber and Musk, and more fragrant than all the odours of Mount Libanon; a chin, having a little round pit, of an uniform dye, delicate and smooth as the which Satin; a neck of milk; a throat of snow; a bosom full of gelliflowers; two little apples like alabaster balls, white puffed up are apt to quiver like a qua●iemire, though afterward by little & little they falling down all flat, do resemble the flowing and the ebbing of the Sea; in the midst thereof two knobs of greenish and carnation-like colour, and betwixt this little pair of mountains a large valley; a skin over all the body like a jasper or Porphirie, in the viewing whereof do appear many pretty azuie veins. To be short, this poor melancholic man goeth always imagining and dreaming that the six and thirty beauties requisite unto perfection are therein, and that with such a grace and stately majesty, as surpasseth all the rest; he doteth continually upon this object, runneth after his shadow, and is never at rest. There are now some certain years past, since I saw a gentleman overtaken with this kind of melancholy, he talked being alone unto his shadow, he called it, welcomed it, kissed it, ran after it every day, and would ask us if ever we saw so fair and beautiful a thing: and this his disease did thus hold him for three months, and afterward he was curred thereof. Aristotle maketh mention of a young man named Antiphon, which saw his own picture continually before his eyes. Some there are which attribute this to the reflection of the beams which went out of his eyes: but I think rather that it was the weakness and error of his imagination.   

CHAP. XI. The means to cure the love-foolish and melancholic.  

Two ways to cure this disease.  THere are two ways to cure this amorous melancholy: the one is, the enjoying of the thing belove: the other resteth in the skill and pains of a good Physician. As concerning the first, it is certain that the principal cause of the disease which is this burning desire, being taken away, the diseased party will find himself marvelously relieved, though notwithstanding there may remain behind some certain prints and scars in the body. 
Histories. The first.  So Erasistratus having discovered unto Seleucus the grief of his son Antiochus, who was like to die for the love of his mother in law, saved the life of the young man: for the father having compassion upon his son, and seeing him in extreme peril of his life, suffered him (as being a Pagan) to enjoy the use of his own wife. 
The second.  Diogenes having a son forcibly and ragingly distracted by unbridled lust, was constrained (after he had consulted with the oracles of Apollo) to suffer him to enjoy his best beloved, and by this means to heal him. 
The third, and that very pleasant.  I have in times past read a pleasant history of a young man of Egypt, who suffered extreme pinching gripes, for the love of a Curtisane called Theognis, and yet was not regarded of her, as one that stood upon an excessive sum of silver. It happened that this miserable loveslave dreamt on a night, that he held his mistress in his arms, and that she was altogether at his commund: whereupon when he a waked, he well perceived that this inward fire which whilom fed greedily upon him, and thereby about to consume him, was become cold & utterly quenched, so that he sought not any more after the Curtisane: who when she was advertised of the whole matter as it stood, caused the young man to be called before the seat of justice, alleging for such her fact, this only reason, namely that she had healed him. Bochor the judge did by and by appoint that the young man should bring a purse full of crowns, and power them forth into a basin, that thereby Curtisane might pay herself of the ringing sound and colour of the crowns, as he had satisfied himself of the sole imagination. The sentence was well like of all, excepted only the cape Curtisane Lamia, which showed unto her friend Demetrius, that the dream had utterly quenched and taken away all manner of Just from the young man, but that the sight of the gold had inflamed and increased a great deal more Theognis her desire, and that for this cause the matter was not equally proceeded in. My purpose in alleging these three histories, is to show that this rage and fury of erotike love, may be stayed by the enjoying of the thing beloved. But this course of cure being such as neither aught nor can always be put in practice, as being contrary unto the laws of God and men, we must have recourse unto the other which dependeth upon the industry of the good Physician. 
The second way to cure the amorous melancholy. Fair words and cunning speeches.  If therefore it happen unto any Physician to meet with some of these melancholic patients, thus ravished of love, he must first of all assay to draw him with fair words from these fond and foolish imaginations, showing him the danger whereinto he doth cast himself headlong, and setting before him the examples of such as have been overthrown thereby, as not only losing their lives, that their souls also. If all this do no good, we must by some other wile, and by the setting a work of divers men, strive to make him hate that, which so tormenteth him, as in affirming the thing to be evil, in calling his mistress, light, inconstant, foolish, devoted to variety, mocking and laughing to scorn this his grief and corrosive, disdainful as not acknowledging his deserts, and one which loveth better a base companion to glut her brutish lust, then to entertain an honest and chaste love. And look how deeply you dispraise his Lady, so highly shall you praise himself, declaring the excellency of his understanding, his worthiness and deserts. If words be not sufficient and able to cure this enchantment, as in very deed they can do very little in place where melancholic conceitedness hath taken root, we must bethink ourselves of some other course. Removing, that is to say, the changing of the air, 
Change of air.  is one of the rarest remedies, because that under colour of that we may bestow him in some remote place, and send him quite out of the country: for the sight of his mistress doth daily blow up the coals of his desire, and the only reciting of her name, serveth as a bait for his ardent affections to bite upon. It will be good for him, 
Exercises.  to lodge in the fields, or in some pleasant house; to cause him to walk often; to keep him occupied every hour with one or other pleasant pastime; to bring into his mind a hundred and a hundred sundry things, to the end he may have no leisure to think of his love; to carry him out a hunting; to the fenceschoole; to hold him up sometimes with fine and grave stories; sometime with pleasant tales; and therewith to have merry music: you must not feed him too full or daintily, lest the blood beginning to wax hot, should rouse up the flesh and thereby renew the old fire. Take away idleness, take away belly cheer, and quaffing of strong drinks, and without doubt lechery will fall stark lame.  
The Poets feign that Lady Lechery could never ensnare (notwithstanding all her wiles and subtle enchantments) these three Goddesses, Pallas, Diana, and Vesta: Pallas painteth out unto us the state of warriors; Diana of hunters; and Vesta of such as are given to fasting and austereness of life. If all these plots, and an infinite number more, set down by Nigidius, Samocrates and Ovid in their books of the remedies of love, prove nothing worth, and that the body be fallen into such extremity, as that it compelleth the mind to follow the temperature thereof: then must we hindle these amorous persons in such manner, 
The same course of Physic is to be taken with these amorous ones, and after which is appointed for the melancholic.  and after the same order which I have appointed for the melancholic in the chapter going before, and almost with the very same remedies; we must purge at sundry times, and with gentle medicines the humour, which hath graven such a dry distemperature in the brain; we must moisten him by universal baths, and by particularly applying of remedies unto particular places, by an order of diet that is very moist; you shall feed him with broths, with Almond-milk, with mundified barley made into a creanie, & with the broth and milk of a kid. If watching do oppress him, than you shall make your choice out of such medicines as I have set down against it. You must also sometimes cheer up the heart and the spirits with some cordial Opiate. 
Devilish and forbidden means.  There are certain remedies which the old writers have set down for the cutting of this raging love, but they are devilish, and Christians ought not to use them. They cause the party to drink of the blood of him or her which is the object of the mischief, and do warrant that the party's grief shall incontinently die and decay. 
The history of Faustina very strange to consider.  I have read in julius Capitolinus, that Faustina the wife of Marcus Aurelius confessing her grief, caused to be assembled all the Chaldeans, Magicians, and Philosophers of the country, to have a speedy and certain remedy for this her malady: they in the end gave counsel to cause the teacher of defence secretly to be slain, and to cause his wife to drink of his blood, and the same night himself to lie with her. This thing was accordingly put in practice, and Faustina her fire was quenched: but so, as that of this fiery conjunction was engendered Antoninus Commodus, which was one of the most bloody and cruel Emperors of Rome, resembling rather the swash buckler than his father, and which never stirred from amongst the company of masters of defence. See here how Satan useth every day his malicious crafts, and as it were a sea of deceivers and brazen faced fellows, which go about abusing the world.   

CHAP. XII. Of the third kind of melancholy, called the windy or flatuous melancholy, and of his differences.  
THere is a third kind of melancholy, which is the slightest and least dangerous of all the rest, but the most difficult and hard to be thoroughly known: for the greatest Physicians do make doubt of his essence, causes, and particular seat of residence; it is commonly called Hypochondriake or flatuous, 
Why it is called the Hypochondriake or windy melancholy. Diocles, his opinion.  because it hath his seat universally in the region of the body, called Hypochondria: it is called the windy or flatuous melancholy, because it is always accompanied with windiness, Diocles supposed it to be an inflammation of Pylorus, which is the neither mouth of the ventricle, because the party affected doth feel himself greatly oppressed in that place, as also greatly pained and swelled in the stomach, enduring a vehement heat, and as it were a burning fire throughout his belly, and much windiness, which breaketh upward, with a waterishness, which ordinarily runneth out of the mouth, as if it were some humour flowing from the brain. 
Galen his opinion.  Galen in his third book of diseased parts, seemeth to approve this opinion, nevertheless it hath been confuted and reproved by all the later Physicians: for that if it were an inflammation of the stomach, it would be accompanied with a continual sever, and the disease would be sharp, or of a shot crisis: but we see the contrary; for the hypochondriac melancholy, is a diuturne disease, not judged but in longtime, and seldom consorted with an ague. Theophilus thinketh that it is an inflammation of the liver, 
Theophilus his opinion.  and of the entrails: if he mean that it is a dry inflammation, called 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, his opinion is the better to be liked of, but if he understand by inflammation, the tumour called Phlegmon, which is a swelling (caused of blood) against nature, it may be condemned in him as well as in Galen for that every Phlegmon of the liver and guts, is counted in the number of sharp diseases. 
The definition of the hypochondriac disease.  The most learned Physicians of our time, have defined the Hypochondriake melancholic, to be a dry and hot distemperature of Mesenterium, the liver and spleen, caused by an obstruction, coming of gross humours, which being heated, do breath abroad many vapours, which cause all such accidents as we will speak of in the next chapter. This definition containeth all the essence of the hypochondriac melancholy, in as much as it toucheth and teacheth the parts 
The parts affected in this disease. The midriff.  and the causes of the disease. The parts where the hypochondriac melancholy is begotten, are the Mesenterium, liver and spleen: the Mesenterium hath a large compass, for it containeth a million of veins, an infinite number of glandules, and all that red substance which is called Pancreas. This Mesenterium, is as it were the mine of a million of diseases, and especially of intermitting agues. There may rest and grow hot, the humour causing the hypochondriac melancholy, and that not alone in the veins thereof, but oftentimes in the red substance, called Pancreas, which cometh very near unto the stomach, and lieth upon the gut Duodenum or Pylorus: and hereby may Diocles and Galen be excused, which took the neither mouth of the stomach for Pancreas, by reason that these two parts do touch one another. 
The liver.  The other part where the Hypochondriake breedeth, is the liver, 
That the Spleen is for the most part the seat of this disease.  when it is much heated, and draweth from the ventricle the meats therein, half digested; or else burneth the humours very much, and keepeth them in his own veins: but that part which procureth the hypochondriac melancholy most of all, is the spleen in as much as nature hath made it for the purging of the blood of feculent and melancholic juice: in such sort as that, if it attract and draw not the same unto it, or cleanse it not to nourish itself withal, or expel not that which is superfluous, as in duty it ought: we need not doubt, but that this gross juice, casting itself into the next veins, doth there take an unnatural heat, and maketh a marvelous hurly-burly in the whole order of nature. Thus you may here behold and learn the parts affected in hypochondriac melancholy, 
The cause of the hypochondriac disease.  that is to say, the Mesenterium, the liver and the spleen. The cause of their disease, is an obstruction, for the veins of these parts are stuffed and filled of some kind of humour. This humour is sometime simple, as only a natural melancholic humour, or a humour adust and made of black choler, or else a phlegmatic and raw humour: sometimes it is mingled of two or three together, which falleth out a great deal more oft, but always it is required, that this humour should grow into some excessive heat, for to cause the hypochondriac disease to arise thereof. If the matter be choleric or adust, it is quickly and easily set on a heat, if it be cold by nature, as is phlegm and melancholy, the long continuance of it in that place, and the breathing of it out being hindered, may cast it into a heat, or else there need no otherthing, but a little leaven (which will be supplied by a small portion of choler adust) to leaven the whole lump, and set it in a heat: this heat hath been called of old writers 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, in such manner as that we may define the hypochondriac disease, to be a dry inflammation of the veins of Mesenterium, 
The diverse sorts of this disease.  senterium, the liver and spleen, rising of the suppressing of some gross humours, from this definition we shall gather all the different sorts of the hypochondriac disease: which are taken either from the part affected, or from the matter, or from the accidents thereof. If we look unto the parts affected, we shall find three kinds of the hypochondriac disease: that is, Hepatike, Splenetike, and Meseraicke. 
The Hepaticke.  The Hepaticke is caused through the fault of the liver, which draweth by his excessive heat, overgreat a quantity of crudities from the stomach, and also itself engendereth through the same distemperature over hot humours, which it either retaineth in his own veins, which are in so great number, as that no man can describe them, or else distributeth them amongst all the branches of the vein called Porta. The Spleneticke cometh through default in the Spleen, 
The.  when it cannot either attract, digest or expel the melancholic humour. These defects happen when it is too great or too little; or when being puffed up with wind, it cannot attract or retain all the feculent and gross part of the blood, whereupon it must needs cast much of it out again, and all the body grow lean. This is it which Hypocrates hath observed very well in his Epidemikes, when he saith, that they who have a great Spleen, become lean of their body: and the Emperor Traianus was wont to compare the Spleen unto the Exchequer: for look how the enriching of the Exchequer is the impoverishing and ruin of the people: even so the greatness of the Spleen, doth make a thin and lean body: the smallness also of it coming through default of the framing faculty, may be an occasion of this accident: for being disabled thereby to attract or retain all that melancholic humour which it ought, it is constrained to cast it up again, and to disperse it throughout all Messenterium. There is a house of great nobility, which is subject unto this hypochondriac disease, there have been three or four of them which have died at the age of thirty five, and no other cause found of such untimely death, but only the littleness of the spleen, for it was so little and strait, as that it could not do his office.  

The Mesenteriacke.  The last kind of the hypochondriac disease, is that which is called the Meseraicke, which is begotten either in Panchreas, or in the veins and glandules of the Meseraicke membrane. Hypocrates and many other Physicians, do acknowledge an hypochondriac disease, caused of the womb or matrix, after the suppression of the terms, or some other matter: it causeth the same accidents that the other, and is oftentimes most fierce and furious, because of marvelous sympathy which the matrix hath with all the rest of the parts of the body.  

The second difference.  The second difference of the hypochondriac disease, is in respect of the matter: there is one kind which is made of that melancholy, which is cold and natural, which keeping itself within the veins, and being there pinched for lack of room, groweth hot: another is caused of an adust and  humour; and the third of phlegm, and other raw crudities mixed with some small quantity of choler. 
The last difference.  The last difference is taken from the accidents: for there is some kind of hypochondriac disease that is sleight and easy, and there is some other that is more churlish and violent. There is some but young and in the beginning, and there is other some which is come to his state and perfected.   

CHAP. XIII. The signs of Hypochondriake melancholy, and the causes of all the accidents that accompany it.  

The accidents of the hypochondriac disease complete and come to his perfection.  THe hypochondriac disease being thoroughly grown and perfected, is commonly coupled with an infinite number of grievous accidents, which by times hold the party with such pangs, as that they think to die every moment: for besides the fear and sadness they suffer, as common accidents to all manner of melancholy, they feel a burning in the places called Hypochondria, they hear continually a noise and rumbling sound throughout all their belly, they are beaten with wind on both sides, they feel a heaviness in their breast, which causeth them to fetch their breath double, and with a feeling of pain; oftentimes they spit a clear and thin water; they have a swilling in their stomach, as though it did swim all in water; they feel an extraordinary and violent kind of moving of the heart, called the beating of the heart, and on the side of the spleen, there is something which biteth and beateth continually; they have some little cold sweats, accompanied sometimes with a little swooning; their face is oftentimes very red, and there appeareth to them in manner of a flying fire or flame which passeth away; their pulses do change and become little and beating thick; they feel a wearisomeness and feebleness all over their body, and yet more specially in their legs; the belly is never lose; in the end they grow leaner and leaner by little and little. 
The particular causes of all these accidents. The cause of heat.  All these accidents depend upon the general cause which I have set down, but we must therewithal search and find out the special. The heat and burning which they feel on the spleen side, on the liver side and about Mesenterium, cometh of the burning of this gross humour, whether it be phlegm or black choler, which in this his heat coming as it were to boil, is puffed up and sendeth his vapours into all the parts near thereabout. The noise which they hear in every part of their belly, 
The cause of windiness.  cometh of the wind which doth run to and fro in every place, and doth so much accompany this melancholic disease, as that for this cause old writers have entitled it the windy melancholy: we will observe in the begetting of this windiness the material and efficient cause. The material is a gross, black, choleric or phlegmatic humour. 
The material▪ cause.  These two humours are almost always mixed in this disease, because that the liver being overheated (as it is ordinarily in hypochondriac persons) attracteth and snatcheth from the stomach, which is his very near neighbour, such meats as are no better then half concocted: so that there is heaped together a world of crudities within the veins by such attraction of the liver: as also there is made a brood of hot and burnt humours by the distemperature of this noble part, in such manner as that thereby is caused to be continually in the veins some humours that are raw and not sufficiently concocted, and other some that are over much concocted: the crude and scarce digested was attracted too speedily, the over much concocted and burnt was begotten in the member itself. The weakness of natural heat is the efficient cause of windiness, 
The efficient cause.  for in moving and stirring of the matter, it is not able to overcome it thoroughly, and although the agent or natural heat should be strong enough, yet not being like unto the matter in proportion, it may be called weak.  

The cause of heaviness.  The heaviness which they feel in their breast, cometh either of wind or gross vapours, which bear down the muscle called Diaphragma, the principal muscle of respitation, or else they pitch themselves upon the muscles running betwixt rib and rib; or lastly, within the coats of the ribs either inward or outward: and hence come those great tormenting pains which rise up to the shoulders, and go down again oftentimes unto the arms, by the continued proceeding of the membranes, and sympathy of the muscles. 
The cause of the water and swilling which they have within them.  The water which melancholic persons do ordinarily avoid at their mouth, is one of the most infallible tokens of the hypochondriac disease, if we will believe Diocles the cause thereof must be imputed unto the coldness of the stomach, which filleth all full of crudities. This coldness cometh of the excessive heat of the liver, which draweth the chylous matter out of the stomach altogether unprepared, wasteth and consumeth all the fat of the stomach, and seedeth ravenously like a gulligut upon the heat of all the parts near about it. I add further, that oftentimes while the humour is near unto boiling, the crudest parts thereof are cast back again into the stomach, and cooleth it, in such sort as that we may observe therein the two kinds of cold, that is to say, the privative and the positive, as the Philosophers are wont to speak. 
The cause of the beating of the heart.  The inordinate motion of the heart and all the arteries is caused of the vapour of this matter so stirred, which setting upon the heart with great force, and seeking the overthrow thereof, as commonly happeneth in every conflict and fight, causeth it to bestir itself with a double diligence, but so, as that therein it looseth oftentimes his just and well proportioned stroke, and thereby the pulses also fail sometimes in that just measure and time which they ought to keep. 
The causes of the redness and flushes appearing in their face. The cause of their cold sweats.  The redness which appeareth in the face, the universal beat over all the body, and the tickling stingings which they feel in every place, as it were little Pissemires, ariseth either of a sharp and subtle wind, or else of vapours sent from the lower parts. Cold sweats happen when the vapours rising from the places, called Hypochondria, as from a furnace do pitch themselves upon the skin, which is a great deal more cold, and therefore doth congeal and turn them into a thicker substance. 
The cause of their lassitude.  The lassitude or wearisome feebleness, which they feel in all their parts, cometh partly of vapours, which running amongst the empty spaces of the muscles, and mingling themselves with the substance of the sinews, do make them more lose and lank, and make as it were a senselessness: and partly of crudities and waterish parts, which are in the blood. 
The cause of their leanenes.  Leanenes happeneth because there is defect and want of sufficient store of good and laudable blood. The belly is hard and given to costiveness, by reason of the excessive heat of the liver, which wasteth all the moisture of the excrements.   

CHAP. XIIII. Very worthy and not able histories of two persons grieved with the hypochondriac disease.  
THere are found sometimes diseases so strange in their kind, as that even the best able and most sufficient Physicians know not what to judge of them. I have feene two hypochondriac persons so raging mad, as that the former ages never saw the like, and it may be the ages to come shall not see such other two of a long time. 
The first history.  There was at Mompelier an honest Citizen of a melancholic disposition, and by constitution most subject to black choler, who having been grieved by the space of two or three years, with a milder and lighter kind of windy melancholy, suffered the disease to grow so far, as that at length he saw himself brought to this extremity. He felt twice or thrice every day a light kind of moving all over his belly, but chiefly on the side whereupon the spleen lieth: there was also so great a noise made in his belly, as that not only the sick party, but also all those that stood by heard the same. This rumbling would last about half a quarter of an hour, and afterward upon the sudden, a vapour or wind seizing upon the midriff and the breast, did lie so wonderfully heavy upon him, and so accompanied with a dry cough, as that all men would have thought him to have been short breathed. This accident being somewhat lessened, all the rest of the body was in such sort shaken, that you would have judged it like unto a ship tossed with a most raging storm: he heaved and set, and his two arms were seen to move, as if they had endured some convulsion. In the end, these winds having coursed through his whole body, & ransacked every part thereof, broke forth with so great violence at the mouth, as that all those that stood by were afraid, and then the fit ceasing, the sick party felt himself relieved. And yet this is not all, for two or three months before he died, he had every day two or three little and light sounds, his heart fainted and failed him by reason of an extreme great desire that he had to piss, and when he had pissed, became to himself again: but the fierceness of the sickness was so great, that the Soul in the end was constrained to forego her lodging. I was called to the opening of the body, because that ordinarily I had counseled him in his sickness, together with one of my fellow Physicians, Mounser Hucher Chancellor of our University, whom I am willing for honour sake to name, and as knowing him to be one of the most learned and best practised Physicians of our times. I found his breast half full of black and stinking water, therewith the left ventricle of the heart was all filled, and in the trunk of the great artery, a man might see the same colour. At which time I calling to mind a notable place in Galen, in his sixth book of diseased parts, I showed unto the company, that the cause of these faintings, and of his earnest desire to piss, came of this cursed humour, which having pained the heart, passed from thence by the arteries unto the reins, 
A worthy observation for the defence of Galen.  and from thence unto the bladder. It was my intent to stand upon this by the way, that so I may take occasion to defend Galen against the false accusations of young Physicians, which think that putrefied and purulent matter gathered in the breasts of those which are troubled with the disease Empyema and Pleurisies, cannot purge and convey itself away by the heart or arteries. I have handled this matter more largely in the third book of my anatomical works.  

The second history.  The other history is also very strange, I observed it this winter at Towers, and was called to counsel about the same, with Mounser Anselmeau, Valeseau and Vertunian, very learned Physicians, and of great experience. A young Lord ever since he was eight or nine years old, was troubled with this hypochondriac disease: he heard every day about nine of the clock in the morning, a little noise on his spleen side: afterward he perceived avapour to rise which made all his breast and face red, and seized the top of his head, the veins of his temples did beat very forcibly, the veins of his face were puffed up, and at the corners of his brows where the veins do end, he felt an extreme pain, which passed not the breadth of a shilling, the redness ran all along his left arm, even unto the finger's ends, and was like a Saint Anthony's fire or choleric tumour, called Erisipelas, the right side went altogether scotfree. All the time of the fit, he was so cast down, as that he was not able to speak a word, tears trickled down his cheeks abundantly, and out of his mouth ran an incredible quantity of water: without he burned, and within he was cold asyce: his left leg was all full of swollen veins; and that which I find most strange; on the left side of the head, where the hard and rocky bone groweth, there was a piece of a bone carried and sunk somewhat inward, and that without any apparent cause, as blow, or fall going before, neither could he suller one to touch him in that place: the disease hath hitherto been so rebellious, as that all the remedies which the best learned Physicians have appointed for him, could never find the way to assuage and cure it. It was agreed upon by all our consents, 
Or new remedies devised of our own brains.  that it should be impugned by extraordinary remedies, and by inward cordials, whereof we have not as yet heard what is the success. See how these gross burnt, and melancholic humours, continuing in the veins of the liver, spleen, and Mesenterium may cause an infivite number of strange accidents, and are the occasion of a very great jar and strife, to the disturbing of all that good order and government which should be in the whole body.   

CHAP. XV. The cure of the hypochondriac disease.  
THere are necessary for the curing of the hypochondriac disease, two sorts of remedies. The one to be appointed and used when the fit is not, and they are called preservatives: the other are to be used in the time of the fit, even then when the party is haunted of all these accidents: but I will begin with the former. The preserving of a man from this disease, 
To preserve a man from the hypochondriac diseease. evacuating medicines. Blood letting.  is attempted by three kinds of remedies, namely, Diminutives, Alteratives, and Corroboratives. The Diminutives are letting of blood and purging: universal Phlebotomy may serve to correct the hot distemperature of the liver, and to empty away some part of melancholic blood; it must be done upon the basilic vein, which the Arabians call the black vein. The opening of particular veins, as the Hamorrhoids is counted amongst the number of the most famous and sure remedies for the cure of the Hypochondriake, in as much as they empty the spleen, and all the Meseraicke membrane. There are some which praise the opening of that vein which goeth to the little finger of the left hand, which is called Saluatella. 
Furging.  The other diminutive is performed by purgation, which must not be strong, lest this humour should grow more fierce. You must purge therefore very gently, and at several times. The purgations must be such as purge phlegm and melancholy, because these are the two humours which do most offend: Seine and Agaricke have the chief and principal place. I have described in the chapter of the first melancholy, the receipts of many purgations which may serve here in this place, but for as much as the humour causing the windy melancholy, is compound, pound, we must beforced to set down some other fort. 
A magistral Syrup.  I like and approve of magistral syrups and Opiates greatly, and they may be framed after this fashion. Take the roots of bugloss and Asperagus, the rinds of the roots of Capers-tree and Tamariske, of each an ounce, the roots and leaves, of Succory, Borage, bugloss, Hops, fumitory, Ceterach, Maidens hair, of each a Handful, of Sea wormwood and Balm a pugil, of liquorice and Corans washed in warm water, of each an ounce, of the seeds of Citrons, blessed Thistle and Endive, of each two drams, of the three cordial flowers, of the flowers of Succory, of the crops of Time and Epythymum, of each a pugil, boil them all in a sufficient quantity of clear water, and having strained it well, take two pints thereof, and add thereto of the infusion of oriental Seine, made in the former decoction, with a dram of Cloves, an ounce and a half of the infusion of Agaricke, made in the water of Minthes, with a scruple of Ginger, and with a sufficient quantity of Sugar, boil them all together, to the height of a syrup, which you shall keep for your ordinary use. Hereof you must take two ounces once every month, or twice, with the broth of a Chicken, wherein are put Borage, bugloss, Hops, and the Capillar herbs: you may make a syrup with the juices of the same herbs, and put thereto the same laxatives. 
An Opiate.  The Opiate that I have set down, may serve here, but it may be made of a far other fashion, which purgeth most gently. Take of the juice of Mercury well purified, as much as shall need, infuse therein for the space of four and twenty hours, two ounces of Oriental Seine, and causing them to boil once, afterward strain them strongly, and after boil the liquor strained out, with Sugar, till it come to the form of an Electuary, whereunto you shall add of Cassia new drawn out of the cane, two ounces, of Epithymum, half an ounce, of Cloves made in powder, two drams, the mixing all well together, you shall make an Opiate whereof you may take half an ounce or more.  
They which cannot use decoctions nor Opiates, shall take pills, 
The extraction of Seine to be made into pills.  made of the extract of Seine, Agaricke and Rhubarb, for other pills are not so fit in this disease. Take of good polypody four ounces, the roots and leaves of Succory, bugloss, fumitory, Hops, of each a handful, of damask Raisins a dozen, of the three cordial flowers one handful: make a decoction unto a pint, and boil therein two ounces and a half of Seine, of Epithymum six drams, of good Agaricke half an ounce: all these having infused together one whole night, strain and press them out very strongly, putting thereto of good Rhubarb, which shall be infused in the foresaid decoction with a little cinnamon, half an ounce: afterward you shall put all this together upon hot ashes, you shall thereupon dry them, till they come to a reasonable thick consistence, and then putting thereto of Epithymum three drams, you shall make all up into a mass of pills, which will purge very gently if you give thereof at one time the quantity of four scruples. And let these serve for gentle and easy purgations; only you may add hereunto the often use of Clysters, which may serve for the windy melancholy. But for as much as this humour is gross, and for the most part lurking in the most inward veins, it is not very easy to purge it well, if it be not first prepared: we must come therefore unto the second kind of remedies, which we have called Alteratives.  

Inward Alteratives.  The alteration to be made must consist in moistening and making thin of this humour: this may be done by inward and outward remedies. 
Apozemes.  The inward are Apozemes, which must be somewhat opening because of obstructions, and it must be looked unto with great care, that they be not made with too hot a fire. It will be very fit to make them of such herbs as properly respect the liver and the spleen, and amongst the rest we must not forget Wormwood: for all good practitioners do confidently affirm, that the only decoction of Wormwood hath preserved an infinite number of persons from the windy melancholy. It will not be amiss to lay in steep these gross humours, and for the opening of the vessels to command to be used the decoction of the root China with a little Sassafras for the space of twelve or fifteen days. 
The use of the root China. Broths.  Broths that do alter and moisten the humour, the manner of living and use of milk will serve marvelously well for the preparing and moistening of this dry humour.  

Outward alteratives.  As concerning outward remedies, baths for the whole body deserve to be most chief accounted of: there may fomentations also be applied to the spleen, and all over Mesenterium, as also ointments and lineaments. The fomentations must be mollifying, somewhat opening and making thin or apt to attenuate, having mixed therewithal some carminatives or things to break wind: the manner of making them is common enough. The oils of Capers, bitter Almonds, Broome, Elder, Lilies, 
Of the berries.  Camomile, & Danewort berries, are most fit & proper. The last kind of remedies is of such as are corroboratives, 
Comiortable medicines.  for there are in this disease of the windy melancholy many parts that are much weakened, having been branded with this humour: as the heart, the stomach and the brain. The weakness of the heart is caused through the beating and light faintings of the same; the weak stomach filleth all full of crudity; the weakened brain causeth that the imagination and reason are oftentimes troubled in this disease. We must therefore have regard unto these parts. 
Means to comfort the heart. An Opiate.  The heart is strengthened by inward and outward means: the inward, are Opiates, Condites, and Lozenges. Take the conserve of the roots of bugloss, and of the flowers of Borage, of each an ounce; of the flesh of Mirobalanes and of the rinds of Citrons confected, of each half an ounce; of the confection of Alkermes two drams; 
Confectionis laetificantis.  of Pearl and of the powder of Mirth, of each one dram: make thereof an Opiate with the syrup of Apples, whereof you must take twice or thrice every week, with a little of the water of bugloss. Take of the powder of the electuary of precious stones and of Mirth, of each a dram; 
Lozenges.  of the confection of Alkermes half a dram; of Pearl & Emerald made in powder, of each one scruple; of Sugar dissolved in the water of bugloss or Balm so much as needeth, make up Lozenges of the weight of 3. drams: you must take hereof evening and morning twice or thrice every week.  
For such as are more delicate and dainty, there are some that make confections of Musk. 
Musk-cordials.  Take the third part of a Nutmeg confected, of the rinds of Citrons three drams, and as much of Mirobalanes confected, of Ambergrise half a dram, and as much of Musk, of Sugar the double quantity of all the rest, and with the mucilage of Gum Tragacanth drawn in the water of bugloss make Muscardins. You must not often use these hot medicines in the hypochondriac disease, for fear of moving and enraging of the humour.  

Outward remedies. Liquid Epithemes.  The outward remedies to fortify the heart withal, are liquid and  Epithemes, oils, ointments and bags. Take the waters of bugloss, Balm and Roses, of each four ounces; of white wine an ounce and a half; of Dyers grains, of cordial flowers, of each a dram; of the powder of Diamargaritum and Diamber, of each half a dram; of Saffron half a scruple: mix all together and make thereof Epithemes, which you shall apply unto the heart. 
Solide Epithemes.  Take of the conserve of the flowers of Borage, of Roses, and a Balm, of each two ounces, of the confection of Alkermes and of the jacinth, of each two drams, of the powder of precious stones and of Mirth, of each half a dram: make thereof a  epithem in form of a cataplasm, with the water of Balm, or of the flowers of Oranges, and this you shall spread upon a piece of scarlet, 
Oils.  and apply it to the heart. Take the oil of lesamin and of Costus one ounce, of Amber grise three grains, chafe therewith the region of the heart, or else provide you some natural Balm. 
An ointment.  Take of the flowers of Camomile, Rosemary and Orange tree, of each two drams, of Ziloaloe, of sweet Saunders, of each one dram, of the oil of lesamin and natural Balm, of each one ounce; of Amber and Musk six or seven grains: make hereof an ointment with a little white wax, and anoint therewith the region of the heart. 
Bags.  Take of the leaves of Balm, of the flowers of Borage and bugloss of each half a handful, of the rinds and seed of Citrons two drams, of the seed of Balm, Basill, and Cloves, of each a dram; of the powder of Pearl, Emerald and lacynth, of each half a dram; of the bone of a Heart's heart one dram, of red and yellow Saunders one dram, of good Amber four or five grains: pound them all and make a stomacher of red taffeta well quilted, and wear it ordinarily upon the heart. Thus much concerning the proper remedies as well inward as outward for the strengthening of the heart, and taking away of such weakness, as commonly happeneth to them that have the windy melancholy.  

Means for the strengthening of the stomach  The other part to be strengthened is the stomach, and to prevent that it may not beget such great store of crudities, you shall use powders helping digestion, and certain oils properly used in such cases for the anointing thereof: The digestive powder must not be too hot. 
A digestive powder.  Take of Anise and Fennel confected of each three drams, of the rinds of Citrons confected one dram, of prepared Pearl and red Coral, of each one half a dram, of fine cinnamon two scruples, of rosed Sugar four ounces: make them in powder, and take thereof a spoonful always after your meat. Outwardly you may strengthen the stomach, 
Means to be applied outwardly to the stomach.  by anointing it with the oil of Nutmeg, Spikenard, Wormwood, or with some bag made of Wormwood, Balm, Cloves, Macis, Cinamome, red Roses, and such like powders: it is meet that diligent care be had that they be not applied upon the place of the liver, because the hot distemperature of this part is commonly the original of all hypochondriac diseases. And for this cause you may anoint the liver with the ointment of Roses and Saunders well washed in Succory water: or else you shall apply thereupon Epithemes of the waters of Succory, Endive, Sorrell, the seeds of Endive, cordial flowers and red Saunders. As concerning the brain which is weak, to the end it may not be subject to so great quantity of vapours, you may strengthen it with powders appropriate for the head, and sleight perfumes.  
And thus much as concerning preservatives which are to be used when the fit is not, and which without all doubt will keep the fit from coming: for taking a way the cause of accidents, it must needs fall out that the effects cease. 
Remedies to be used in the access of the disease.  But when the fit of the windy melancholy shall put the sick party in pains, you must use other means, which the Physician shall alter and vary according to the accident, which is most strong and urgent. As, if it be feebleness, 
Remedies and helps against feebleness.  you shall leave to do all other things, and only strengthen the heart, and that by using the remedies before described. As, you may take of the confection of Alkermes, of bread dipped in wine, of Lozenges, cordial Opiates, and the rinds of Citrons. You shall also apply unto the heart, liquid and dry Epithemes, oils, balms, ointments and bags. 
Remedies against oppression through windiness.  If heaviness (which is the most common accident in the windy melancholic, as that which is caused of the gross vapours, or of the wind which weigheth down the midriff and membranes) do lie grievously upon the party; it will be good to chafe and rub the thighs and legs lightly, to minister a Clyster to break windiness, to apply great cupping glasses upon the region of the spleen, upon the navel and all over the belly: and if the grief of these winds be very great, you may take a spoonful of Ros Solis, or cinnamon water distilled, or Aquacoelestis, or else two or three drops of the essence of Anise seed in a little broth very hot, or a little Treacle and Mithridate: if the wind do continue unremoved, and will not stir out of the breast, you shall remove them with some bags applied very hot, and these shall be made of the flowers of Camomile and Melilot, of the crops of Dill, of Millet and fried Oats. You may in like manner apply upon the region of the spleen fomentations, which will resolve and waste some part of these gross vapours. These are the three sorts of melancholy, which ancient writers have delivered unto us, that is to say, that which hath his seat in the brain, that which cometh of the sympathy of the whole body, and that which ariseth ordinarily from the places about the short ribs, which is more common then either of the other, and which is so often happening in these miserable times, as that there are not many people which feel not some smatch thereof. I come to the third disease of Madam Duchess of Vzez, which is the Rheum.    

THE THIRD DISCOURSE, WHEREIN IS HANDLED THE breeding of Rheums, and how they are to be cured.  

CHAP. I. That the brain is the seat to cold and moisture, and by consequent the fountain of rheums and distillations.  
IT is not without cause that Hypocrates (that great oracle of Greece) that written in divers places, 
That the brain is the mansion of cold and moisture.  that the brain is the principal seat of cold and moisture: for if we look unto his marrowie substance, his cold temperature, his round form, hollow and somewhat long like to the fashion of a cupping glass, and his high situation, receiving all the vapours of the inferior parts: we shall find that all these dispose it and make it apt to beget and contain great quantity of water. The substance of the brain was of necessity to be soft and marrowie, that so it might the more easily take the stamp of forms: and to the end that sinews which must spring and rise from thence, might with least annoyance and pain bend or bow themselves. But indeed this marrowie substance is not so called for any resemblance it hath with the marrow in the hollow parts of other bones: for it serveth not for nourishment unto the skull; it melteth not with fire nor consumeth; his original is more excellent; for it is made with the other parts, that are of the purest and finest portion of the two seeds. The temperature of the brain must be cold, 
Why the temperature of the brain is cold.  thereby to temper the spirits of sense and motion, to resist their aptness to be wasted and spent, and to keep that this noble member (which is commonly employed about so many worthy actions) should not set itself on fire, and make our discourses and talk rash and heady, and our motions out of order, as it befalleth them which are frenticke. It hath oft astonished me to think, how that great Philosopher Aristotle, 
Aristotle his error.  durst say, that the brain was made cold, only to cool the heart, not acknowledging any other use of this his temperature. If the time and place would permit me to confute his error, I would make it appear that the heel hath more force to cool the heart, than the brain: but fearing to wander too wide out of my way, I will refer the reader unto that which Galen hath written in his eight book of the use of parts. I will follow the leveling line of my discourse, and say that the brain being of a soft substance and of a cold and moist temperature (being compared with the rest of the parts of the body) doth beget many excrements: 
That the brain doth beget great store of excrements of itself.  and for that it is nourished with a cold and raw blood, there must needs remain great surplussages, and so it cannot but beget great store of superfluities: in such sort as that of itself and of it own proper nature it is continually disposed, to beget and contain water. It be getteth much also in respect of his shape and situation. His form which is round, hollow and long, after the manner of a cupping glass, draweth unto it from all the parts of the body their exhalations. His situation which is aloft doth easily receive them: so that these hot vapours falling into a part or member that is more cold, do grow thick and turn into water. As we see the vapours rising, upon the fire kindled in the parts about the short ribs, when they come to the skin (which is more cold) to congeal and turn to sweat: Or a s exhalations drawn up by the heat of the Sun, do thicken in the middle region of the air, and turn into rain, hail, and snow. See then how the brain both of itself, as also by accident, is apt to engender excrements, and how in every living thing it may be called the principal seat of cold and moisture: but chief in man, for as much as according to the variety of the animal functions which he executeth, he aboundeth with greater quantity of brain, than any other living thing doth beside.  

Two sorts of excrements.  But these excrements (if we believe Hypocrates and Galen) are of two sorts; the one gross, and the other refined. The subtle and refined do breath out by insensible vapours; the gross do stand in need of troughs and channels for to rid them by. 
Conuciances for the emptying of the said excrements.  Nature hath so providently forecast for them both, as that no man can but marvel at her industrious pains taken therein: for, to help and further the exhalation of the thinner and refined, she hath pierced the skull, and made all those seams which we see therein, which stand in like stead to the body, as a chimney or breathing place doth to a house: and for the gross excrements, she hath framed two conveyances and particular water draughts, by which all the water-poole doth empty itself, the one of which betaketh itself unto the nose, and the other unto the roof of the mouth. That in the palate is the more common of the two, 
The conveyance unto the palate of the mouth.  and it riseth from the third ventricle of the brain, it is wide above, and growth narrower and narrower, like a funnel: and that is the cause why the Anathomists do call it Infundibulum. By this channel all the watery substance of the upper ventricles do purge themselves, and betake themselves to a certain glandule called the spitting kernel, which drinketh up like a little sponge all their water, and after suffereth it to glide away very smoothly through many pretty little clefts, which are to be seen by the side of the feat of the bone called Sphenoides, and so from thence betake themselves to the palate.  

The conveyance carried unto the nose,  The other channel is led along to the nose: these be the two bunches of the brain, which are fashioned like unto paps. Their principal use is to receive the smells, and to convey them unto the brain: but when there is great quantity of excrements, nature doth offer them some hard measures, in causing to run down by these two bunchie excrescences the waterish humours, which otherwise do pass by some part of the bone called Ethmoides, which is pierced in manner of a searce. These are the two conducts, I mean the nose and the palate, which nature hath ordained for the purging of the brain.  
There are some others, but not ordinary, which Hypocrates hath well observed in his Book of Glandules, as the eyes, 
Extraordinary conveyances.  ears, spinal marrow, veins and sinews: but these do serve but at such times, as things are all out of order, and that the natural government of the brain is quite perverted.   

CHAP. II. What this word Rheum doth signify, what manner of disease it is, and in what the essence thereof consisteth.  
IF the brain be of a good temperature, it will not engender any excrements, but such as are natural to it, and accordingly avoid them every day by such passages as nature bathe assigned it: but and if it be distempered, it will gather a great deal more than it ought, which either of their own weightiness (such is their elementary form) will fall down into the lower parts, or else will be thrust out into some other part, by the virtue expulsive of the brain, which shall feel itself oppressed, either with the quantity or evil quality of the same. This falling down of humours in what manner so ever it be, 
What is meant by the word rheum.  is generally called of the Greeks' a Catarrh, which signifieth as much as distillation. I know very well, that there is a more strict signification of this name, and that as Galen observeth very well in his third of the causes of accidents, a Catarrh is properly when the humour falleth down into the mouth: but I will rest myself in this place with the most common signification, and will call all manner of falling down of humours from the brain, into what part soever it be, a Catarrh, rheum, or distillation.  
Rheum if we believe Galen, is an accident of the third kind, that is to say, 
That the rheum is an accident.  an error in the excrements: this accident ordinarily followeth another, and that is the weakening of some action; the action in this case weakened or hurt, is concoction. For the brain not being able to digest his nourishment well, engendereth greater store of superfluities than it ought. 
This disease that causeth this accident.  The concoction offended, being an accident: doth immediately depend upon some disease. I think that this is for the most parta cold and moist distemperature; a dry distemperature may by accident sometimes be cause hereof, as in detaining the vapours, and hindering them from passing any further; a hot distemperature also may be the cause in resolving the humours present, and too much drawing of the vapours absent, but this happeneth but seldom. The brain than is the part that is principally diseased in the case of rheums. The disease is a distemperature, which immediately hurteth the digestion of the member distempered, and of this hurt of digestion cometh that, which is amiss in the excrement. 
The definition of rheum.  But to understand the nature of a rheum, it is needful to play the Philosopher in this sort. A rheum▪ or distillation, is no other thing then the moving of humours from one place to another, which the Philosophers call local. But in every local motion, 
Five things to be noted in a rheum.  Aristotle hath observed five things in his Physic: The movable, that is to say, the thing which is moved; the moving, that is to say, the thing which doth make the motion; and three terms or limits, as the place from whence the motion began, the place by which the motion was made, and the place where such motion stayed and ended. In rheums the moved, is a humour of what condition soever it be, as whether hot or cold, gentle, sharp, salt, thin, 
1. The moved.  thick, simple or compound. The mover of this humour, 
2. The motive or mover.  and causer of it to change his place, (which is called in one word the motive) is twofold, the one inward, and the other outward. Again, the inward is twofold: the form of the humour, and the foul, 
The inward mover.  that is to say, the power expulsive: the humour if it follow his nature▪ and clementarie form, must evermore of necessity fall downward, because it is heavy and weighty. But it often falleth out that the humour being no longer within the power and jurisdiction of the soul (as when the retentive faculty is altogether weakened) falleth down of itself, having no other motive of such motion, but only his own form or weightiness. So we see the most part of them which die, to be smothered with a rheum, the brain having altogether lost his force, and being (as it were) resolved. The other original that moveth the humours being inward, is the soul; for nature hath given unto every living part a virtue expulsive, to expel whatsoever may annoy it. The brain then (being stirred up, either by the abundance of the humour which oppresseth it, or by the quality which stingeth and biteth it) straineth itself to expel it, 
The outward mover.  and to thrust it from it, as far as ever▪ it can. The outward motive is all that which from without may pinch and press together, relax or loosen, or shake the brain: the cold air presseth the brain together, and causeth the humours to fall down; the air and baths that are hot, do loosen and resolve the humours; strokes falls, and violent passions of the mind, may shake the humour which is within the brain, and make it change his place. And thus much for the moving or motive. It remaineth that we find out the three terms or bounds within which every local motion is bounded. The place from whence the humour beginneth to move, 
The end whereas the motion beginneth.  is within, and without the brain. The humour oftentimes keepeth within the ventricles, and the whole substance of the brain, and beginneth to depart from thence: sometimes it keepeth without the brain, betwixt the bone and his membrane, and causeth outward distillations. The places by orthrough, 
The bounds through which.  which the humour falleth (which is the second bound) are the ordinary and extraordinary passages of the brain, the ordinary are the nose and the Palate: the extraordinary are the eyes, ears, sinews, marrow, veins, arteries, and space which is betwixt the bones and the membranes, or the spaces of the muscles. 
The bounds, where it endeth.  The term and limit where the humour endeth his course, may be any part of the body, provided that it be in an inferior region, or place that is lower than the head, and therewithal weak; for you shall never find a rheum to rise from a lower part upward. And thus much for the unfolding of the definition of a Rheum, let us now come unto his differences.   

CHAP. III. The differences of a Rheum.  

Differences of rheums according to the matter that makes them.  THe principal differences of rheum, are taken from the matter that falleth down; from the parts receiving or sending, from the accidents accompanying the same, and from the manner of their generation. The matter of all rheums is a humour: I call a humour all that which is actually liquid, and swimmeth. But in the humour we may observe many things: the substance, temperature, quality, taste, and mixture, and from every one of these we shall draw some differences of rheums. The substance or consistence of the humour (for so Physicians are accustomed to speak) is either thin and subtle, 
The first difference drawn from the substance of the humour. The second difference from the temperature.  or gross and thick, or indifferent, and betwixt both. There are then some rheums that are subtle, thin, and sharp, and there are others more thick. The temperature of the humour is hot or cold, so then there are hot, and there are cold rheums; but cold rheums are more common, and are begotten of a cold and moist distemperature of the brain: the cold distemperarure weakeneth the concocting faculty, and causeth the brain to gather more excrements than it needeth, and that it cannot digest the remainder of his cold nourishment. The moist distemperature weakeneth the retentive faculty, and suffereth the humours to fall down, although they be not superfluous. 
Signs of a cold rheum.  Men may discern this cold rheum by many signs, for the humour that falleth down, is nothing sharp or pricking, the brain is drowsely inclined, the eyes dazzled, the hearing heavy, the nostrils stopped, all the senses dull, the face pale, the body slow, heavy and lumpish, because that the strength of the arms and legs, cometh of the stiffness of the muscles and sinews, but in this case the sinews are softened, and as it were relaxed, because the brain which is their common original and fountain, doth swim all in water. The Physician shall observe yet for his further assurance, the temperature, age, dwelling place, season of the year, and order of life: for if the body be of a cold temperature, if it be old, if he dwell in cold, watery and marshy places, and that it be in winter; if he eat ordinarily of raw fruits, of moist and cold victuals, and if he live an idle and slothful sitting life, we need not doubt but that it is a cold rheum. There be also hot rheums, 
Hot rheums.  howsoever that many learned Physicians deny it, for we are confirmed in the contrary, both by the authority of Hypocrates, and our own experience. Hypocrates maketh mention of a summer squinancy, which cometh of a subtle, sharp, and hot distillation: and we see come forth at the nose oftentimes, a yellow and choleric humour, which taketh off all the skin, and it is engendered ordinarily of choler in the brain, which is purged out from thence by the cares. The old writers have observed very well, that there are three sorts of excrements engendered in the brain, as, one sort of phlegm; another sort of melancholy, and another sort choler: The fleagmatike pass away by the mouth and nose, the melancholic by the eyes, and the choleric by the ears: we see also when we make clean our ears, that all that cometh forth is yellow, and extreme bitter. Then there are hot rheums, which are such either by their generation, as if they be made of choler; or by corruption, as when phlegm putrefieth, it getteth a certain acrimony, and becometh salt. 
The signs of a hot rheum.  It is easy to find out these hot rheums: for if the humour pass by the palate and mouth, they taste it bitter and pricking, it burneth and taketh off the skin every where, where it cometh; the face is all red and fiery, the forehead extreme hot, and commonly it walketh hand in hand with an ague: we must add unto all this a temperature that is hot and choleric, a hot constitution of air, a manner of living, and all other things which are apt to heat the humours, and to engender such as are hot. 
The third difference riseth from the quality of the humour.  We observe furthermore in the humour (besides his substance and temperature) what his quality is, that is to say, the manners thereof: for there are some humours which are malicious, and have a certain secret malignity, there are some more gentle, there are some that are concocted, and some that are crude and raw. From these conditions we shall find a difference of rheums; as, there are some that are rebellious, as those which accompany the french disease, or which rise of some remainder thereof, and these are not cured by ordinary remedies, they must be overcome by sovereign cordials and preservatives: there are other some more gentle, 
Signs of concocted, and unconcocted rheums. The sourth difference riseth from the taste of the rheum.  which are easily cured and helped by some simple purgation: there are some that are crude, and some concocted: it is known to be crude, when we see it clear, thin, unequal, green, yellow, bitter or pricking: contrarily, if it be equal and every where alike, and a little thick, we judge it to be concocted. We take some difference of rheums from the taste and savour which is in the humour, there are salt, sweet, sharp, and tastlesse savours: the salted ones are always most dangerous, for if they fall once upon the Lungs, they cause an ulcer; if among the guts, a bloody flux: finally, we may draw from the mixture of the humours, these differences. There are simple rheums, caused of one only humour, and there are others which are made of the mixture of many. And thus much concerning the particular view of the first difference, which is taken from the matter.  

The second difference taken from the parts.  The second difference may be gathered from the parts: now we have two forts of parts to look into, as the sending, and receiving parts: those which send, are either within or without the brain. Those within are commonly full of excrements, both because of their cold distemperature, and also of their marrowish substance; those without also, as betwixt the skull and the membrane next covering it, and betwixt this inner membrane, and the uttermost skin may be retained and gathered in great quantity of water, either by the vapours, which not being able to pass any further, do there grow thick, or by the breathing forth of waterish humours out of the veins and arteries, which there stay and abide. From these parts than we shalf draw these differences of rheums, there are outward ones which come from without, and run down by the continued proceeding of the membranes through all the outward parts, even unto the joints, and make oftentimes the Gout: There are inward ones which come from within the brain, and run diverse ways to the inward parts. If they take the way of the spinal marrow, they will cause an Apoplexy, Palsy, astonishment, and trembling: if they pass and fall into the eyes and ears, they will cause blindness and deafness: if they fall into the nose, they will cause the disease, called Coryza: if into the palate and rough artery, they will cause hoarseness; as also shortness of breath, the cough, the consumption, if into the Lungs; and the flux of the belly, called Lienteria, they fall into the stomach.  

The third difference taken from the accidents.  The third difference shall be taken from the accidents. There are rheums which choke up the parties, and kill them suddenly, and they are those which Hypocrates calleth 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, the other are without danger, and distill but softly. There are rheums without fevers; and there are some that are accompanied with the fever: there are some also that are painful, and here are some without pain.  

The last difference.  The last difference is taken from the manner of their generation and the efficient causes. There are some rheums that are of themselves as being begotten of the sole defect of the brain, all the rest of the body being found; and there are some which come by consent, as those which are caused of the ill disposition of the other parts: as of the liver too much heated, and of the stomach too much cooled; the liver over hot doth send great quantity of vapours unto the brain, and the stomach too much cooled doth fill all full of crudities. There are epidemike or popular rheums, and there are erraticke or hereditary ones: the popular rheums happen of the constitution of the air, as was the whupping or crowing disease which happened this year, and that which ran through all Europe about ten years ago. The erraticke or hereditary rheums come of a particular constitution of the body, and of the manner of living, which is particular unto every one.   

CHAP. FOUR Of the causes of the Rheum.  
THe causes of the rheum are either outward or inward: the outward do ordinarily arise of the corruption of the air, and of the manner of life. The air may alter and change us three manner of ways; by his qualities, by his substance, and by his sudden alteration and change: that which is too cold, too hot, and too moist, is apt to beget rheums: the hot air doth it by resolving and melting such humours as are contained in the brain, for thus it maketh them the more apt to fall down: the cold air is the cause of distillations, because it presseth the brain together: and even as a sponge full of water being pressed, we may behold the water to run out like a river on every side: even so the brain being shrunk together by cold, letteth all her humours glide and slip away: the same cold air may also be the cause of rheums, by repelling and causing to retire the natural heat from the utter parts, to the inner. The Southern and Northern winds are mighty causes to move and make rheums: for those do fill the brain and make it heavy, but these do cause it to shrink together. Long tarriance inthe Sun or open air doth effect as much. The sudden change of the air, and alteration of seasons are of the number of those causes which enforce the rheum. As also if the seasons do keep their natural temper, as Hypocrates hath very well observed in his third book of Aphorisms, the year will greatly incline unto rheumatikenes. If together with this party alteration, or utter overthrow of the temperature, there be any particular defect in the substance of the air, as some secret and hidden corruption or infection, than it will engender a popular and pestilent rheum.  
The manner of living may likewise be put in the scroll of outward causes, which do engender and beget the rheum: much eating and drinking do likewise fill the brain, and this is the cause why drunkards and gluttonous feeders, are ordinarily subject unto the Wrangling rheum .. Great abstinence may likewise cause rheums in attenuating and making thin the humours; as also for that the stomach being empty, and not provided of any thing to fill itself withal, is constrained to make attraction of such moisture as is in the parts near about. Long watching, continual study, extreme violent passions of the mind, in as much as they spend and waste the natural heat and cool the brainer do engender rheums: to live all idle, doth keep the excrements unconsumed. Great evacuations, but especially oft letting of blood, and in great quantity, do cast headlong the body into old age, and make it altogether rheumatic. Much sleep puffeth up the body and maketh it moist, especially that which is taken at noontide. And thus much for the outward causes which may. cause and move the rheum: let us now come unto the inward.  
The inward causes are either remote, or else conjoined: the remote (which it pleaseth some better to call Antecedents) have relation to the evil disposition of the brain, head, liver, stomach, and sometimes of the whole body. 
The distemperature of the brain causeth rheums.  The cold, moist and hot distemperature of the brain do oftentimes cause rheums, the cold and moist of their own nature, the hot by way of accident: the cold distemperature weakeneth natural heat, doth not make good digestion of nourishment, neither yet spend and waste unnecessary superfluities: whereupon it followeth, that it must needs store up abundance of excrements. The hot distemperature attracteth more nourishment than it can well digest, and more vapours than it can dispatch and make away withal. There are some which have very wittily observed, that the closeness of the substance of the brain, is oftentimes the cause of rheums, because it retaineth the vapours, and suffereth them not to spend by breathing out and evaporation. 
The evil shape of the head.  The bad form or shape of the head is likewise very forcible to procure rheums: for such as have the seams of their head very close set together, or which have not any at all, (as we have seen very many) are subject to distillations, because the vapours retained do turn into water, and in deed the seams were chief made to serve for a vent, and as it were a chimney unto the brain.  

The distemperapture of the lower parts.  The distemperature of the lower parts, and especially of the liver and stomach, is one of the most ordinary causes of the rheum, if we believe Avicen the prince of the Arabians. For from the liner, being excessively hot, do come as it were from a great burning coal many hot exhalations, which by the cold temperature of the brain do congeal and turn into water: I say further, that they which have a very hot liver, have also their veins very hot, in such sort as that there rise continually very hot vapours from them. The cold distemperature of the stomach engendering many crudities, my also be a cause of rheums: for thereby all the body is cooled, the second digestion not being able to correct the error of the first, But if it should so be as that all the causes should concur and jump together, that is to say, that the brain should be cold and moist, the am hot, the stomach cold, there were no doubt, but that thereupon would follow a perpetual generation of excrements in the brain: and this is that which the Arabians would have said, when they wrote that an unequal distemperature of the principal parts is the greatest occasion of distillations. And thus much concerning the remote causes. The more near or antecedent causes not only of rheums, but of all other fluxes of humours are three; 
The causes more necrely procuring rheums are three. The partsending.  the part sending, the part receiving, and the nature of the humour. In the part sending we observe his high situation, and his strength: if it be endued with these two qualities, it will easily cast his burden upon all the inferiour-parts, which are as it were vassals unto it. Hypocrates hath well observed it in the book of the wounds of the head, when he saith, that amongst all the parts of the head, the brow is most subject unto inflammation, because the brow is contained, but every flux is from the part containing unto the part contained: the brow is contained both in respect of the low situation thereof, as also in respect of the production of vessels. The part receiveth the humour, either because it is inferior, or because it is weak; 
The part receiving.  or because it draweth it unto it. Every inferior part is subject to receive the burden, of that which commanded it: but and if the part be weak, it will yet be the more apt. This weakness cometh either of itself, and from the proper nature of the part, or else by some accident: 
The weak part.  the rare and spongy parts are naturally weak, such as are all the glandules, and it seemeth that nature of set purpose hath made them such, to the end that they should receive the excrements and superfluities of the principal parts. Hypocrates hath debated this matter so well in his book of Glandules, as that a man cannot tell how to add any thing thereunto. The skin was by nature made weak, to the end it might contain all the superfluities that are from within, whereupon some call it the universal emunctory. Parts may also be weak by some accident, as by a fall, or blow, or some distemperature: in what manner soever they be weak, it maketh them apt to receive the refuse of their neighbour parts. 
How the part attracteth the humour to itself.  The last cause is the part his attraction of the humour. The Arabians have acknowledged three causes of this attraction; heat, pain, and the avoiding of vacuity. Heat attracteth of it own nature, because it rarifieth the parts near about, attenuateth and maketh thin the humours, and enlargeth the ways and passages, for the humour to run through. 
How pain attracteth.  Pain doth not attract of his own nature, because it is an affect of feeling: but feeling is a patiented and no agent, and every one of the senses is executed by taking in of some thing: but the humours flow to the pained part, by reason of the weakness of the same; as also because the natural heat thereof is weakened by the pain and cannot well concoct the humour, it must needs be that it should stay in that place. They who affirm that the humour floweth unto the part which feeleth the pain, because nature sendeth thither both spirits and blood, that she may comfort the same, do deceive themselves in my judgement, and offer great wrong unto nature: for if she knew that such a part stood in need of spirits and blood, she would know therewithal, that in sending this blood, she should profit the part nothing at all, but rather hurt it: so that pain doth not properly attract and draw. The last cause of distillations is imputed to the humour. For if it be thin in substance, hot in temperature, sharp and pricking in quality, it will be a great deal the more apt to flow.   

CHAP. V A general order of diet to be observed, for the preventing and curing of Rheums and distillations.  
I Will follow the same order and course in the laying down of this regiment, which I have taken in the other two going before. We must therefore so dispose of all the six things which are called not natural, as that they may not only hinder the engendering of rheums, but also consume and cure the same being already begotten. Let every man therefore make choice for himself of such an air as is temperate in his active qualities, and as for the passive that it be altogether dry: I say that it must be temperate in heat and cold, because that a hot air resolving the humours of the brain, and a cold pressing them out, causeth them to fall down abundantly. If the air be too cold, it may be corrected with good fires made of juniper, Rosemary, Bay-tree, Oak, and Figtree: if it be exceeding hot, it may be cooled with herbs and flowers that are endued with such property. There must care be had to avoid the Northern and Southern winds, because the one filleth the head full, and the other presseth it out. You must not abide much in the Sunbeams, nor yet in the open air. The winds which pierce through chinks and rifts, are extremely dangerous for the rheum. The inequality of the air (as Celsus observeth very well) doth mightily further the begetting of rheums: it is called an unequal air, when it is now hot, now cold. As concerning the passive qualities, the ayre-must in all manner of distillation incline unto dryness: and for that cause it is good to dwell upon mounted places, and such as are far from rivers.  
In meats three things are to be observed; the quantity, quality, and manner of using them. As concerning the quantity, 
In meats three, things are to be observed.  all repletion and full gorging is enemy to such complexions as are subject unto rheums: we may not at any time eat to the full, it is better to rise from the table hungry, and he cannot but far the better, which cutteth of one meal in a week. As concerning the quality, it must be contrary unto the disease, or the cause thereof: the cause of rheums is a superfluous humour, so that it will be fittest to use such meats as may dry up the same. All vaporous meats in general must be abstained, as also meats that are gross, windy, full of excrements, and hard to digest. In the manner of using of these meats, there must many rules be observed: as, there must no new meat be taken into the stomach, before the former be thoroughly digested. You must content yourself to feed upon one only dish, and that such as is good: for variety filleth all full of crudity, and it mingleth itself with the blood in the veins, and ministereth rheumatic matter unto the brain. You must use to eat more at dinner then at supper, in as much as sleep which succeed supper within a short time, doth send great store of vapours unto the brain, which are afterwards turned into water.  
The bread must be of good wheat, and thoroughly baked, 
Bread.  not clean purged from his bran, but retaining a little bran and mixed with some salt; it must never be eaten hot: at the latter end of meat you may eat biscuit, wherein some Anise and Fennel seed have been put.  
Roasted meats are much better than boiled, 
Flesh.  and of them such as do not abound with humours: we allow the use of Capon, Pigeon, Partridge, young Hare, Kid, Hart, pheasant, Quails, Turtle doves, and all birds of the mountains, all which maybe interlarded with Sage and Hissope of the mountains. The use of waterfowles, Pork, Lamb, Mutton, and young Veal is forbidden: broths and pottage are very ill.  
Fish is exceedingly contrary. 
Fish.  All sort of milk-meates is an enemy in rheumatic diseases, as also all manner of pulse.  
As concerning herbs, 
Herbs.  the Arabians recommend unto us, Sage, Hissope, Mints, wild Time, Margerome, Rosemary, Burnet, chervil, Fennell, and Costmarie. Aetius tolerateth Coleworts and Leeks, but he forbiddeth in express terms Garlic & Onions, (because they send up many vapours) and all cold moist herbs, as lettuce, Purcelane, Sorrell, and such like.  
All fruits that abound in moisture, 
Fruits.  as Apples, Plums, Melons, Cucumbers, and Mulberries are forbidden. But as for such as have property to dry, as Pine apples, small nuts, Pistaces, Almonds, Pears, Quinces, Figs, dry Raisins, Meddlers, Ceruisses, they may be used after meat. And thus much concerning meat.  
As concerning drink, 
Drink,  cold water, and all manner of liquor that is actually cold, it is enemy to all such as are subject to the rheum, if so be that such rheum be not extreme hot pricking, and accompanied with an ague; Barley water with a little Sugar and Cinamome is very good and fit, or a Ptisane, or water and Honey boiled together.  
If the stomach cannot endure the use of these waters, 
Wine.  you must make choice of some well conditioned Wine, which is small and neither sweet nor biting. Muscadels, Hippocras, and such like mighty and strong Wines, do altogether strike up into the head, and fill the brain with vapours. To drink assoon as a man is set down at the table, doth cause and increase the rheum mightily: and there is nothing so dangerous to them which are troubled with the rheum, as to drink when they go to bed.  
Excess of sleep maketh the body heavy, and heapeth together store of excrements: 
Sleep.  it shall be sufficient to sleep six or seven hours, and in the mean time the head and the feet must be kept covered: for as Aristotle observeth, cold taken in the uttermost parts doth infinitely endamage them which have a cold and moist brain. In sleeping it is good to lie with the head somewhat high, and upon the sides: for to sleep upon the back heateth the body of the great hollow vein, which lieth upon the backbone, and sendeth great quantity of vapours unto the brain. Let every man watch well over himself, that he use no sleep at noon, neither yet by and by after meat; it will be more healthful to bestow the time in some short or gentle walk, or in some pleasant and religious talk. You must not straightways after meat apply yourself to reading or writing, or any deep meditation, because such action might turn the course of natural heat out of the way, which ought altogether to be employed in making digestion.  
Long watching may hurt as much as over much sleep, for that it spendeth natural heat, and cooleth the brain. 
Watching.  It is good to rise early, and walking up and down the chamber, to cough, spit, and free ones self of all natural excrements.  
The exercises of the whole body are much commended of Hypocrates that famous Physician, 
Exercise.  and those which are of particular parts, as frictions will serve for good use: 
Frictions.  but if the head be weak and very replete, it will require that such friction be begun in the lower parts, and from thence to come unto the thighs, back, arms and neck, and to rub the hinder part of the head with bags or sponges artificially contained and made. And seeing the head is the fountain of all distillations, it will be meet and convenient to have a special regard and consideration thereof: it must not be overladen, neither yet too slightly covered, but after a mean and middle manner, and yet it is always better to endure too much heat then too much cold upon it: it is not good to tie it too hard, lest it might draw humours from below. The belly must be kept soluble continually.   

CHAP. VI A general method for the curing of Rheums.  
FOr as much as in all distillations there is a part sending, and another receiving; the Physician must have special consideration unto them both. The head is the wellspring and fountain of all distillations: wherefore we must bestow one part of our labour and travel to purge the head, and to dry and strengthen it, that it may not gather any new excrements or superfluities. I will appoint and set down an order to be used in cold distillations, coming of a cold and moist distempcrature of the brain, because that those are most incident, and this method may serve for a rule unto the other sorts.  

The first intention.  The first intention which we are to propound and set before ourselves, is to purge this wellspring, to drain it, and utterly to dry it up if we can. This will be effected and wrought by universal and particular cuacuations: the universal must always be first used. 
Blood-letting.  If it be a full body, a hot rheum, an ague accompanying the same, and that the liver be exceedingly hot, blood letting will profit very much, but if no one of these particulars fall out, than it hath no place, and profitcth nothing, and this is it which the Arabian writers mean when they say, that the rheum merely considered as a rheum, doth never require blood-letting, but only when it is accompanied with some accident. 
Purging.  We will come therefore to the manner of purging, which must first begin with a Clyster which will purge the whole body, and draw also from the head.  

A Clyster.  Take of the common decoction (whereunto hath been added marjoram, Hissope, Sage, of each a handful) the quantity of a pint, of anise seed three drams, of the flowers of Camomile, Stechados, and Rosemary, of each half a handful, after you have strained the whole, dissolve therein of the blessed Laxative one ounce, 
Benedict● Laxativa.  of Diaphenicon an ounce, of the honey of Rosemary flowers or Mercury oneounce, of oil of Dill two ounces, of salt a little, and make hereof a Clyster.  

Pills. A potion.  The day following, you shall take a dram of Pillulae Cochiae, which shall serve in steed of a minorative, or else this potion. Take of good Agaricke one dram, of Rhubarb as much, infuse them all one night with a little cinnamon and a few Cioves, in the water of hyssop or Minthes: and after you have pressed it out, dissolve therein of Diaphenicon, or else of Diacarthamum, two drams, and of syrup of Roses laxative, one ounce, make thereof a potion.  

Preparation of the humours. An Apozeme.  If the humours be cold, gross and, slimy, it will be good to prepare them with this Apozeme. Take of theroores of Acorus, of Cyperus, and of Galanga, of each half an ounce, of the leaves of betony, Hissope, Margerome, Sage, Balm, agrimony, of each a handful of Anise and Fennel seed of each three drams, of the flowers of Rosematie, Stechados, and betony, of each a pugil, boil all together to a pint and a half, wherein dissolve of he honey of Rosemary flower, or of course Sugar, three ounces, and make thereof an Apozeme, clarify it and aromatise it with a dram of Aromaticum Cariophillatum, and with a little cinnamon, to take four mornings together. After this, the body shall be purged again with the same pills, or with the pills of Agaricke, Sine quibus, or Pillulae foetidae, and the same potion, but in somewhat greater quantity. The Arabians make a pretty observation about pills, as that they must be somewhat great, that so they may abide the longer time in the stomach, and so not being so soon dissolved, may draw from further of. And thus much concerning purgations usually to be taken in such rheums.  

Decoctions procuring sweat.  Diet drinks that do provoke sweat, may be put in the number of universal evacuations, for they avoid all the waterish parts which are contained in the veins, and dry up the superfluous moisture which is within the bowels. We shall make them with Guaiacum, Zarza-perilla, the root China, and Sassafras, the manner of the setting down of such, as also of the using of them is sufficiently known unto every one. The body having been purged by these universal means, there may be used particular purges for the brain. The evacuation may be sensible or manifest to the senses, or insensible, and such as the senses cannot discern: the sensible evacuation is effected by errhives, masticatories, gargarisms, vesicatories, sinapismes, cuppings, scarifications and cauteries, the insensible, by powders, bags, cupping without scarification, and perfumes. Errhinesdoe purgeth brain by the nose: 
Enhines.  there are diverse sorts made of them, as some are dry, and some liquid: the dry are made with powders of pepper, the seed of Stavesacre, and white Hellebor: the liquid ones with the juice of Margerome, Mercury, Male Pimpernell, Beets, and Coleworts, with white wine, there are some which greatly commend the oil of nigella, 
Masticatories.  if the nostrils be anointed therewith within. Masticatories do purge the head very strongly, and they are made with the roots of Pellitory, or with Mastic, Nutmeg, Cubeb, Damask raisins, fteeped in the water of Sage, or in the essence of Sage and Time. 
Vesicatories.  Gargarisms are not in so great use. Vesicatories applied upon the head, do also purge the same sensibly: they are made with very strong leaven, dung of Pigeons, the flies called Cantharideses, 
Emplasters.  and a little Aqua vitae: you may likewise make emplasters which will draw forth water, with the roots of bryony, of Tapsia, 
Hot bread.  Mustard-feede and Euphorbium. Bread very hot applied upon the head and nape of the neck, with a little Aqua vitae, doth draw itself all full of waterish excrements. Cupping glasses with scarification, 
Cupping-glasses.  will serve to make evacuation in this case. Finally, in rheums that are old and rebellious, cauteries do profile very much, 
Cauteries.  to draw dry the fountain, and to divert the humour: they are to be applied upon the head, behind in the neck, and in the arms. 
Insensible evacuation.  There is another insensible evacuation, which is then wrought, when any humour is discussed and resolved in such sort as that it turneth into a vapour, and thereupon doth breath out by an insensible transpiration: the same may be done by bags, powder and perfume. 
Bags.  Take of Millet, and Oats a good handful, of bran and salt one ounce: fry all these together, and close them up in a bag, which you shall lay very hot upon the coronal future; orelse: Take of anise seed, Fennel seed, and bay berries, of each two ounces, of Millet four ounces, and as much of common salt, of the crops of Dill, of Camomile and Rosemary flowers, of each a handful, fry all these, and put them up in bags, to be applied upon the head. 
Perfumes.  Perfumes that draw out and resolve, are thus made: Take of Storax, Beniovin, and of Nigella Romana, of every one three drams, of cloves, and of the trocisks of Gallia Moscata, of each one dram, make thereof a perfume, and perfume the head clothes there with. Or else take of incense, Laudanum, Beniovin, of each three drams, of gum Hedera, of Juniper berries, and Coriander prepared, of each two drams: mix all these, and make thereof a perfume. By all these helps, we may accomplish our first scope and intention, which is to cleanse the brain, and drain the fountain of rheums.  

The second scope is to fortify and strengthen the brain.  Our second scope and drift must be to strengthen the brain, and take away the cold & moist distemperature, which causeth a continual engendering of excrements and turneth all into water: for in vain shall we endue up this spring, except we take away all means whereby it may fill up again, and for the effecting hereof we may use inward and outward remedies. The inward are Opiates, 
Inward remedies.  Lozenges, and powders; Treacle and Mithridate are very singular good, as also the conserves of betony, Rosemary, and Stechados. Take of the conserves of Rosemary, Stechados, and betony, of each one ounce, of old Treacle two drams, of the powder of Aromaticum Rosatum, and Diagalanga, of each one dram; make thereof an Opiate with syrup of Stechadoes, 
An Opiate.  taking thereof to the quantity of a small nut at night when you go to bed, you shall make lozengings to the same effect after this manner. 
Lozenges.  Take of the powder of Aromaticum Cariophillatum one dram, of Diagalanga half a dram, of Nutmeg a scruple, of Sugar dissolved in the water of betony or Balm so much as shall need, make thereof an electuary in lozenges, every one weighing three drams, of these you must take one in the morning two hours before dinner, and another at night one hour before supper. A digestive powder after meat will serve to strengthen the brain and stomach. 
A digestive powder.  Take two drams of Anise seed confected, of cinnamon two drams of Nutmegs one dram, of red Coral two scruples, of Pearls prepared, and Heart's horn, of each one scruple, of rosed Sugar and white Sugar, of each four ounces; make thereof a powder, of which you shall take a spoonful after every meal: if you make it for them that are rich, you shall add thereto a little Amber grise, Aqua coelestis, Theriacalis, and Imprialis are very good to dry and strengthen the brain and especially in old folk, and such as are of a cold distemperature.  

Outward remedies. A head powder. Bonnets or coifs.  The outward remedies which do strengthen the brain are head powders, which shall be cast all over the head, or else you shall make caps thereof. Take of Clones, Maces, and Ziloaloe, of each two drams, of red Roses, & betony well dried, of each three drams: make it into a powder, which you shall ordinarily scatter over all the head: or else make a little cap after this fashion: Take the leaves of betony, Balm, Margerome and Mints well dried, of each three drams, of Clones, Mace. Nutmeg, of each one dram, of red Roses and Rosemary flowers a dram and a half, of Dyers grain, and of Ziloaloe, of each a dram: make them into a powder, and mingle them with Cotton wool, to make a little quilted cap thereof with red Taffeta. 
An emplaster to strengthen the brain.  Also you may make emplasters to apply all over the head, which may strenothen and dry it very much: Take of Laudanum and Mastic that are very pure and clear, of each half an ounce, of incense and Sandaraca, of each three drams, of the roots of Cyperus, of Cloves, and of Ireos of Florence, of each half a dram, of the flowers of Sage, Rosemary, and red Roses, of each half a dram, of Cubebs two scruples, mix all this with oil of Ireos and a little Turpentine, and make thereof a plaster. There hath been brought us certain years since, a very excellent Gum called Tacamahaca: it is applied upon the head, in form of an emplaster, it strengtheneth the brain, stayeth all rheums, and hath such property to appease and take away pains, as that the Indians use it in all manner of aches, if it fall not out that there be some inflammation manifest and apparent. I myself have seen very notable success in the use thereof. 
Lotions for the head.  All the ancient practitioners do greatly praise for the drying and strengthening of the brain the Lotions of the head that are made with herbs appropriate for the head, as betony, Balm, Margerome, Lavender, flowers of Stechadoes and Rosemary. 
Asope for the purpose.  There may be made a very good soap and fit for the purpose, after this fashion. Take of good Soap three ounces, of Agarick three drams, of Ireos of Florence two drams, of Cloves and Mace, of each one dram; make them into a Sope. Natural baths of sweet water as they are called, 
Natural baths.  are much commended, because they be actually hot and sulphurous, as are those of Balaruc, 
Oils to be put in the ears.  which are four leagues from Mompelier. Some there be which put certain drops of the oil of Turpentine every night in the ears and stop them afterward with musked or sweet Cotton wool: and assure themselves that this drieth and strengtheneth the brain mightily, All these remedies will serve in cold rheums, and in such as have the brain cold and moist. If the rheum be hot, and the brain hot, the Physician shall be of judgement able to alter the remedies, and to appropriate them to the distemperature. Lo here the two several intentions, which respect the member sending, and lead us first to the drawing of it dry, and afterward to the strengthening of it, for fear it should engender new and fresh matter.  
We must now advise what is to be done unto the member receiving. Every inferior and infirm member is apt to receive, but yet the care to be had of it is greater or lesser, according as the part is more or less excellent and serving our necessity: if the rheum fall upon the eyes, I have already set down the remedies: if upon the nose, it must be turned some other way: if upon the teeth, you shall see in the chapter following how they are to be preserved: if upon the stomach, it may be cast out by the belly. The most dangerous of all is that which taketh his course unto the rough artery, and falleth suddenly into the breast or lungs, for it hindereth respiration, which is a most necessary action, and so stisleth the pattie. Such must be cared for and helped with all speed, and that by using all those remedies which I have set down, to evacuate, divert, and turn away this motion of humours: but if it should fall out to be too swift, 
When we must stop the rheum.  we shall be constrained to cut it short with remedies that shall be held in the mouth, and which one may swallow down, beginning with the slightest, as Bole armoniac, Terra Sigillata, Gum Tragacanth, conserve of old Roses and rosed Sugar, of which there may be made pretty receipts. Take of the conserve of old Roses a dram and a half, of the powder of Gum Tragacanth a dram, of Terra Sigillata, 
Little Lozenges.  and Bole Armoniake oriental, of each two scruples, of Sugar dissolved in the infusion of Gum Tragacanth, so much as needeth: make thereof pretty small pellets. If this will not serve them, we must come to the remedies which are stronger, as Diacodium, new Treacle, Pillulae de Cynoglossa, or else those which are described of the old writers, and are made of Styrax, Galbanum, Opium and Myrrh in equal portions. These remedies are not to be appointed, but in extreme necessity, and when the present and sudden stifling of the party is feared 
Outward remedies staying the rheum .  
The rheum may also be slayed with outward means, as perfumes and emplasters. Take of red Roses, and of Corianderseed prepared, of each a dram and a half; of Mastic, Sandaraca, and Gum Hedera, of each a scruple; of the seed of Poppy half a scruple, of Myrtle berries half a dram: make them in a powder to perfume the head, and the same fume may also be taken either at the mouth or nose. The gum Tacamahaca (whereof I have spoken somewhat before) is very good to stay up the rheum, and to cause it to cease suddenly. The rheum being somewhat stayed, we must cleanse out that which is fallen into the breast, and evacuate it by the remedies usual for the cough. I will not set down any particular remedies in this place, for as much as I teach the general method only, which may serve for the curing of rheums.   

CHAP. VII. The means to preserve the Teeth.  
FOr as much as rheums do oftentimes fall down upon the teeth, and spoil them very mightily, I am persuaded that I shall not displease the Ladies and Gentlewomen, if I deliver in a small chapter the means to preserve the same. 
Wherein consiseth the fairness of the teeth. What may happen to the teeth.  To have fair and sound teeth, it behoveth that they should be white, smooth, hard, standing fast, and that the flesh of the gums be whole, hard, and well trussed up. I purpose first to show and make known that which may loosen, black, or canker them: and after I will describe the remedies which are most exquisite, and may best serve for the making of them fair. 
The air.  The cold air, as Hypocrates observeth in the fift book of his Aphorisms, is enemy to the teeth. All raw, 
Meats.  slimy, sweet, sharp, fat, hard, vaporous meats, and such as are actually cold, do hurt the teeth infinitely. The raw meats do send up very many vapours which canker them, and make them black: sweet, slimy, and fat meat do leave much filth about them: sharp meats set them on edge, and cause a numbness in them, by reason of their roughness and unevenes: hard meats do shake them very much. It behoveth to use flesh of good juice, and which is digested easily: for who so will keep their teeth fair, must above all other things take care of their stomach. The common use of milk, cheese, passed meats, tarts and pulse do destroy the teeth: Sugar amongst other things doth make them black. It is not good to chaw the meat upon one side only, but rather on both sides equally, because the teeth that are not used will corrupt. All flesh of Lamb and Swine, and all fried meats, are extremely contrary unto them, as also the ordinary use of fruits which are very moist. All writers have marked that Leeks do wholly spoil both teeth and gums.  
Wine must be well delayed before it be drunk, 
Wine.  and it must not be sweet, nor very cold. Very hot broths, as also all other meat exceeding hot do spoil them. There is care to be had in keeping of them very clean after eating: and therefore the toothpicks of Mastic tree, Mulberry tree, Rosemary, cypress, and other woods which have some binding faculty are very fit: there may be added unto the former a little of the wood of Aloes: They must not be made clean with a knife, pin, or with any thing of gold or silver, as many do, because that it doth loosen the ligaments. It must also be avoided to lie digging at them any long time, especially of such as are subject to distillations. After that the teeth are thus picked and cleansed, they may be washed with wine delayed. The continual and common use of Sublimatum, 
Sublimate hurteth them.  doth black and spoil the teeth very mightily: but and if you would prevent that it should do no harm, 
To use sublimate so as that it may not hurt the teeth.  it must first be well prepared, and afterward never to use it, but when it hath been steeped in water three or four months, changing the water the first month every day, and once or twice a week in the rest: it must also never be used about the face, but the mouth must first be washed and the teeth cleansed, and water kept in the mouth. And thus much for the things which may hurt the teeth.  
Let us now see what things are good and profitable for them. There are some that have their teeth very white, but they are not fast, because that either the ligaments are loosened, or for that the gums have lost part of their fleshy substance: other some have their teeth fast, but they be black. Wherefore there are two sorts of remedies to be provided: the one to blanche and make white the teeth: the other to fasten them and incarnate. There are an infinite number of those which do make white the teeth, but I will choose the most fit and convenient. The Greek Physicians commend the pummices stone burnt and made in powder, 
Things to make the teeth white.  more than any other thing, and their ordinary remedy is this. Take of pummice stone and burned salt, of each three drams; of juncus Odoratus two drams, of Pepper a dram and a half: make them all in powder, and therewith rub the teeth. We shall make a powder which in my opinion will be very fit. Take of pure Crystal a dram and a half, 
A powder.  of white and red Coral of each one dram, of pummice stone and cuttle bone, of each two scruples, of very white Marble, of the toot of Florentine Ireos, of cinnamon and Dyers grain, of each half a dram, of common salt one dram, of Pearl well prepared a scruple, of Alabaster and Roch Alum of each half a dram, of good Musk ten grains: make them all into very fine powder, and rub the teeth therewith every morning, wasning them afterward with white wine. With the very same powder there may be made Opiates, putting thereunto some honey. The spirit of Vitriol mixed with a little common water, doth white the teeth marvelously, and is one of the rarest and most singular medicines that is. There are some which do much esteem Aquafortis well delayed with common water. There may also a water be distilled, which will make them white. Take of live Brimstone, Alum, 
A distilled water.  Sal Gemma, of each a pound; of Vinegar four ounces: others use the spirit of Vitriol in stead of Vinegar; distill hereof a water with a retort, using a gentle fire, that so it may not smell of the Brimstone. This water doth make the teeth very white, and cleanseth rotten gums. If the teeth be very black and filthy: Take of Barley meal and common Salt two ounces, 
A powder.  mix them with Honey and make a paste, which shall be wrapped in paper and dried in an oven: you shall take of this powder three drams, of Crab-shels burned, pummice stone, egg shells in powder, and Alum, of each two drams; of the rind of dry Citrons one dram: they shall all be mixed together, and the teeth rubbed therewithal. The roots of Holihocks well prepared, 
The prepared roots of Holihocks.  do mightily cleanse and whiten the teeth. The way to prepare them is in this sort: Take the roots of hollyhock being made clean, and cut them in many long pieces, boil them in water with Salt, Alum, and a little of Florentine Ireos: afterwards dry them well in an oven, or in the Sun, and rub the teeth therewith. If the teeth be not fast but shake to and fro: Take of the roots of Bistort and Cinquefoyle, 
To fasten the teeth that shake and are lose.  of each one ounce, of the roots of cypress two drams, of red Roses, the roots of white Thistle, and of the leaves or bark of Mastic tree, of each half an ounce, of Sumach two drams, and of Cloves a dram: boil all these in Smiths water and red wine, wash therewith your gums, putting thereto a little Alum. Or else: Take red Coral, Heart's horn and Alum, of each a dram and a half, of Sumach, and of the roots of white Thistle of each a dram: make them in powder, which you shall mix with the juice or wine of Quinces, and apply them upon the gums and to the roots of the teeth in the form of an ointment. 
To beget flesh about the teeth.  If the teeth be bare and without flesh, they must be covered by causing flesh to grow again with such remedies as follow. There shall be made a powder, with Alum, red Coral, gum and rind of the Frankincense tree, with a little Ireos and aristolochy. Or else take plume Alum, Pomegranate flowers and Sumach, of each two drams, of Aloes wood, of Cyperus, of Myrrh and Mastic, of each a dram: make thereof a powder. 
An Opiate.  Opiates also are very fit to beget flesh, and do abide better upon the place. Take of Roch Alum half an ounce, of Dragon's blood three drams, of Myrrh two drams and a half, of cinnamon and Mastic of each a dram: make them all into very fine powder, and with a sufficient quantity of Honey make an Opiate, which you shall apply at evening upon your gums, and there let it remain all night: the next day morning you shall wash them with some astringent decoction or red wine. There be some that take a corn of Salt every morning in their mouth; and letting it melt, do rub the teeth with their very tongue, holding that this doth white and make fast the teeth, hindering and keeping corruption and putrefaction from the teeth. And thus much for the preservation of the teeth.    

THE FOURTH DISCOURSE, WHEREIN IS ENTREATED OF old age, and how we must secure and relieve it.  

CHAP. I. That a man cannot always continue in one state, and that it is necessary that he should grow old.  
THis is a general and solemn decree, published throughout the world, 
How every thing that is must have an end.  and pronounced by Nature herself, that whatsoever hath a beginning (so that it consist of matter) must also have an end: There is nothing under the cope of heaven (except the soul of man) which is not subject to change and corruption. All the great and famous Philosophers and Physicians that ever were, have without any contradiction put to their hands to this writ of arrest. Hypocrates in his first book of diet, Aristotle in a little book which he made of the length and shortness of our life, and Galen in his first book of health have given so clear and apparent reasons for the same, that there is no way to withstand or gainsay it: add hereunto, that experience doth so far confirm us, as that he which should doubt should be holden for a fool, and one bereft of understanding. We celebrate day after day the funerals of our ancestors. Every hour do we grieve and stand astonished at the consideration of the loss of so many great personages: and of all whatsoever hath been since the creation of the world, there is nothing remaining but that which the memory of history hath reserved to succeeding ages. It is not my purpose here to sift out by piece meal all the causes which may alter and corrupt natural bodies, I have nothing to do with the transmutation of the elements, the corrupting of metal, the dying and growing old of plants: I will only make evident that which may alter our bodies, and whatsoever may cause them to wax old. My reasons shall be drawn from the living and clear springs of natural Philosophy.  

The causes of old age.  The causes of our dissolution are either inward, or outward: the inward are borne with us, abide with us daily, and accompany us even to the grave. The outward do spring and rise from without, compass us round on every side, and though a man may keep himself from some few, yet there are an infinite number beside, which cannot be avoided. 
The inward causes of our death. The contrariety of the clements.  Those which are borne and bred with us are two, the contrariety of the elements, whereof our bodies are framed, and the working of our natural heat. The elements accompanied with their four contrary qualities (which are heat, cold, moisture and dryness) the better to mix and unite themselves together, do make a kind of league, every one of them willingly for going some of his right and sovereignty, and thereby reducing themselves unto a mediocrity, which is called temperature; but this bond of unity doth not long last, for the quality which doth over rule, and give the name unto the temperature, beginneth the discord, setteth upon his contrary which is more weak, and ceaseth not to impugn it, until it see the utter ruin and overthrow of the same: this is one of the unavoidable causes of our death, and that which we bring with us from our mother's womb; for there is not one body in the whole world to be found of so equal a mixture, as that there is not some excess in one of the four qualities over and above the rest. That temperature which the old writers have described and called ad pondus, is only imaginary, not serving for any other thing then to judge of the rest by, seeing it is not any more to be found, than Plato his common wealth, or Tully his perfect Orator. This jar therefore which is found in our complexion, is the principal cause of our old age. And it is the same which Aristotle hath well observed in the book alleged, when he saith, that in every thing wherein contrary things concur, it must needs come to pass, that corruption do follow. 
The operation of our natural heat, is the second cause of old age.  The other cause of our death and dissolution, is the work and operation of natural heat. Our life is stayed upon two pillars, which are the radical heat and moisture; the radical heat is the principal instrument of the soul, for is it that concocteth and distributeth our nourishment, which procureth generation which stretcheth out and pierceth the passages, which fashioneth all our parts, which maketh to live (as saith Trismegistus) all the several kinds of things that are in the whole world, and governeth them according to their worth and dignity. This heat being a natural body hath need of nourishment; the humour which is called the radical moisture, is the nourishment thereof, as the oil which is put into the lamps, doth maintain and feed the flame; this humour once failing, it must needs fall out, that the natural heat should perish, but this humour cannot last for ever, seeing the natural heat is daily threatening & consuming the same. But thou wilt say, that it is continually repaired and renewed, and that the heat and moisture influent, which come from the heart, as from a lively fountain, and are conveyed along by the arteries, as through certain pipes, may restore and put as much again in place, 
Our natural moisture cannot be renewed with his first and former qualities.  as hath been lost and spent. But then I would have thee to know, that the new reparations cannot be so pure; as also that it never falleth out to be in like quantity. As for the pureness thereof, it is easy to see, that the moisture which cometh in place of that which was lost, cannot attain the same degree of perfection with the former; for our  parts wherein consisteth the foundation of life, are made of seed that is most pure, thoroughly wrought and concocted, and refined in all those turning and winding labyrinths, which are to be seen in the vessels of seed, and now they are nourished only with blood turned white by virtue of the said  parts, and that which passeth not through so many refining pipes, whereby it cometh to pass, that as wine the more that water is mixed with it, becometh so much the more waterish, and in fine changeth altogether into water: even so the radical heat and moisture wax weaker and weaker every hour, by the coupling of them with new nourishment, which is always infected with some adversary and unlike quality. And seeing it is a general unchangeable and infallible rule in Philosophy, that every natural agent doth become a patiented, and sufferer in the performance of his action, and so by consequent doth weaken itself: our natural heat weakening itself every day, cannot repair that which is lost, and place in other of the same degree of perfection; it must of necessity therefore grow old, and in time die right out. 
The like quantity of natural moisture cannot be repaired.  And as forth quantity of that which (as things that run out) is wasted, it cannot be repaired altogether in the same proportion and measure, for the waist is incessant, but the repair is by little and little, and that after an infinite number of alterations. See here how that which should preserve us, doth overturn and destroy us, and how our heat consuming our radical moisture, doth thereby in the end cut it own throat. These two causes do spring, grow and are nourished together with ourselves. There is not that Physician in the world, were it Aesculapius himself, which can save and deliver us. All the precious liquors that are, Aurum potabile, conserves of Rubies and Emeralds, Elixir vitae, or the feigned and fabulous fountain of restored youth cannot withstand, but that our heat must at length grow weak and feeble.  

The opinion of the Egyptians condemned.  Galen derideth very well an Egyptian Sophister which had drawn commentaries of the immortality of the body. If a man (saith he) could when a thing is come to his perfection, renew the same, at that very instant, and make the principles thereof in like manner new, without doubt such a body would become immortal: but this thing being impossible, it must needs fall out that every natural agent must weaken itself, and so of necessity wax old. The men of Egypt & Alexandria did believe that the natunall cause of old age did come of the diminishing of the heart: they said that the heart did grow till-fiftie years the weight of two drams every year, and that after fifty years it waxed lesser and lesser, till in the end it was grown to nothing: but these are nothing but vain imaginations and mere fooleries. We have caused many old men to be opened, whose hearts have been found as great and heavy as those of the younger sort. There is then but two inward causes of our old age, the contrariety of the principles whereof we are composed and framed: and the action or operation of our natural heat, which consisting in the consuming of his radical moisture, doth by little and little fall a drying and cooling of our bodies.  

Outward causes of our old age, that cannot be avoided.  There are other causes also of our dissolution, which are outward and such as cannot be avoided. For seeing that our bodies are compounded of three substances which are subject to waste, the one whereof is subtle and of an airy nature, the second liquid, and the third : it must needs be that we have some outward thing for to repair them: otherwise our life would never last longer than the seventh day: for this is the term which Hypocrates hath given to perfect bodies, and such as have much natural heat. That which repaireth our nature, is called nourishment, and it is three fold, the air, drink, and meats: the air upholdeth and maintaineth the substance of spirits, the drink, all that which is liquid, and the meat, that which is . This threefold kind of nourishment, how well soever it be cleansed and purified, hath notwithstanding evermore something disagreeing with our nature, and that so much, as that it cannot assimilate and turn it into it own nature, and therefore maketh an excrement of it, which being retained, altereth the body, and maketh an infinite number of diseases. See and behold how meats do of necessity alter out bodies. I leave to speak of all other outward causes, (as over violent exercises, an idle and sitting life, long and continual watching, the passions of the mind (which of themselves can make us old, as fear and sadoes) because we may in some sort avoid and shun them. I leave also to say any thing of chancing causes, or such as may befall us by hap hazard, as hurts: I am only purposed to show that it is of necessity that every living creature must wax old, that he sostereth within himself, the natural causes of his death, and that he hath outward causes thereof hanging about him, which cannot be avoided.   

CHAP. II. A very not able description of old age.  
SEeing is is most certain that our bodies, 
Distinction of ages.  even from the day of our birth are subject unto many alterations and changes, the physicians having regard unto such alterations as are most sensible and apparent, have divided the whole life of man into many parts, which they have called ages. 
The opinion of the Egyptians.  The Egyptians have made as many ages as there are seven in the number of an hundred, for they verily believed that a man could not live above a hundred years. The Pythagoreans, 
The opinion of the Pythagorists.  which were very superstitious in their numbers, have published in their writings how that in every seventh we feel some notable change, both in the temperature of the body, and in the disposition of the mind, and that all this aught to be referred and attributed to the perfection of the number of seven. I purpose not here to discuss the question of numbers: I have handled it largely enough in my third book of critical days: it is sufficient for me to sit down and rest myself with all the most famous writers, in saying that man following the natural course of life, undergoeth five notable alterations and changes in his temperature, and runnoth through five ages, which are, 
Five ages.  Infancy, Adolescency, Youth, Manhood or the constant age, and Old age. Infancy is hot and moist, 
Infancy.  but moisture exceedeth and keepeth heat so under foot, as that it cannot show his effects, it lasteth till thirteen years of age. Adolescency followeth next, 
Adolescency.  which yet is hot and moist, but so as that heat beginneth to play the master: the sparks thereof are seen to glitter, twinkle and shine in every thing. In the mankind the voice groweth greater, all their ways and courses stretch and reach further and further, they cast their first wool. In the female kind their paps grow hard & great to the sight of the eye, their blood stirreth itself throughout all their body, and causeth it to give place and make way for it, till it have found out the door: this age holdeth on to twenty four or twenty five years, which is the appointed and prefixed term for growth After this cometh Youth, 
Flourishing youth.  which is hot and dry full of heat, livelihood and nimbleness: it hath his course till forty years. 
The manly age.  Then the body is come to his full stature, and this is called the man's age or constant age, it is the most temperate of all the rest, participating the four extremities indifferently, and continueth to the fiftieth year. 
Old age.  And there beginneth Old age which containeth all the rest of our life. But yet notwithstanding, this old age may further be divided into three ages: 
Three degrees of old age.  there is a first old age, a second, and a third. I have nothing to do with that which is caused by sickness, and called Senium ex morbo. The first old age is called green, because it is accompanied with prudence, 
The first.  full of experience, and fit for to govern common weals. The second beginneth at seventy years, 
The second.  and is encumbered with many small disadvantages, it is very cold and dry. As for the coldness there are so manifest signs and tokens of it, that no man hath ever made any doubt of it, for if you do touch them; you shall always find them as cold as ye, they have no lively or vermilion colour, all their senses are weakened, and become subject to an infinite number of cold diseases: but as for the other quality which is dryness, some there are which take upon them to overthrow it, and say that this old age is moist and not dry, because a man shall see the eyes of these old men always distilling tears, their nose always running, there cometh out of their month evermore great store of water, yea, they do nothing but cough and spit: 
The temperature of old men, is cold and dry,  but Galen answereth very learnedly in his book of temperatures, that old men are moist through a superfluous moisture, but that they are dry concerning radical moisture: and in the first book of the preservation of the health he saith, that old men have all those parts dry which infants have moist, that is to say, the  parts, of which dependeth the constitution of the whole body. This is the opinion coming nearest to the truth, & which we must take hold upon: for their leanness, wrinkles, stiffness of sinews and skin, and stiffness of joints do sufficiently show their dry temperature: the ringworms also and itches over all their bodies, the scales which they have on their heads, maketh it plainly appear unto us that their brain is full of salt humours, and not of sweet phlegm. In the end cometh the last old age, which is called decrepit: in which as the kingly Prophet saith, 
The last degree of old age is called, decrepise.  there is nothing but pain and languishing grief: all the actions both of the body and mind are weakened and grown feeble, the senses are dull, the memory lost, and the judgement failing, so that then they become as they were in their infancy: and it is of these that the Greek proverb (〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, that is to say, that old men are twice children) is to be understood. This last old age is described in the twelfth chapter of Ecclesiastes, in so notable an allegorical sort, that there is not the like again for excellentness in all the world. It was also the greatest Philosopher and profoundest scholar in nature's works that ever was, which took the same upon him: this is that sage Solomon, which elsewhere is said to have known all the secrets and mysteries of nature, which hath discoursed of all the plants of the field, from the Cedar of Libanus to the Hissope which groweth out of the walls, that is to say, from the tallest and highest; unto the least and lowest: for by this Hissope, we understand one of the capillar herbs which is called Saluia vitae, which is one of the least herbs that may be seen. I will set down the whole manner of this description from the beginning to the end, because that besides the pleasantness of it, we may reap instruction, and a plain and manifest declaration of the thing we have in hand.  

An excellent Allegory describing and laying out the estate of old age.  Remember (saith he) thy Creator in the days of thy youth, before the Sun, the stars and light grow dark, and the clouds return after rain: for then the keepers of the house will tremble, and the strong men will bow themselves, and the grinders will cease and be no more: in like manner, the lookers through the windows will be darkened, the doors will be shut without, because of the base sound of the grinding: and he shall rise up at the voice of the bird; so shall all the singing maids be humbled, they shall fear the high thing: the Almond-tree shall flourish, and the grasshoppers shall grow fat; the Caper-tree shall be withered, before that the silver chain do lengthen itself, or the ewer of gold be broken, and the water pot dashed in pieces at the head of the spring, or the wheel broken at the cistern, and that dust return unto the earth, as it was from thence, and the spirit go unto God. See here the description of the last age, which is admirable, and which hath need of a good Anatomist to help out with the true understanding of the same.  

The interpretation of the Allegory.  In decrepit old age the Sun and stars do wax dark, that is the eyes, which do lose their light. The clouds return after rain, that is to say, after they have wept a long time, there passeth before their eyes, as it were clouds, being nothing else but gross vapours, which grow thick and foggy. The keepers of the house tremble, that is, the arms and hands, which were given unto man for the defence of the whole body. The strong men bow, that is to say, the legs which are the pillars whereupon the whole building is set. The grinders do cease, that is to say, the teeth which serve us to bite and chaw our meat. The seers grow dark by reason of the windows: those are the eyes which are covered and overgrown oftentimes with a cataract, which shutteth up the apple of the eye, which is commonly called the window of the eye. The doors are shut without, because of the base sound of the grinding, that is the jaws, which cannot open for to eat any thing, or the passages of meat which are become narrow and straight. They rise up at the voice of the bird, that is to say, they can not sleep, and are always wakened with the cockcrow. All the singing maids are abased, that is their voice, which faileth them. The Almond-tree doth flourish, that is the head, which becometh all white. The grasshoppers wax fat, that is, the legs become swollen and puffed up. The Caper-tree withereth, that is, their appetite is lost: for Capers have a property to stir up appetite. The silver chain groweth longer, that is the fair and beautiful marrow of the back, going all along the bone, which groweth lose and boweth, and causeth them to bend in the back. The golden ewer is broke, that is the heart, which containeth (much after the manner of a vessel) the arterial blood, and vital spirit, which are somewhat yellow and of golden colour, which ceaseth to move, and cannot any longer contain or hold, much after the nature of a thing that is broken. The water pot is broken at the spring head, that is, the great vein called the hollow vein, which cannot draw blood any more out of the liver, which is the common storehouse and fountain which watereth all the body; in such sort as that it yieldeth no more service than a broken pitcher. The wheel is broken at the cistern, that is, the reins and bladder, which become relaxed and cannot any longer contain the urine. Then, when all this happeneth, dust (that is to say, the body which is material) doth return to the earth, and the spirit (which is come from above) doth return to God. Lo here the five ages described and bounded with their number of years, according to their several contents.  

That the number of years doth not make old age.  But I would not that from hence any man should so tie himself to the number of years, as that he should make youth and old age necessarily to depend thereupon: but that he would rather judge thereof by the rule of the temperature and constitution of the body: for every man that is cold and dry, is he whom I may call old. There are very many which become old men at forty, and again there are an infinite sort, which are young men at sixty: there are some constitutions that grow old very speedily, and others very slowly. They which are of a sanguine complexion grow old very slowly, because they have great store of heat and moisture: melancholic men which are cold and dry, become old in shorter time.  

Why women grow old sooner than men.  As for the difference of sexes, the female groweth old always sooner than the male. Hypocrates hath very well observed it in his book entreating of the seventh month childbirth. The females males (saith he) as they are in their mother's womb, are form and grow more slowly than males: but being once out, they come sooner to growth, sooner to ripeness of wit, and sooner to old age, by reason of the weakness of their bodies and of their manner of living. Weakness maketh them to grow up sooner, and to wax old sooner: for even as trees which are short lived, grow up to their height by and by; even so the bodies, which must not long continue, come very speedily to the top of their perfection. Their manner of living also doth make them to wax old, because they live as it were always in idleness. But there is nothing that hasteneth old age more than idleness.   

CHAP. III. An order of government for the prolonging of the strong and lusty estate of man.  
SEeing that the natural and unavoidable causes of our old age are three; as the contrariety of the principles of our life, the waste of radical heat and moisture, and the excrements which are ordinarily engendered by our nourishment, it behoveth us (if we will keep our bodies in good plight, and preserve them from waxing old so soon) so to dispose of and order these three things, as that the agreement and unity of the elements (which is called temperature) be thoroughly provided for, that our heat and moisture (which waste every hour) be well repaired, and that the excrements (which hide themselves and stay behind in the body) be hunted out. We shall obtain all this very easily, by keeping good order of government and diet, without having need to have recourse to Physic. Now this name of Diet (as I have already said) comprehendeth many things, all which may be referred to six. The Physicians call them, not natural: because that if they be rightly used, and that a man know how to make the best manner of service of them, they do preserve the health, and may be called natural. But and if a man abuse them, if they be used either too little, or too much, though it be never so little, they are the causes of many diseases, and may be said to be contrary to nature. They are these which follow; the air, meat and drink, sleep and watching, labour and rest, emptiness and fullness, and the passions of the mind, which I am about to run through in order.   

CHAP. FOUR What choice we must make of the air, for our longer life, as also what air is most fit for such persons as are old.  

The necessity of the air.  AMongst all the causes, which may alter our bodies, there is not any one more necessary, more headlong, or which concerneth us more nearly than the air. The need we have of it, doth sufficiently appear in sicknesses, which abridge and deprive us of breathing: for if it happen that any one of the instruments which are appointed either for the giving of entrance, or receiving or preparing of the air be greatly impeached, the man dieth by and by strangled, in so much as it seemeth hereby, that the air and life are things inseparable in all such kinds of creatures as are called perfect. The natural heat (if we believe Hypocrates) is preserved by moderate cold, and if you take the air away from the fire, which is as a continual bellows unto it, it is quenched and choked incontinently. Our spirits which are the principal instruments of the soul, are begotten and nourished by the air, they do not uphold nor purge themselves but by the passing of the air in and out: this is the cause also why all the body is porous and perspirable, this is the cause why our arteries do continually beat, and that nature hath made so goodly and wonderful doors and entrances for the two vessels; in such sort as that I dare be bold to say, that the air is as needful for man, as life itself. 
The quickness and celerity of the air.  As for the celerity and swiftness which it participateth, we perceive it every day. In a trice it passeth through the nose to the brain; and pressing through a million of straights, which are to be seen in the admirable net, it entereth in into the most secret chambers thereof, it dispatcheth itself downward after that, with like incredible celerity and swiftness, through the mouth unto the lungs, and from thence unto the heart, it pierceth (and cannot be perceived) the pores of the skin, and entereth by the transpiration of the arteries unto the most deep and hidden corners of our bodies. This is a body so common and near unto us, that it compasseth us about continually, without forsaking us any moment, yea we must whether we will or no, make our daily supping meat thereof. Divine Hypocrates having very well perceived this powerfulness of the air, saith in his Epidemikes, and in his second book of Diet, that the whole constitution of our spirits, humours and body, doth depend wholly upon the air. Wherefore the choosing of a good air, and of a fair and pleasant dwelling place, must always in all good order of diet keep the first and chief place. 
Wherein the goodness of the air consisteth.  The Physicians take acknowledgement of the goodness of the air by his substance and qualities. By his substance, as when it is well purified, not having any seeds of corruption in it, neither yet being infected with any venomous vapours, which might rise from dead bodies, privies, and filthiness of towns, or from the putrefaction of standing waters. There are also certain plants which a man must hardly come near unto to make his ordinary lodging, because they have a contrary quality unto the animal spirit, as the Nut tree, Fig tree, Colewort, Danewort, wild Rocket, Hemlock, and an infinite sort of others. The vapour of forges and mines, is a very great enemy unto the heart, and causeth (as Aristotle observeth) the greatest part of them which labour therein, to fall into a consumption.  

How to rectify the air.  If the air be corrupted, and that we cannot avoid it very quickly, we must purify it with artificial fires, of Rosemary, juniper, cypress, bay tree, and with perfumes of the wood of Aloes, Saunders, juniper berries, Fusses, and such other aromatical things. The vapour of Vinegar doth marvelously correct the maliciousness of the air. As for the qualities of the air, all excess of heat, cold, moisture and dryness is evil: it must be chosen such as is (if it be possible) of a mean temperature. 
The signs of a good air.  It is known to be such, if it grow warm shortly after that the Sun is up, and contrarily grow cold after the Sun is set. If there cannot be found an air of such a temperature, it were better that it were a little too dry, then too moist. For (as Hypocrates saith in his fift Aphorism of his third book) dryness generally is always more wholesome than moisture.  

What air is fittest for old folks.  For old persons there must choice be made of a hot air, an their chamber must never be without fire: for it is very certain, that they far and do a great deal better in summer; because they carry a winter about with them continually. They must be lodged in a place that is raised high, and their house must be open on the eastside, that so the morning Sun may come into their chamber; and on the northside, the better to purify the air, and to drive away all evil vapours. I will refer unto this choice of air, the use of sweet savours, which marvelously rejoice the heart and spirits. It is good daily to carry some good smell, to keep one's self cleanly and handsome, and to change one's linens very oft. The air then, if it have all these properties, will serve to repair our first substance, which the Physicians call spiritual, which is engendered, nourished, and preserved by the air.   

CHAP. V General rules to be kept in eating and drinking, for the longer preservation of life.  
Meats and drinks must keep the second places: for the one repaireth the loss of that which is liquid, and the other doth preserve and uphold that which is . I will not here particularly describe all the meats which may hurt or profit; or which are of a good or evil juice, let those which are disposed read what is written by Galen in his books of the properties of nourishments, and in his books of the preservation of health. I will only in this chapter deliver the general rules, which I have drawn out of other Physicians, and above all out of Hypocrates, which shall serve all sorts of ages to keep them from growing old soon, and the first of them is this.  

The first rule.  A man must never eat but when he hath some feeling of hunger: for the stomach maketh small reckoning of such meats as it coveteth not, and oftentimes disgesteth better the worst sorts of meats when it receiveth them with an appetite, than the most delicate which do not delight and please it. This rule is to be found in the 38. Aphorism of his second book. 
The second.  The second rule is, that the meat be well chawed before it be swallowed: for there follow two discommodities when it is swallowed before it be well chawed; the first is, that one shall eat more than he should, and thereby overcharge his stomach; the other is the greata do that the stomach hath to concoct that which is not chewed. The teeth and mouth do as much service and help in making preparation for the first digestion, as the air doth for the cooks, when it maketh their meat tender: and this is the reason why they which have many teeth do live long, namely, because they chaw their meat well. This sentence is to be found in the sixth section of the ●. book of Epidemical diseases. 
The third.  The third rule is, that we must beware of glutting the stomach: for he that would live long; must rise up from the table always with some hunger. The reason is very apparent, because if you load your stomach too much, you put the natural heat (being the principal instrument of the soul) to too much pains, and cause it to languish in the end, because every natural agent, doth suffer in doing. Hypocrates hath very well noted the same in his 6. book of his Epidemical diseases. This (saith he) is one of the principal heads for to preserve health, not to feed unto the full, and not to bestow to labour. 
The fourth.  The fourth rule is, not to eat of more than one or two sorts of meats: for variety hurteth infinitely and overthroweth our stomachs, because meats are not all of one quality, and by consequent one degree of heat will not suffice: some sorts are concocted sooner, and other some more slowly, so that thereby all the kitchen is out of order. You may join here to, that eating variety of meats and sauces, a man is constrained to drink the oftener: but this manner of drinking doth hinder digestion, as you see that the putting of water sundry times into the pot, doth hinder the broth from boiling. Therefore you must never abuse the stomach, although it be very good, because that if you displease the cook, you are like to dine but badly. Read the worthy sentence of Hypocrates in the 3. section of his 6. book of Epidemical diseases. The slothfulness of the slomack (saith he) cometh of the disordering of the whole body, and of the impurity of the vessels. And as fullness doth greatly damnify, and fill all full of crudities; even so too much abstinence may heap a whole measure of discommodities unto the health, because the stomach being empty, doth fill itself with evil humours. And Galen also observeth, that a famished stomach, if it be not satisfied with some delectable liquor, draweth first from the brain a world of water, and after that the grossest excrements, that are in the gut Ileum. The fift rule teacheth to observe such an order in eating, 
The fifth.  as that those meats which are easily corrupted be first eaten, because that if they be taken in the end, they destroy and corrupt the others: such as are concocted with less pains, and sooner digested, ought first to enter into the stomach: but gross meats, hard and heavy meats shall be the last, quite contrary to the fashion of our artificial kitchens. Such meats as are apt to lose the belly, as plums, apples and pottage, must also be the first. 
The sixth.  The last rule is, that we must accustom ourselves to eat more at supper then at dinner, I mean if the body be sound and not subject unto rheum. The reasons thereof are very plain: for there is more space from supper to dinner, than there is from dinner to supper, so that there is more time to concoct and distribute the nourishment. It is most certain that when we sleep, heat is stronger, for that it withdraweth itself wholly unto the centre of the body. I will add thereto how that to make good digestion we have need of rest: but in the night all the animal functions cease, there is nothing to draw aside our heat, so that it may concoct a great deal better. Thus also have all the famous and great Physicians, Hypocrates, Galen and Avicen, determined the case. Thus have all the elder times practised. Wrestlers (as Galen observeth in the fift book of the conservation of health) did never eat flesh but at their supper. The Pythagoreans (as Aristoxenus writeth) took nothing to dine withal but a little bread with honey: and during the siege of Troy, the Grecian soldiers (if we give credit to that which Philemon reporteth) made four meals a day, but they took nothing but bread and wine at the three first, and at the last which was their supper, they did feed upon pork. Behold here the general rules which are to be observed in eating, whereto I will add for an end, that the fittest hour to eat at, is that hour of the day which is most temperate, as in winter that which is most hot, in summer that which is most fresh, and that also with some moderate exercise having gone before.   

CHAP. VI How we must in particular nourish old folk, and with what manner of victuals.  
THe victuals wherewith old men are to be nourished, must be provided according to the degrees of their old age. The first kind of old age which is yet green and strong, may take direction from all those rules, which I have set down in the chapter going before: but the other two kinds of ages, have need to be guided after this fashion. They must be heated and moistened, because their temperature is cold and dry. Let them therefore have even all of them, their lodging in a very warm air, and let their chamber be never without fire. 
The quantity of their meat.  In serving them with meat, there must regard be had of the quantity, quality, and manner of using of it. As concerning the quantity, we must never overloade them with much meat, because (as Hypocrates observeth in the fourteenth Aphorism of the first book) they have very little quantity of natural heat, and that would be quenched, as it falleth out when a great deal of wood is cast upon a little deal of fire, and furthermore (as the same author saith) because they can endure fasting very easily. 
The quality.  As concerning the quality, it is requisite that their meats be of good juice and easy digestion, and of a light matter, in as much as the substance of old folk doth not lightly waste and spend itself. They must be forbidden all slimy, gross, windy, phlegmatic, melancholic and obstructing meats, which may stop the passages. The manner that they must be made to use in taking them, is to nourish them a little & oft, principally those which are of a decrepit age: others which remain somewhat lusty, shall be content with three meals a day. So were the two old men fed, of whom Galen speaketh in his fift book of the preservation of health, that is to say, Antiochus the Physician, and Telephus the Grammarian. Their bread must be of good wheat well baked, leavened well, and having a little salt mixed with it; they must not eat it hot, because it is not so easily digested, it maketh a great deal more alterations in the body, engendereth obstructions, and sendeth many vapours to the brain, it must be of the same day or two days old, if it pass three days it drieth too much, and stayeth too long time in that stomach. All manner of cakes made with cheese, milk, butter; & all other sorts of unleavened bread, are very hurtful unto them. 
Flesh.  Flesh is a very good nourishment, for it nourisheth much, and turneth easily into blood. All flesh that is hard of digestion and clammy, is altogether contrary unto this age; the flesh of birds is sooner concocted, then that of four footed beasts; and such as feed in dry places are more wholesome, than those which feed in waterish places. We must make choice of such flesh as is of a middle age, for old folk: for young flesh is too moist, and old flesh is too dry. Their nourishment must be of good Capon, Chickens, Partridge, pheasant, Hen, Mutton, Veal, God wit or Morehen, and young Pigeons. The Arabians highly commend Turtle doves, because they turn into good juice, and make all the senses the more subtle and fine. Some there be which praise pork, because it cometh next in temperature unto man: but I forbidden it unto old men, because it engendereth much superfluous moisture. All the brains of beasts are hurtful unto the stomach; livers do engender a gross blood; the utmost parts, as the head, the tail and feet, are hard of digestion, and of small nourishment. The flesh of Lamb, Beef, Wild-bore, and birds of the river, are nought for the stomachs of old men; they must have made some delicate gallimaufry with some sauce, good coolasses, jelly, and white meat. 
Eggs.  Eggs new laid and soft are very good for them, for they nourish much and quickly; if they be hard or fried, they be nought, because they engender a gross juice, and stay too long in the stomach. Potched eggs ate most wholesome; and those which are boiled in hot water (which Aetius termeth to stifle) are much better than them which are roasted in hot ashes, because they are boiled in every place equally and alike. But in what manner soever they be eaten, they must be eaten always with salt, to the end they may go out of the stomach the sooner: the white of the egg doth nourish but a little, and troubleth the stomach. 
Fish.  The use of fish is contrary to their age, they may eat of a Rochet, Sole and Trout, but they must be soused with salt, sage, fennel and wine. Meats of a sharp taste and which bite a little, as also powdered meats, are not evil, because they stir up the appetite, awake natural heat, and consume all that store of gross phlegm which is within the stomach. 
Spices.  It is good to spice their meats, with Pepper, Ginger and Cinamome, and to use grey mustard. Onions and Garlic are not evil for them, if they love them, and have been accustomed to eat them. Cheese is nought: butter is wholesome for them, because it moisteneth and heateth them, and also gratifieth the breast: sweet oil Olive is also excellent good. Milk is good for some: but in such as are subject to many obstructions, it rather doth harm. They of old time have much esteemed the use of Honey in this age, spreading it upon their bread, putting it in their sauces, 
Fruits.  and almost in all their meats. Raw fruits, and such as are very moist, are not good for them, because they are easily corrupted. Damask and dried Raisins are good for the liver, stomach, reins and bladder. Almonds do procure sleep, increase (if we believe Avicen) the substance of the brain, and cleanse the passages of urine. Dry Figs, Pistaces, Dates, small nuts roasted, nuts confected with Honey, Mirobalanes, Olives, and Pineapples are very fit for old men.   

CHAP. VII. What manner of drink is best for old folks.  
Drink is as necessary and profitable for old men, as it is hurtful for children. There is an old proverb which saith, that old folk live only on the pot, as old Eagles do upon the juice of carrion. Wine is all their refreshment, 
The praise of wine.  and therefore some do call it old folks milk; it heateth all their parts, and casteth out the waterish parts of the four humours by urine. Plato in his second book of Laws writeth, that wine heateth the body, and reviveth the drooping spirits of old men, even as the iron relenteth with the heat of the fire. Zeno said oftentimes, that wine correcteth and maketh pleasant the manners of the most harsh and churlish natures. One of the most renowned Physicians that ever Arabia bred, writeth, that young folk must refrain wine: but so soon as they be forty years old, look how oft they either see or smell it, they ought to praise God, and give him thanks for creating of so pleasant and delightsome a liquor. The wine that is chief to be made choice of for old folk, 
What wine is best for old folk.  must be an old, red, and good strong wine, and it must not be much delayed. New, sweet and gross, are not good, because they stop the liver, the spleen and passages of urine, and make old age subject unto the dropsy or stone. It is not good to drink wine fasting, nor after that one is thoroughly heated, because the vapour thereof ascendeth by and by up into the head, hutteth the sinews, and causeth convulsions, sudden rheums and apoplexies. Old men must drink a little at once and oft. Galen commendeth artificial wines, made of Betonie and Parcelie, for the Stone and Gout, Hippocras, malmsey and Candie wine; foreseen that they be not counterfeited, neither yet contrary to their natures. Honeyed water is commended of all men, they may use the common for their ordinary drink, and the other (which is called the counterfeit of wine, being strong like unto malmsey) they may take in the morning with a toast,   

CHAP. VIII. Of the exercises of old folk.  
IT is most certain, that all manner of nourishment how clean and puresoever it be, hath always something in it not agreeable unto nature. It must necessarily therefore follow, that in every concoction there be engendered some excrement, which being kept and not avoided, may be the cause of an infinite sort of diseases. The grosser kind of excrements do purge themselves, by a sensible and manifest kind of evacuation: but the more subtle and fine maybe wasted and resolved by exercise.  
This is the cause why divine Hypocrates in his books of Diet, 
The necessity of exercise.  hath affirmed, and that very well, that man cannot live in health, if he join not labour and food together, because (saith he) that the one repaireth natures expenses, and the other spendeth her superfluities and surcharging burdens. Plato in his Theaetetus writeth, that exercise upholdeth and preserveth the good state of the body, and that idleness on the contrary doth overthrow it. Exercise moderately and orderly used, preventeth repletion, the mere nurse of a thousand diseases, increaseth natural heat, keepeth open both the sensible and insensible passages of the body, maketh the body pliant and nimble, prepareth and disposeth all the superfluities and excrements, as well universal as particular, unto avoidance, strengtheneth the sinews marvelously, and maketh all the joints more firm. And this is it which Hypocrates saith in his Epidemical treatises, that as sleep is requisite for the inward parts, so labour serveth to strengthen the joints. There is a notable treatise in Celsus, which I must not pass over with silence. Sluggish slothfulness (saith he) doth make the body lose and heavy, but pains and labour doth make it firm and nimble: idleness maketh us soon to wax old, and exercise preserveth our youthfulness long and many years. 
How we must use our exercises.  But we must carry ourselves cunningly in the manner of our exercises: first, it must be done before we eat, because thereby we awake natural heat, that it may be the readier to digest, and not asleep when it should be doing his duty. Hypocrates his Aphorism is most plain and evident: Let labour go before meat. This exercise must be moderated according to our meat: for they that eat much, must work much; and they that eat but a little, must labour the less. This exercise also must be moderate and equal. I call that moderate, which maketh not weary: and I call that equal, which exerciseth all the parts of the body both upper and lower alike. Violent and unequal exercise overthroweth the strongest bodies, weakeneth their joints, and maketh all the muscles lose, wherein consisteth a part of nimbleness. The morning exercise is best, or else at after dinner when the two first concoctions are perfected: that which is used by and by after meat, begetteth an infinite number of obstructions, filleth the veins with raw humours, and causeth the meat to descend too soon out of the stomach. In winter we must walk more swiftly, and in summer more softly: and always the Physician must have regard to that whereunto the party is accustomed: for as Hypocrates writeth in his second book of Aphorisms; They which are accustomed to take pains, do bear it the more easily, although they be weak, and come to old age. There are universal and particular exercises. The universal (if a man can do them) are the better: and amongst them, one praiseth especially the ball play, foote-walkes, and riding. The particular are fricasies, which avail much to the stirring up of natural heat, to make attraction of nourishment to any part, and to consume the vapours and excrements of the third concoction, which lie lurking oftentimes in the void spaces of the muscles and among the membranes.  
Old folk must content themselves with moderate exercise, 
The exercise of old folk.  for fear that the little natural heat which they have should be spent. Frications, or rubbing of the parts are most fit for them. They must be rubbed and chafed in the morning after they be awake, until the parts begin to be red and warm. The rubbing must begin at the arms, and from thence to the shoulders, back and breast, from thence we must go down to the thighs, and rise up again from thence to the shoulders; the head must be the last, which must be combed and trimmed up every morning. There are other particular exercises of the eyes, voice and breast, which are of use.   

CHAP. IX. What rules are to be observed in sleeping.  
Sleep is one of the chief points of well ordering and governing one's self: concerning which there are certain general rules to be observed of them which are desirous to keep back and hinder the hasty access of old age. It is good (saith Hypocrates) to sleep only in the night, and to keep waking in the daytime. Sleeping at noonday is very dangerous, and maketh all the body heavy and blown up. It must be observed not to go to bed under three or four hours after supper, and then also to take a little walk up and down the chamber before you go into bed. The best and most natural sleep is that which lasteth seven hours, and in that time not to have over many clothes upon the bed, to the end the vapours may have the freer passage. One must sleep having their head somewhat raised, lest the meat should rise from the bottom of the stomach unto the upper mouth thereof; and in sleeping he must not lie upon his back, lest the ordinary excrements of the brain, which are purged by the nose and mouth, should fall upon the back bone; and lest also that by lying upon his back, he should heat the gross hollow vein and great artery, which are fastened to the loins, and so these vessels thus heated, should increase the heat of the reins, engender the Stone, and send great quantity of vapours unto the brain. It is good to take his first sleep upon the right side, for sear the liver should fall upon the stomach and oppress it, as it would do if he should he upon the spleen; and further because that lying on the right side, he liver underlaieth the stomach, and serving it in stead of a chafingdish, helpeth digestion very much. After this he must turn him upon his left side, to the end that the vapours retained by lying on the right side, may breath out: & finally he must lie upon the right side, to the end that what shallbe concocted, may descend the more easily. The parts of the body must not be stretched out all along in sleeping, they must be somewhat drawn up: for as Galen observeth in his first book of the moving of the muscles, the rest of the muscles consisteth in a mean kind of contraction. And that is the figure, which the Anathomists call the mean or middle figure, which is most natural and least painful. And thus much for the general rules of sleep, which seeing all old men cannot tell how to keep, we will permit them to sleep a little after dinner, in as much as they cannot but lie waken almost all nights long. Some refer the cause of their lying awake to their temperature, which is dry, and to the sharp vapours which commonly are raised of salt phlegm.   

Chap. X. How we must make old folks merry, and put them out of all manner of violent passions of the mind.  
PLato in a Dialogue, which he entituleth Carmides, writeth as the truth is, that the most violent and dangerous diseases that the body suffereth, do come from the mind: for the mind (saith he) having a sovereign power and absolute authority to command the body, 
The power of the mind over the body.  moveth, altereth, and changeth it in a moment as it pleaseth. How many diseases do we see to rise, and to be cured by the only force of imagination? How many examples have we of such as sudden and extreme joy hath brought unto their end? And griefs, pensiveness, and sadness, do they not cast us headlong into an infinite number of melancholic diseases, which serve for a scourge unto the Physician, and their own confusion for their obstinacy? We have read many histories of such as have grown white haired in four and twenty hours, upon fear only and a conceited opinion of death. So that he which would live long and in health, must keep himself as much as he can free from all violent passions. But old men more than any other must beware, both because they are ordinarily more subject to fear, taking of offence, and waywardness, because of their cold distemperature: as also because of the weakness of their brain. And other men must endeavour to take from them all occasion of fear and sadness, lest they should thereby become more cold. There is no danger now and then to move their choler, thereby to rouse them up and warm them a little: they must be made merry as much as may be, and every thing ministered unto them that may content and please them. But for as much as all the pleasures and displeasures which we feel in our minds, do rise from the senses, which are the trusty spies, and faithful messengers thereof, we must (if we will content and please old men,) flatter and tickle their senses, the sight, hearing, smelling and taste, in providing for every one of them, matters that are most agreeable and fit for them. The eye delighteth itself wonderfully in the beholding of beautiful women; 
The pleasures of sight.  and I am of opinion that such sight only will content old men. Variety of flowers, and diversity of fair colours doth rejoice them infinitely. They must wear continually some one or other rich and precious jewel, and amongst others the Saphir and Emerald, because there is not any other colour that doth preserve and comfort the sight so much as doth the green and violet. The hearing hath his particular delights, which pierce yet more deeply, 
The ravishment of the ear.  and sound the very bottom of the mind. Music with voices and instruments, doth calm and make gentle the most outrageous, rough and stern natures. Clinias (as I have observed in the treatise of melancholic diseases) so soon as he saw any passion to assail him, took his harp, and by this means kept away the motions of his humour. Old men must be held up with such discourses as they like of; they must be praised, they must be flattered, they must not be gainsaid in anything, and there must be propounded unto them matter which may please them, and whereunto they have been brought up; as lucre and gain unto the merchant; great exploits and feats of arms, to the warrior; learned discourses, to such as are learned: for these do hold them awake and content. Witness hereof is that good old man and grave lawmaker Solon, who being in his deathbed, and seeing two or three of his friends whispering together, for fear they should offend him, did list up himself luftely, and desired them to speak aloud, thinking himself most happy if at his last hour he might learn any thing. 
The pleasures of smelling.  As concerning the sense of smelling, it is most certain that good smells do make the heart joyful and merry, and purify the spirits. I am of opinion therefore, that it were good for old men to carry about them some good odours, as chains and balls of Musk, that they have always in their chamber some good perfumes, that they wash their beards, 
The pleasures of the taste.  hands and faces with sweet waters. As for the taste, it is to be referred unto the victuals, and for it there must daily be provided some dainty dish, and some one meat or other that is sharp in taste, to stir up their appetite. Behold therefore and see wherein consisteth the manner of diet to be observed of old folk: and it behoveth (that I may make an end of the whole discourse) that every one become wise, to know his natural inclination, and that experience of such things as do him good or harm, make him a master and Physician unto himself.   

CHAP. XI. What medicines are most fit for old folk, and by what means, the discommodities of old age may be amended.  
SO many are the discommodities which old age bringeth with it, as that the learned of old time did think it to come nearer to the nature of a disease then of health. 
The discommodities waiting upon old men.  You shall see old men commonly to be costive, to abound with phlegm, and sharp waterish humours, which causes some small itchings and burning of urine, they are all full of windiness, and feel an universal weakness over all their bodies, because they have a weak stomach, and the natural heat of their whole body is faint and languishing, they are in a manner altogether subject to theumes, and cease not either to cough, spit, or weep. All these infirmities may be provided against by some gentle and delightsome medicines. And first of all, the belly must be made good, 
How the belly may be kept soluble. A laxative broth.  (that is to say lose) with artificial broths, which may be prepared diverse ways. Take of the tender crops of Mallows, of Mercury, Garden and wild Artichoke, and of the herb called Cynocrambe, boil them with a Chicken, and take it in the morning. The broth of red Coleworts with oil, is very good, but the broth of a Cock is the excellentest of all the rest: it must be made thus. Take an old Cock, pull him and beat him well, afterward kill him, 
The broth of a Cock.  and having taken out his guts, wash him twice or thrice in white wine, and stuff his belly with a handful of the roots of Percely, the leaves of Borage, bugloss, Burnet, Mercury, Artichoke of the garden and field, fat Figs, damask Raisins, Dates, jujubes the seed of Carthamus and hyssop, boil all these together perfectly, and afterward strain them very well for the purpose, and cause it to be taken three days together. Some put thereto a little of the salt of Tartar, to give it some sharpness. This broth serveth exceeding well for old men, for it keepeth the body lose, cleanseth the ways of Urine, and is very profitable for the breast, and shortness of breath, whereunto they be subject. Suppositories must be ordinarily used of them, as also mollifying Clysters. Galen would not that we should use any strong and sharp Clysters, he resteth contented in the only use of oil Olive. For inward Laxatives I like well and allow of the pills of Hiera, of Aloes well prepared, and those which are called Mastichinae. Turpentine cleanseth and purgeth all the inward parts, 
Remedies for the weakness of their stomach.  without danger for the weakness of their stomach, and to discuss the winds which put them to pain, the root of Ginger confected, Lozenges of Aromaticum Rosatum, sugard Anise seed, cinnamon water, the essence of Anise seed, 
To stir up the heat of old folk.  of juniper berries and Cloves is commended. To stir up the heat which may seem to be asleep all over the body, I find nothing better, then to cause them to take oftentimes the weight of two French Crowns of Amber Grise in a very new egg. I allow also of the use of Treacle, Mithridate, Confectio Alkermes, Aquae Theriacales, Imperiales, and Caelestes. The compositions whereof I set not down, because they are at this day very common. All the parts also may be strengthened with outward medicines, as the brain by caps and head powders, amongst which Auenzoar praiseth Cloves powdered and scattered upon the coronal suture, the heart by emplasters, ointments, and bags, the stomach by ointments and bags. Finally, we must think, that all aromatical things, and those which smell well, are good for old folk.  
FINIS.