LICENCED,  
Rob. Midgley. Febr. 27. 1691.   

THE FALSEHOOD OF Human Virtue. A MORAL ESSAY.  
Done out of French.  
LONDON, Printed for Timothy Child in St. Paul's Churchyard, M.DC.XCI.   

THE PREFACE.  
MAN naturally becomes his own Flatterer, and being sensible that all other Animals are overcome, either by his Wit or Strength, easily inclines to despise those Being's as inferior, and arrogates to himself the Empire of this small spot of Earth.  
And though constantly put in mind of his Defects, by the Weakness and Narrowness of his Senses, and consequently of his Understanding, by the irregularity of his Inclinations, the Disorder of his Passions, and innumerable Inconveniences to which he is subject, nevertheless, assuming a false Bravery he affects to seem above these Things, and to appear selfsufficient.  
With the counterfeit Wings of immaginary Virtue, he soars towards Heaven, and pretends to partake of the Divine Nature; notwithstanding that the Spring and first Motion, even of the best of his Actions, as the subsequent Treatise fully proves, is nothing but Pride, Self-love, and Interest.  
Wherefore, with all due Gratitude, 'tis fit to acknowledge the Grace and Favour, whereby Almighty Providence has been pleased to communicate those Precepts and Commands which alone lead to Happiness and Perfection, which are so admirably expressed in the Great Example of that Divine Person, who came both to Instruct, and to Save, Mankind.   

A TABLE OF THE CHAPTERS.  
CHAP. I. OF Prudence. Page 1  
CHAP. II. Of Sincerity. 24  
CHAP. III. Of Friendship. 34  
CHAP. IV. Of Confidence. p. 73  
CHAP. V. Of Complaisance. 81  
CHAP. VI Of Civility. 89  
CHAP. VII. Of Officious Virtue. 95  
CHAP. VIII. Of Clemency. 99  
CHAP. IX. Of Mildness. 119  
CHAP. X. Of Affability. p. 156  
CHAP. XI. Of Commisseration. 161  
CHAP. XII. Of Generosity. 176  
CHAP. XIII. Of Politeness. 187  
CHAP. XIV. Of Humility. 193  
CHAP. XV. Of Liberality. p. 200  
CHAP. XVI. Of Magnificence. 214  
CHAP. XVII. Of Justice. 224  
CHAP. XVIII. Of Integrity, or the Honesty of Men▪ 234  
CHAP. XIX. Of Loyalty of Subjects towards their Sovereign. 245  
The Reader is desired to pardon the Fault of the Printer, in misnumbring the CHAPTERS, the next being  
CHAP. XXVII. Of Fidelity in keeping a Secret. p. 274  
CHAP. XXVIII. Of Acknowledgement of Gratitude. 282   
THE FALSEHOOD OF Human Virtue.  

CHAP. I. PRUDENCE.  
AMong all the Works of God, there is not any one Greater, or more worthy Admiration, than Man himself. For when we enumerate his different Qualities and Perfections, it seems that the Skill and Art of Divine Providence, that sports itself in the world, would epitomise itself in him; and that to show the choicest of its Invention, it has been pleased to form a Creature from a mixture and assemblage of what ever was extraordinary in all other Creatures. So that if we consider the principal parts that compose him, we cannot sufficiently admire that secret and most inward Union which we perceive in him of two Natures so opposite one to another; and yet at the same time we cannot conceive, how that Terrestrial and Corporeal matter, which is so incapable to obey the orders of Reason, should so perspicuously apprehend, and so readily execute her Commands in Man.  
But all these particular advantages are inferior to his Birth; wherein God, as I may so say, has Crowned him with his own hands, and has given him an absolute Empire over all other Creatures, wholly subjected under his Dominion. In a word, the Heavens roll about for his sake,  
The Air, the Land and Seas  
Strive all to please,  
Contending which for Splendour, not for N●ed,  
With choicest Viands shall his Table spread.  
To this same Royal Supremacy God has also added another much more considerable, and more excellent. For he has made Man the Arbiter of his own Destiny, the Lord and Sovereign of all his Actions; so that, whereas all other Creatures move blindly to their Ends, and have their Inclinations determined, Man performs all his Actions with knowledge, and by his own proper election, disposing of himself. Which illustrious prerogative raises him to that degree, that it likens him to God, and gives him a share of that Providence with which God governs the World. Nor can we deny, but that this is one of the most exalted, and the most sublime of all his Privileges: Yet on the other side, we are obliged to acknowledge, that it may also prove fatal to him, and may be the cause as well of his Ruin as his Felicity. For Man being so near to himself, and so remote from Sovereign Good, it is much more easy for him to seek his Happiness in Himself, and to enjoy a Benefit that is so near at hand, and to which his Heart is naturally inclined, then to raise himself to the possession of God, from whom he is separated by such immensity of space. Besides, his Mind is covered with a veil of Sense, which is the reason that ofttimes he loses the prospect of real Good, and mistakes Pleasure, Wealth, and Honour, which are but the Shadows of real Felicity, for the Thing itself.  
At this time of imminent danger, Prudence offers herself, steadily to direct his footsteps, to show him the only Mark at which he ought to aim, and the Object where he can only meet with repose, and the accomplishment of all his wishes. This important function, which is only proper to Prudence, is sufficient to advance it infinitely above all other Virtues, and makes it seem to us as the very Eye of the Soul. For though all the Virtues are highly valuable in nature, excellent in their effects, and admirable in the variety of their offices; yet must we all agree, that they would every one be blind, wand'ring and uncertain, were not Prudence their Guide; did she not discover the true End which they ought to propose to themselves, and mark out the way which can only lead 'em to it.  
To say truth, Prudence is as it were a foreign Understanding, that fortifies and brings to perfection the natural Understanding of Man; 'tis to her that all particular men are beholding for the wisdom of their Conduct; all well ordered Families, and all well regulated Cities, for their Policy. 'Tis she that sitting in the Soul of Kings as in her Throne, presides in all their Councils, and pronounces those Oracles that cause the Glory and the Felicity of Kingdoms. Lastly, it is she that ranging abroad in their Armies, renders the most savage and impetuous Dispositions capable of Discipline, establishes Order in the room of Confusion, and teaches Valour the secret of being attended with Victory.  
These wonderful and innumerable effects of Prudence, have gained her those great Encomiums which the Historians, Poets, and Philosophers give her, and have caused her to be reverenced by the wise Men in all Ages as a Deity. Insomuch, that as the Persians adore the Sun, because it appears to Sense to be the visible Creator and Cherisher of all that grows in Nature; so the wise Men have attributed to Prudence a kind of Religious worship, as seeming to them to be the visible Cause of all the happy Events of Human Life. 'Tis our Ignorance, says a certain Poet, which makes us imagine, that blind Chance governs all Human Affairs. 'Tis our mistake, o Fortune, that has placed Thee in Heaven, which has made us believe, that thy capricious Decrees regulate our Actions:  
Wh●re Prudence Reigns, no Deity  
From that same Breast can absent be.  
Prudence deprives thee of thy Power, and destroys thee of thy Divinity; 'tis she alone that has the power to make us happy; and her Laws alone, observed or violated, are the causes of our Good or Evil Destiny.  
Nothing so clearly shows us the ridiculous vanity of men, as that same pleasure which they take to be undeceived from popular Opinions; and yet at the same time they are undeceived, to deceive themselves after another manner. For certainly 'tis a great absurdity, to refer all Events to a Cause so irregular and blind as Fortune. But on the other side, it is as great an error to look upon Prudence as the insallible source of our Happiness, and the prosperity of Families, Commonwealths, and Empires; as we shall show in due place.  
To make it therefore evident, That the good Opinion which Men have of Prudence is ill grounded, we need no more then to examine the Nature of Men without prejudice, and consider that it is always full of distrust, timorousness, and uncertainty; which proceeds from the obscurity and inconstancy of the matter. For she has to do with Men, whose Hearts are impenetrable, and who are continually subject to change, thro' the lightness of their humour, thro' the succession of their passions, and the diversity of their interests. So that as Heraclitus assured us, that he could have no natural Knowledge, because the Object of the Sciences ought to be constant, but that Nature was in a perpetual motion, still gliding along like a stream, where we can never consider the water, because it passes away before we can well look upon it; so we may affirm in like manner, that Prudence can assure herself of nothing; seeing that Man is never in the same posture, but varies in his Disposition and Affections thro' an infinite number of Causes both internal and external.  
I admire with the rest of the world, the ways that Aristotle has discovered to facilitate persuasion by rousing the pasons that are predominant in men. In a word, it frequently happens, that Submissions will move the most inhuman and cruel to Pity and Compassion; that with Menaces we force the Timorous to yield; and that with Money we obtain our desires from persons uninteressed. But I cannot see, how Prudence can safely make use of these, no more then upon the Avarice of one in whom desire of Revenge upon his Enemy may be more powerful, at the very time that I promise myself to corrupt him with the offer of a large Sum.  
But a Person of vast Natural parts, who is of great experience, and who is otherways Learned, and completely read in History, Shall not he act with security? Yes; if he meet with subjects and occasions altogether like to those which he has seen or observed in History. But it is as rarely possible to meet with this Resemblance as to find out two Men of the same Complexion and Features. 'Tis no true Consequence in Physic, that a Medicine that has been given with success to that Choleric person will cure another. For Choler, says Galen, is not only different from all other Humours, but varies also from itself. And this difficulty to encounter subjects and occasions altogether alike, is the reason that Prudence and Physic are much indebted to Hazard; and that Prudent Men and wise and wary Physicians proceed with so much caution, and take so much care before they determine. How did uncertainties fill the Soul of Alexander with restless trouble and inquietude, the Night before the Battle of Arbela? So that we cannot imagine a greater confusion at Sea between contending Surges and mountainous Billows, when agitated by tempestuous Winds, then in the Breast and Soul of Alexander, where so many various thoughts and passions at that time struggled together.  
It is clear then, that Human Prudence is erroneous and uncertain, and that there is no secure reliance upon it for any true success or prosperity. But it is not enough to have shown, that it is unprositable, we must also prove it to be hurtful. Which is a Truth we may be easily convinced of, after we have freed ourselves of all manner of prejudice; if then we do but examine, whether Prudence does not frequently do much mischief, with her circumspection, her scruples, and her cautions. How many has she not perplexed? How many grand Affairs has she not caused to miscarry? How many Families has she not undone? How many great Fortunes have been made; how many Treaties have been advantageously concluded; how many Victories won, contrary to the Rules of Prudence? The Battle which Alexander won, not far from the Banks of Granicus, which made way for all his succeeding Renown, was it not looked upon by the Romans as a piece of Rashness, that deserved to be severely punished? And that River which, as I may so say, was the Cradle of his Glory, might it not as well have proved his Tomb? It is impossible for us to have other persuasions than these, when we remember, that the Enterprise of Lucullus against Tigranes attended with Victory and the Defeat of an hundred thousand men, was nevertheless both censured and blamed at Rome; when we remember, I say, that the Equity of that grave and judicious People did not think it a thing fit to applaud the daring Temerity of the General of an Army, because it had prospered; nor to approve a Success that had advanced the Glory of the Empire, since it was from a Cause that might have been its Ruin. If you would see an Example of a Battle lost thro' the Counsels of Military Prudence, and after all the care imaginable taken to secure the Victory, cast but an eye upon the Battle of Poitiers, and there behold King John inexorable, and haughtily refusing to the Prince of Wales the Peace which he sought with so much earnestness, and upon Conditions so advantageous; Doubtless, the Assurances which the King then had of Victory, were both probable and rational: For he found himself at the Head of four and fifty thousand Men, accompanied with his four Sons, the Duke of Orleans his Brother, two Marshals of France, five and twenty Dukes, Counts, and Great Lords, and all the Nobility of France; yet notwithstanding all this Force, he was defeated and taken Prisoner by the Prince; so weak at that time that he had scarce Ten thousand fight men in the Field, and those so ill provided with Victuals, that they had but for one day a scant remainder left; and so far advanced into the heart of the Kingdom, that to all outward appearance it was impossible for him to retreat. The Battles thus gained and lost contrary to all probable Expectation afford us frequent occasions to observe, that there is not in that same judgement which men make of Human Actions, a merit and solidity sufficient to weigh down the Balance; but that it is only their Success that has the power to advance their Fame. In a word, a Great Personage in their Opinion, is not He who is endued with all the Qualities of such an one, though he perform upon all occasions what ever becomes a Great Person; but they delay to form their judgements till Fortune has declared herself. And then it is, that they debase a Wise and Valiant Captain below the Vulgar sort, and extol a Successful Rash Commander for an Illustrious General.  
But this is that which deserves our Admiration, that after all the Earth has resounded with the noise of the Achievements of Famous Captains, and that all the World has applauded to Heaven Wonders of their Valour and their Prudence, God himself by the mouth of one of his Prophets thus instructs us, Learn where is Wisdom, learn where is Valour. Giving us thereby to understand, that it is only to his Wisdom and his Sovereign Power that all the Effects of their Valour and Prudence belong; and that the Force and Industry of men, avail no farther than 'tis His pleasure they should be serviceable. So that we may say to all these glorious Conquerors: It never would have been within your Power to subdue the Universe, had it not been Bequeathed ye from above. You are only the Ministers to execute the severe Decrees of God's Justice; and the Arms which he makes use of to punish the haughty Rebellion of Men. It is he, says the Scripture, who dispensing Fear as well as Victory, confounds with oversights and errors all your Enemies, and overturns whatever opposes your March. It is he that delivers your Adversaries into your hands, and revenges at length the public Violation of his Laws by the Ruin and utter Extirpation of your Opposers.  
— Verum Inclementia Divum  
Has evertit opes, sternitque à Culmine Trojam.  
The loss of the Battle of Pharsalia is a convincing proof of the Truth of this. Pompey had beaten Caesar at Dyrrachum; he had two great Armies in the Field; his Navy so strong, that it was supposed invincible. His Army at Land, much more numerous than Caesar's. His Cavalry the Flower of all the Roman Gentry, consisting of seven thousand Horse, whereas Caesar had no more than five thousand. His Infantry five and forty thousand strong; Caesars but two and twenty. Pompey abounded with Money and Provision; he had the Sea his Friend; all the Ports, all the strong Places, freedom to range every where, and the whole Country for his Retreat.  
On the other side, all the Cities shut their Gates against Caesar; he was reduced to that necessity, and in that dire want of Provisions, that he was forced to dislodge his Camp every day to find Victuals for his Men.  
Pompey's Army was encouraged by their Number, and the Grandeur of their Party. For all the Senators, all that were Illustrious by Descent, famous for their Merit, or considerable for their Power, had sided with Pompey. Insomuch, that Rome seemed to be removed to the Plains of Pharsalia, and Pompey's Pavilion looked like the Senate-House. More than all this, the Kings and Princes in Alliance with the Romans had all taken his part, Caesar so abandoned, that the Commanders and Officers of the Army which he brought out of Spain, daily deserted him. Lastly, Pompey seemed to be animated by the Justice of his Cause, which encouraged him to hope for the Protection of Heaven; besides, that he had the Prayers and good wishes of all the People. Whereas, Caesar was the object of the Curses and Hatred of all the World, as being looked upon as the odious Oppressor of the public Liberty. However, notwithstanding all these Advantages Pompey lost the Battle, and that after such an ignominious manner, that when we compare what he did, to what he ought to have done, to what other great Captains do, and to what himself had done, we hardly know him again, but are forced to seek in Pompey for Pompey the Great. For had he been the Great Pompey, Would he have taken a Fright at the very first Disorder of his Army? Would he have despaired as soon as ever he saw his Cavalry give ground? Or instead of putting a stop (with his Sword in his hand) to those that fled, as Caesar did at the Battle of Dyrrachum, Would he have retired to his Tent, and sat down there, without speaking so much as one word, as if he had been immovable, astonished, and Tunder-struck? Why did we not behold him in the midst of his Troops, like Alexander at the Battle of Arbela, when the Chariots of Darius, armed with Sythes, had broken and much endamaged his Cavalry, encouraging his Captains and Soldiers, rallying their disordered Ranks, returning first himself to the Charge, renewing the Fight by his Words and his Example too, and doing the Duty as well of a private Soldier as of a Commander? Why did he not fight on to the last, and receive whole flights of Arrows thro' his Breast, like Epaminondas at the Battle of Mantinaea, that if Valour could not overcome and force his Destiny, it might at least have served him to save his Honour. Doubtless he would not have failed in any of these Attempts; nay, he would have acted magnanimously in every one, had he been still himself. But he was no more the same Great Pompey, who at the Age of Four and twenty years Vanquished Domitius, with the Slaughter of twenty thousand of his men; and who in forty days reconquered Africa. This is no longer that Captain under whose Conduct the Roman Arms had been Victorious during so long a series of Years; and who, by the incredible number of his Achievements, had extended the Limits of the Empire, in Africa and Europe, as far as the Ocean; and in Asia, to the Provinces lying upon the Hyrcanean and Red Sea. This is a Person heartless, without judgement, careless of Glory; a slothful Spectator, and ignominious of the Ruin of his own Army; who when he saw the Victor enter his Camp, quitted his very Armour, and shifting himself into a Habit agreeable to his bad Fortune, betook himself to his Heels.  
True it is, that Caesar blamed Pompey for commanding his foremost Ranks to stay and receive the first Charge of the Enemiés; and attributed to that part of Pomp●y's Orders the Loss of the Battle. For, says he, a Great Captain ought never to deprive himself of the Advantages of the first Attacks, which are usually most vehement and vigorous.  
But the Justice of this Accusation does not so clearly appear: For if it be such an advantage to Assail the foremost Ranks, as Caesar alleges, it may be deemed as well no less a piece of Policy to ward off the first Blows, and then to fall in upon the Enemy, when their first fury is almost spent. He also censures Pompey for several other oversights, thro' that Ignorance of his, which only acknowledged Human Causes to be the Causes of Human Events.  
But the sudden change of Pompey's Fortunes, raises our Contemplations much higher, and instructs us more sublimely, That that same Dread which seized his Heart, where Fear never entered before, was a Divine Terror, a stroke from the Hand of the most Omnipotent, who frequently smites in this manner, to teach Great Captains, and Admirers of their Achievements, that Prosperity and their Victories are only the Effects of those Counsels and that Courage which He inspires into their Breasts; and that He, having the sole disposal of their Hearts in his Hands, bereaves 'em of their Strength and Resolution when he pleases; and when it is his pleasure to ruin and deliver them into their Enemy's hands, he has no more to do, but to withdraw his Assistance; and then the Valour, the Puissance, and the Industry of Men drop to the ground of themselves, as having lost their only support. There is no King, says the Oracle of the Holy Ghost, who is saved by the multitude of an Host. A mighty Man is not delivered by his Strength. And that same Managed Horse, in which a Warrior puts his Confidence, after many trials of Courage, and being preserved by the Generous Breast, shall fail him at last in his most pressing Necessities. If then the discouragement which frequently happens to the most famous Captains, be an evident Demonstration that God is the Arbiter and sovereign Disposer of the Success in War, the confusion and sudden eclipse of their transcending parts, is a much more palpable proof. For we find, that in the midst of all those means that are in their power to re-establish their Affairs, they have neither the Wit nor the Invention to make use of any one. Which blindness and oversight was apparent thro' the whole Conduct of Pompey: For when he might have ruined Caesar without the hazard of a Battle, and when he had at command so many means to prevent his own loss, or to have recovered and repaired the loss sustained, he had not the understanding to make use of any one.  
God is terrible, says the Sacred Writings, chiefly to the Kings of the Earth; whenever he pleases, he deprives them of their Understanding, and then they dream of making themselves formidable by the Puissance of their Arms, by the Number of their Chariots, by the Magnificence and Grandeur of their Equipage; but he that sits in Heaven, derides their Projects, makes Himself more formidable than they, and with a Word of his Indignation, dashes 'em to pieces, like Pots of Clay.  
Behold the Conduct which God observed in respect of Darius. This haughty Monarch was fully persuaded, that the innumerable Number of his People, the immense Riches which the Conjunction of two Empires furnished him withal, rendered his Puissance invincible. He looked upon Alexander as a rash and inconsiderate young man, a kind of Knight Adventure; and he had commanded his Guards to fetch him to Court both Fettered and Manacled. Nor did the Loss of the Battle of Issus diminish his Pride, nor had as yet made him change his Language; choosing rather to impute his Loss to his own Mistake, for Assailing the Enemy in the narrow Passages of the Cilician Mountains, then to Alexander's Valour; and assured himself of Victory, could he but draw the Grecians down into the Plain. But he had no sooner covered the Plains of Arbela with his Army of eight hundred thousand Men, when Alexander, whom God made use of to humble the Pride of that presumptuous Monarch, utterly defeated his numerous Host with a handful of Men, slew a hundred thousand of the Persians, and totally ruined in one day the most flourishing Empire in the World.  
This Example alone may suffice to convince Mankind, that the Advantages of Encamping, the ranging of Battalia's, the Multitude and Resolution of the Soldiers, and the Experience of the Generals, are not the only secure means for obtaining Victory; of which God alone is the sole Disposer; and who having at his own command the two contending Parties, delivers up the one into the hands of the other, as he pleases himself. Lest the Victors, saith the Lord, should be so blinded by their own vanity, to attribute to the Strength of their own Arms; and not to Me, the gaining of Conquest; and lest they should fond believe, that when they have vanquished their Enemies, it was some other Power than the Strength of my Sword, that threw 'em to the Ground, or other than my Terrors that discouraged their Hearts. I give that Confidence to one single Man to pursue a Thousand, and so two or three to put ten Thousand to flight.  
The Name of the Lord of Hosts, which God so frequently assumes to himself in Holy Scripture, wonderfully confirms all this to be a Truth. For since we cannot without Impiety believe, that he takes upon him any Name unjustly or undeservedly, it behoves us to be strongly persuaded, that while he declares himself the Lord of Hosts, He it is that is the Author of Victory to whom he pleases, and that he regulates the Successes of War according to the Laws of his Justice and Wisdom. So that however men may attribute all Events in War, both extraordinary and surprising, to Chance and Fortune, which they look upon as the blind Cause of all accidents both sudden and unexpected; yet both the one and the other are false judgements which the mistakes of men has brought forth; those Adventures seeming strange and odd, in regard of our Ignorance, not in respect of God's Providence, which governs all those Events and banishes all manner of hazard from the World. I shall conclude with the words of the learned Boetius, That the Care of Providence is so wise and universal, that it leaves nothing to the rash Power of Fortune.   

CHAP. II. SINCERITY.  
THere is not any Virtue which we may be tempted to believe more truly a Virtue than Sincerity; for there is not any that has more beautiful appearance. It is the most amiable and the most beneficial of all the Virtues that serve to bind and uphold Society. 'Tis the foundation of Trust and Assurance; 'tis the repose and security of intercourse. Without her we are of all particular and private Discourses as so many Traps and Snares; all the Designs which others communicate to us, we look upon as obstacles to our own; and all men with whom we converse as Enemies that may surprise us. Without her we converse and discourse together with as much fear as those who travel by Night upon the brink of Precipices.  
The real Cause of that Esteem which we have for Human Virtues proceeds from this, that we only consider their Functions; that is to say, that variety of Duties which men are enjoined to discharge; and because they never examine what those Ends are which they propose when they acquit themselves of those several Devoirs. Tho without the knowledge of those Ends, it is impossible judgement of their Virtues. When we see a Man, saith St. Austin, that never encroaches upon his Neighbour's Lands, and perpetually careful how he offers any prejudice to his Goods or Person, at first we are apt to think this man just. But we change our opinion, when we apprehend that this man abstains from invading his Neighbour's Estate for fear only of being prosecuted at Law, and lest he should consume his own in defending what he has violently taken from another.  
It is not so with a person of Sincerity. We give him that title so long as we find him to be cordial and openhearted, and that we may depend upon his word, because it is not in his power to disguise his thoughts. But when we have sounded him and perceive that he makes use of his Sincerity as a Veil to cover his Designs, and that his frankness is only a means to obtain his ends, our Ideas of the same person are then quite different.  
But what are the ends, or what the prospect of a Sincere man. The first is to oblige his Friends, and all those with whom he has any familiarity or dealing, to discourse sincerely with him, to conceal nothing from him, to the end he may understand the truth of their sentiments, their inclinations, and their affairs; as also to know the truth of what passes abroad, as accidents and stories the most secret and most full of curiosity; so that Curiosity is here the principal Cause of his Sincerity. Now in regard that this was the second Passion that sprung up in the heart of man, and that it succeeded next to that of inordinate Self-love, and had a considerable hare in his fall, doubtless this passion cannot but be extremely violent; and though her violence be unknown because not obvious to the sense, yet is it easy to perceive it by that eager desire which hurries us to gadd after Novelties, Shows, and new Acquaintance; especially where we hear of Wit and Beauty, or any thing of extraordinary parts. Let us apply this to our purpose, and let us say, that we may discover Curiosity to be a violent Passion, by our violent listening after public and private News, and by the pleasure which we take in hearing it; which is so great, that it is the most delightful employment of our Lives; insomuch, that this pleasure se●ms to be not only the divertisement, but the very nourishment of our thoughts; for we grow melancholy when we are in places barren of Tales and Stories, or if being retired into the Country our Friends in Town or at Court are negligent or forgetful to send us the weekly occurrences. We need not wonder then, if men that now adays live such a Life of Passion, labour with so much earnestness to gratify a Passion so lively and vehement as Curiosity; and that there are so many who make use of Sincerity as a Bait to allure their Friends to open their Hearts, and trust 'em with what is most proper for their satisfaction.  
We shall better apprehend, that there are several persons that are Sincere out of a respect to themselves, and to feed their Curiosity, when we consider, that most parts of Friendships are deceitful, and that the frequent ruptures (proceeding from the cold correspondencies which persons frank and openhearted find in their Friends) arise from hence, that they did not receive that Benefit from their Amity which they expected. I mean, that we are not absolutely offended that the Sincerity of our Friends is not equal to ours, but that their want of Sincerity deprives us of the knowledge of their Sentiments, their Designs, and their private Intelligences.  
The second pretence to Sincerity is upon this account, that men may tell 'em the Truth; which they desire not so much out of a Love of Truth, or any aversion to error or falsehood, but fearing the ignomy of being Deceived. For man at his first Creation reverenced Truth of that respect which he bore to God, and that he might live under Divine direction; and avoiding Error that lead him astray. But now he admires Truth for another reason, because it is an ornament to his mind, and suitable to his excellence above other Creatures, and hates Error and Delusion only because they are ignominious. Now we are sensible of this shame, when believing that we have for a long time enjoyed the friendship and confidence of such and such persons, we at length come to discover that we are abused, that they have all along disguised their Friendship, and concealed from us their most important affairs.  
In the third place men of Sincerity pretend to remove from themselves all suspicion of double dealing and knavery. For in regard they find, that Knavery ruins irreparably their Reputation, they conceive an extraordinary aversion to it, and look upon Sincerity as a Virtue proper to make 'em esteemed, and to fix 'em upon the Basis of true Honesty. They also hope to acquire the good will of all the world, by their frankness of proceeding, and by the sincerity of their words. Nor are they deceived, for upon the same score that they eat Falsehood and Dissimulation, they love and seek after persons of Sincerity; they also desire their preferment, and gladly serve 'em upon all occasions. For this is one thing which men of Sincerity aim at; as not being satisfied that their Sincerity begets them the esteem and friendship of men, unless they may be also serviceable to 'em in their particular affairs.  
Lastly, we make a profession of Sincerity to the end that others may have a firm belief in us, and may give credit to our words. For nothing flatters our Vanity so much, as that Authority which our Words have acquired thro' the good opinion which men have of our Sincerity. So that it is the principal endeavour men of Sincerity propose that are unbyass'd. And when they are nicely Ambitious, 'tis their only aim.  
We find at Court, even amongst those who are most addicted to Intrigue, several that counterfeit a sincere aspect, which they strive to make appear as natural as possibly they can, accommodating likewise to the sincerity of their Looks the tone of their Voice and gesture of their Body. They affect a free and open Countenance, and a genuine Behaviour, to gain Credit among those with whom they have to deal. This sort of formal Sincerity we find in Chief Ministers of State, in Ambassadors, in men of Business, and generally in public Persons. And so long as they are dextrous at it, it serves 'em to conceal their Designs, and is the reason that men believe and put a confidence in them; and it sets them at liberty to follow their Inclinations and their Interests contrary to their Oaths and Engagements, out of confidence that whatever they do will be always well interpreted.  
There is one sort of Sincerity that proceeds from the force of Self-love. This we meet with in persons downright and of mean capacities, who upon all occasions display the reality of their thoughts, not having the power nor the address to conceal them. So that whereas men of parts so speak and behave themselves, that they seem not to value their own Interests; these persons who enjoy nothing but what is natural, presently disclose the Interest that opens their Lips and sets 'em at work, in regard the violence of their Self-love discovers and betrays 'em.  
Besides these sorts of Sincerity, there is one sort more that follows the temper of the Body, which may be termed Natural Sincerity. For there are Virtues of Temperament (says Aristotle), that is, Dispositions and Inclinations to exercise certain Virtues. For as there are some persons born Courageous, others chaste, so there are others naturally Sincere, and such as put a real force upon themselves when they are constrained to dissemble. There are others altogether opposite to these, who can never away with frank and free discourse, but take a peculiar delight in practising Dissimulation. This kind of Disposition have I observed in several Persons, and particularly in some Women, who though very Loyal to their Husbands, yet were not at all Sincere to them.  
Sincerity then is an opening of the Heart, or a politic frankness that serves us to gain the esteem and friendship of Honest men; or a fear to be accounted a Cheat; or a natural inclination to speak what a man thinks; or a nice ambition that men should set an implicit value upon our words. Among the counterfeit Sincere, Sincerity is a refined piece of Knavery, and in them the sincere aspect is the least sincere.  
But Christian and virtuous Sincerity is not the effect of any Interest or Passion, not so much as of that Passion to be thought Sincere, and they that practise it pretend to aim at nothing more than Obedience to God, who forbids Dissimulation and double dealing; but to uphold union and a good correspondence among Men.   

CHAP. III. FRIENDSHIP.  
FRiendship is a rational Inclination, which abides in the person that gave it Birth. 'Tis the original of all the Happiness that is to be tasted in Life. Who can think Life itself alive, said the ancient Poet Ennius, without the sweet enjoyment of Friendship? Who can live without Friends, says Aristotle, though he enjoyed all other Felicities? If some Deity, says Cicero, should place us in a solitude, the most delightful and abounding in plenty, upon this hard condition, that we should have no Communication with any person whatsoever, would it not be impossible to lead a Life so ungrateful and wearisome? which proceeds from hence, that Man having an invincible inclination to expand himself beyond the bounds of any Confinement, becomes a troubte and burden to himself when he cannot gratify his passions by imparting them to others. Now in a Desert he would be deprived of that Consolation; nay he could not reap that benefit by Society itself; even they who live together in the same place, would live as it were in a Desert in the midst of Company, if their Hearts were not united, or that there were not an Internal tye and association one among another; which is the reason that Friendship, which causes the union of Hearts, is so highly valued and sought for by all the World.  
But this high price of Friendship, does not consist in the sole delight, in a strict and settled Correspondence between two Friends. There is yet a higher value to be set upon it, says Aristotle, because it is extremely beneficial. For it is profitable, says he, to all Ages and all Conditions. To Princes and Great Men, it is serviceable in the discharge of that Obligation, which chiefly belongs to their Quality, and to share some part of their wealth to those whom they honour with their Favour. She assists with her prudent Counsels those that are in Prosperity; and teaches 'em that great Secret how to avoid Envy. Poverty and all Calamities of Life look upon her as their Sanctuary. She moderates the transports of Youth by her wholesome Admonitions. She succours and comforrs old age; and they that are in● the vigour of their years reap considerable advantages from her aid For a man that has solid and virtuous Friends gains from their experiences, and fortifies himself by their example in the exercise of Virtue.  
Neither does Friendship confine herself to the profit and advantage of particular persons; she assumes to herself the establishing and raising of whole Families, and prides herself in being the source and original of the Grandeur and felicity of Empires. For which reason the most prudent Legislators, as Aristotle has observed, have taken more particular care to instruct their people how to preserve perpetual Friendship one among another, then to enact severe Laws to prevent the violation of Justice. For they saw well, than Friendship might surmount Justice; but that it was very improbable for Justice to overtop Friendship. In a word, wherever Concord reigns (which is the general Friendship of Fellow-Citizens) there is no need to fear the punishments of Injury and Injustice; for Friends will never wrong one another, but rathermutually study each others advantage. There is no need, I say, to fear that any Citizen will encroach upon his Neighbour's Estate, which Friendship has made his own; or that he will wound their reputation that is common with his own. The Concord of Citizens one among another is a powerful tye, which will not suffer any Interest to make a division; nor is the most rigorous Justice so sure a tye for the upholding and preserving of Order, as mutual Friendship.  
It is not so with Justice; which not having any predominance over the Heart of man, therefore cannot so dispose it that it shall never desire to do an Injury. Nay, though its authority be never so great, it cannot punish the Crimes of all sorts of People. For which reason Ana●harsis laughed at Solon's design, when he gave him a sight of the Laws which he had made for the Commonwealth of A●hens: Thinkst thou, said he, to curb with so weak a Rein the Malice and Violence of Men? knowst not, that Laws are like the Spider's Web, that catch the Flies, which the Hornets quickly snap asunder? Thus the Torments ordained for the punishment of Crimes, are for those persons that are miserable and without support, but the wealthy generally escape the rigour of the Law. Which is a Truth so well supported and confirmed by all the reason and experience of the world, that we cannot sufficiently applaud Aristotle, where he says, That Justice was introduced into Republics to supply and repair the defects and failings of Friedship.  
Let us now discourse of the Inclinations of Friendship, and consider how they are contrary to those of Flattery. The latter treacherous, mean, and byass'd, always creeps to Favour and Grandeur. The other Noble and Generous, loves the miserable, and signalises itself in misfortunes. She is kind to persons abandoned, comforts and cheers up the Heart oppresst with cares and secret anguish. And we should do her wrong not to place among the Virtues a Quality which comprehends and includes them all in one. Nor must we forget, that it was she who wrought those Miracles which Antiquity has consecrated to her Memory; that has famed Greece for persons obstinately resolved to die one for another; and celebrated Rome for Women abandoning their Lives that they might be inseparably united to their Husbands.  
We must acknowledge in good earnest, that there can nothing be more noble than what men say, and what they think concerning Friendship; only we could wish that it were real. But what is too true on the other side is this, that all the motions of Nature are Circular; they who have narrowly observed the Actions of men, assure us, that the momotions of his Will are the same; and that he is so fixed and devoted to himself, that every time he goes beyond himself to assist his Friends in their most pressing necessities, he returns to himself by some private way; And therefore, whatever men believe or imagine, that he serves another to be served himself; that he procures the settlement of others, to secure his own, or at least to reap the honour of his several Kindnesses." All sorts of Friendship, says Aristotle, are like so many Rivulets, that take their rise from the Spring of Self-love. So that that same Friendship which seems to us most pure, is but the seeking of some advantages which we hope to obtain by that kindness which we do to others. True it is, that it is a neat and dextrous way of seeking, and that of all the pretences of Self-love, that of Friendship is the most honest, and that which most genteel covers its farther intentions. For among all the various Disguises that man makes use of to succeed in the world, there is none so honourable, as when he strives and labours to appear a zealous and faithful Friend. And therefore we need not wonder if it be chiefly at the Court, where affected Friendship exposes itself; that there she erects her Theatre, and puts on all her gaudy Habiliments; And lastly, that there she acts her Masterpieces, and recites her smoothest and most affectionate parts; since it is there that they who take that course to attain their ends, make the greatest advantages and obtain the highest preferments.  
But if there be no true Friendship, wherefore is it, that Ministers of State and Favourites of Kings and Princes are so zealous to serve their absent and disgraced Friends? This Objection has taken deep root in the Breasts of most Men, and it is so much the more necessary to be answered, because the Reply will discover a kind of Mystery. I say then▪ that the good Offices which for the absent, and their diligence to make their advantages of favourable Conjunctures, are so far from being done out of pure kindness, that on the contrary they are the mee● effects of Interests. A great Minister of State testifies his Zeal for his absent Friend, and presses continually that he may be recalled home. 1. Because his friend having assisted him to obtain the Dignity he enjoys, that Minister had lost his Reputation, had he not given his Friend that public mark of his acknowledgement. 2. He does it for fear lest the King should have a bad Opinion of him, as having frequently thus considered with himself; What would the King think of me, should I be silent, and do nothing for him, who ha● done so much for me? 3. He has a design that his Friend should be yet more united to his Interest. 4. He is afraid of his Enmity, should he return, and he not be concerned in procuring it. 5. He has this prospect of the future, that so long as he had shown himself cordial to his Friend, he should find the like that would bestir themselves in his behalf, should it be his turn to fall into disgrace. And this is a certain Demonstration of what I assert, That a true crafty Courtier is never zealous for his absent Friends, but when he believes the King has still some remaining tenderness for 'em, but he never troubles himself for those that have utterly and irreparably lost the good Opinion of the Prince, and are irrecoverably fallen into his displeasure. With this sort of absent Friends, they soon break off all manner of Correspondence, and raze 'em from their remembrance, as if they never had been in the World, more miserable than the dead, who leave behind 'em many times those Friends that wish 'em alive again, that they might bestow upon 'em Employments and Offices, which they have at their disposal: Men being generally so courteous, so human and generous, that they are always ready to bestow their Favours upon those that are not in a condition to accept of their Kindness.  
After all that has been said, no Man will think it an irrational Astonishment, that so sublime an Intellect, as that of Cicero, should follow all the Vulgar Opinions, concerning this subject of Friendship; and that of all the true Arguments that prove there is not any true and unbyass'd Friendship, not one should be able to open his Eyes.  
'Tis strange, says Cicero, That seeing there are so many Millions of Men, all strictly bound by the same tie of nature, we shall hardly throughout the whole extent of the Earth, find two real Friends. But this can be no wonder to those who apprehend that Man is a Prisoner to himself, and that self-love is a kind of Waiter that attends him every time he stirs abroad, and brings him home again: For it is apparent, that Man being in such a condition is not capable of Friendship; seeing that by the means of Friendship, he ought to enter into his Friend, and remain in the person▪ whom he loves. 'Tis a shame, says Cicero, That a Command, an Employment, Money or Reputation, should have the power to ruin the most friendly contracted Friendships, and that two Men so strongly united and riveted together, should so easily become Rivals. And indeed it is no way proper, that a Man who wishes his Friend as well or better than himself, should be afflicted at the increase of his Wealth or Honour; nevertheless, it creates those Jealousies that rend his very Heart, and maugre all the violence which he uses to himself, they appear in his Countenance. And therefore it is false, that he wishes his Friend those advantages of Honour and Preferment, out of any sentiment of sincerity, as a votary for his Welfare. And this reason alone should be enough to dissipate that same darkness which blinds the World; force it to acknowledge, that Man is only amorous of himself. I cannot endure, says the same Author, That Men should make love to grow from Business and Interest, and that they ascribe so mean a birth to a quality so exalted; for what have I to do with Scipio, or wherein can I be serviceable to him? I shall answer his Question with another; For I would fain know, whether there be no more than one thing of which a man stands in need, whether it be not as necessary for him to acquire Honour, as to heap up Riches; and whether all things which he does not enjoy, and which are proper to satisfy his natural inclinations, are not so many Indigencies? But what are these wants and these interests that destroy those amities, which to us seem so sincere? that we shall see in due place: in the mean time, Cicero must give us leave to assure him (with Plato,) That Friendship had its birth from Indigence.  
To this we may add, That of all the Errors which Cicero has maintained upon this Subject, that is the absurdest which undertakes to prove, That Friendship not only equals the Fortunes of Friends, by laying their Estates in common, but also levels our Sentiments for them, with those that we have for ourselves. Insomuch, says he, That the Name of Friendship perishes, if the Affection for our Friends be not: as sincere, as great, as strong, and as tender, as that which we bear to ourselves: Whence it comes to pass, that we call a Friend our Other Self, and that we say, that two Persons linked together in Friendship, have but one Heart and one Will.  
But whatever these Proverbs signify, certain it is, says Aristotle, That there is nothing comes near the Friendship which we have for ourselves; and that it is both the beginning and the end of that which we have for others: therefore where a Man shares his Estate with his Friend, where he surrenders to him the Employment which he enjoys, where he gives him all the Honour that they have acquired together, upon the same occasion; when he retires and leaves to his Friend the entire Glory of an Illustrious Achievement: all these Acts, says the Philosopher, proceed from hence, that Man is still first a Friend to himself. For he does all these things with a real intent, that they should return to himself, since they all redound to his Satisfaction and his Honour.  
But how comes it to pass, that so many persons believe they serve their Friends, out of pure and sincere Love, and that they do not perceive, that they seek themselves in the Services which they render 'em? I answer, That we do not perceive what we do for ourselves, in what we do for others, because that the most part of the time, the motives that engage us to act, lie concealed in our Breasts; and we rather choose to persuade ourselves, that we act generously and bravely, then to study the knowledge of ourselves, or to inform ourselves of our secret intentions. For should we be taken up with these Cares, and frequently examine our own Hearts, they would soon discover the secret Springs that move us and govern our Actions, when we also be most regardless of Self-Interest, and would Demonstrate to us, that there is nothing so profitable or delightful to us, or that flatters our ostentation so much, as the very thing we seek for, when it seems to us, that we seek nothing at all.  
We must therefore acknowledge that Cicero had the true Idea of Friendship, and that he has given a most exact Definition of it, where he says, Than Friendship is the perfect Union of two virtuous Persons; and That it is an Affection reciprocal, constant, sincere and unbyass'd: and we would willingly have subscribed to his Opinion, if instead of saying, This is Friendship, he had said, This is that which Friendship ought to be. He also spoke much better than he thought he had, when he affirms Friendship to be a Divine Virtue, since it is no where to be found, but among men truly Divine; I mean among true Christians. For the Friendship which they profess one to another, having its Original from God, who always acts sincerely for the good of his Creatures, obliges 'em to procure the Advantages of their Friends, without any respect to themselves.  
As for the Arguments he brings to prove, that Men are capable of a real Friendship, they are extremely weak: But the most sinewy is this. We find, says he, That Virtue is amiable by our natural inclinations: For if a sane Constitution pleases us, if Riches and Honour have their allurements, how is it possible but that we should be smitten with Beauty and charms of Virtue? She it is that gives Life to Friendship, and renders her powerful and indissoluble; two virtuous persons no sooner cast an Eye one upon another, but they conceive a reciprocal Affection, so that there is no other ground of their Amity but their Merit; and as for Profit and Pleasure, which have no share in the production, they are only the pleasing fruits of the happy Conjunction.  
This is a specious Argument, and dazzles those that only slightly examine it. But they who more seriously pry into it, may easily discover the Fallacy: For 'tis apparent to all the World, that if there be no real Friendship, but what is founded upon Virtue, it is impossible that Virtue should stand when the Foundation is demolished, that is to say, if there be no sincere Virtue, which is the work of this Treatise to Demonstrate.  
Add to this, that though we should suppose there were Virtues real and sincere, yet would it not follow, that they were beloved for themselves, so long as it is so apparent, that no man tries Virtue, but only for his own interest; nor is it the uprightness of the Law which makes him love the just; but he has therefore a kindness for just persons, because they offer no violence either to his Estate or Honour. Besides that, we are to observe, That the most excellent Virtue, and most proper to beget Esteem and Honour, for those who enjoy those perfections of endowment, more frequenly awaken our Jealousy and our Envy.  
We shall see that Seneca is not much more to be admired then Cicero, when we hear him recount the wonders of Friendship. Friendship, says he, is so pure a thing, That neither the expectation of Wealth, nor ambition of Honour, nor prospect of any sort of Interest, contributes to its Birth. Wherefore then do we seek to make Friends? I would make Friends, to give 'em a share of my Estate, to accompany 'em in Exile, to suffer with 'em, the utmost rigour of their Misfortune: and I would make Friends to die for 'em, if there were occasion.  
Now I would beg of those that have never so little knowledge of the Heart of Man, if ever Friendship of this nature had beginning there, and whether it be possible for a man to raise the Platform of such a Friendship, for the sake of which he would ardently desire to despoil himself of his Estate, to sacrifice his Life, and take upon himself the ponderous weight of another man's Calamities. In good earnest, he must have a great tenderness for self-delusion, who admits such a Dream or Vision as this, for real Truth. And that which must convince us, That there never was any such Friendship in nature, but that it is only a Chimaera residing in the Imagination; is this, That if we should put the Question to Seneca, where any Friends are to be found, and where not; he would answer, That they crowd in throngs after Persons in Prosperity, but that there is not one to be seen near the Cells of the Disastrous.  
This same Truth, sufficient of itself to have defaced in Seneca's Thoughts, those amiable Ideas of the Purity and Excellency of Friendship which he had fancied to himself, deserves to be supported with some Examples. Among which, that of Queen Margaret is very Remarkable; She tells us, in her Memoirs, That being Arrested in her Apartment, as they carried her cross the Court of the Louvre; they, who the day before, thought themselves happy, if she but vouchsafed to cast a look upon 'em, no sooner perceived her, but they turned their backs upon her. And that which Strada relates of Charles the Fifth is no less Remarkable. He tells us how strangely that Emperor was Astonished, when entering into Spain, after he had made an absolute Resignation of his Empire, and all his other Dominions, he perceived, by the small number of persons of Quality that came to meet him, That how Glorious soever the Person of a Prince may seem, 'tis not that, but the flourishing Condition of their Fortune, which Courtiers adore. And then it was, saith the Historian, that Charles himself was deeply sensible, what it was to be a Prince, without either Sovereignty or Title, and that he saw himself stripped like a naked Man.  
Thus we have seen the Errors of Cicero and Seneca, touching Friendship; yet as absurd as they were, they are not to be compared with those of Montaigne; who, though a person of so much Sense and Solidity, has discoursed of Friendship like one in Delirium: And the reason why he has so grossly mistaken upon this Subject; is, the great Affection which he has for gay Imaginations, lofty and extraordinary Fancies; especially, when he finds in those Imaginations, that there is any thing that flatters him, and which makes for his Advantage. And hence it is, That after he has laughed at all those Ties and Obligations between several Persons; to which, he says, men give so rashly the name of Friendship, he maintains, That there are not only real Friendships, but such Friendships where Men forget all thoughts of Service and Kindness for all others, but only the Party beloved; where they so entirely abandon themselves to their Affection, that they do not reserve to themselves, so much as the disposal of their own Will: His words are these.  
Among us men, there is not any footsteps, of Friendship to be seen. All those sorts of Friendship, which Profit, Pleasure, Public or Private Business, have begot and cherished, cannot be said to be Friendships, in regard they intermix another End, another Cause and Benefit than themselves. Perfect Amity is indissoluble, every man surrenders himself up so entirely to his Friend, that there remains nothing for him to bestow elsewhere. He is perplexed that he has not several Souls and several Wills, that he might dispose of all to his Friend. This Friendship possesses the Soul, and governs her with an absolute Sovereignty: this Friendship which must be only and singular, defaces all other Obligations. The Secret which I have sworn not to discover to any other, I may without Perjury communicate to him, who is not another person, but myself: My Friendship with Stephen Boeotia, has no other Idea but itself, and has only reference and relation to myself. It hales and drags away my Will to plunge and lose itself in the Will of my Friend, and then searches his whole Will, it hales it back again to plunge and lose itself in mine, with an equal thirst and concurrence. In this sort of Friendship, every thing lies common, Will, Thoughts, Wives, Children, Honours and Estate. Then speaking in the same place concerning Blosius, the friend of Gracchus, who vowed he would have fired the Temple, had his Friend desired it; They, says he, who condemn the words of Blosius as Seditious, do not well understand the Mystery of Friendship: for they were greater Friends one to another, then to their fellow-Citizens, or to their Country.  
Can there be imagined a stranger blindness than this, to confound Friendship with Love, and to ascribe to a virtuous Inclination, the Injustices and Transportments of Passions the most violent? For than it is the part of Love to devote a man entirely to the person whom he loves, and to make him forget his Duty to God, his King, his Parents, and his Friends: for such is the fury of this Passion that it transverses Reason, whose proper office it is, to mark out to every man, and oblige him to the observance of all his Duties. This is the Employment of Reason so long as she reigns in the Body, and she is no less careful to preserve Man so steady, in the observation of Devoirs, that she never suffers him to violate the least particular; or that he should be wanting in his performances to God, to acquit himself of his Affection to the best or most faithful of his Friends; though he were beholding to him for his Life itself. And therefore what Montaigne affirms: That Frieuship has a Privilege to dispense with all Laws, and to render us innocently Impious, Sacrilegious and Infidels; is equally contradictory, both to Reason and Religion, which is apparent from hence, that the Pagan Theoligie teaches no such Doctrine, but rather the contrary, that we never ought to injure Piety, under pretence of satisfying the strictest Obligations of Friendship.  
As for that other Assertion of Montaigne, That the Secret which he has sworn never to reveal to another, he may without Perjury communicate to his Friend, who is not another but himself: it needs no answer, for what shall we say to a man, who by a childish piece of subtlety, and a pretty Equivocation, pretends to justify Perjury, and the violation of plighted Troth.  
Nor is it a less shame for that Author to extol to the Skies, those Roman Ladies, who choose rather to kill themselves and die with their Husbands, then to survive and follow 'em hereafter; more especially the Wi●e of the Consul, Cecinna Poetus, who to rescue her Husband from the Torments that were provided for him, and to encourage him to be his own Executioner after she had Stabbed her own Breast, presented him the Weapon, all bloody as it was, with these Words, Here Poetus, take it, it has done me no harm. I say it was not honourable in Montagne to attribute the effects of ambition to conjugal Friendship, as one that did not perceive, in the courageous Resolutions of Poetus and Seneca's Wives, to die with their Husbands, that immoderate desire of Praise wherewith the Romans were always inflamed: according to the Character which Virgil has given of 'em.  Laudumque immensa Cupido. 
Rather it behoved him to have given the same judgement of Arria, as the younger Pliny did, from whom he had the Story. Arria, said he, the Wife of Cecinna Poctus, taking the Dagger to kill herself, giving herself the Stab, had before her Eyes, the perpetuity of her Honour: And this is the general Reason of these sorts of Deaths, which we call Illustrious; for which some other particular Causes, are always also alleged. As the usual additional Reason, of these Lady's Self-murder, beside their vanity to Immortalize themselves, was their dread of being exposed to the indignities of an inhuman Tyrant, abandoned to his own Lusts. This same Dread it was that had a share in the Death of Arria; for she had reason to fear, lest the Emperor Claudius, so enraged as he was against those who had taken part with Scriboniances, should put her Husband to some cruel Death, and there make some further attempt upon her Honour. And it is as visible rhat Paulina had the same jealousies; for no sooner had Seneca her Husband received orders to die, but she offered to be his Companion in Death, and cut her own Veins at the same time that he opened his: Yet when Nero had assured her, that he had no enmity against her, but that he had a high value for her Virtue, and the Grandeur of her Descent, she suffered her Wounds to be bound up, and her Conjugal Amity permitted her to live.  
The Opinion of the World, says Tacitus was, That Paulina was desirous to have shared with her Husband, the Honour of a Death so magnanimously undergon, so long as she thought Nero's resentment would not stop there, but when the Tyrant had assured her, and that she hoped for better usage at his Hands then she expected, she easily surrendered to the persuasions of those that exhorted her to live.  
But Montaigns greatest shame is, That hardy Ignorance which emboldens him to reprove those that condemn the expressions of Blosius, who vowed he would have burnt the Capitol, had his Friend Gracchus desired it. These words which seem to him so wonderful, are however censured by Cicero, as the Expressions of a Villain: and to the end it may appear to have been deservedly done, I will confirm those words, with what Brutus said to the Romans. Tarquinus Collatinus, my Colleague in the Consulship, is my intimate Friend; but because the name of Tarquin is detested by you all, and for that it might raise a just suspicion of me, I advise ye to Depose him from the Consulship. If therefore we are oblged to Sacrifice the Particular Interests to the Public good; which, according to Aristotle, is a Celestial Good, what are we not obliged to do for the sake of God, or how can we believe, that human Considerations, should be more predominant, than our Reverence of his Temples? so that indeed it is a hard matter to apprehend, how a man in his Wits could imagine, that perfect Friendship was an engagement to commit any Crime, and justify the Act. Friendship, says Cicero, is a bad excuse for Miscarriages: for the first Law that it imposes upon Persons, when first united, is neither to require or act any thing to wound the justice of the Laws. Common sense would have taught Montaign this sound Doctrine, had he not affected a particular Philosophy by himself; or, rather had not his Judgement been perverted by his Vanity: and indeed it appears, That all his Hyperbolical, yet weak and sickly Discourse concerning Friendship, proceeded from hence, that he had an i●ching desire to let the World know what rare Qualities he was endowed withal, and that he was capable of a sort of Friendship not to be paralleled by any Example.  
True it is, That although it be impossible that his Friendship with Stephen of Boetia, should be such as he represents it; nevertheless, we find and agree, that it was no common Amity, but such a one, that we may do him justice, as aught to be ranked with that of Pliny the younger, and Corellius, or Cicero and Scipio; that is, among those Friendships that are contracted without any design to advantage our Estates, and which is not to be found, but among persons of Worth and Merit, whom the Vulgar believe to be unbyass'd. However, they are not so; in regard there is no greater profit, or which they whose Interests are nice and delicate, more passionately desire, than what men of surpassing parts (when linked together in Friendship) reap from the conversation of each other. For that which engages 'em in this sort of Friendship, is the eager desire which they have to be esteemed by a person, whom all the World admire, and to find in a Friend a competent judge of his Worth. I have lost Corellius, said Pliny the younger, and I bemoan his loss, for the love of myself, as having lost a worthy Testimony of my Life and Conversation. Scipio, said Cicero, was touched with that Love which I had for Virtue, and I was an admirer of his. Therefore to define aright the Friendship of two men, both endued with extraordinary Qualities; it is a certain League which they make one with another reciprocally to observe whatever is valuable in each, and to esteem each other according to their deserts.  
Ordinary Friendships are civil intercourses, of which we expect to make several Advantages, correspondent to our different pretensions, or to say better, to our different Passions: So that our Passions are the visible causes of all the Friendships which we contract. Seeing then our desire of Wealth, is a Passion most vigorous and impatient; and that there are a number of people, who have either no Estates at all, or not sufficient to support their Quality: hence it comes to pass, that Interest is the occasion of all our ties and Friendships; hence it comes to pass, that men fasten themselves upon Kings, their Favourites and Ministers, make use of all manner of advantages, and take upon 'em all manner of shapes, to persuade them into a belief, how much they are devoted to their Service. This is the reason that men crowed in heaps to the Courts and Palaces of great Personages, as men run to the Public Springs; for according to the saying of Euripides, When the Earth is parched with Drowth, than it most earnestly covets Rain.  
The Passion of pleasure associates and links young People together; and because they do not always find it in one place, by reason of the several obstacles which they meet with, and for that they frequently take distaste, and grow weary, they often change Friends, as Aristotle has observed.  
There is also a concealed Ambition, which is a third cause of Friendship. This we meet with in a sort of people, who devote all their time, and make it their sole business to attend upon some person in high Employment, whose favour and approbation renders 'em considerable in the World.  
There is another sort of Ambition more easy to be discovered, and more common, which engages several people to signalise themselves in all the affairs of their Friends, on pupose to make a noise in the World, and to put a value upon their Friendship.  
But Men are not only deluded by their Passions, which are the occasion many times, that they consider themselves, and secretly seek their own profit, when they think to serve their Friends, after a manner seemingly▪ altogether void of Interest. They are also absurd by their dispositions, and the qualities of their temper, which some mistake for real Inclinations and Qualities of Friendship. For the Cholerie, who act altogether violently, imagine, that when they defend their Enemies, with so much heat, it is their zeal which inflames their friendship, whereas it is their natural warmth and impetuosity that chaffs and transports 'em. The Melancholic believe they love th●se whom they affect, merely out of a capricious and obstinate choice. Women mistake the softness of their Complexion, for the tenderness of their Friendship. The Sanguine persuade themselves to be more than ordinary Friends, by reason they are naturally of a caressing and pleasant humour, which always inclines 'em to an obliging Conversation in Society, and a readiness to do kindnesses. Hence it is, that men can never agree upon the Subject of Friendship, and that they form so many different Ideas of it: For in regard that most people derive it from their temperament, and has its Birth from the particular humour that predominates in the person, it is impossible that all men should conceive and be sensible of Friendship after one and the same manner.  
Hence it is, that the Choleric, whose Friendship, is fiery and full of transport, torment themselves, cry out and make a noise upon the misfortunes of their Friends: whereas they who are of soft and mild disposition, in the Comedy of Friendship, act only the part of Lamentation and Complaint, and sometimes think it sufficient to testify their grief, by the sadness of their Countenances and their Silence. And for the same reason it is, That these two sorts of Friends, disprove and accuse one another; the mild and peaceable Friend not being able to apprehend, how Friendship should consist in making a noise, and the impetuous no way approving a still and quiet Amity.  
There are some Friendships which Men contract, only to obtain others, more profitable and advantageous, or to preserve or re-kindle those that begin to grow old; for the World is so judicious, and governs itself so strongly by reason, that they who desire success in their designs, are constrained to raise themselves as it were, by certain Engines, and to maintain their ground by all sorts of Artifices: and the way which the honester sort have recourse, is to fix themselves with the one, by means of others, and dextrously to make it known, that they are the Confidents of such a Princess, or that they have access to such and such persons of Quality, that they may have admission to the Chief Ministers of State.  
Here we must add to what has been already said, that men are not only false when they assure us, that they love their Friends with a true Sincerity, or feign to love those for whom they have no affection; but also when they would make the world believe, that they have a great number of Friends. Which I take upon me to affirm, because there are a sort of people who being suffered at Court, yet neither valued nor beloved, are still vaunting the great number of their Friends; so that when any person of Quality dies, they make a show of being deeply afflicted, and bewail their loss.  
Before I finish this Discourse, it behoves me to answer an objection that seems to carry somewhat of weight. I mean that proof of Friendship so remarkable in Pylades and Orestes, Damon and Pythias, so obstinately resolved to lay down their Lives the one for the other.  
We shall not go about to lessen this proof, as we might do, by alleging the uncertainty of these examples, of which the first is no where supported by the testimony of any Historian: Nor shall I urge, the rareness of the example, that we meet with only these two; in regard we may well grant, that there has been a person in the world who offered to lay down his Life, nay more that he suffered Death for his Friend, without departing from our first Assertion, That there is no sincere and cordial Amity. For we still maintain, that a man may seem to lay down his own to preserve his Friend's Life, and yet that he suffers rather for his own Honour; that is, to purchase to himself a kind of Glory, which is to him so much the more charming, as being an act to be talked of altogether rare and singular. There are some people, says Aristotle, who rather choose to perform one noble and generous Act, than many that are frequent and usual. Such are they who choose to die for their Friends. Now if it be a difficult thing to apprehend how a man can possibly resolve to suffer Death, and consent to his own destruction, for the love of himself, we need no more than call to mind several who and have killed themselves to be recorded by Posterity for men of unparallelled courage and resolution. We may also consider, that this difficulty of conceiving such a Resolv'dness in Man, proceeds from hence, that we frame our argument of a sick person, as if we were discoursing of a person in sound health. For Ambition being one of the most violent Distempers in men, we must know, that it is able to alter his Condition, to deprave his Appetite, and make him more desirous of that immortal Honour that attends a Great Action, then of long Life.  
And by the same rule we are to judge of that noble proof of so great and so unusual a piece of Friendship which Socrates gave to Alcibiades, when he surrendered to him the Honour of the Victory which he won in Macedon. And we may believe, upon good grounds, that Socrates foresaw, that Honour which he gave to Alcibiad●s would return to him with a much brighter lustre; and that his nice and delicate Ambition would better relish the Merit of a great Action which was without example, than the Honour of winning a Battle.  
Let us then with Aristotle, resolve our Friendships into Self-Love, as to their proper original; that it is riveted in the hearts of all men; and that the difference between ordinary Friendships and those between persons of Worth is only this, that they are more refined and concealed in the one, and more visible and unpolished in the other. Let us acknowledge and sincerely c●n●ess, that when we resolve to do some particular act of kindness for our best Friend, it proceeds from a thought, that upon some occasion which we foresee, we shall have need of him; or that he will be more careful in displeasing us, or more diligent to keep us Company. Let us confess, I say, that these motives, and some others of the same nature, present themselves to our minds, and share in all our designs and resolutions to oblige those that we respect and love. But if after all that we have thus demonstratively discoursed upon this subject, there be any persons who flatter themselves, that their sentiments are more sincere than those of other men, and that their Friendship is exempt from all sort of Interest, we desire them but to reflect upon the Accidents that happen to most men in the course of Human Life, and then how undeniably they prove, that there is no sincere or real Friendship; Not only our Misfortunes and our Business render them unfaithful, and discover to us what they are, but we also find by woeful experience, that the saying of Socrates was not without reason, when he affirmed, That a Man is never more at a loss then when he is obliged to give an account of his Friends.  
Therefore true and solid Friendship is nothing else but that same Charity which unites two persons together to assist each other in the Service of God and maintaining his Glory. If Cicero believed there were very few Friendships clear from Interest, we may with much more reason aver, that there are fewer Christian Amity's; or rather, that they are so rare that we can hardly find one in an Age. And I am the more positive in this assertion, because that though they seem frequent enough in the imagination of those that make a profession of Piety, yet the greatest part of such people too easily persuade themselves that their Friendships are grounded upon Virtue, when they are only grounded upon Nature, and receive their Birth from Human Sympathies and corresponding Tempers. But most assuredly we shall be astonished when the Day of the Lord shall come, and the lustre of his grand Appearance shall disperse the night and darkness from the Hearts of Men, and discover the secret foundations of Friendship, which Men now esteem so Holy, and maintain in so profound a repose. The Heavens, saith Job, which seem to be so clear and full of Brightness, are not pure in the sight of God, nor are the Stars themselves without Sports. And therefore the reason we have to fear, that Men seek after human satisfactions in virtuous Friendships, is this, because they who are looked upon by the greatest part of the world as Holy Men, have very few Friends, Correspondencies, or Interests; and for that they cannot approve in most people of worth their particular obligations to Women; believing that the person that binds himself to a Woman, and devotes all his Services to her, how regular soever he may be in his Life and Conversation, is altogether swayed by some secret Ambition, if it be not of the number of those that are cherished by Diligence and Confidence.  
Could we discover what lies concealed in the folds of man's heart, we should find in the breast of the most prudent and pious, sentiments altogether strange and surprising. We should find a great number of Amours turned into Friendship; others into Zeal for the good of the Soul; others covered with a pretence of Kindred; we should find Amours intermixed with Ambition, and several other sorts of such like Amours, which we could easily discover, were it proper to dive into that subject.   

CHAP. IV. CONFIDENCE.  
HE that should deprive a man of all the Kindnesses which he receives from his Imagination, and should only leave him those which he really enjoyed, would render him miserable the greatest part of his time, or would at least abridge him of a considerable share of his Felicity. They who doubt of the truth of this, let them but pursue him through the whole course of his Life; and they shall find him frequently pensive in the midst of Wealth and Graudeur; which are the Felicities which he passionately desires, and which he labours after with so much care and trouble, and therefore they are only his Conceits and his Visions that occasion his Happiness and chiefest Delight.  
What greater proof of this can we desire then what may be drawn from a sort of people which we see at Court, who pride themselves in nothing more than in being the Confidents of Princes and of Ministers of State, and all that make a figure in the World; and who are transported with joy every time they bethink themselves, that persons of this Rank and that Quality, have picked 'em out of a great number of other persons, and made choice of them to be the trusties of their Secrets; And this Confidence swells up their Hearts, because they look upon it as an undeniable proof of their Merit, and as a mark of the Friendship and Esteem which those Grandees have for them. Nevertheless it is most certain, that those Grandees that put their Confidence in them, have no design to oblige them by their Confidence, but only that either weakness, pleasure, vanity, or necessity are the real causes of that Reliance.  
Necessity is the visible cause of the great Reliances wherewith the person confided in believe themselves honoured; and such a man has but little reason to think himself happy therein, or to have a just occasion of boasting. But the general causes of Reliance are, the fear of disquieting and grieving ourselves, the allurements of Novelty, and our natural proneness to Communication. And these causes dispose us in such a manner to open our hearts and rely one upon another, that the smallest occasions are many times the most inevitable snares to those who are reckoned in the number of the wisest and most reserved. Insomuch, that two or three days travel together, or a short converse in the Country, have a strange power to open their Lips, and disclose the secrets of their Hearts.  
There is a sort of Confidence, of which the cause seems to be altogether strange, and wherein the persons themselves confiding have no share: But to give the Idea of it, we must observe, that there are a sort of people who have the Gift to make others Talk. This is a particular Talon, and sufficient to introduce a man into Court, and to prefer him to the good Opinion of persons of the best Quality. But they who have this, and are unprovided of all the rest, are forced to take a great deal of pains, and yet are frequently nonplused and put to the foil. For in regard that they are not endowed with Qualities agreeable, and that they are not able to gain the goodwill and favour of persons of high Condition to whom they make their Addresses, they are constrained to employ their utmost industry, and to make use of all manner of artifices and devices to insinuate themselves into their Confidence. So that whereas other persons that are in good esteem and acceptable whenever they come, think it sufficient to make their Visits at convenient times; The others never stir from their Houses, follow 'em, observe 'em and attend 'em all day long, to take the advantage of every moment that they find 'em alone; and by all the obsequious Oratory both of Looks and Gesture to oblige the Grandee to vouchsafe 'em a word of his mouth. And this is the first Act of the Comedy. After which they begin several general discourses, to engage the Grandee to speak. But if none of those trains will take, than it is that they fall upon subjects wherein they know the Great Personage to be concerned; as the Disgrace of his Enemies, and the Fall of those great Officers who have obstructed his Fortunes at Court; or some other piece of news that he believes will nearly concern him; and then he opens his Heart, and perhaps talks more than he would have done at another time. Therefore they have no reason to look upon themselves as men of any great Importance; for it is not out of a desire to please them, or to do justice to their merit, that they are thus entrusted with the secret thoughts of great men, but only to discharge themselves of their present cares or transports of joy, which they cannot contain within themselves: So that they never make any reckoning of the secrecy of such people but for their private occasions.  
True it is, those great Personages are kind to the people in whom they repose such a Confidence, out of respect to the necessity which they have of them; but they value them no farther than they have occasion for their seeming fidelity; And therefore there are no sorts of Confidents that men manage with more care, than such as may become their Accusers, or injure their reputation, or put a stop to their affairs. Which is apparent from hence, that bad Subjects who have been designing against the Government, have always born a respect for those to whom they have been forced to communicate their Intrigues, and that they are much more kind to their Domestics where they have been constrained to hold their secret Meetings, and who have testimonies of their private Conferences: Therefore says Juvenal, 
Quis nunc diligitur nisi Cons●ius, & cui fervens  
Aestuat accultis animus, semperque tacendis?  
Carus erit Verri, qui Verrem tempore quo vult  
Accusare potest.  So that if the Causes of Dependencies procure contempt and disesteem, the very Subject of these Reliances must be much more contemptible. For what is it that men talk with so much caution, and recommend to the Bosom of their Confident, but certain vain stories which the world calls Affairs? What is it that men that have the best intelligence are so impatient to communicate to their most intimate Friends? Either that there has been a new Quarrel between two prime Ministers that have always had a peek one at another; That a Courtier who expected some great Preferment at Court, would be strangely surprised to hear, that the King had declared himself in favour of another person; That there has been a discovery made of a Ladies Intrigue, who was always looked upon as a person of great virtue and reservedness. Can there be any thing more frivolous than such stories as these, or less able to satisfy the curiosity, I will not say of a Christian, but of a person never so meanly capacitated?  
But if those Trusts which we repose in men are to be blamed, because they are frivolous and dangerous, what shall we think of the false Confidences and Reliances of those that are engaged in the Intrigues of Courts, reciprocally to discover or conceal their Designs; to raise in one another Distrusts of their best Friends, wherein they have no other aim but to deceive each other?  
The only Confidence therefore most worthy of applause, is that when laying all Trifles aside, we discourse of that which is only profitable for our Salvation; and instead of deriding and sporting at the miscarriages and defaults of others, we humbly acknowledge our own, and study real Reformation and Amendment.   

CHAP. V. COMPLAISANCE.  
THey who consider complaisant Persons, how they seem to forget themselves, on purpose to sympathise with the humours of other men, make use of Complaisance as a powerful Argument to show the falsehood of that Maxim, That Self-Love is the Fountain of all Virtues purely Human. For, say they, how can Complaisance derive its original from Self-Love that rises out of its Destruction, and as it were Built upon its Ruins? But after serious Consideration we shall find, that although Complaisance appears so opposite to the inclinations of Self-Love, and seems to sacrifice it every hour, yet she serves it with an entire Fidelity, and is more beneficial to it than all the most excelling parts and rarest qualities of men. Complaisance is a Quality very common and ordinary; yet very proper to bring about the designs of the most Ambitious; in somuch that frequently it proves a most apparent piece of Fraud, and yet always pleasing and agreeable; a Snare which all the world perceives, and yet catches the most ●●fin'd and subtle Politicians. So that we may say to Complaisance what the Marshal D'Ancre said to one of his Flatterers,  
Tu m' aduli, ma tu mi paci,  
Thou Flatters, yet thou Pleases me.  
But the Complaisance which Men always observe to great Personages, in never opposing their Wills; but humouring 'em without contradiction, is a Flattery in Action much more delicate and pleasing then that of Words; For they who conform themselves to all the humours of the person observed, seem perpetually to encourage 'em, andpprove whatever they say or do. Which sort of Complaisance in time brings great effects to pass; as being that which seems to hold a correspondence with Self-Love, and to apprehend its real Intentions that we should please her in all things.  
There is also a Politic and Preventive sort of Complaisance; which I call so, in regard that by means of this preventive Complaisance we approve the sentiments of those whom we desire to please, before they have declared their thoughts; which we meet with in persons grown old in Court Services, and that are also men of piercing and judicious understandings. Which being joined with their experience, give 'em a quick apprehension how the Prince, his Favourite, or his prime Minister are inclined upon all occasions and affairs that present themselves; so that they can easily foresee and divine where their determinations will stop; which they no sooner dived into, but they presently propound the very way which they foresee he intends to take; which pleases him beyond all the praises and commendations that could have been attributed to him. This clearsighted Complaisance is of so high a value, and so beneficial, that when it is in absolute perfection, it is sufficient of itself to make a complete Courtier, and to advance his Fortune above his expectations or his very wishes.  
There is another sort of Complaisance, generally very displeasing, of which they that make a profession speak well of all sorts of people, and excuse the proceedings and actions of men for which no excuse can be given. This sort of Complaisant persons signalise themselves when they extenuate the faults of their Friends. And some of them will carry their Complaisance to that degree, that they cannot endure that any great Personage for whom they have an esteem should fail of any Quality, not so much as of those that are no way necessary for so great a Man, and which are many times as little becoming their Grandeur and Condition. There was formerly one of these Complaisants at Court, a very honest Gentleman, but so great an Admirer of a certain Nobleman (whose Valour was no way inferior to that of the most celebrated Captains in ancient times) that he could not endure to have him denied to have an excellent Voice, a Quality so little conducing to the Ornament of a great Commander, that it is rather in the number of those that might redound to his injury, especially when overvalued for it. Art not thou ashamed to Sing so well, said Philip to Alexander?  
There is another sort of Complaisance which is both unworthy and criminal; When certain vicious persons are so devoted to their Friends, and persons on whom they depend, that they applaud whatever they do, and are always ready to act whatever they command; with this difference however, that some of them excuse the unjust humours of their Friends, their Masters or Superiors, because it is not in their power to resist them; whereas others make it their whole business to encourage them in all manner of Violences and Injustice, and sacrifice their Honour and their Consciences to those from whom they hope to receive Kindnesses.  
There is another sort of Complacence that is not only a trouble but a torment to a man; which we meet with in several people, who sticking like Burrs to some great Lord, follow him like his shadow, and pry so narrowly into his very intentions, that they be able to forestall him, and not leave him to himself in any thing; that is, that would have the objects of their Respects to be without action or motion, like that of Idols, only that they should be thought to be complaisant and agreeable by being troublesome.  
There is also an honest sort of Complaisance in those who preserve their Digni●y, and are not always complaisant; in regard their Affections not being entirely enslaved, they cannot consent to constrain and betray their own sentiments; or rather many times because the quickness of their parts is such, that they sinned how Complaisance loses all its virtue so soon as it is discovered, which it can never be, unless it be too profuse in officiousness.  
There is yet another sort of Complaisant persons altogether opposite to those already mentioned, who will stoop to a thousand base actions to compass their ends; they will take upon 'em the meanest errands and lowest Offices that a great Person will vouchsafe to require at their Hands, even to perform the Duty of Servants and Lackeys. This sort of Complaisance, that deserves only the reward of contempt, is not always unprofitable however; for though they are despised by those that employ them, yet they fail not sometime to partake of their Favours.  
By what has been said, it is easy to see ' that Interest is the Soul of Complaisance ' and that it disposes of a man so absolutely, that let him be never so proud and haughty, it makes him the cringing Adorer and Slave of Greatness and Splendour. But though it be the most usual, yet it is not the only cause of Complaisance; for there are some Complaisant persons, who pretend to no more than to be estenmed and respected in the Society where they live; and others merely to gratify their natural humour and inclination. Which l●●ter sort of Complaisance is the most 〈◊〉 and secure; the rest all change according to the fortune that attends the object. He that lately cringed before a Favourite, when he finds him declining, makes no more reckoning of him, but treats him then like another man. He that studied to please those persons that made up the Society of which he was a Member, leaves them and knows them no longer, when the allurement of a Novelty has carried him into another. So that there are none who are of a humour truly Complaisant, but those who are always so.  
All Human Complacency is without merit, or vicious in its original. Only Christian Complacency is truly virtuous: First, because it is only thorough the motions of Charity that Christians withstand that almost invincible proneness to follow their own Will, to act according to the sense and judgement of others. And secondly, because that among all the marks of their mutual Complacency, there never was any one that contradicted in the least the Law of God.   

CHAP. VI CIVILITY.  
THE Jurisdiction of Justice is confined within those narrow limits, that though she be supreme and renders herself formidable by those punishments which she prepares for those that dare presume to violate her Laws, she is not able nevertheless to terrify the wicked, nor prevent the irregularities of men, in regard the Crimes which they conceal in their Breasts, and those that never come to knowledge escape her Rigour; and for that there are a million of Errors committed every day which come not within the compass of the Law. Virtue has a jurisdiction of a far larger extent: For besides that wicked contrivances are no sooner conceived in the Soul, but she punishes them by the remorse of Conscience; she generally regulates all the external actions of Man in such a manner, that she will not suffer any one in the least contrary to Reason.  
And thus we see, that perfect Virtue is not only contented to furnish man with the knowledge and sentiments of what he is to do in the particular exercise of a regular Life in private; but she instructs him how to demean himself also in respect of others. She also teaches him to know the particular obligations wherein he is bound by the Tie of Society; such as are those of observing the Rules of Justice in Commerce: And also those which men believe to be less important, such are the obligations upon all men living together, to honour and mutually to esteem one another.  
'Tis to the exercise of these Duti●● that Virtue incites us under the name of Civility. 'Tis true, that Christian Ver●ue obliges us by motives much ●ore solid and exalted then are those that Human Virtue proposes to us. For she instructs us, that since God has appointed Men to live together in Society, and that he himself has assembled them together; it is his pleasure, that they should reverence the League that unites them together by his Command; and that they should carefully avoid all those occasions that usually cause the breaches of it. And therefore it is, that he so often in the Sacred Writings recommends the preservation of Concord one among another, to do no Injury, to bear one with another, to Love one another, and to be always ready to pay mutual Honour and Civility, without expecting Retaliation. For the frequent violation of these Precepts is the most usual source of Hatred and Quarrels. The reason is, because that men through the violence of Self-Love desire always to live free from Injury, and look upon it as a mischief insupportable to be Contemned or Disrespected: Insomuch, that if they be not Visited, if Men refuse to Salute 'em, or to speak to them with Respect and Esteem, they grow presently angry and incensed against those that so treat them with scorn and indifferency; And this same impatience transforming itself into aversion, estranges and disunites the affections of Men.  
As for those motives that govern those who discharge the Duties of Civility out of designs purely Human, which rules the chiefest part of persons of Quality, is no other than a desire to be accounted such as have been virtuously educated, that they are men of Breeding and polished Behaviour. Therefore it is that they inform themselves with so much curiosity of the Birth and Qualities of every person, though never so little known, to the end they may not mistake in paying those Civilities that are proportionable to their Condition and their Merit.  
Among the rest of Men, Civility is sometimes a fear of being otherwise looked upon as savage Brutes, or men incapable of Discipline; but more frequently, it is fear of prejudice occasioned by Incivility. For as we gain the Hearts of those with whom we converse, by testifying a value for their persons; so we provoke and irritate their ill will by slighting their Company. Hence it comes to pass, that we find so many men irregular in their Manners, unjust and unfaithful, yet very exact in the exercise of Civility; because they perceive that men transgress against Civility with less impunity than they that offend against the Laws of Temperance, Fidelity, and Justice. For seeing that amongst all the offences committed against the Persons of Men, there is not one which he more keenly resents then that of Contempt; he conceives such a mortal aversion against those that pay him not those Honours which the common Custom of the world requires, that it is impossible for him to have any favourable sentiments for those people. So that whenever he is constrained to allow them those praises which he cannot refuse their persons, he always intermixes some malignant character of their failings.  
Vanity has also a great share in the Civility of Women: For they are overjoyed to be obliged to visit their Friends, and congratulate their prosperity upon any occasion; hoping there to meet with store of Company, where they may display their Beauty, the Riches of their Habit, and exactness of their Dress.  
Lastly, Custom and want of Employment contribute much to the Civility of most people. Idleness, because that having nothing to do, they are glad to go a visiting where they may spend their time with some satisfaction. Custom, because it draws after it all the world; and for that an infinite number of people go whither their obligations engage 'em, not as being led and guided by the persuasion of Reason, but to go where they see others go before.  
Hence it is easy to conclude, that persons civil, honest, and careful, which we find so obliging, whom we commend, and in whom the World is so well satisfied, seek only themselves and their own satisfaction in all that they pretend to do to oblige others, and by consequence, that Civility which has no other principles than those which actuate the generality of the world, is a deceitful Virtue.   

CHAP. VII. OFFICIOUS VIRTUE.  
I Cannot endure, said Zeno, those Philosophers that place a swarm of Virtues in the Soul; for since we do not divide the sound Disposition of the Body to make several sorts of Health, why should we make several Virtues of the good Disposition of the Soul.  
This Philosopher would have been much more offended had he known all the Virtues which Interest has made; or had he observed, that in all the numerous Families in the world, especially those of Great Personages, there are several persons that exercise a certain Virtue of a particular Nature, which we may call Officious Virtue. For they do visibly perplex themselves to have a share in the repose of their Confidence, they only pretend to be near their Persons for their Servants, to excuse their Faults, and commend their faithful Services.  
But though these persons that enjoy the Favour of Great Men, seem no way desirous to make any other use of their Favour, but only to render it beneficial to their Servants; yet are they not without three very great concealed pretences: The first is, to stifle the Envy that always attends upon such as are in prosperity; which is a frivolous design, and without any ground. For there is nothing so difficult as to cure those that are tormented with that passion; so that all we can do is to prevent their open murmuring and venting their displeasure. For all Advancements kindle and provoke Envy, and when she is once raised, let the conduct of Favourites be never so prudent and obliging, it is never able to appease it.  
Their second pretence is, they are paid in the same instances of Civility. Which is a very idle pretence, and prooceeds from the little knowledge which they have of the Inclinations of man. For there is a natural malignity which can never be rooted out of the heart; which is the reason that he cannot be disposed to be really favourable and kind to those that use him well. So that if men are so opposite one to another, we labour in vain to engage any to be sincere to our Interests. For by what art can a person who stands right in the good opinion of his Prince, so order and manage the Dispositions of all his Dependants, that they shall every one support him, when they find an opportunity to advance themselves to his prejudice?  
But the principal and most usual pretention is, for the procuring of mutual Favours, to serve them with the same zeal when their own concernments come upon the stage. For they who have the Favour of great Men, generally propose by others the scope of their desires, to sound and discover their dispositions, or because their Modesty will not permit them to speak boldly for themselves. But this last pretence is no less frivolous than the rest; since there is nothing more apparent than that we are generally abused when we rely upon the acknowledgement of men: For when an occasion presents itself, by which they hope to reap the recompense of their good offices, they find themselves deserted, or that the persons obliged only serve 'em by way of requital, coldly and carelessly. Then they make bitter complaints, and load with reproaches the persons that have so shamefully failed 'em. But while they thus reproach their ingratitude, they are not aware how they betray themselves, and show that they are not of a Disposition apt to do kindness; in regard they that are truly so, find their recompense and their satisfaction in the care which they take of others, and never think of gaining by the kindnesses they do.  
There are none then but only true Christians who sincerely desire their Neighbours advantages, and who for his sake only embrace all occasions to serve him in his affairs. In regard that Charity that rules in their hearts, takes from 'em those evil inclinations which they have inherited from Adam; and for that God creates in 'em new Inclinations, which obliges them to do all the Kindnesses they can for others, without expecting any return to themselves.   

CHAP. VIII. CLEMENCY.  
DEath, says Aristotle, is the most terrible of all Miseries, because it destroys Life; and in destroying that, it ruins the foundations of the enjoyments of Man, and deprives him of all manner of Felicity. The Stoics and and Epicureans condemn this Opinion, not apprehending why they should place Death in the number of Miseries that puts an end to all our Sufferings, as the Haven and Sanctuary of the Miserable. Plato rises higher than they; Death, says he, can never be a Mischief: For Man, what harm befalls him when the Soul leaves him? Moreover, how can Death be terrible to Man; Death, that is the only Original of his Happiness, which he cannot enjoy so long as he continues chained and fettered to the Body.  
Then again, if we are desirous to know what that Mischief is which we have most reason to fear, he answers, that there is no Mischief more formidable than Ignorance: For, says he, Ignorance is the Corruption of all the good Qualities in Man, we may deservedly call it the Death of the Soul. For as the Life of the Soul consists in acting with parts and understanding, it is apparent that when Ignorance blinds her, she is disabled from governing and regulating her own motions and the exterior actions of Man according to the orders of Reason; that is, it hinders man from living Rationally, and such a Life as is most proper to his extraction.  
And among all the Virtues that ado●n the Soul, none adds more Splendour to it then Clemency, which arises from the universal detestation we have of Cruelty, imprinting in our minds a fair Idea of its contrary. For who does not abhor Sylla for his horrid Inhumanities' committed in Rome, and loath the memory of Nero for the murder of his Mother, his Wife, and his Tutor? On the other side, we are ready to adore Titus, when we call to mind the protestation that he made to the Gods in Jerusalem, That he was Innocent of the Blood that had been spilt in the Siege of that City. And when we remember his Clemency towards his Brother; for after he had discovered the Conspiracy of Domitius against his Life, he continued him in the same Honours, and the share which he had before in the Government; and with Tears requested the Conspirators to be Friends with him. But if we desire a true knowledge of Clemency, we must not consider the Lustre which Cruelty gives it, nor as she is in thoughts and sentiments of those on whom she bestows her Favours; nor judge of her by what she appears to be; for she is in in the number of the most glittering Virtues. We must behold her as she is in herself, and weigh the reasons that deservedly incline us to question, Whether she be a real Virtue or no.  
The first reason is, That those Princes who are by Historians applauded for their Clemency never exercised it but upon particular occasions, or at most only during some part of their Reign. Now true Virtue carries an equality with it: There must, s●ys Aristotle▪ be a long series of Virtuous Actions to make a man Virtuous. We do not find this equality in the Clemency of Julius Caesar, Augustus, or Alexander the Great, there not being one of all the three that persevered in his Clemency. Which is visible in the conduct of Alexander: For when he subdued the Province of the Cosseans, Why was not he satisfied with the punishment of those who had made some resistance, why did he not pardon the Women and Children, but put all to the Sword? The same may be said of Julius Caesar, and Augustus, both the one and the other having showed themselves cruel upon several occasions where they ought to have exercised their Clemency.  
The second proof which shows us clearly the Falsehood of Human Clemency, is drawn from hence, that we find it coupled with Cruelty in the same persons already mentioned. Which makes it clearly evident, that when they performed those acts of Clemency, their inclinations and sentiments did not approve their present Lenity; and that they did not carry in their Souls that Goodness which always inclines us to Mildness and Indulgence; seeing that sort of Goodness is incompatible and inconsistent with the severity and rigour of Cruelty. Caesar's Cruelty appeared by the murder of a great number of the Roman Praetors and Consuls which he put to Death in Africa, and by that of Cosconius and Galba, who were murdered by his Soldiers in the midst of Rome, by his Order, or at least with his Consent. The Cruelty of Augustus was apparent in the horrible Butchery of near three hundred Senators and two thousand Knights. That of Alexander in the Deaths of Clitus, calisthenes, Philotas, and Parmenio; and by the unworthy massacre of those faithful and stout Defenders of the Free-Cities, who after they had surrendered one City upon the Faith of Articles agreed and signed to, were inhumanly murdered by his Soldiers. How then is it possible to imagine that Real and Virtuous Clemency should abide in su●h cruel and bloody Souls?  
How, will some say, are the inhuman acts of these renowned men, infallible proofs that they never had been Merciful? Could they not have been Merciful, and after that become Cruel? This is the Language of Plutarch, Quintus Curtius, and the most Historians, who after they have ascribed several Virtues to the persons whose Lives they write, from certain Actions evidently Virtuous, when afterwards they find the same persons liable to Vices opposite to those Virtues which they applauded in 'em, they would persuade the World that those Vices proceed from the change of their Manners, and not from their Natural Dispositions. But if I may speak my own sentiments, I must needs affirm it difficult to believ●▪ that any men naturally Mild become Cruel, or that others being born Cruel become Gentle and Humane: For our Inclinations are so fixed to the Constitution of our Being, that we may as well change the one as the other. True it is, there is a kind of alteration in our Temperament, and that when the Blood is cool we are not so vehement and furious, as in the heat and impetuosity of Youth; but that this change is sufficiently prevalent entirely to destroy our Inclinations, or that the coolness of our Blood extinguishes our predominant passions, is that which I could never yet observe. On the other side, I have met with persons who at the Age of Fourscore were as choleric and violent, others as false and cunning and malicious as they were at five and twenty or thirty. I have also observed, that though the fear of being counted ridiculous be so powerful over all men, who have sense and understanding, yet we see persons of great Wit, who when they come to be stricken in years, and find themselves disabled by Age, yet cannot forbear their juvenile Gallantries. In a word, 'tis my opinion, that neither Age, nor Exhortation, nor Promises; nor Punishments, that can correct our wicked Inclinations, when they are natural; for then the● withstand all things, except the God of Nature.  
That which persuades people to the con●●ary is this, because they believe that when the inclinations are wearied, or repulsed for a time, they are quite destroyed. Which is the reason that some erroneously mistake Cruelty tired for true Clemency. Augustus, said Seneca, who after so many Murders and Proscriptions, gave Cinna his Life, did that act of Clemency, that people might believe him Merciful: For my part, I know not how to call that person Merciful, who is weary of being Cruel. Others imagine, that persons who leave the Court are cured of Ambition, when it may be only the discontents of Repulses and Disappointments. Others applaud for his Liberality a man that is profuse in his Expenses, not knowing that his Vanity restrains and curbs his Avarice. Moreover, many people are deceived, when they persuade themselves, that a man has not the same Inclinations, when they see his Inclinations do not tend to the same object; not considering, for example, that Avarice is the reason that we addict ourselves to Gaming, and that we leave it off.  
Besides these reasons to prove the error of that opinion, that men change their Inclinations, and of Mild become Cruel, there is one much more considerable, that is, that most people acknowledge nothing to be Cruelty but that natural Cruelty which produced those Monsters of Men, every day drunk with Human Blood, such as Herod, Nero, and Domitian; and for that they do not perceive▪ that Ambition is Furious and Cruel, and that men possessed with that Fury, are always ready to commit all manner of Excesses and Violences upon all those they believe to be obstacles to their designs. So that let an Ambitious man be never so Mild, so soon as he has conceived a design to make his Name famous to Eternity, though it cost him that immortal Glory which he proposes to himself, and to obtain it there is a necessity of Extirpating whole Nations, he makes no scruple of such Inhumanities'. And this is the reason that great Conquerors, such as Alexander and Julius Caesar, never make it a matter of Conscience to use Sword or Poison for the destruction of whatever persons stand in their way. Nevertheless it did not behoove the Historians to say as they do, that if Alexander and Caesar were guilty of Actions so Cruel and contrary to their natural Goodness, it was an argument that their Manners and Inclinations were changed, because at the same time that they showed themselves most Cruel, they also showed several acts of Clemency. But if we would judge rationally of those persons, and understand to what principle we ought to refer their different Conduct, we must make a recollection of all the Actions of their Lives. For than we shall see that they were persons that burned with an eager Ambition to acquire a more than ordinary Renown, or to obtain the Sovereign Power, and were so mastered by the interest of their Ambition, that they did whatever their Ambition required. So that when their Ambition thought it proper to pardon their greatest Enemies, how cruel soever they naturally were, they pardoned without any trouble. If their interest or ambition required them to cut the Throats of their best Friends, they condescended with the same ease. So that they were cruel at the same time that they dispensed their Favours, because they were as ready to put to Death those they had pardoned, if ●●e condition of their Affairs required it. Whence it is easy to conclude, that the Clemency of Alexander, Augustus, and Caesar, so highly applauded, was only Policy. Nor is there any farther Question to be made of this, when we consider, that Alexander's first Behaviour in Asia was courteous and generous, as being then requisite to make himself beloved by the principal Officers of his Army, and the persons of Quality that followed him. Besides, that it was also a snare which he laid for the people which he designed to subdue. On the contrary, his behaviour towards his latter end was rigorous and inhuman, thro' his mistrust and jealousy of his most faithful Servants and best Friends, whom he put to Death with so much ingratitude and cruelty. The same may be said of Caesar and Augustus. For Augustus in his latter years showed himself Merciful, to try whether his Clemency would succeed better than his Cruelty; and be a means to qualify the Hatred which the people had of his Tyranny. As for Caesar, every one knows, that at the same time that he received Cicero, and several other considerable persons that gave a lustre to his Party, with so much lenity and mildness, he Banished and put to Death all that would not bend their knees before him, and implore his Mercy, with submissions altogether adject and unseemly. Plutareh relates, that Sylla took the same course, and that when he massacred seven thousand of the Roman Citizens, he carefully preserved those that were his devoted Slaves. The same Author adds, that the same person had no respect to the Quality of the Crimes, but that he pardoned all that favoured his proceedings, or whom he hoped to gain to his party; and punished with Death the slightest Offences of those that were not biased by his Interests. Such was the Disposition of these Victors and Emperors, sometimes Mild, sometimes Cruel, and sometimes both together; employing both their Virtues and their Vices, and making use of whatever may be serviceable to increase their Empires.  
The Clemency of Nero at his first advancement to the Empire was the effect of a refined and singular Policy. For he knew so exactly how to restrain and conceal the savage Barbarity of his Natural Disposition, and to appear soft and good natured, that during the first five years of his Reign, his Subjects could not but applaud his Lenity and Indulgence; while he deservedly Gloried, that in all that time he had not shed one drop of Blood through the whole extent of his Empire. Domitian imitated Him in his Clemency, to the end that like him he might afterwards fly out into all manner of Cruelty. In a word, the Clemency of these two Tyrants was feigned and concerted, artificial and deceitful. And we say, that it was a sly trick, like that of some Beasts, that suffer people to come near and handle 'em, that they may the more easily devour the people so deluded within their reach.  
The good Humour of Princes is frequently the cause of their Clemency; whether that good Humour proceed from the Disposition of their Bodies, or from some secret satisfaction of their desires and passions. For as often as we are pleased ourselves we have an Inclination to please others, and to grant 'em what they desire, and what they earnestly request.  
When Clemency is too frequent and customary with a Prince, it is so far from being a Virtue, that it is in him the extinction of all Royal Virtues; as being a quality so mischievous to his Dominions, that it is the most general cause of their Ruin. It is an ignorance of the use and necessity of Justice; Without which, says St. Austin, Commonwealths and Empires are but numerous Societies of Robbers. 'Tis a false and ill-extended Goodness, a cruel Lenity, and a vicious Indifference in reference to public Order and Repose. Such was the Clemency which Titus affected after he obtained the Empire; nor can we forbear, notwithstanding his being called, The Delight of Mankind, to censure the Oath which he swore, Never to put any man to Death, which was an Oath by which he was engaged in the sight of Heaven to be the Protector of Robbers and Homicides, to authorise all sorts of Attempts and Conspiracies, and to ranverse and destroy the Empire. As for that Oath which Nerva took at his first reception into the Senate, that he would never suffer any Senator to be condemned to Death for any Crime whatsoever, it was only a sneaking Compliment which he put upon the Senators, disapproved by themselves, and which gave occasion to the Roman Consul to utter this generous Expression: 'Tis a great Misfortune to Live under a Prince that oppresses his Subjects, and commands them as his Slaves; But it is a much greater Misery, to Live under a Prince that gives them their full swinge, and prostitutes all things to their Licentious Pleasure. If therefore we desire to know the real cause of the Clemency of these two Emperors, we shall find it to be only a secret Fear of being destroyed by the Factions of the Great Men, or massacred by the People, as almost all their Predecessors had been. For Vitellius, Otho, Nero, and Caligula, who all preceded Titus, had every one suffered untimely Deaths by that means; and Nerva ascending the Throne, found it besmeared with the Blood of Domitian. And this we shall find to be true, especially in respect of Titus, when we consider, that Mildness was by no means his Natural temper; for his Consulship was so cruel, that it was publicly said, That if he succeeded in the Empire, he would prove a second Nero.  
But notwithstanding that there are several false kinds of Clemency, it does not hinder but that there may be a real sort of Clemency; and that this real and virtuous Clemency may be a great Ornament to a Sovereign Prince. The true Characters whereof are as follow:  
Now we know, that although the proper function of Clemency is either absolutely to remit those punishments which Offenders have deserved, or to remit something of their rigour; and so all that are in Authority and have power to punish, may in some measure be said to be Merciful; Nevertheless, in regard that Fathers and Tutors have no other Punishment at their disposal then only such as are called Chastisements; since they who have the power of Life and Death, as the Judges, are not able to hinder the effects of their Sentences, and therefore that only Sovereign Princes have only power to save those whom the Law has condemned to Die; all the World must grant, That Clemency is the Virtue of Kings. Fortune, said Cicero to Caesar, could do nothing greater for Thee, then to make Thee Master of the Lives of Men. And the Goodness of thy Natural temper can inspire Thee with nothing more generous, then with a Will to make use of thy Power to the ease of the Distressed. So that Clemency may well be called the last Refuge of Man: For in regard the Laws are deaf, severe, and inexorable, the condition of Man, says Livy, would be extremely unhappy, if being so frail as it is, there were no way to escape their Rigour but by Innocency.  
This weakness and frailty of Man is the first foundation of the Royal Clemency. For upon many occasions that touch him to the quick, and surprise him, as for example, when a Man sees his Brother slain before his eyes, such a sight so strongly moves his natural Affection, that he pursues the Murderers like a Madman, even to the exposing of his own Life. This is therefore that which a Clement Prince considers; for as he is always disposed graciously to●●lend an Ear to all that may excuse a suppliant Criminal he willingly admits such an allegation, that the Oftender killed the Man only to revenge his Brother's Death; that he had not time to consult his reason upon so short a warning, and 〈◊〉 he was transported by his Natural Affections.  
Crimes also committed by accident and misfortune are a second ground of Royal Clemency. For if Crimes voluntarily committed may be thought to deserve Pardon, because the force of Natural Affection has constrained the Will into Action; with much more reason ought those Crimes to be pardoned, which a man commits contrary to his Intention, as the French Gentleman, who shooting at a Wild Boar, killed his near Kinsman and one of his dearest Friends.  
Justice also is a third ground of Royal Clemency. For they justly exercise it in favour of those Offenders, whose Crimes are less than the Services which they have done the Public; and some regard may be also had to the Deserts of their Ancestors. For Punishments, as Plato has observed, were not ordained to prevent the Criminal Acts, since all the severity of Law, and all the power of Sovereignty cannot prevent their being committed; nor does Justice in the Sentences of Death propose the Amendment of those that are executed: Therefore the Legislators had no other aim in ordering the Punishments of Crimes, than to procure the public Good; that is, to terrify the Wicked, and prevent Honest people from being debauched by their bad example. So that, as the Public Interest excuses the Cruelty of the Law, and all Men approve the Executing of Robbers and notorious Villains: The same Public Good justifies the Clemency of Princes in saving from an ignominious Death, such as have signalised themselves in Defence of their King and Country; by which means their good Service has been more beneficial to the Kingdom, than the Fact which they committed, or the bad Example given was ever prejudicial.  
There was something of particular rarity in the Clemency of Theodosius: For he punished his Anger by his Clemency; and never failed to make use of it towards those that had incensed him, even to transportment. So that they were sure to be pardoned the Offences which they committed against him, who had but the Address to provoke him to Rage.  
As for the Character of true Clemency, by which we may know and distinguish it from that which is false; Cicero tells us. That real Clemency agrees with Justice. A Wise Prince, said the Stoics, ought not to have that effeminate Pity which cannot endure the Punishment of Offenders; rather he ought to preser the wholesome Rigour of the Law before the Dictates of a tend●● Disposition.  
But because the Moral Virtues are only imperfect Virtues, and for that they cannot be perfect nor accomplished, if not practised by motives Divine and Supernatural, Kings that have a desire to be Virtuously Clement, must raise themselves above the common motives and considerations, and in all their Gracious Acts propose to themselves the imitation of that God who has so bountifully displayed his own Mercy in the Redemption of Mankind from an Eternity-of Torment.   

CHAP. IX. MILDNESS.  
WE may say of Human Virtues, what is usually said of Men, that they are born, some under Good, some under Bad Constellations. For there are some Virtues that are so extremely admired and have that wonderful success in the world; others so little regarded, that they scarce deserve to be ranked in the number of Virtues. For in truth we find, that Generosity, Clemency, and Magnanimity, and some other Virtues of the same nature, are not only the object▪ of the People's Admiration, but also the subjects of the encomiums of persons of the most rational parts: Whereas Humility and Mildness are hardly known; their ill ●ate being like that of Flowers overgrown with Weeds: For as Flowers that ●ye so concealed lose not their lo●ely colour, so neither do those obscure Virtue's c●●se to be highly valuable.  
To be convinced of this Truth, we have no more to do than to examine, what is the Office of Mildness, and to compare it with Clemency, to which it seems to be nearly related. For we shall find that Clemency indeed shines with a geater Luster, but that there is more of Merit in Mildness. And that which proves it so to be is this, That Princes are not sensible of most Crimes but out of their Duty, and that their Clemency not being able to withstand their Sentiments, they put no constraint upon themselves when they grant their Pardons; whereas Mildness has to deal with the boiling Motions of Choler, which rise in a Person, touched to the quick in his concerns of Honour, or unjustly disturbed in his Interests. And this gives to Mildness a wonderful advantage over Clemency; and makes it evident at the same time, that we cannot rationally prefer any Virtue before that, and has the power to subdue a Passion so violent as Choler.  
Aristotle lessens the Merit of Mildness; for he deprives her of a part of her Employment, for he maintains That the Office of this Virtue is not absolutely to destroy, but only to moderate Choler. And the reason that persuades him, is this, because he believes that Choler is natural to a Man, when he concludes that it is also beneficial to him, since Nature does nothing in vain. Thereupon he assures us, that it serves him as a Goad that spurs him awake, and pricks him forward to undertake with vigour Magnanimous and Great Actions. Farther he says, That Choler creates the Courage of the Valiant, and the vehemency of Orators, and that it had a share as well in the Hand of Demosthenes, as in the Fame of Themistooles; and then he adds, That Choler is not only useful to Man, but that it is also absolutely necessary. For it is in him, as the Handmaid of Reason, whose Commands she executes with fervency, and assists him in the discharge of his principal Devoi●s. Moreover, it is Choler that strengthens and enables a Man to surmount the Obstac●es which he meets with in the pursuit of those Enjoyments requisite for his own preservation, and to repel the injuries of those that seek his Ruin. Therefore says he, this Passion is no dishonour to any Person, provided, the violences of his Thoughts are proportionable to his Provocations; and that he observe the Rules of Justice in his Revenge. On the other side, all Men censure those who take notice of the injuries that are done to 'em, and rank insensible Persons in the number of Fools, who are void of all knowledge and sentiment, and look upon good or bad with the same indifferency. Lastly, says he, Choler is grounded upon Reason, and arises from a sense of injury unjustly done us, which is the reason, that while Pleasure, which nothing can justify, as proceeding from intemperance, enters secretly into the Heart of Man, on purpose to surprise him; Choler breaks forth and openly demands the reparation of Injuries; and shows us, that she is not ashamed to appear, and by consequence that Choler is no ill thing. This is the opinion of Aristotle, according to which, a mild person is such a one as suffers himself to be angry and in a Passion, and he that is never moved is only an effeminate Fool.  
But in regard ●he most solid and rational Philosophers have gainsaid this Opinion, it will be an easy thing to ruin his Arguments, and to show, that Anger is not natural to a Man, that it is evil in itself, and in its effects, and so far from being Reason in the execution of her Commands, that it only perplexes, precipitates and betrays those Orders.  
Now that we may find out whether Choler be natural to Man, it is requisite that we should describe this furious Passion, and oppose it to the Passion in Man; And first let us represent it, as it came from the hands of Nature, and as the Philosophers and Poets have depainted it in their admirable descriptions of the Golden Age. For the Opinions of the one, and the Fictions of the other, says Lactantius, are no idle Dreams and Imaginations, but the perfect Images of the Manners of Primitive Mankind, and draughts of State of Innocency.  
The First Men, say they, were real in their Words, faithful in their Promises, and just in their Proceedings. They observed Justice in every thing, not for fear of the Law, but merely of their own Inclinations.  
— Vindice nullo  
Sponte sua, sine lege fidem, rectumque colebant.  
They looked upon one another as Brethren, and finding themselves so straight linked to the same Nature, they had a tender Love one for another, and cherished that Love with warmth of those mutual kindnesses they did each other.  
They never parted their Vineyards or Fields, nor ever enclosed their Gardens; they never appropriated to themselves the Gifts and Guards of Heaven, nor looked upon the Benefits of Nature as their own in particular, which Nature had bestowed in common.  
Nec signare quidem, aut partiri limit campum Fas erat—  
Caulibus & Pomis & aperto viveret Horto.  
They were Mild, Humane, and ready to do good Turns, and what they got together by their Labour and good Husbandry, their Bounty the next moment shared to others, so that their Milk, their Wine, seemed like streams, which flowing from their own Houses held on their course to the Habitations of their Neighbours.  Flumina jam Lactis, jam flumina Nectaris ibant. 
This was the natural description of Man, Now let us hear a description of Choler.  
Choler, says Seneca, is an impatient desire of Revenge, a fervent and obstinate desire of Ruin. She calls for nothing but Weapons, delights in nothing but Blood, and runs headlong to the destruction of others: When she is onc upon the full speed, neither Decency, nor the remembrance of past Benefits, nor the force of Friendship, nor the sentiments of Nature can stop her, but being deaf to all the Remonstrances of Reason, nor able to discern either Truth or Justice; She is wholly intent upon the satisfaction of her Fury, making ofttimes no distinction between the Guilty and the Innocent, and frequently involving herself in the Ruin of others.  Circum erit enim vis atque injuria quemque. Atque unde exorta est, ad eum plerumque recurrit. 
This is so faithful a Portraiture of Choler, that Aristotle depaints it himself almost after the same manner. Choler, says he, hears Reason, but just like those hare-brained Servants, that will not allow themselves Patience to understand what their Master says, and run headlong to obey their Commands, e'er they know what their Errand is. It is also like those Curs that bark at Friends and Foes alike, as soon as they knock at the Door. These Comparisons are true, and it is apparent to every one, that so soon as Reason has given this impetuous Passion but a sight of that Scorn or Contempt which she has received, it presently betakes itself to Arms, never staying till Reason has declared the nature of the Injury, or what satisfaction she expects.  
By these two indifferent Portraitures we may perceive how opposite Choler is to the Nature of Man, whose Inclinations lead him to the Comfort and Advantage of those who are like him in Creation, whereas Choler breathes nothing but their Damage and Destruction: So that in truth, unless we deny Man to be Man, we cannot presume to say that a Vice so inhuman and pernicious is natural to him. Of which we may be fully convinced, if we do but consider, that the Virtue which cures all the distempers of the Soul, and restores her to her Natural Condition, endues her with a strange abhorrency of doing evil to any one whatever. The designing of Injury, says Plato, is not comparable with a Man of Worth; now it is the property of Anger to meditate Mischief; therefore Anger is incomparable with a Man of Worth. Moreovel, says the Philosopher, Choler rejoices in the punishment of another, which is an affliction to a Person of Worth. To which we may add the s●y●ng of St. Thomas, That God takes no pleasure to behold the sufferings of the Damned, but only in the order of his Justice, which punishes 'em, and has regulated their several Penalties. Besides it is most certain that Virtue not only renders Man incapable of doing injury, but disposes him to bear with the wrongs which others do him. And that we may leave nothing unsaid upon this Subject, we must observe that a Wise Man, such as Aristotle, and the greatest of the Philosophers represent him, never believes he receives an injury, and consequently that he is no way obliged to Revenge.  
The Paripateties complain against the Stoics; alleging their accusation to be unjust, that they uphold Anger. Since they only defend that Passion which follows the Dictates of Reason, which is never kindled, but when it ought, and as much as it ought to be; and which in the reparation of Injuries never violates the Laws of Equity. But they complain without a cause, and justify as weakly what is laid to their charge; for if there be any such Passion in Man, which never shows itself but by the Dictates of Reason; if there be any such thing as Anger, that never pretends in doing mischief, but one to the Correction and Profits of our Neighbour, it only carries the Name of Anger, but precipitates nothing of its Nature; since it is the proper Character of Anger not to listen to Reason, to withstand it, and to delight in the punishment of him that does the Injury.  
However, some will say, this is no such Passion, as is bred in the Irascible Appetite, Blind, Violent, and Frantic, and which for the slightest offences flies out into Rage and Fury. This is at the same time informed, softened and regulated by Reason, and requires nothing from the Person injured, but that he take a Revenge suitable to the wrong received. I Answer, That if the Motive that excites us to endamage another, aims only at particular Profit, which is the end that Men propose in punishing, or the public advantage, which is that of Ministers of Justice, It is both just and reasonable: But if it tend to the hurt of the Person; that is, if it be a desire of Revenge, and to reap our satisfaction from the pain or vexation which the Party suffers, it is a Motive malicious, cruel, brutish, and no way becoming a Man. Now such is Choler, by the very Confession of Aristotle himself. For he defines it to be, A lively and importunate resentment of the Injury done us, which cannot be appeased or separated, but by the pleasure of Revenge. So that let our Anger be abated to never so low a degree, yet so long as it is Anger, 'twill be a desire of Revenge, and a Passion that rejoices in the harm which another suffers.  
Having thus demonstrated Choler to be evil in its Nature, it will be easy also to show that it is as pernicious in its Effects, and that they who are most subject to it, are the first that feel their violence, as if it were against them that Anger seems to turn her Fury. For no sooner is it kindled in the Breasts of those Men, but it displays itself in their Countenances, disturbs and altars their Looks in an instant, brings all the Blood into the Faces of some, while others grow pale upon the same occasion. The Eyes dart forth furious Glances, a sierce and wild Aspect threatens all the World, and in a word, all the Natural signs of Madness appear in the Person thus angered, which was the reason that the Ancients called it a short Frenzy. We are really Fools, said Philemon, as often as we are Angry.  
I forbear to tell how it disorders the very Speech of those who are mastered by it; I shall only say this, That Men otherwise wary and prudent, when they are under the Control of this Passion, utter many things contrary to Reason and Decency. Which is so true, that Homer, so jealous of his Hero's Honour, and lest he should say or do any thing to wound it, yet cannot forbear, when he represents Achilles in anger, to make him reproach Agamemn●n after a manner very scurrilous and unworthy, not only of a Hero, but of an ordinary Person.  
But let this suffice for the External Postures of a Person inflamed with Choler: Let us but consider the terrible Confusion with which this Passion torments him within; the violence that transports him, the various Designs that agitate his Brain, the number of Thoughts that darken his Understanding, the sundry Fancies and restless Desires that pester and entangle his Resolutions, and we may easily perceive by the disorder of his Soul, and by the various Emotions, which Plutarch calls his Convulsions, that she is really dislodged from the natural Seat of her Repose. And therefore we cannot apprehend why Aristotle should affirm Pleasure to be a more dangerous Evil than Choler, because, says he That Choler gives Reason leave to speak, and receives her Orders, though it mistake in the execution; whereas Pleasure insinuates herself into the Heart, and gets the Victory over it before Reason can be consulted. For if such an Author may be contradicted, rather quite the contrary is in truth to be made out: insomuch that the Philosopher seems not to have understood the Nature of the Motions of those two Passions. For it is apparent that Anger is sudden and violent; Pleasure less violent, and rash; that Choler will not suffer Reason to meddle in the least; whereas Pleasure permits her to deliberate and judge, though she labours all the while to corrupt her Judgement.  
It now remains to show, that Choler is of no use, and so far from being Reason's Officer, as Aristotle calls it, that it only consounds and betrays her Commands.  
The opinion of the Peripatetics, Epicureans, and generally of all Philosophers, who maintain Choler to be useful, proceeds from another opinion of theirs, that Choler is as it were a Guardianess That Nature has provided for Man, to watch over the preservation of all his common and particular Rights, and inspires him both with a desire and strength to defend them. For, say they, this Passion enables him to repel Injuries which he receives from his Enemies, and arms him to succour his Friends, his Kindred, and his Country; it assists Parents and Tutors in the Education of Youth, and Magistrates in the punishment of Crimes. That without her, Man would abandon his most important Duties, and prove unprofitable both to himself and others. These are their most considerable Reasons.  
But we deny, that Choler is assisting to Man in the discharge of his principal Duties; in regard experience tells us, that the Passions usually are the Principles of virtuous Actions, which man performs; of himself; and that this is the only foundation upon which the whole Machine moves. Only we say, that it was for want of observing the nature of Choler, that those Philosophers affirmed it useful for the service of Reason in private Revenges, in the punishment of Crimes, in the Chastizing of Servants and Children, and in magnanimous Actions. For that which Anger has common with the other Passions, is to prevent the Dictates of Reason, and darken the Understanding; but the particular qualities of it are, to be most impetuous and violent, and not able to contain itself. Which is evident in private Revenges, where a man to do himself an imaginary right, most monstrously violates the Rules of Justice; while nothing will serve him to wash off a petty contempt, but the Blood of him that is by the Bonds of Nature so nearly related to him; sometimes losing his own Lise to recover that which was never lost. Which is the reason that God has reserved Vengeance to himself; and that the Laws commit the reparation of Injuries only to the Impartial, that never received them.  
As for the punishment of Crimes, who knows not that it is one of the greatest Encomiums that can be given to a Judge, to be as sedate and calm as the Law itself?  
Quin etiam sonte●, expulsâ corrigis Irâ,  
Et placidus delicta domas: nec dentibus unqu●m  
Instrepis horrendum fremit●, nec verbera pos●is.  
A Judge, says Seneca, should appear upon the Tribunal with such an Aspect as we imagine should be that of the Law, calm and free from the emotions of Hatred and Choler. And to speak the Truth, How can we fix this cruel Passion in the Breast of a Generous Magistrate, who at the same time that he adjudges a Criminal to deserve death, has not the least motion of Hatred against his Person? who having nothing but Mildness in his Soul, at the same time that there appears such a severity in his Sentences, is so far from satisfying his Animositiy in punishing the Offender, that he gives to him as well as to the Public an evident Testimony of his Affection? For what can be more advantageous than to rid the Public of a Criminal, to prevent the corruption of his ill example? And what greater kindness, saith Seneca, can he show the Offender, whose Life has been so prejudicial, than to render his Death profitable, by putting an end to his Crimes, which he could not do himself?  
The same is to be said for the chastising of Servants and Children; where Choler sometimes will not permit us to observe any Moderation; and for that it is impossible to exercise those punishments in our Passion, but that we shall have some reason afterwards to repent our severity. And therefore it is requisite to delay those chastisements for some time after the Fault committed. I would chastise thee, said Socrates to his Servant, if I were not in wrath. Plato having the Rods in his Hand to correct his own Servant, made a sudden stop, because he found his Passion up; At what time Speusippus entering accidentally into his Chamber, seeing him in that posture, and demanding what he was about to do? I am chastising myself, said he and punishing the Person wherewith I was going about to chastise one of my Servants, by refusing my anger that satisfaction which it desires. We take no care to follow those wholesome Precepts, and Examples: If we delay our Corrections, we neglect 'em altogether; which shows that we do not correct our Servant or our Children for their benefit, but in revenge of the little Trespasses which they commit; the one for their disobedience, the others because they do not serve us to our good liking. However, ought we not to acknowledge, says Theophrastus, that Anger may be serviceable to a good Man to excite his exclamations against the wicked? Upon this condition, answers Seneca, That the better he is, the more his Virtue shall increase with his Anger. Otherwise, saith Plutarch, he shall be constrained to be in a rage against those that are already transported with Passion, and fall into the very fault which he reproves. But Seneca adds, What can a vicious Man have in the persons of those that are vicious and irregular? Is it their proneness to Evil, and their unhappy Frailty? If so, he ought to be inflamed against himself, as partaking of humane Infirmity with them. For if he do not acknowledge it in himself he is utterly mistaken: and if he only blames it in others, he is unjust. Besides, how virtuous soever a Man may be, well he knows, that he is usually esteemed much better than he is, and that the public testimony is much more favourable to him, than that of his own Conscience. He knows well that he is subject to a thousand Infirmities; and how can he behold with Indignation the slips and failings of others, and censure 'em with Rigour, He who himself has need of their Indulgence? It is evident then, that the disposition of Wise Men in respect of the wicked, can be no sour and lofty disposition, that puts 'em forward to reproach their evil Lives; but a disposition mild and charitable, that pities their own miscarriages and labours their Reformation. The Spirit of Wisdom is a loving Spirit, according to the Sacred Oracle of Scripture. And there is no greater Testimony of Goodness, says Aristotle, than that which we give to a Man, when we assist him in the recovery of Virtue.  
The last Reason that Aristotle brings to prove the benefit of Anger, is this, For that the heat of Choler shares in all warlike Achievements. To which we Answer, That if a Great Commander has need of being animated with this Passion, to foresee the designs of his Enemies to range his Army in Battalia, to give out his Orders to manage the Combat, and be himself in the heat of the Conflict; we may thence conclude, that he cannot be valiant, unless he be transported, and that he must be beside himself to manage any dangerous Enterprise. But for all that, we cannot but admire the General of an Army, who is always 〈◊〉 of himself in Fight, even when danger most surprises him. For we find that the Valour not only of Commanders, but of private Soldiers is most to be relied on▪ and most equally proved, where it is least boiling and precipitate. Therefore, says Plutarch, the Lacedæmonians, before they join Battle, ordered the Flutes and Cornets to play certain soft and melting Airs, on purpose to temper the heat and fury of the Soldiers. Lastly, if we do but reflect upon those barbarous People who have no other courage, than I know not what kind of natural Rage, that they never go to Fight in cold Blood, but as they are smitten with the Image of the Injury which they often have, or believe they have received, they fling themselves into the thickest of the Enemy, without any Order or Government; but than it happens that notwithstanding the strength of their Bodies, their ability to endure the rigours of all Seasons, and the hardships of War, and notwithstanding the fury of their Onsets, they are frequently vanquished by People more tender and softened by Luxury and Pleasure. Story tells us, and every one knows after what manner the Romans handled the Cimbrians, hideous for Bulk and Stature, and terrible for their Aspects, who had already passed the Alps with an intention to Sack Rome, and ransack all Italy, yet vanquished by Marius in several Great and Bloody Battles. So that if the natural Fury of Savage People, be not sufficient to make Men truly valiant, how shall we believe that Choler, no less Blind, no less Wild, and Impetuous should be the Soul of Valour?  
But whence then comes it to pass, that the Poets call Courage a Noble and Generous Indignation, and that all the World takes Anger for Valour? It proceeds from hence, that Choler has certain Qualities that resemble Valour. First, it is Rash, and thence they believe it Active: It is Obstinate, and that passes for Stoutness: 'Tis Terrible, and that renders it Formidable; and than it is boldly Daring, which makes People imagine it to be Courageous. The Vulgar, says Seneca, take those that are inflamed with Choler, for persons brave and courageous.  
A Second Cause of this mistake is this, That the vehemence of Choler is taken for the strength of the Soul; whereas on the other side, it is a demonstrative proof of its weakness; for this same Passion growing in the Soul like a Tempest, rears it up, and drives it impetuously to and fro; So that although to outward appearance the Soul may seem to act with vigour and strength, it is really a violent Force that tumbles and tosses her like an angered Sea. Which is more manifestly discovered from hence; that Choler more easily gets the Mastery of Women than Men; of the Sick People than Healthy; of Age, than Youth; of Men that live in Plenty and softened by Delights, than of the unfortunate hardened by Persecutions and Adversities.  
As to what the Peripatetics affirm, that Anger is serviceable to Eloquence, there can be nothing more weak and groundless; and to which it will be sufficient to answer with Cicero, That it is enough for an Orator to appear in a Passion, but there is no necessity he should be really angry; and it is so far from being necessary, that he should be in passion, that it is a dangerous thing for him to be so; since the perfection of Eloquence, according to Quintilian, consists in speaking all that he ought to speak, and not in speaking precisely no more than he ought; but that Choler never speaks as it ought to speak▪ but always that which it ought not. Therefore Caius Gracchus, a Great Orator, yet one that chased himself so immoderately in Talking, that he sometimes confounded himself by changing the Tone of his Voice, had one of his Servants always standing behind him, who when his Voice was out of Tune, Tuned it again by means of a certain Instrument formerly used to keep the Voice to a constant pitch.  
In the Second place we answer, That there is a great difference between the vehemence of an Orator, and that of Choler. The First is nothing but the strength of Reason forcibly expressed by Words, by the Tune of the Voice, and agreeable Gestures: and this Vehemence never fails of making an impression and persuading. The Second transports an Orator, troubles, distracts, disorders his Gesture and Action; and by that means conveying his own disorder into the Minds of the Hearers, puts 'em all in a hurry and confusion; Besides, that it is so unacceptable, that it alienates the affection of the Hearers.  
Now if we have a mind to view the Rock against which Renowned Aristotle so desperately splits himself, he discovers it to us himself, where he says, That we are to consider the Passions as the Arms of Virtue. And where he says farther, That we are to make use of Choler, as of a Soldier, and never suffer it to Command within us, or do the Office of a Captain. Whence it is visible this Great Philosopher thought that Men might wield their Choler like a Sword, which we take up, or lay down, thrust forward, or draw back as we please ourselves; which is a very great Error, since there is no person so stupid, who does not perceive that if the Passions be Arms, they are Weapons that Fight of themselves, as Seneca says, and of which we may affirm Man to be so little the Master, that on the contrary they rather keep Man in subjection. As for what he says, that Reason ought to take upon her the Conduct of Anger; he supposes there that Reason is separated from Choler, that she considers its Emotions in repose and security, and that they have Seats apart; whereas they are both together in the Soul. And therefore so soon as the Passion of Anger is kindled, it transports the Soul, and extinguishes within her the sight of Reason. So that all that Reason can do, is to employ all her Industries to prevent its growth; for, if she suffer Choler once to get a head she evidently endangers her seit, to be at the mercy of that powerful and imperious Passion.  
It is also certain that Reason knows how to make a good use of Choler in regard it is the Natural Property of Choler to deprive Man of the use of Reason; And for that this Passion is too blind, and too violent to be under Conduct; besides that, the desire of Mischief and Revenge is inseparable from its Nature. But it is not so with Zeal, which animates all true Christians, to which the Holy Fathers have sometime given the Name of Anger, though it arise from the Sensitive Appetite, as it is there produced by the Love of God, in whose Service it is but just that all the Powers of the Soul should be employed: and let it be never so forcible or vehement, its strength and vehemence are still obedient to the Dictates of Reason. A zealous Preacher cries out vehemently against Sinners, but he is no way exasperated against 'em, nor doth he carry any Animosities in his Heart, while he reproves and reproaches them in his Words. On the other side, when Men are in Anger, they chide and punish with Animosity; and at the same time that they discharge themselves from these obligations of Charity, they wrong tender Virtue every hour. Therefore saith St. Augustin, The most quicksighted Philosophers, and whose Opinions approach nearest to Truth, believe that Choler is absolutely evil, because, say they, the slightest Emotions of it are malicious and irregular, and that forces us to sin against Reason at the very time, when we do that which Reason commands us: We ought to have the same opinion of all the Humane Passions, adds the Holy Doctor; They resemble that Selve-Love that gives 'em Birth; they are vehement disorderly, and vicious like that; whereas the Fears and Joys, the Sorrows, and other Passions of Christians that derive themselves from Charity, are Peaceable, Mild, Prudent, and Moderate.  
If Human Passions than be so contrary to Reason, that it is impossible that Reason should be serviceable to 'em, we may easily conclude, That it is not the office of Mildness to reduce Choler to that point of Moderation, set down by Aristotle, to which so soon as it is reduced, becomes virtuous; but to withstand all its Emotions, and so to extinguish 'em, that nothing may be able to re-kindle 'em. Therefore Mildness can never be sufficiently extolled, if the same Mildness, of which some Persons make a show in their proceedings, were a real Virtue, and if it effectually carried off the tartness and bittetness of Choler, whereas it only seemingly removeth it, as I am going to make out.  
If we had a true Idea of the Condition of Man, or if we knew that he is possessed with a Self-Love altogether violent and erroneous, and that this Self-Love renders him impetuous, wild, and inhuman; the knowledge of this would spare us the trouble of showing that Mildness is no real Virtue, since no body being deceived by the seeming Mildness of a Person, that never was transported with Passion in his Life, all Men would judge of him as of a Lion, which we still believe to be fierce and cruel, though we see him to be gentle and obedient to his Governor; and would be so far from pronouncing such a person Mild and Peaceable, that they would think it sufficient to say he was Tamed.  
But what is it that has the Power to tame a Man? Either the Kindness that is done him, or the Benefit which he hopes to receive: which is apparent from hence, that the Favourites of Kings and Princes, and all Servants that are particularly beloved by their Masters, suffer their cross Humours, and sometimes their Rebukes and Repulses with an extraordinary Mildness, so that that which makes it appear that th●s Mildness is only a Violence put upon their natural Inclinations is this, That at the same time that they show themselves so Mild to those upon whom their whole Fortune depends, they unchain themselves against all others, like tamed Lions that only quit their wildness in the presence of their Governors that feed 'em.  
This same Mildness proceeds also very frequently from the fear of being put to shame. For Pride, which inflames Man with a continual desire to make himself the Master of others, causes him to be ashamed every time that he finds himself transported with Choler, and that it appears he is not Master of himself.  
Sometimes Mildness is only a vain and ambitious desire to triumph over a violent Passion, that triumphs over the most part of Man; which sort of Vanity is to be met with in Magistrates, in Philosophers, and all those that labour for Moderation, and would be thought prudent Persons.  
In other Persons Mildness is a desire to gain to themselves the Love of all Men, particularly of those with whom they associate. For there are some Virtues, as Valour, Generosity, and Magnanimity, which give us admission into the Breasts of Men, and fix us in their Esteem; others, as Mildness and Goodness which open their Hearts, and attract their Friendship.  
Love of Peace and Repose obliges many People engaged in Marriage, to restrain their natural Ardour and Impatiency, and to imitate the Manners and Customs of Mild and Moderate Persons, because they find no better way to keep Peace at home, than to give their Wives, their Children, and their Servants a good example.  
Mildness in Dispute is a secret desire we have to vanquish our Opponents, which is an effect of our experience, that Heat in Disputes troubles and confounds the Judgement, which is the reason we forbear to chase ourselves; to the end, that being in perfect possession of ourselves, we may be able to explain ourselves with clearness and force, which is the most probable way to prevail. The same is to be said of Mildness in Negotiations; For it is a Moderation which we never regard, but only to get an advantage over those with whom we negotiate, which is a cunning kind of coolness which certain stout Men observe in Duels, by which they take time and leisure, and watch their opportunity to thrust home. Signeur Contarini, Ambassador in France. to this Coldness added an apparent Indifferency, insomuch that sometimes he would sit all the whole time of the Conference without speaking a word to the business he came about: When they waited on him to his Coach, he spoke of it as of a thing which he had forgotten, and treated as he went down Stairs. But the Duke d'Olivares made use of a stratagem quite contrary to studied Mildness; for he endeavoured by counterfeit, and meditated heats to put the Persons in disorder with whom he negotiated.  
The Mildness of Princes (who when they have it in their power to punish with exile or imprisonment, such as go beyond the bounds of Respect and Duty, pass by their indiscretion and insolence without any notice, or expression of their displeasure) in such as are Men of parts, is no more than a politic Mildness. Such was that of Philip of Macedon, who suffered himself to be reviled, even in his own Palace, and when he had in his Power Arcadian (who cried him down all over Greece) was so far from putting him to death, as his Courtiers importuned him to do, that he entertained him civilly, and loaded him with Presents, so that Arcadian published his Encomiums in all places with more zeal than before he had defamed him. Which being told Philip by the same C●urtiers, that before had solicited his death, Do you not see, said He, What an excellent Physician I am to cure a raising Tongue. Augustus also would never suffer any enquiry to be made after the Authors of those scandalous Libels that were dispersed in the Senate, full of Reproach and Calumnies against him. For which Tiberius blaming him, he made answer, Thou arguest like a young Man, let 'em alone to talk as much evil of me as they please, 'tis sufficient that I have reduced 'em to such a condition, that they are able to do me none.  
Besides these sorts of Mildness, there is also a virtuous Mildness; for they who are naturally inclined to Mildness are always so; whereas they whose Mildness is a quality acquired by Study, are frequently transported with the virtue of their Passion. Nevertheless we do not observe that natural Mildness is no hindrance to those that are Masters of it, but that they are sensible of the injury which they receive from the hatred of those that seek their disturbance, and are desirous of Revenge, so that they are carried away with the ●artness and malignity of Choler, though they are able to bridle their Transportments. Which is manifest from hence, that persons who are of a cold and moist Complexion, and never subject to anger, yet notwithstanding all their reservedness cannot forbear tart and biting expressions against those from whom they receive abuses, and to take smart revenges upon those that offer the injury; So that natural Mildness is only the peaceable and quiet behaviour of the outward Man.  
And therefore Christian Mildness alone has the only privilege to calm and pacify the Minds of those that are provoked by Injuries and Affronts. For that is it which prevents the Insurrections of Choler and Revenge, which makes a considerable difference between Mildness and Patience. For a patient Man strives with all his might to support with murmuring the injuries done him; but he that exercises Mildness according to the Rules of the Gospel, does no wrong; nor does he believe that others do him any when they persecute him; persuading himself, that being a sinner he deserves the harshest and most rigorous vexations that can befall him; in somuch that we may say, That Mildness is the perfection of Patience.  
Now that we may understand how Mildness operates these wonderful Effects in the Soul, we must inquire into the causes of Choler. Plutaroh, who perfectly understood this Passion, observes, that it draws its Original from Pride and Self-Love. Pride furnishes it with fierceness, its Inflation, and impetuosity of Motion; and Self-Love supplies it with a Million of occasions that give it growth and nourishment. Pride causes those sorts of Choler which are rare, but cruel, implacable, and sanguinary. Those sorts of Choler which are kindled by Self-Love, are less malicious, and more easily appeased, but they are more troublesome and more frequent. There is, saith Soneca, a nice sort of Anger, which proceeds from a sour and difficult Humour: Now although this sour and difficult Humour be in some persons an effect of Bodily Temperament, in others, as Plutarch has observed, it derives itself from Self-Love, very nice, and very dainty. For as it causes an infinite number of inconveniences, as it requires much care and observance, so is it very difficult to be satisfied, which is the reason that it is continually bemoaning and vexing itself.  
Therefore that Virtue which encounters and utterly defeats Choler, must first assail and destroy our Pride and Self-Love. And this is that which begets Christian Mildness, because it is an effect of Humility; not of that Humility which consists in modest Looks and postures of the countenance, which is no more than Hypocrisy and a continued Lie; but of Humility and lowliness in Heart, as our Saviour calls it. For that Humility is the cause, that Christians acknowledging themselves to be sinners, are so convinced, that they deserve the scorn of the World, that though they should be trampled under foot, they would not think they had any reason to complain. It disposes 'em likewise to suffer cheerfully the Privation, not only of all their Comforts and Conveniencies, but of things necessary for the support of Life. So that whatever befalls 'em to their damage or disquiet, they are contented in all conditions.   

CHAP. X. AFFABILITY.  
LOwness of Fortune is such a Shame to Human Pride, that there is nothing a Man will not invent or do to retrieve himself from the Imbasement of a mean Condition. Therefore we find, that they who are born of obscure Parents labour to exalt themselves by Places and Employments; or make use of all manner of Addresses, to have a share in the Favour and Confidence of Great Men; that they may be taken notice of, and that having no Greatness of their own, they may be aggrandized by the Grandeur of another. This is that which hurries such infinite Numbers of People to the Palaces of Princes; 'tis not their Love nor their Affection to those Grandees to whom they sacrifice their Service and Attendance.  
But because the high Quality of Men in the first station of Grandeur renders them inaccessible to the Ambitious that are of mean Extraction, who neither dare or can approach their awful Presence, either out of fear or respect, they are overjoyed when some paces are advanced to make an approach easy.  
But that Virtue which inclines Princes and great Noblemen to be kind, courteous, and generous, and so well regulates their Civility, that it corresponds with their Dignity; That Virtue which is called Affability, is the most powerful Allurement which they call employ to gain the good Will of all the World, especially when in such persons it is maintained to its full perfection. For than they not only give free Access to all that seek for their Protection; but prevent the Petitions of their Suppliants, and spa●● 〈◊〉 that Modesty to which they are obl●●●● as often as they make their Addresses, they embrace the Interests of the People, and encourage 'em to bethink themselves what may be for their Advantage.  
True it is, that Affability is a Charm, whose Force it is a difficult matter to withstand; but as true it is on the other side, that the Use which is now made of it, plainly demonstrates it to be no real Virtue. For the Grandees▪ that practise it most innocently, or to say better, least criminally, exercise it only out of a lofty Pride; that is, to fill their Palaces with their Admirers, which they look upon as a pompous mark of the Grandeur of their Credit or their Descent.  
I say then, that the least evil sort of Affability is that of Great Personages, that affect to invite numerous Trains to their Courts only to gratify their Vanity. For the greater Part make use of this Virtue to carry on the designs of their Ambition. And these, how affable and civil soever they may appear in reference to the whole Court, they are kind and affable after another manner in respect to those persons that abide there in a good condition, and may be useful to 'em in gaining those high▪ Preferments and Advantages to which they pretend.  
But Affability is not only Vain and Ambitious; it is also Malicious and Cunning. Such was the Affability of Absolom. That young Prince, says the Scripture, spoke to all that entered into his Father's Palace; asked 'em, whence they came? what business brought 'em thither? And when he had heard their Answers, he commended the Justice of their Causes, and offered his Intercession, By these demonstrations of Goodness labouring to gain and seduce them.  
This Example not only shows us the Malignity of this Artificial and Crasty Virtue, but how it is also particularly devoted to the designs of Usurpers and Rebels, and that it is principally to be met with in the Heads of Factions. For besides, that they have no other way, but by their great Care and Industry, to oblige the▪ Adherence of their Friends and Confederates, who are usually tempted and frequently overcome by the Allurements of the contrary Party, it is impossible they should succeed without the Favour of the Multitude. So that it behoves them to court all sorts of People, civilly to entertain all Comers and Goers, and after they have spent the Night in making sure of their Friends by all manner of Caresses, to waste the Day in fawning upon the miserable Boutefeu's, who are in credit and esteem among the People; which occasioned that Saying of Pindar, That the Life of the Head of a Party was an Honourable Toil. The Affability of persons of Quality that have no merit, is an abject Baseness of Mind, and an incapacity otherwise to support their Dignity.  
Virtuous Affability proceeds from Charity and Humility, and is never to be found but in a Person truly Christian. For while the Pride of his Condition transports him to disdain all the rest of Mankind, Humility inspires him with such mean sentiments of himself, that he is still ready to receive with a free and open countenance all men that he knows are like by Nature, and whom is he apt to believe more virtuous than himself. Charity also contributes to render him Affable; because it inspires into all Christians a desire to serve their Neighbour; which is the reason they joyfully embrace all occasions to signalise their Goodness and Bounty.   

CHAP. XI. COMMISERATION.  
THE Life of Man is subject to many Evils, Misfortunes, and Crosses, that it would be always consumed in vexation and discontent, if Men were not sensible of their trouble, and took care to ease it. But Providence has provided for his Relief, after a wondered manner, by the different obligations which he has scattered among Men. For these obligations engage 'em to interest themselves in what concerns them, and mutually to assist each other. For which reason it is, that through the Wisdom of Providence several are bo●n of the s●me Blood, to the end the Good which they are able to do may communicate itself to their Kindred and Relations, before Strangers; as the Juice that supports the Life of a Tree, distributes itself to the Branches next its Body sooner than to those that are at a distance. Besides, the same Providence infuses into certain persons such a Sympathy of temper, that they contract a Friendship so soon as they know one another; and that union begets an obligation to share in each others Troubles, and to assist each other in all their Necessities. But as Proximity of Blood extends only to a small number of People, and for that Friendship is also more straight confined, the most part of Men in misery would be abandoned, if the same Providence had not found out the secret to join them to the most happy by Nature which is common to both. For it is impossible but that being naturally united, they must be sensible of the Sufferings of others, and being so sensible, they must do what lies in their power for their Relief.  
This is the Privilege of Pity and Commiseration, That they set no bounds in relieving persons whom they love; they lend their assistance to persons the most indifferent, even to those that have not deserved it, nay to their very Enemies. Pity is the Refuge of all in Misery; and therefore we have reason to bestow on her the highest Encomiums, if they who are charitable to the Poor, and relieve the Distressed, do those good Offices from a true Piety and love of God. But our Self-Love, that corrupts and taints all the Good we do, will not let us be sensible of the Miseries of our Neighbour, nor does it inspire us with a desire to relieve their Necessities, but only for a private interest to ourselves, as we shall plainly make out.  
There are few People that Study the Nature of Self-Love, though it be one of the most profitable pieces of Knowledge that we can acquire; since without it we cannot distinguish the fallacious from the pure and real Virtues. For Self-Love is of a wonderful extent, in regard that all who are swayed by it, are disturbed and troubled, for the Subjects they are nearest concerned in, or else for such wherein they have little or no Interest: they have the said fear for Accidents which are never like to happen, as for those wherewith they are threatened: and instead of contenting themselves, to apply remedies to their present Miseries, they employ their whole care to prevent future Misfortunes and Calamities.  
These which are the dispositions of Men full of Self-Love, sufficiently show us, by what Principle they act, who act by the motives of Pity purely Human; and that when they open their Purses to relieve a Person who is fallen to decay; or that they save him from going to Jail a poor Debtor pursued by his Creditors; or that they show themselves officious in the relief of their Neighbours, overwhelmed with Sickness and Sorrow; or that they strive to comfort a Father or Mother for the loss of an only Son; though their Actions persuade us, that they have a real compassion upon the Afflictions and Miseries of their Neighbours; they are persons who have no Pity but upon themselves, whom they serve, assist, and relieve in the persons of others, and wipe from their own, the Tea●s which they seem to wipe from the Eyes of their Neighbours, and their Friends. There are People who finding that through the Inconstancy of Human Affairs, the Wealthy are in a short time impoverished by ill Fortune; that the most strong, and most healthy when they least dream of it ' are attacked by tedious and incurable Diseases; and that the most happy become often the Objects of Fortune's Hatred; take all the care they can of the Unfortunate, to the end that others may take the same compassion upon them, should the same casualties befall Them. So that they prevent all their necessities, and afford themselves beforehand, all the Relief they can imagine: So that Pity is a Sentiment secretly interested, a politic Foresight, or more properly the Providence of Self-Love.  
The Tears which Cesar shed when Theodorus presented him with Pomp●y's Head, clearly demonstrates this to be a Truth. For it is evident that he wept at the sight of that Spectacle, out of a certain apprehension that Fortune who had betrayed Pompey, might prove as unfaithful to Him; And that the number and continuance of the Favours which he received from him, were but a fore boding Omen of her Inconstancy: For if he had bewailed the deplorable end of Pompey, out of the least remainder of Friendship that he had preserved for him; would he not have testified a real abhorrency of an Assassination committed upon so great a Personage, and would he not have punished the Assassin whom he had in his Power? But how could he be truly afflicted at a Murder that had delivered him from so formidable an Enemy, and secured him the Empire? In truth, says Quintus Curtius, They have little experience of the Heart of Man, who expect compassion from thence, or think that the Misfortunes of others go so near their Hearts, as to draw Tears from their Eyes.  
This Idea which I have conceived of Pity, is conformable to the Definition which I have given of it. Pity, says he, Is a Sorrow, which we conceive for the Misfortunes and Afflictions that happen to others, out of mistrust that they may one day befall ourselves; Now if any one desires to be convinced that it is this Mistrust from whence our Pity springs let him but observe, that it is rarely to be found among those that are laden with Wealth and Honour, and who are fixed in their Prosperity; or among that sort of miserable People, who are overwhelmed with Calamity, that there remains nothing more for them to fear. Therefore we have great reason to wonder, that Pity should be looked upon as a virtuous Quality; much more when we consider that there is nothing to be valued in the Causes that produce it, or the Subjects wherein we usually meet with it.  
Pity in itself is but a mollifying of the Soul, which Virtue incessantly labours to fortify; so that it is chiefly for Pity's sake, that Plato condemns Dramatic Poetry. There they represent, says he, Tragical Adventures, and bring us Hero's upon the Stage, complaining and bewalling their misfortunes, to move the Spectators Pity; not considering that being thus mollified, they are much more apt to be cast down by Afflictions. Ought they not rather then to have proposed Us Afflictions proper to confirm and strengthen the Soul, and to have brought upon the Theatre such great Persons as bo●e their Losses and Misfortunes with a Generous Equality, and Constancy of Mind? True it is, that Aristotle is not of his Opinion, believing Dramatic▪ Poetry to be a lively and natural Imitation and Portraiture of the Passions, to make Men either fear or avoid 'em. A singular Remedy indeed, and a strange Undertaking, to pretend to cure Passions by Passions.  
As to the productive Causes of Pity, there are Two in chief, The First is excess of Self-Love, which is the reason that Man extending his Prospect through the whole course of his Life, searches out for Remedies for all the Accidents that may befall him.  
The cause of Pity is the mixture of Humours, where Phlegm predominates. For moist persons are apt than others to receive the impressions of Objects; and they weep the more easily, because they find some ease in shedding Tears. Hence it comes to pass, that they who are of this temper, are not always alike sensible of it; and that there are some times and hours of the day that they little perceive it, as Phlegm p●edominates more or less. So that we must not look upon that for Bread or Relief, which is merely given by the Commission of Nature.  
The Subjects that are most susceptible of Pity, are Old Men. Women and Children, who are all Subjects, weak and easy to be moved; Old Men, because their Minds and Bodies are enfeebled by Age; Children, because they act by the impression which those Objects that strike the Senses, imprint therein; And Women, because their Sex doth not admit 'em to employments that awaken and exercise their Courage; And beside, they want Learning and Knowledge which fortifies the Mind; so that when bad Accidents befall 'em, they have neither Strength nor Resolution: And for this reason they extremely bemoan all those that they behold in durance, and that they would, if they might, says Seneca, knock off their Shackles, and set open the Prison Doares.  
So that although all Men have a kindness for tenderhearted Persons, though the whole World be anticipated in favour of Pity, yet we must beware how we take it for a virtuous Quality; rather we ought to look upon it as a real Passion, as it is reckoned to be by the consent of all Philosophers. True it is, that Aristo●le ranks it in the number of those Passions which he calls profitable and necessary; For he believing that all Generous Actions, and Noble Sciences are beholding for their Original to Ambition: that desire of Immortality made so many Hero's and Great Men Famous in all Arts and Sciences; that Choler aids the valiant, and shares in all warlike Achievements; that Fear causes us to foresee Mischief, and is a matter of Prudence; believes in like manner that Pity excites us to supply the wants of the Poor, and to be liberal upon all occasions.  
Cicero cannot relish this Opinion, and laughs at Aristotle for affirming, That Man could not be Charitable, were he not mollified by Pity. Man, says he, would be very unfortunate, if there were a necessity that he should be miserable, that he might relieve the Unfortunate; or that nothing but a disturbed or troubled Soul could succour the Indigent. Or as if he could not, says Seneca, relieve the Afflicted, without being cast down, languishing and sad like them.  
But is not Pity, then, the usual Promoter of that Charity, which we exercise towards our Neighbour? There is nothing more certain, Answers Cic●ro. But the Question is not, How Men perform those actions which are laudable and virtuous in themselves, but how they ought to be done, and what is the disposition of a Wise Man, when he relieves those that are in necessity. Now the disposition of a prudent Man is such, that he does good by the calm dictates of Reason, and never stays till he be excited thereto by his Passions; So that the more he increases in Wisdom, the less need he has to be moved by his compassion to succour the Poor; because the Command of Reason is a sufficient motive to him to do acts of Charity. This disposition of a Wise Man proceeds from hence; That the forwarder he advances in Virtue, the more like he becomes to God, who without being moved with the pains of them that suffer, delivers 'em by the sole Dictates of his Prudence: And that which gives us some reason to suspect, says St. Austin, That Pity is the weakness and infirmity of our Nature; that the blessed Angels preserve Men from Shipwreck, although they feel no motion of Compassion, rising from the danger wherein they see him. And therefore it was, Seneca said, A Wise Man ought to be always charitable, but not always weak.  
Now if we would understand how it comes to pass, that Men have such a kindness for those that are sensible of the Misfortunes of others, and why Pity has found advancement among the Qualities of highest value? I Answer, That Men have conceived an advantageous Opinion of Pity for the same reason that persuaded the Babylonians that Belus was a God; for as they had that belief, and paid him Divine Honours, because they found his Statue to be a Sanctuary for Criminals, so the vulgar seeing Pity to be the Refuge of the Miserable, have esteemed, and honoured it as a Divine Quality; By which we see, that Interest is not only the Original of all fallacious Verues, but is also the cause of that Esteem and Virtue which we put upon 'em.  
Pity is applauded through that extreme aversion which Men have to Severity, which is a quality altogether strange and opposite to the Nature of Man; because it stifles within him all Sentiments of Humanity; and seems to shut his Heart against all other Men, by rendering it insensible of their afflictions and miseries. We may also say that seeing Severity is a Vice that hinders Men from mutual Sympathising in their Sorrows and Afflictions; it is a commendable thing to be sensible of the Miseries which we are obliged to relieve: but there we must stop; for if we go a step further, and draw this Consequence from thence, That the Pity which we have for others merely out of Self-Love, is a virtuous Quality; we begin to go astray, because the Sentiments that Virtue inspires, are peaceable, uniform, and free from Interest; and for that Natural Compassion is a Sentiment unquiet, unequal, and biased by Interest; so that it is a quite different thing to be moved with Pity, and to be mollified by Charity. Charity re-establishes the power of Reason in Man, Pity weakens it; Charity makes him always sensible, and causes him to relieve, to the best of his ability, the necessities of all Men, Friends Enemies, Servants, Strangers, as also those that are absent. Pity carries him no farther to Relief, than he is exposed thereto by present Objects. Charity considers our Duty to God in relieving our Neighbour; Pity is only moved with Temporal Miseries and Misfortunes.  
We must however acknowledge, that though Pity be in itself no more than a weakening of the Soul, and though the inducements to it are no way to be commended, yet that it is to be valued for its Effects; for it occasions an infinite number of good Deeds in the World, which would never be done without it. So that when I have discovered the effects of it, my intention was not absolutely to condemn it, and to find fault with the succour which we give to our Neighbour by its Incitements; since it behoves us to approve all good Actions, by whatever imperfect Principle they are produced. My design was therefore only to undeceive those People, who believe they are virtuously tender and charitable, every time that out of their Natural Compassion they take poor People into their Houses, or pay the Ransom of any Captive: And to let 'em understand that no Man is virtuous, but when he acts out of a virtuous disposition, according to that Maxim of Aristotle, He is not virtuous, let his virtuous Actions be never so great, who does not undertake 'em out of a virtuous Consideration.  
So that if there be any Christians, as doubtless there are a great Number, who do not find in themselves this virtuous disposition, this Exhortation may not be unseasonable; That if all People that belong to God, are not yet so dear to 'em, as for them to symyathize in their Miseries and Afflictions, or be thought worthy of their Sighs; Let 'em however follow the Sentiments of Nature, which binding 'em with the common tye of Affection to all other Men, obliges them to participate of their Troubles. Oh let 'em do that, through the motives of Pity, which they cannot do for the sake of God and Charity!   

CHAP. XII. GENEROSITY.  
Word's have this Affinity with the Lineaments of the Face, that as it is not sufficient for those Lineaments to be lovely, unless they be placed in their Natural Situation: In like manner it is not amiss for Words to be Elegant and Polite, as being unacceptable when they are not in the place where they ought to be. The word Generosity is very proper for the proof of what I assert; It is a Word in good request, it pleases the Ear, and Men have affixed to it a very fair Idea. And yet it is not sufficient, when made use of, as it is by many sorts of People, especially by those who not having been bred at Court, pretend nevertheless to speak more politely than the Vulgar; For we observe that they give this Name to all manner of Actions and Virtues Illustrious and Extraordinary. Whereas it properly signifies that Magnananimous Virtue only that triumphs over Revenge, when it it is in our Power to take our satisfaction, inclines us to make a good use of all the advantages offered to us, over those that profess themselves our Enemies upon all occasions, and spare for no Industry to do Us Mischief.  
If we consider the Virtues, as they are ranked in our Estimation, we shall find that we prefer all those Virtues which we cannot practise without offering great violence to our Sentiments, before those which we practise easily, or else as disposed thereto by our Natural Inclinations. And therefore Valour, which is the reason that Man exposes himself to continual dangers, and that he surmounts the resistance of Nature, is esteemed quite after another manner than Goodness, Hospitality, or Humanity, to which he is inclined of himself, and of which he performs all the Duties without any reward, struggling, or contention.  
For this reason it is that they have placed Generosity among the most excellent Virtues; for that there is none that requires a greater Force of the Soul, or which encounters within us, a smarter reluctancy, or more obstacles to overcome. For what a great Command must a victorious Captain have over himself, who having vanquished and taken a fierce and Insolent Enemy, who had provoked and defied him in several Encounters, entertains him nevertheless, not only with Mildness and Humanity, but with all the Civility and Handsomeness imaginable? Must not also he be a great Master of his Resentments, who favours those that have caused him to waste the best part of his Estate through their quarrelsome and litigious vexations, when after the loss of their suit so unjustly commenced, it lies in his power to ruin 'em? Lastly, we must acknowledge that we have need of a great deal of good Nature to pardon a Person that has offered us a bloody Affront, when his Misfortune delivers him into our power, and that we have an easy opportunity to revenge ourselves. And that which advances the Power of Generosity upon all occasions, is this, that besides that, the Power of Revenge is so sweet, that it is a difficult thing for a Man to surmount its Temptations; and generally all those Advantages that he obtains against those that have adventured to contend with him, so swell his Heart, that he has much ado to govern it.  
We cannot deny but that the force of Generosity is highly extraordinary; But thence it does not follow, that it is a virtuous Force: For as St. Austin says, There are two sorts of strong Men, that divide all Mankind: the one sort, is of such who are strong through the vehemence of their desires. The other sort, that is to say, True Christians, are strong through the greatness of their Charity. There is nothing that they will not venture for the Love of God. There is nothing which the others will not dare, or are not capable to act for the Love of themselves, and to gratify their Passions. To them they are beholding for all their force and Strength; and it is their Ambition that empowers 'em to vanquish their Revenge, For how sweet soever pleasure of Revenge may be, an ambitious Person that loves Glory, finds the Honour which he seeks in a Generous proceeding, much more sweet than his Revenge. Reason also joins with his Ambition, and shows him, that Revenge, how pleasing soever, it is but a Transitory Delight; where the Reputation which he acquires by his Generosity, remains to perpetuity.  
The Generosity of Prime Ministers, and such as are in Authority, proceeds from their Interest; and therefore when they apprehend that a person of Merit, or high Quality is obstructed, being their professed Enemy, and perplexed in his Affairs, they presently use all their diligence to help him out of his trouble, on purpose to gain his good Will, and fix him to their Interests. And upon the same score they are more officious many times to gratify their greatest Enemies, than their most faithful and zealous Friends.  
Again, our Natural Malignity is the most usual cause of our Generosity; For in serving those that have crossed our Designs, we do but heap, as it were, so many Coals of Fire upon their Heads; that is to say, we do 'em kindness for no other end, but only to make 'em ashamed that ever they did us any injury, and to render 'em the more inexcusable, if they persevere in their Malice towards us. The Spirit of Revenge may be reckoned for a piece of this Malignity. For we believe that if a Person to whom we have been frequently serviceable, comes to fail in the Obligations which he owes us, he will disband himself, and revenge the injustice done us, much better than we can do ourselves.  
The Generosity of Victors toward the Vanquished, is either vain or politic; which makes us wonder that Historians should extol the kindness which Alexander showed to the Mother, Wife, and Daughter of Darius, for Actions really Generous. For besides that their Sex and Quality in some measure, obliged him to those Civilities, and that he could not have done otherwise, without a great stain to his Reputation; he was so desperately in Love with Honour, that his Soul not being satisfied with what he had gained by his Victories, he labours incessantly to augment his Civilities; besides that, he took care, as much as in him lay, to alleviate the misfortunes of those Captive Princes, to prevent their Hatred against him that was the Author of all their Miseries. He had also a particular aim so far to recover the good Opinion of Darius, and the Royal Family, as to believe, that since their evil destiny had deprived 'em of the former Luster, and subjected 'em under his Dominion, they could not have fallen into better hands. And we find that Alexander obtained the Honour which he desired by the Prayer of Darius, to the Gods, That if they were fully resolved in their displeasure, to take from his Family the Diadem of Persia, they would set it upon Alexander's Head, to recompense the Virtue of so good and generous a Prince. The same Honour he received from Sisygambis the Queen. This Sovereignty, said She, is so soft and gentle, that the Remembrance of my past Felicity does no way render me uneasy in the Condition of my present Fortune.  
Nor was it out of any desire to revenge the death of Darius, or out of any hatred of the Treason, that he so severely punished that horrid Assassination committed by B●ssus, since it was his Perfidiousness, how execrable soever, that put Alexander in the possession of the greatest Empire in the World. But it was for his Honour, and his Interests sake, that he revenged the Death of Darius, but chiefly for the sake of his Interest. For he put Bessus to death, to prevent the Conspiracy of his own Commanders against him. And this is no more than the Advice which Darius sent him some few Minutes before he expired, that it would be no less Profitable than Honourable for him to prosecute his Revenge upon that execrable Parricide Bessus, as owing that Example to the World; and for that it was the common Cause of all Kings.  
Less does it deserve the name of Generosity, when seeing Darius lying all along dead in his Chariot, he covered his Body with his upper Garment, and bitterly bewailed the Misfortune of so Great a King, for coming to an end so unsuitable to his high Dignity. For it was no Sentiment of Generosity that made him bewail the evil destiny of his Enemy, for that Darius was none of Alexander's Enemy, but Alexander was Darius', and had invaded his Empire; So that it was Alexander himself who was the real Subject of his own Lamentations, who reflecting upon himself in the Person of Darius, saw himself abandoned by his own People, assassinated by his best Friends, and overwhelmed with those dire Misfortunes that usually attend great Prosperities.  
Among these sorts of People who esteem as Generous all those Sentiments, wherein there appears something of Grandeur of Mind, as the Contempt of Money and vain Honours; some there are that vilify this sort of Generosity; Foreseeing, that almost all the World run after the Favour of Great Personages, and court their Kindness, not only with a restless credulity, but after a sordid and misbeseeming manner, they steer a quite con-contrary course. They refuse all attendance upon those Great Men, to desire any Kindness at their hands, or so much as to speak to 'em. Or if any Minister be civil to 'em, where he meets 'em by chance; or sends 'em word that he has a particular esteem for them; instead of Answering these Cruelties with Respect, they become more haughty, and rigid against all Courtiers; for poor spirited People, giving no Quarter to those, who being free from the Corruptions of the Court, hold a friendly Correspondence only with the Prime Ministers, to preserve themselves in their Employments, or out of a desire to advance themselves.  
The Conduct of these falsehearted Generosities is only a vain affectation, and contempt of Favour, proceeding from a concealed displeasure, to see that there is no probability of being introduced into Court, either because the Employments which they desire are already full, or because they believe that they who are in the King's Favour are not kind to them. And that which begets in them this Opinion, is this, that they are altogether insensible of those marks of Favour shown 'em by the chief Ministers, while they believe that the Honours and Caresses which they receive, tend only to enslave 'em; Whereas not one of 'em but is easily increased, when a Favourite offers 'em in earnest his Amity and Confidence. This singularity of their Proceeding proves that it does not partake of any virtuous Principle; For Virtue affects no particular Conduct, nor does it absolutely renounce any; but always guides itself by the Rules which are prescribed by Decency and Reason. Besides, this is a certain Maxim, That all Singularity, under whatever forced disguises, proceeds from the Irregularity of the Mind, or some ambitious Desire, or some Interest that lies concealed in the Heart.  
Therefore, as none but Christians have a sincere Love for those that hate 'em, that persecute 'em, that despoil 'em of their Estates, and ●ear the very bowels of their Reputation, with Slanders and Calumnies; so none but they alone are truly Virtuous and Generous; and their Generosity is an excellent proof of Christianity; For it is Christianity that has taught us to render Good for Evil, and to imitate God, who causes the Sun to shine upon the Just and the Unjust, and protects with so much Goodness the Lives of his Enemies.   

CHAP. XIII. POLITENESS.  
MOst People confine Politeness to Language only, and will allow it no other Employment than to choose, to place and Muster up words together. Nevertheless, most certain it is, that Men may be very rude in their Behaviour, be Sots and mere Pedants, yet perfectly understand Language. To Politeness therefore other Functions belong much more exalted, especially those which it enjoys in reference to the Soul. For there it is that Politeness renders our Thoughts, our Relishes, and our Sentiments civil and delicate: and there it is that Politeness causes this Delicacy and Civility to cast a reflection on our Actions, our Proceedings, and all the exterior Behaviours of Men: So that it is no where to be found but at Court, where all things are in that degree of Perfection, where we observe some Persons so Polite, that they never act or speak any thing to be found fault with, or that give the least offence.  
But they, who together with an excellent Education, have obtained a great Knowledge in the World, are not satisfied with being Polite in reference to themselves; nor does their Industry bound itself in the regulation of their own Actions and Words to that exactness, as not to give the least distaste; but they find it necessary also to be Polite, in reference to others, and that it behoves 'em to study their Humours and Sentiments, that they may understand how to speak, and behave themselves, to render themselves acceptable in company.  
Nor do they stop there, but as they are People that dive into the Breasts of every Man, and for that they know he is less concerned for what flatters his Inclinations, than for what is serviceable to his Interests, they not only take all opportunities to serve others, like those that go under the name of Double Diligent; but they accompany their Services with all that they can imagine to be most obliging, and most capable to please, because they believe it is with kind Offices and Services, as with Diamonds, whose value is in themselves, but their Lustre becomes more pleasing and delightful, according as they are Set by the Artist.  
We must not wonder then, if they that have attained the perfection of Politeness, of which we have given the Idea, are so acceptable at Court, and so well received in all Companies. And the rarity of this sort of People contributes much to enhance their price. For if we consider the dispositions of the greatest part of men, how that to engage some to serve us in our most important Affairs, it behoves us to set all our Wits at work; how that when we have earnestly importuned 'em, we must frequently renew our Requests; how they will put us off from time to time, and at length give us a slight account of our Business; we are over joyed to meet with People that seem to divine our business before we have discovered it, and immediately untertake it as their own, and follow it close till they have accomplished it, to the wishes of their Friends.  
But whatever Encomiums Men may give this sort of Politeness, and though we are persuaded that there is nothing so rare or worthy of esteem, we can easily prove it to be no virtuous Quality. First, because those Persons who are most applauded for it, are People so far from the profession of Piety, without which there can be no sound and real Virtue; that we always observe 'em most deeply engaged in all the Intrigues at Court, acting altogether according to the Fetches of Human Policy: and some of 'em very irregular in their Manners, without Faith or Polity; which however we are still ready to pardon, provided they do our Business.  
In the Second place we never meet with this Politeness but in Persons endued with abundance of Wit, and consequently capable to apprehend all the effects of a Kindness done effectually, quickly, and with a good Grace: On the other side, that Men lose the Fruit of their Services, by long delay, or when they must be spurred on by Importunity, and tiresome Solicitations; and that it is not the Obligations, but the manner of obliging that engages People in our Interests.  
In the Third place, They that surpass in the Art of Obliging, never do all they can do, but when they have to deal with Persons as quick as themselves, who are capable to observe and value what is rare and singular in their management.  
Lastly, They chiefly wait for Opportunities to serve such persons as are most considerable at Court for their Merit, their Quality, or their Fortunes. And then it is that they spare neither Care nor Industry, to the end their good Offices and Services may be embellished, with whatever is capable to render their Sedulity valuable, and their Persons Graceful to their Employers.  
These are certain Proofs that their Politeness is no virtuous Quality, and that we ought not to be so much dazzled with the Wonders which they perform for the service of their Friends; but that all their Services, accomplished with so much Zeal, so much Diligence, so much Fidelity and Exactness, are but so many examples of Services to show us after what a ready, exact and perfect manner they would be served themselves. If any question it, they need no more than call to mind the Complaints which they make themselves of Persons, who being obliged to their former Kindnesses, forsake 'em in their Business, or being entrusted in their Affairs, either neglect or solicit 'em so carelessly, as if they never minded what became either of themselves or their Friends.  
True Christians therefore are the only Persons in whom this sort of Politeness becomes a Virtue, and who are owners of all the Qualities that are attributed to it: For they have so great a value for their Neighbours, that they study all manner of Precaution to behave themselves, as not to give the least Offence in any of their Words or Actions. They study all the Complacency imaginable, and they embrace the Interests of their Neighbours with an Affection so Sincere and Cordial, that in all they act for him it is visible, that they never seek themselves. So that we may say that Charity, which is the Original of that Conduct which they observe toward their Neighbours, is the sole and only true Politeness, and real Civility, and that of all other Men, Christians are the truly Polite and Civil People.   

CHAP. XIV. HUMILITY.  
AS there are certain Vizards so fine and so natural, that they can hardly be distinguished from the Countenances themselves; and others so clownishly and botche●ly, that they are easily discerned. So there are some Virtues so well counterfeited that we take 'em frequently for currant; and others, of which the World easily discerns the Cheat. When we see a Person upon the Scaffold that faces Death with Resolution, and who chooses rather to suffer than to betray his intimate Friend by his Confession; to weaken such a convincing Proof of Friendship, it behoves us to have sounded the very bottom of that Man's Heart, to discover that his Friendship had a less share in that action than his Vanity. But when we find People Vain in their Re●inues, Haughty in their Behaviour, yet always affecting the lower Hand, and upon all occasions pretending low Thoughts of themselves; there needs no such piercing judgement to discern their feigned Modesty, and their counterfeit Humility.  
We may say, and that not untruly, that it was in the bosom of the Court, that this false Virtue was first bred. For it is the Court only that produces this sort of People that are ashamed and offended at the Encomiunts given them, that undervalue themselves, and who being extremely troubled to receive Honours that are due to 'em, pay to others more than they are obliged to do. Which proceeds from hence, that it is properly at the Court, where Fortune inflames Ambition to show the greatest Favours. For inflamed Ambition causes Courtiers continually to assume new Shapes, and to all manner of Parts to obtain and extol those Favours. In other places she dispenses but petty Graces; Whence we observe, That Men are more Natural in the Country, that they do not force their Inclinations, and Study less to counterfeit old Virtues, and invent new ones.  
To discover therefore the falsehood of this Virtue, it behoves us to consider, That Pride is so much the absolute Master of Man, that it is the Prince of all his Internal Inclinations, and of all his Actions. We are to observe moreover, not without astonishment, That it is equally the cause as well of his Emotions as of his Repose; and that after it has raised Seditions in his Soul, it as suddenly calms 'em by a miraculous Power. For at the same time that Delicacy renders Man sensible of an Injury, Pride at the same instant kindles his Anger, and that he betakes himself to his Arms to kindle his Resentment; and when his Transportments, and his Impetuosities disband him; Pride suddenly appeases him, and restores him to his first settlement. So that Aristotle's definition of Nature, perfectly agrees with Pride, as being the true principle of Man's Motion and Rest.  
We are also to observe, that Pride is Morally invincible; that the meanest condition never abates it, no disgraceful or unfortunate accident humbles it, nor can any Puissance make it submit; So that a proud Person may well be trampled under foot, but never be tamed.  
If Pride than Governs and masters Man, and will never suffer him to be subdued, as we all find by experience; it is easy from hence to conclude, That when a Man despises and rebukes himself, his Words betray his Thoughts; and that every time he debases himself before others, 'tis only to exalt himself above others; and that he would never act so contrary to his proud and haughty Genius, were he not convinced that there was nothing more proper to advance him than his own voluntary unworthy Thoughts of himself.  
There are other Marks to show, that the Humility of the falsely Humble, is no more than Dissimulation. The First is, That at the same time that they seem to have such a scorn and contempt of themselves, they continually observe the behaviour of others towards 'em; they rigorously expect from others those Formalities and Respects which are their due, and revenge the least injuries done 'em. Wherefore Guarini said, That there was no fair Wether so deceitful, as that which appears in the Countenances of Courtiers; in regard that at the same time that they seemed calm and sedate, a Word, or a Gesture would change all their Serenity into Storm and Tempest.  
Gente placida, in vista è mansueta  
Mapriu del cupo Mar tumida e fera  
A sort of People in their Looks most mild.  
But angered once, than Sormy Seas more wild.  
A Second Mark is this, That they are smooth and supple, in respect of Persons useful to their Interests, haughty in their Behaviour to others. Scylla, said Plutarch, humbled himself before those of whom he stood in need, but would be adored by those that stood in need of him.  
The Third Mark is this, That they who so willingly affect the lowest Seats at Festivals and public Assemblies, never debase themselves in that manner, but with regard to such persons who they know they can take place of when they please without contending for it; and that no Men are more jealous to preserve their rank among their Equals; and that it is a pain to 'em to submit to those whose quali●y superior to theirs.  
The Fourth is, That among those Counterfeiters of Humility, who condescend to utter the meanest things of themselves, who acknowledge their Errors, their Defect, and evil Inclinations; There is not one that makes these acknowledgements in order to his own Reformation, but only to discharge themselves of some part of the blame which is laid upon 'em, and to lessen the shame which they ought to have for what they have done. And this petty piece of Politics it is, that causes Women to confess their entertaining of Gallants, that they may do it with more Liberty and less Shame.  
As for Errors and Defects, there is not one who accuses himself of any that are Essential, as to have neither Honour, or Probity to be a Liar or a Cheat. Only they blame themselves for not being prompt and quick, for being negligent, slothful, and such like faults that are no stain to their Reputation. The most perfect may have sometime returned an idle Answer, or have been transported beyond the bounds of Moderation. But no body confesses that he has robbed or betrayed his Friends. And we are further to observe, That they who make these Confessions with the least trouble, are persons of the deepest reach, for they understand better than others, that it is not so ignominious to confess Faults that all the World commits, than to be so vain as never to acknowledge themselves in an Error.  
Now all these Marks confirm that Oracle of the Scripture, There is a wicked Man that hangs down his Head sadly, but is full of deceit: and that saying of St. Anstin, That false Humility is great Pride. They also show, That the Humiliy of the People of this World is but a Piece of unstable Cunning to make themselves more esteemed than they seem to desire by their words, and by their actions to make little account of themselves; so that their Humility is only a disguised Pride and a visible Hypocrisy.  
But True Humility, says St. Austin, is a Virtue so particular to Christians, that the Pagan Philosophers never knew what it meant. I have read great Truths says the Learned Father, in the Books of the Platonics; but none of those Books instruct us in the Knowledge of that humble Piety, which is no where to be found but among the Christians. For Pride shuts their Understandings against those Lights that discovered Man to himself, and only carried 'em to the practice of those flattering Virtues that immortalize their Reputation; Only Christians have the privilege to humble themselves before God, through their acknowledgement of that Nothing, out of which Man was first Created, and of that miserable Condition to which Sin has reduced him.  
And therefore we have great reason to wonder at the Mistake of Plutarch, who apprehends for a great action of Humility, that of Thales, wherefore the Tripos of Gold with the Oracle, adjudged him as the wisest Man than living. For that Philosopher having laboured all his Life-time to merit that Title, would by no means let go such a fair opportunity to show that he was worthy of it. For being so Wise in the esteem of the World, he showed by his refusal of the Tripos, that he was not so in his own judgement. Nor could he do otherwise without hazarding the Censure of being presumptuons in regard that Bias, who was offered it before, had refused it in like manner. So that the Philosopher behaved him like one emulous of Glory, while he aspired to the reputation of being Wise, by making a semblance of believing himself a Fool.  
But then again, as for the Humility of Christians that tax themselves for many Defects, of which they neither are, nor believe themselves to be guilty; it is a false Humility; for that real Humility is never contrary to Truth. Nor does it consist in the Confession that a Man makes, that he is beholding for his Being, and all his Blessings both Natural and Supernatural, to the pure Goodness of God; it be hoves him moreover to acknowledge that his Understanding is full of Error, that his Inclinations are all depraved, and that by Nature nothing in the Sight of God, he is become a Nothing in opposition to God, and in Arms against his Sovereign.   

CHAP. XV. LIBERALITY.  
PLeasure not only causes the Irregularity of the most part of Humane Actions, but it is also the most usual Source of the Errors of Men. For as our Minds and our Senses follow its Allurements with an equal Zeal; so our Wits are always employed in the search of what is most proper for its satisfaction. Whence it comes to pass, that we are still to sinned out Satisfactions much more lovely in appearance, than they are indeed; nay, though they be false and deceitful, provided they please, we always judge 'em to be real.  
And this same perpetual Industry of Human Wit, to gratify its self with fair and lovely Objects, is the reason that it has found out Heroes with Divine Qualities; that there are Men, who by the strength of their Reason, triumph over Pain, Pleasure, Anger and Revenge; and that there are others endued with Sentiments so Noble, that they are of themselves inclined to undertake and perform all the Actions which the most Illustrious Virtues inspire.  
We must not wonder then, if the World has such a high esteem for Liberality, which is in the number of those Virtues that cast abroad the brightest Lustre; and that they believe it not only to be a Virtue most sincere, but also rare and altogether extraordinary. Of this Men are so strongly convinced, and have such an Affection and Admiration for those that make a noise in the World by their Presents, and their Bounty, that at Court they seem to make public Vows for their Advancement, provided they be cunning, and understand the Liberality that pleases and obliges, and that they take their opportunities to be profuse in the sight of those, by whom it is for their Advantage to be esteemed. Princes, and all Persons of high Quality reap great Advantages from Liberality, since it distinguishes 'em from others in the same degree; and for that by their Benefits they oblige the more honest sort of People, and attract the Good Will of all Men. Avarice also gives it a Glorious Luster, and that Vice which renders so great a number of People Vile and Contemptible, contributes not a little to enhaunse the value of those who are endued with Noble and Generous Inclinations; and who never value Money, but out of the pleasure which they take to spend it.  
If Great Personages, and generally all those who are high in esteem for their Liberality, were really such as by Fame they are represented; If they valued the happiness of their Great Estates, only for the advantage▪ of bettering the condition of their Friends, or for being thereby enabled to gratify Persons of Worth and Merit; If they embraced all opportunities of doing good, so that we might say of 'em, And the Good that secks 'em out, at the same time flies their sight; We could not then without extreme Injujustice refuse 'em the highest of Encomiums. But we shall find they are far different from what they seem to be; if we refer ourselves to the Testimony of those judicious and solid Persons, who never relying upon common Opinions, take particular cognizance of the Manners of Men; for these Persons thus instructed and informed, assure us, that those Persons whose Liberality we adore, are even at the brink of Despair, when there is any small Expense required at home, at the same time that they are so extravagantly profuse in the sight of the World. That they refuse even necessary subsistence to their Relations and Friends, when upon others they spend even to Superfluity; and that the Wages of their Servants are unpaid, when they give high Entertainments to Strangers.  
And this is a strong proof, That Liberality that advances the Esteem of so many Persons, is a fallacious Virtue: And the force of the Argument consists in this, That the Character of True Virtue is to agree with all the other Virtues. Now the Liberality of those, whose Pu●se is always open to their Friends, is visibly contrary to Justice; for we know well that while they are so free of their Presents, and that they let no opportunity of Expense escape, they not only never mind the payment of their Debts, but frequently give away what they have borrowed, and sometimes robbed, or got by violence from other People. And the same Argument makes it out, That the Spirit which animates 'em is the Spirit of Vanity, which can always find Money to supply a Vainglorious Humour, but never to recompense a Servant grown old in their Service, nor to pay a Tradesman that hath furnished 'em with his Goods, to his Ruin.  
Therefore these Persons so famous for their Liberality, are no more than Civil violators of Justice and Equity. Of which there are two sorts; Those that ruin themselves by their Profusion, and deprive their Children of what they lavish away to strangers: And those that being advanced to high Employments, rob the Public to enrich particular Persons, and Heads of Factions; who to gratify their Friends, and purchase the Favour of the Rabble, despoil the Estates of those that refuse to side with their Interests.  
Now though they all resemble one another in the injury they do to Justice both Public and Private, yet the Motives that induce 'em to Liberality, are quite different. For the Liberality of some is purely Vainglorious, which is the most usual sort of Liberality. The Liberality of others is Vainglorious, but Politic withal; and such was Alexander's Liberality, who to outdo the Presents which Taxites, King of the Indies had sent him, made him a Magnificent Banquet, where he drank to him a Health of Six hundred thousand Crowns, or a thousand Talents, which he ordered forthwith to be paid him. And others there are whose Profusenesses are purely Political, as were those of Cesar, who kept open House, entertained a vast Retinue of Servants, and divertized the People of Rome with public Shows and Interludes at his own expense, on purpose to oblige 'em to give him their Suffrages to advance him to the chief Employments in the Commonwealth; which was the first step to his Imperial Dignity. The Profuseness of Scipio was upon the same score, as appears by the reproaches that Cato the Censor made him. Thou consumest, said he, even the Public Revenue in excessive Gifts to the Soldiers and Officers, to gain their Hearts, and make thyself Master of the Army, not minding the Corruption of Military Discipline, and that thou art the cause, that their Courage grows Effeminate, while pampered by thy Luxuries.  
The Second Proof of the Falsehood of Liberality is this, That assoon as a Man proposes Expense to himself, that he may appear Honourable, his Avarice opposes his Vainglory, and contends against it with all its force. And although the Contest be concealed in his Breast, yet may it be discovered by the Effects which it produces. For we find every day that a Great Lord that has entertained in his House Persons of the same Quality, after he has given order that nothing be wanting that is in Season, Neat, Delicate, and Magnificent; the next day when he comes to reckon with his Steward, he disputes the price of Things, and shows by his Transports his Vexation, and sometimes by his Repentance, that he had not been so splendid, but that his Ambition got the upper hand of his Avarice, and that a Liberal Man is but the Martyr of his Vanity.  
Affectation is a Third Proof that Liberality is no sincere Virtue. This Affectation is visible in the foregoing Examples. We have known a Great Lord of the Old Court, who having lost a great Sum at Play, left off of a sudden; and because People believed he left off to save the rest of his Money, which was very considerable, he gave it away in cold Blood to those that supplied the Cards, to the admiration of all the Company. We have seen a Governor of a Province, whose Train equalled that of a Sovereign Prince, who ordered a prodigious number of clothes to be made him, and never wore the same Suit twice; but after he had worn a Suit one day, gave it away to his Favourites, or to his Servants, which made him looked upon in his Government, and over all France, for the most Liberal and Generous Person in the World.  
The Fourth Proof is this, That they who are esteemed for their Liberality, let all the World see what they do: Whence it comes to pass, that they are more or less Liberal, according to the opportunities which they have to be so; but never show it, unless they have remarkable Testimonies of their Liberality.  
Play is the next Proof, that Man is never truly Liberal; for when the heat of Play has disordered him, and rendered him uncapable to conceal his ordinary Defects and vicious Inclinations, presently he cries out,  
Dolosi Spes refulsit Nummi.  
Hope of deceitful Money brightly shone.  
The hope of Gain kindles him in such a manner, and renders itself so suddenly Master of his Thoughts, that if he win, he feels at the bottom of his Heart, that immediately ascends into his Face: If he lose, he brooks his loss with an extreme Anxiety; So that the same Person that seems to throw away his Money profusely, applies himself to his Game with all the eagerness imaginable, and shows how truly he loves the Good, which he strives to despise.  
The Sixth Proof is, That Persons who are accounted Liberal, never observe the Dictates of Reason in the distribution of their Gifts; for they squander 'em sometimes to Persons of no Worth or Merit: They take no care to proportion their Favours to the Nature of their Exigencies; they gratify the Rich, and leave those unregarded to whom a small taste of their Virtue would be an incredible Relief. This mark of False Liberality is very considerable; Whereas on the other side, it is a certain sign that a Man is truly Liberal, if he prefer out of Choice for Objects, Persons of Merit and Virtue fallen under Misfortune; if he bestow his Money upon poor Widows, burdened with a numerous Family; or to People imprisoned for small and trivial Debts.  
In the last place we prove that no Man is Liberal, because there is not any Man but who is Covetous; for that all the Passions are predominant to some degree or other in the Heart of Man; and consequently Avarice as well as others: And though it appear not equally alike in all Men, she shows herself in all, and at all times, or at least upon several occasions. We find also that Avarice is a Passion predominant in all those that are advanced in years; For as their Business increases every day with their Infirmities, and as their experience also has taught 'em, that there are a thousand ways to lose the Estate and Fortune which a Man thinks himself sureof, so they all bemoan their own Conditions, and study all the ways imaginable of Thrift and Sparing; So that after Ambition, Love, Envy, Jealousy, Hatred and Revenge have tyrannised over Man, Covetousness comes to torment him in her turn, and so concludes his miserable Life. This Passion that brings him so low, is the last Agitation that troubles his Repose, and shows him, That if he seek not for it in God, he must never expect it but in his Tomb.  
What has been said may serve to put us in mind of that admirable saying of Plato, who said, That the Virtue of Men was no more than an Exchange. For this definition perfectly agrees with liberality, since that which we exercise most usually, is but exchange of Money for Honour, as we find in those persons who are prodigal of their own in the sight of Princes and Great Personages, merely to oblige 'em to return 'em their expenses, in Pensions, Employments, or Honourable Preferments: and so in these Men who are highly Ambitious, who purchase the Suffrages of the People to obtain the Sovereign Power; it is an Exchange of Money for Dominion; The Liberality of Lovers, who consume their Estates in Presents, and other idle Expenses, is an Exchange of Money for the satisfaction which they desire▪  
But Christian Liberality is only true Liberality, and a sincere Virtue. For Christians always draw from an innocent Stock all the Presents and Benefits which they bestow, and never give to others what they owe, or what they have given to others. And in regard they do nothing out of Ostentation, they conceal their Gifts with an extraordinary care, and in all things observe the Rules of Charity, Justice and Prudence, which renders their Liberality truly Virtuous, and that they are the same in their Hearts, as they appear in their Actions.   

CHAP. XVI. MAGNIFICENCE.  
THere is nothing that flatters the vainglory of Man so much, as his own Designs and Projects: yet generally all his Contrivances turn to his loss; Those of the Ambitious disquiet their Repose; Those of the Covetous, condemn 'em to those cares that feed upon their Bowels, while they live; and the Designs of those that build up pompous and stately Palaces, and go attended with Magnificent Trains, discover their Littleness, and their Indigence. For must not that Man think himself to be very little, and otherwise of no Merit or Worth, who rears up lofty Buildings, furnishes himself with Coaches, and a numerous Retinue of Pages and Lackeys, merely to make an Addition to himself, and to aggrandise himself by that sort of means?  
Magnificence therefore is but a haughty Sentiment, and a kind of Despair of ever finding ourselves any thing Great, or of extraordinary Worth; which is the reason we have recourse to rich Movables, Tapestries heightened with Gold and Silver, as very low Women make use of Cork to raise themselves higher. Nevertheless Aristotle extols this apparent Vanity into a sublime Virtue, far surpassing Liberality: For he believes that it is with Magnificence in respect of Liberality, as, it is with Valour in respect of Boldness: For that of Boldness surmounts the Fears that disorder us, while Valour triumphs over those which are wont absolutely to terrify and subdue us. So Liberality inclines us to moderate and order our Expenses, and Maugre our Natural Covetousness; but that it is Magnificence that carries us to Immense and extraordinary Profusion, and which gives us an entire Victory over Covetousness. But that which makes us question whether Magnificence have that advantage over Liberality, is this, That we find Great Personages that have all opportunities to be profuse in their Buildings and Equipages yet are very pinching and sparing; and to whom it is a Trouble almost Invincible to be Liberal, but a pleasure to be Magnificent. But this is certain, That there is no other difference between the Magnificence and Liberality of this Age, than there is between Pride and Vanity; For what is the Magnificence of Princes, and opulent Persons? What are those Palaces where Gold, Marble, and Porphery do cast such a resplendent Luster? What are all those stately Fabrics in the Country where all the Rules of Symmetry appear? What are all those Gracious Parks, enclosing Woods and Rivers, but a haughty and pompous Show of this high Condition and Wealth, of which, if we desire to be further convinced, we need but consider, that Moderation is only the aba●ement of this Loftiness and Excess, and that we give high Encomiums to those, who finding themselves advanced in Dignity, and loaden with Riches, practise that Virtue of Moderation in their Buildings, their Habit, their Furniture, and their Table Expenses.  
How then could it come into Aristotle's Mind, That a Man who consumes the best part of his Estate in vainglorious and vicious Superfluities, should be a person not only worthy to be applauded, but also excellently virtuous? For can it be said, that a Magnificent Person may virtuously hold a stately and Magnificent Fabric, unless he regulate his Expenses according to his Estate, and that his Magnificence shows itself in lasting and durable Things, as Pillars and Columns of Marble, not in brittle Glass-windows? and provided he do not imitate the Megareans, who made splendid Banquets for their Comedians, and received 'em into their City with so much Pomp, that the very Streets as they passed along were covered with Purple. Is it not evident that all the Inconveniences which this Philosopher would have us to shun, serve only to preserve a Man from being ridiculous, but no way prevent his being vainglorious, on bestowing such excessive Sums in Painting, Guilding and costly Furniture? Is it not certain, that if Magnificence have no other Limits than those to which Aristotle has confined it, there is no sort of superfluity which he might not have justified by the same Reasons? and that he would have been so far from disapproving, that he would have commended those prodigious Buildings of Lucullus, upon the Shoar of the Neapolitan Sea? The Mountain digged quite thorough, and supported by a stupendious Arch, the vast and deep Moats to let in the Sea that surrounded the wondrous Pile? And that he never would have found fault with long excess in the infinite number of Statues and Pictures, wherewith it was adorned, nor the more credible number of Rooms and Apartiments neatly furnished; nor in those heaps of Gold and Silver Plate, adorned with precious Stones, in which Lucullus was continually served? Yet these excesses were so generally blamed in Rome, that his nearest Relations and his Friends, among the rest▪ Charon and Cicero were highly offended at his Extravagance; besides that, they were for a long time the Subjects of the public Satyrs, and Raillery of the Town; as we find in Horace.  
Therefore we must not attribute the War which the Cynni declare against Luxury, to their Malice and fantastical Humour. For this War is so far from being particular, since it is no more than what the Wise Men of all Ages have done, who ever looked upon the Pomp of Buildings, and the Curiosity of Furniture, and Habit, as mere Vanity and Childishness. We are true Children, said Aristotle, the Marble Pillars, and Statues delight us as painted Shells and Baubles please them▪ so that there is no other difference between them and us, but that our Pleasure and divertisements are much more costly, and our Childhood continues all our Lives. And thus from what has been said it is evident, how hard a thing it is to condescend to the Opinion of Aristotle, who so openly defends Luxury, with the solidity of so Great a Philosopher. Aristotle, says St. Thomas, exempts from him those that are superfluous in their Expenses, and I condemn as evil whatever is contrary to the Rules of Justice and Reason.  
If then Holy Reason condemns all those that Lodge, that Furnish, that Apparel themselves Magnificently, and of Gold, Marble, and other Precious things bewail their had Fortune, that Man makes use of 'em to support his Vanity, the same Reason shows us, That there is nothing he can do more worthy commendation, than to ●●lee● 'em from that Servitude; by consecrating 'em to God for the Ornament of his public Temples. For that then it is that he is not Magnificent for his own Name, but for the Honour of God. And therefore it was, that there was nothing more beautiful, nor so full of Grandeur, as that Fabric reared by the wisest of Kings, and Consecrated to the Veneration of the Almighty; and therefore it is, that we see so many Glorious Temples erected to the Honour of Christ, which remain as so many Monuments of the Piety and Magnificence of Christian Princes.  
The Examples of Judith and Queen Esther make it appear, that they made a good use of their Virtue of Magnificence. For Judith who in her Widowhood clothed herself suitably to her Condition, laid aside her Mourning Habit, and put on costly and magnificent Apparel to appear in all her Lustre before Holofernes; that she might have the fairer opportunity to give the stroke which God had reserved for her Arm. And Queen Esther, who called the Crown that she wore, The Sign of her High Estate, that she abhorred, yet put it upon her Head, and presented herself to Ahashuerus, apparelled and dressed to preserve her Nation.  
We have also learned from the Conduct of the most Pious and Modest of Princes, That it is most proper for Sovereign Kings to make Presents proper to the Grandeur of their Dominions, to the Ambassadors of Princes their Allies; to make splendid and sumptuous Banquets, to render their Treaties more solemn, and Magnificently to entertain those Kings that came to visit 'em, or that had occasion to pass through their Territories. And thus it was that St. Lewis received the Emperor Frederick at Campergne, where he ordered the Nobility of his Court to be pompously attired, and made himself a most Magnificent Entry. This Holy and Devout Prince, says Mezerai, was modest, and an Enemy to Luxury in his own Person, and Pompous and Superb in his public Ceremonies. Charlemagne, though for the most part went like the meanest of his ordinary Subjects; was most sumptuously apparelled when he gave Audience to Ambassadors, and gave a Crown glittering with Precious Stones. Lewis the Debonnaire observed the same Method. And the end which those Religious Princes proposed to themselves upon all occasions, where they appeared with so much splendour, was to give an Idea of the Strength and Riches of their Kingdoms, that other Kings might be afraid to invade their Territories, and by that means to secure the Repose of the People, that God had committed to their Charge.  
These are the Lawful employments of Magnificence, besides which, there are none that can be serviceable to us without perverting the Use of it, and beyond which, all the rest is but vain Glory and Ostentation. For though Aristotle affirm that a sumptuous Palace is an Ornament to the Founder, Certain it is, that though all the Palaces of Kings belonged to Him, he would neither be the Greater, nor the more Magnificent; That his Glory and Magnificence, as the Holy Scripture teaches us, aught to be within himself; and that it consists in the Use of these Virtues, with which his Soul ought to be adorned; so that as they who excel in Arts and Sciences are Famous without employments and preferments; So Men that excel in Virtues not to be found in other Men, are Magnificent without Houses, without Retinues or costly Equipages; and we reverence 'em for their own sakes much more, than they that we behold, attended with numerous and gaudy Trains of Servants. He alone, said Epicurus, is truly Magnificent, who has no need of Magnificenee.   

CHAP. XVII. JUSTICE.  
THE Poets could never tyre themselves with heaping Aggravations on the daring Boldness of those that first attempted to cross the Seas, and trusting to a few weak and easily broken Planks which they fixed together between them and Death, forced their way through those vast Abysses of Water.  
But for my part, I find those to be far more bold, who first designed living in Society together. And I am certain, that whoever does admire the daring Boldness of such an Enterprise, never considered, or never understood the Nature of Man, so far from being endued with Qualities proper for Union, that they make it their sole Business to persecute, tear in pieces, and destroy one another. In a word, A Great Assembly of Men is a dangerous Sea, more treacherous, and more tempestuous than the wild Ocean itself. And let the Winds be never so impetuous and so innumerable, the Passions of Men surmount 'em in Number, in Contrariety, and Violence.  
Let us make good our Assertion, and affirm, That Men through their viciousness being become the same that the most wild and savage Beasts by Nature are, it was not an Enterprise so difficult to tame and civilize Bears, Tigers, and Lions, as to Assemble Men together. There is also this difference, That the Cruelty of Brutes passes away with their Impetuosity; that they fall upon Men through the Motives of a Blind Instinct, and that they do not understand the Art of Mischief. Whereas Men keep their▪ Resentments a long time, that they wove and contrive Assassinations and Murders, to execute 'em with more security, and that they are ingenious to lay snares one for another.  
The same Considerations perhaps made the Poets first imagine, that when our Societies were first established, and that they set up their first Common-weal, Justice descended from Heaven to prevent it from becoming suddenly a dreadful Theatre of Murders, Assassinations, and Robberies; for which reason they represent her with a Sword in her Hand, wherewith she menaces the Wicked, and punishes bad Offenders, and Persons daringly unjust.  
This is as much as to say, that Justice is a Heavenly Virtue; whether we consider it in the Persons of Princes and Judges that dispense it, or in the rest of Men who make it the Rule of their Actions; or whether we consider it in the Person of Good Men, who love and willingly obey it; or in the Persons of the Wicked, who observe her Laws through constraint and fear of Punishment; For the Fear of Punishment is the Wisdom of the wicked, and the Virtue of those that have none.  
This is the Opinion which all Men have conceived of Justice. They believe that she drew her Original from Heaven, and the Wisest and most Understanding Persons have given her high Encomiums. Virtue said a Pythagorean, is a Divine Virtue, that under several Names Governs the World; and all the parts that compose it. For so long as she maintains the World in order we give her the Name of Providence; The Name of Love, when she Rules advisedly City's, Commonwealths and Kingdoms; And Virtue, when she disciplines Men into Order and Civil Conversation. Lastly, it is Virtue, says St. Austin, which has the privilege to keep Men in subjection to God, and to prevent his Wrath from withdrawing us from under her Dominion.  
We must confess, that these Encomiums give us a fair Idea of this Virtue; and indeed we cannot imagine a more delightful Spectacle than to see Men equally, zealous, the one to press us to observe, the other eager to follow the Laws and Commands of Justice, out of a sincere Love which they have for her. But where shall we find thi● sincere Love of Justice? Shall we find it in Sovereign Princes, the most careful to uphold Justice within their Realms? What was that care of the Pagan Emperors, and what was afterwards the same Care of the Christian Princes, who only Governed themselves by the Maxims and Spirit of Christianity; but an ardent desire of Reigning, and a piece of Policy purely Human? What was it in several Others, but their Natural haughtiness, which not enduring those that adventured to raise Rebellions, and to Declare War against 'em, punished those bold Attempters with utmost severity? Is it not in others a love of their Repose, which makes 'em so diligent to stifle seditious Erterprises, and so exact to execute the Rigour of the Laws upon the Heads of Sedition? Nor is it impossible but that in some it may be an eager Desire to obtain the Surname, of Just. For though the Love of Titles be an Ambition very frivolous, yet is it to be reck on'd among Human Passions; in regard that Man is vain and frivolous to that Degree which is not to be imagined. Of which Augustus was an evident Proof, who wept for joy, when the Senate gave him the Title of Father of his Country.  
The Integrity of Magistrates is a singular Affectation of Reputation, or a desire to prefer themselves to higher Employments. For as Self Love engages Men to make their Vices and their Virtue's serviceable to their Interest; Hence it comes to pass that corrupt Judges do justice to enrich themselves, others to gain the esteem of the World, and that their Sovereigns may deem 'em worthy of higher Employments.  
The Justice of private Persons most exact and careful of doing wrong or injury to their Neighbours, is a fear of being retaliated with the fame injuries that they do to others. For Man that sees himself engaged in Society among Men, lives therein with more Caution and Fear, than if he were in the midst of a Forest full of Wild Beasts; for he is not only afraid of his Life, but of his Quiet, and his Repntation. Besides, that the Oppressions, Violences, and Murders, which he sees committed every day, redouble his Terrors; so that while he continually meditates how to secure himself from the accidents that threaten him; he finds no better means than to observe the Laws of others, in respect of others; and that upon good grounds; For he that behaves himself towards others with so much circumspection, that he never prejudices any of their Interests or Concerns, obliges them for their own Reputation to let him live without disturbance, in peace and quiet. And besides, Men have not the heart to harm or injure a Person that behaves himself peaceably and justly toward all the World. Men of Justice make deep impressions of Reverence in others, that we dare no more presume to touch their Honour, than the Consecrated Vessels of a Temple.  
Thus the Justice of Private Men is no more than a kind of Politic reservedness to secure their Lives, their Estates, and their Honours from injury and violence. Wherefore, says Aristotle, We must not be precipitate in our Judgements, in pronouncing slightly as we do, that he who performs Acts of Justice, is always a Just Man. Just and equitable Actions deceive us, says Plato, because we derive this consequence from thence, That they who are upright, are lovers of Justice, and are endued with better Inclinations than other Men; For they are no less covetous and violent than others, only they put a force upon themselves, and do no injury to any one, lest any person should do injury to them.  
The Justice of the Philosophers, was only a desire to distinguish themselves from all other Men, by the uprightness of their Dealings, and to show that only they lived according to the Rules of Right Reason.  
The Justice of the Jews, who only acted by the Spirit of the Law, was only a Fear lest God should withdraw his Protection from 'em, deliver 'em into the hands of their Enemies, and blast their Cornfields and their Vineyards.  
There is not therefore any Justice among Men, since there is not any one that observes her for the Love of herself; but in Sovereign Princes that defend and protect it, in Judges that administer it, in private People that exercise it, it has no other foundation than that of Interest and Ambition, since it was no more than Vanity among the Philosophers, and in her most zealous Admirers among the Jews, a servile and interested Fear.  
It was not therefore without reason, that the Ancient Poets, whom Lactantius calls the First Sages of the World, complained that Justice was returned to Heaven, and frequently wont to cry out,  Deseruit properè terras sanctissima Virgo. 
For they made not their Complaints and Exclamations to any other end, but this Divine Virtue is no longer now remaining among Men. The Fables also inform us the Truth of this; and the short continuance of the Age of Gold, and Satur's Reign, with which ended the Reign of Fidelity and Justice, clearly demonstrate, that Justice did not long continue upon Earth; and that after she was banished, it was only through Ambition, or Interest, or Fear, that they who called themselves Just, abstained from doing injury to others. And this Truth is farther also confirmed by the frequent wishes and sighs of the Prophets, and Patriarches, by which they conjured the Heavens to drop down, and the Sky to pour down Righteousness.  
Heaven therefore it is that inspires all true Christians with Justice, which discovers to 'em the Beauty of that Celestial Virtue which attracts the Souls of all Men. To them it is that Heaven renders it more pleasing, and delicious than Honey, and more precious than all the Treasures of the World, 'Tis only in their Minds that he causes this Divine Light to shine, which instructs 'em, that his Will is the Rule of all their Duty, and that we are no longer Just, than while we conform and submit to that. Wherefore none but true Christians are truly Just, either before God or before Men. I would have all the World to understand, says Plato, That no Men are Just through their own Natural Inclinations, and that they cannot love Justice without the particular assistance of God.   

CHAP. VIII. INTEGRITY, Or the HONESTY of MEN.  
HOnesty, says Guarini, Is but the Art of appearing Honest. But the Judgement which the Poet gives of the Honesty of Women, is very unjust. For in regard his Intention is not to tax their Honesty, because that most commonly it is through their Pride, and not through any commendable motive of Virtue that they continue honest; and for that it is only of their External Honesty of which he discourses; it is therefore false, that this Honesty is only an Art of appearing Honest, in regard we find that a great number of Women are effectually so; among whom there are some so modest, that it would be impossible to wound their Reputation, to tempt 'em to betray their Chastity, though they were assured that their failings could never come to the knowledge of the World. Therefore this Censure of his had been better grounded, had he applied it to the Honesty and Integrity of Men. For it is no less rare, to see People so equally Religious, as well to act nothing contrary to Integrity when they are in private, as when they have many Witnesses of their actions; than it is to find valiant Men, that assault or repel the Enemy with the same Valour by Night as they do by Day in the sight of their General. It is also very rare to find out Men so settled and resolute in their Integrity, as neither to be shaken by Threats, or tempted by Promises; or so powerful over themselves, as to resist the force of their Passions. And to be convinced that there are none such, A Man need only reflect upon all the actions of his Life, and consider whether any Interest of Hatred, of Revenge, of Love or Ambition, had never so much power over him as to make him forfeit his Fidelity and Integrity; Whether it never happened, That to gratify a Woman whom he idolised, he revealed a ecret of Importance that was entrusted in his Bosom; Whether the fear of falling into Disgrace with a Favourite at Court, never hindered him to testify the Truth, when his Testimony was required to save the Reputation of a Person accused; Lastly, Whether Jealousy had never provoked him to lessen the Merit of a Noble Action, with the best of his Friends performed in Battle. Certain I am, that if Men will but seriously examine themselves, few or none will be found innocent, and that must not be forced to acknowledge, that he has often failed in his Integrity, when he could do it without fear of Shame or Punishment, and that it redounded to his Advantage.  
But though we should Grant that there are some Persons whose Integrity is not to be corrupted; visible it is, that the Motives which excite 'em to the practice of it, will not suffer us to number it among the virtuous Qualities; because the Motives are altogether Human, and the chiefest of all is a criminal Ambition.  
Now to show what sort of Ambition it is, we must observe that the real Inclination of a Man overruled by his Self-Love, desires that his Wit should surpass the Wit of all other Men, that every thing should yield to the strength of his Arm, and that all Men in general should submit to him. But finding in himself, and in other Men, an infinite number of Obstacles that oppose his Desire, he Assembles and conceals it, as he sees more or less opportunity to satisfy it; and when he meets with none at all, he moderates and reduces himself to wish that he may only keep a considerable rank among those, of whom he cannot make himself the Master. Hence it comes to pass, that Great Personages labour to aggrandise themselves still more and more, and when they find it impossible, they value themselves upon the Nobility of their Birth, and Teat the re●t of Men as if they were a Degree lower than they. There upon they who have no Descent to boast of, labour inspite of Fortune, by the help of Virtue, to erect several Degrees among Men, and place themselves in the First Rank, by th●im●ans of their Integrity: To which Men give their consent, so much the more easily, because there is no living in any Society without Integrity, and because they love it proportionably to the ●●tred which they have for Treadhery and infidelity.  
They who exactly observe the Rules of Honesty, observe not only; that all the World agrees to rank 'em above others, through the necessity which they have of 'em, but they also find that Persons of Honour and Honesty are very rare; and this same scarcity is the reason by whom they desire to be most esteemed, seek our their Company, and desire 'em for their Friends and Confidents; and that it is very requisite for 'em to preserve their Degree and their Privileges.  
They also observe that there is nothing so publicly branded and ignomimous, as discovered Knavery and Falsehood, and that they who are once found guilty of such Actions, never regain their Credit.  
They find moreover, That though Persons of Quality prosper not so frequently in the World, as Persons corrupt and Prostituted; nevertheless, that the success of Knavery and Treachery is not always infallible, that they are not rewarded every day; and that when they are, they that gain by their wickedness, pay for the Profit which they reap by the Treason, but abominate the Traitors.  
Upon these Considerations is grounded the Integrity of those, of whom we say, that they have Honest Souls. Interest produces the Integrity of Low and Mercenary People, and it is only a desire of Profit.  
Some Persons deny that the Principle of Probity in Honest Men, is an Ambition to be eminent, without either Preferment or Dignity; but only to keep up a considerable Credit among Men: For that there are many People who practise both Fidelity and Integrity in private, and therefore they act out of Integrity, and not out of any desire to be Honoured and esteemed of Men. To which we answer with St. Thomas, That there are some Men so happy in their compositions, that their very Temper of Body inclines 'em to Uprightness. In the next place, he who performs acts of Integrity, though he conceal his Actions from the knowledge of the World, performs 'em out of a real desire to be applauded by all the World. And to make the Paradox out, we must understand that Men are so Vainglorious, and Covetous of Praise, that the most excellent parts of Knowledge and the most excellent Virtues please, them only, proportionably to the Esteem and Applause which they bring them. And therefore we may say, that in the Breasts of all those that are endued with extraordinary Virtues, there is one sort of Ambition resembling that of Victorious Captains, and that both the one and the other, aim in their way at the Conquest of Human Kind, with this difference, That Conquerors labour to subdue all Men, to be Masters of their Estates and Liberties: Whereas they who are endued with rare and singular Virtues, study to possess the first place in the esteem of the Vanquished. But the Philosophers, who were the First in whom this Ambition appeared, deeming it impossible to gain the approbation of all the World, (because the most part of Men have very little judgement, and are moreover Capricious and Unjust,) they bounded the pretences of Wisdom to be content with the Approbation of Men Judicious, Equitable and Virtuous. Afterwards observing that it was a difficult thing to gain the Appobation of Many, in regard the Variety of Judgements is as various as that of Tastes; they thought it enough for a Wise Man to have the Approbation of one single Person, provided he be a Person of a clear and solid Judgement, and in Credit with all honest Men. One single Person, said Democritus, is worth a multitude. We flatter ourselves more, said Epicurus, writing to one of his Friends, with the esteem which we have one for another, then with all the Acclamations of the People.  
This Opinion seemed best to the Philosophers, even till Seneca's time, who best understanding what was most proper to gratify the Pride of Man, pronounced, That a Wise Man being capable alone to judge of the Merit of Actions, was the only person fit to be Judge of himself, and that he had no need of any other Approbation. A Wise Man, said he, ceases not to be perfectly contented, though he has no witness of his Actions; for what money of himself, and to be the Object of his own Admiration?  
All which clearly demonstrates, that he who performs Acts of Integrity unknown to the World, performs 'em out of a real desire of applause, seeing that his strongest Passion being to be approved by himself, he seeks after that Approbation which is to him most grateful, and which he prefers before all public Applauses. Althô Glory consists not in the praise of a single Person, said Sallust, Yet there are certain Persons, said St. Thomas, that establish their own Honour upon their own Esteem. 'Tis true, these Persons are very scarce, and if they do perform any private acts of Integrity, they nourish a concealed Hope that some favourable Hazard will bring 'em to light.  
'Tis not then Integrity, but the Encomium's given to Integrity which Men affect; nor do evil Actions displease 'em; but they dislike 'em because they ruin their Reputation: And therefore when they are accused to have committed any ill Act, to the prejudice of Integrity, though they know in their Consciences that they are guilty, they implore the assistance of their Friends, and try all the ways imaginable to justify themselves. We hear of several Magistrates, says Plato, who sell Justice, and privately take Bribes; but we shall never find one that will confess he has taken a Bribe; or that being accused of it, can patiently endure his accusation.  
Let us then confess, to the Glory of God, That it is he alone that infuses Honesty into Men, and that he alone is the only Celestial Fountain of Integrity. For He, uniting 'em in the Bonds of Charity, puts 'em into such a Condition, that it is impossible they should falsify their Word and Fidelity, or not acquit themselves of the several Duties which they owe one to another. And there is no doubt but the softness and force of this Tie, can restrain and hinder 'em from Deceit and Treachery. The Bands of Human Friendship are too weak to resist the violence of his Passions; and too often we meet with ambitious Men, that underhand cross the designs of their best Friends, and who after they have promised 'em the utmost of their assistances for the obtaining an Employment, use all their Endeavours, and employ all their Craft and Cunning to deprive 'em of it. There is no solid Integrity, says Plato, but that which is accompanied with Piety and Holiness. Perfect Honesty, says Aristotle, is that which we practise out of a consideration of things Divine and Eternal.   

CHAP. XIII. Loyalty of Subjects towards their SOVEREIGN.  
HOW wonderful are thy Works O God, the Prophet cried out in the Transports of his Admiration, when he beheld the several Wonders and Masterpieces of the Deity, that adorned the spacious World. In his Ecstasy to view so great a number of Creatures, their Beauty, their Riches, and their different Qualities. But their Magnificence was not the sole cause of his Admiration; For what he adds, Thou hast made all these things in Wisdom shows, that he was equally ravished with that wonderful Order which God had settled among 'em. Seeing that after he had Created those various Being's, if he had not regulated their Motions, the World which was to be a perfect piece of Workmanship, to make known to us by its own, the Perfection of the Creator, would have proved nothing but Disorder and Confusion.  
If Order then, without which the World would have been a Chaos, appeared so Lovely and so Admirable, the Secret which the Wisdom of God found out to establish it, was no less worthy of Admiration. For he made the Creatures unequal in their Perfection, to the end, the less Perfect might depend upon the more Excellent, and appointed to every one a Place suitable to the Degree of its Perfection. To this end he placed the Sun in the midst of the Heavens, that he might diffuse his Light over all parts of the World; that his enlivening Heat might contribute to the Birth, the Growth, and the Preservation of Plants, of Animals, and Men, and that the Earth might every year be renewed by his Influences.  
God has observed the same Method in respect of Men, he has ordained 'em to be Born, different in their Condition; he has raised some to a degree above others; and has ordered the Repose, the Preservation, and the Happiness of those whom he has placed in subjection to depend upon the continual Cares and Vigilance of those whom he has appointed for their Governors: So that we may say, That as the Sun is the Eye with which all Men See, and without whose Light our Eyes would be useless to us; in like manner our Sovereign Prince is the Eye of his Realm; and such an Eye that continually enlightens his Subjects, so that without that Light they would always be groping and wand'ring in the Dark.  
This Order of Divine Wisdom it is, that subjects the Multitude to one single Person, which Plato considering, it made him wish, That as God was the sole Governor of the World, that all Men were under one Prince. Mankind, said he, will never be truly and really happy, till they come under the Conduct of one sole Monarch: Then all the unhappy Causes of War cease altogether. No longer then shall Interest, Jealousy and Ambition Arm Sovereign Princes one against another. No longer then shall we hear the Moans of People, that in so many places groan under the Dominion of Tyrants, that oppress and despoil 'em of their Estates: No longer shall the Wicked, the Perfidious, the Villainous find Sanctuary in Foreign Kingdoms. For then so many different Nations shall be but as one Family which this same King, and only Father, shall love with a tender Affection, and enrich with his Favours and Blessings.  
But God not only binds Subjects to their Sovereign, by that same Interest which obliges 'em to Obedience; for knowing well the Blindness and Inconstancy of Men, he found this Tie would not be strong enough; therefore he has engaged 'em to Submission by the obligation of Conscience, and has made it a Religious Duty to be Loyal and Obedient to Sovereign Princes. He has also so clearly explained this Duty in so many places of Scripture, that it is visible he designed to take away all pretences of its Violation; having Declared, that neither the evil Qualities, nor the severe Government of Kings, shall be any ground for Subjects to revolt from their Obedience. And it was necessary that God should so Declare himself. For that Fidelity which ties Subjects to their lawful Princes, being the only cause of the Tranquillity of Kingdoms and Empires, had God left 'em at their liberty to withdraw themselves from their Subjection upon all occasions, he had exposed Kingly Government to the rashness of the Judgements of every one, and their Dominions to frequent Revolutions; and had he not ranked in the number of his Laws, the obligation of Obedience to Princes, they could hardly have assured themselves of the Fidelity of their Subjects; for that the Dispositions of Men frequently alter, and for that their Natural Inconstancy, and variety of Interests are such, that they cannot answer for themselves. And this Fidelity thus explained, is an Obligation which God has laid upon us, not to be broken for the sake of any Interest, nor to be dispensed withal by any Authority, nor upon any pretence whatever.  
Great Politicians demand how Subjects ought to demean themselves, when Kings in their Treaties violate the Fundamental Laws of Monarchy. For example, What should the French have done, had Francis the First, been obstinate in observing the Treaty which he made at Madrid; by which he was engaged to surrender Burgundy to Charles the V.  
To this, one of the most Learned and accomplished Politicians of our age makes answer, That upon those occasions it ought to be the first Duty of the Subjects, to divert the King from his Intention by Petitions, and Remonstrances; of which, if the King takes no notice, What can the Subject do more, but only receive his Commands, and his Orders, but forbear to put 'em in execution? Which was the Course which the French men took in reference to Francis the I. After that, the same Author adds, That if it should happen, he should attempt to win by force, what he could not gain by fair means, and violently seek to constrain those that would not willingly follow him, What should they do in such a strange Conjuncture? Shall they submit to the violence that threatens to overwhelm 'em, or shall they rise up in opposition? Shall they submit or resist? Shall they desert the common Good of the Public, or make War, not against the Prince, for that is not lawful, but against the Will of the Prince? Which being certain Precipices, into which we must of necessity fall, and the Malignity of the reigning Constellation not being byany means to be appeased; What can they do but have recourse to their Arms, and call to their assistance the first Light of Nature, which is Self-Preservation?  
This Case thus resolved by a Person of so solid and clear a judgement, makes me think, that the Christians in respect of Human Reason are no more than what the Pagans were, in respect to the Oracles of their false Deities. Those Oracles thought it their best course to cheat and delude the People, by the Obscurity and Ambiguity of their Answers. In like manner, How experienced soever the Christians may be, that the determinations of Reason are deceiful and uncertain, they cannot forbear consulting it, and nothing is able to make 'em sensible of their Error in confiding in it. And that for which they deserve to be blamed in an extraordinary manner, is this, That the Oracle of the Holy Spirit, which is the only infallible Oracle curses Man that confides in himself, and who puts his Strength in his Weakness, that is to say, Who relies upon his Reason, and prefers the crooked and dangerous Turnings which that discovers, before the sure, strait, and only Path which is taught us by the Law of God. Thus we find that Politicians are always floating and divided in their Judgements; never uniform in their Resolutions, while the plain wellmeaning Person that puts his confidence in God; and guides himself according to his Promises, walks with assurance. For the way of the Lord is the strength of the simple, saith the Scripture. And now let us apply this to our purpose.  
When Princes by their Treaties have parted with Cities of Importance, or some considerable Province; upon such occasions what do the People do that presume upon themselves? They consume and evaporate themselves in vain Reasons; they cry out, That the Subjects have a right to oppose themselves against such Treaties, and that they are not obliged to act as Subjects, where the King refuses to act as a Sovereign; they measure the extent of Royal Power, and that of their Duty, and stretch 'em out, and shorten 'em according to the diversity of their Thoughts; they inquire into the Rights and Prerogatives of Sovereigns, and labour to set up the Privileges that Nature has given us. But what does the plain downright Person do? He walks in the way that the Law of God has marked out; that Commands him to obey the King; he Obeys, while they endeavour to draw him out of the way by specious Reasons; they tell him the Prince goes about to ranvers a Fundamental Law of Monarchy; but he believes himself not able to give his Judgement in so difficult a Matter; only he knows that Human Reason deceives us every day, but that the Law of God cannot deceive us. A Man of Understanding, says the Scripture, trusts in the Law, and the Law is faithful to him.  
This Behaviour of a downright Person, that is of a Good Man and a Christian, is not only the most safe in point of Conscience, but the most Just and Rational. For as it is impossible for Subjects rightly to understand the Case of Affairs, it is as impossible altogether for them to judge, whether it be profitable or prejudicial, to cut off a Province from the Body of the Realm; and as for the general Knowledge of this Matter, it obliges 'em altogether to Obedience. For they know that one Province may be given in exchange for another nearer and more commodious, or Surrender'd either for the prevention, or putting an end to some Great War. They are also well instructed, that they have nothing to do to descant upon the Actions of their Sovereigns; and that they ought not to censure their Government without a misbeseeming Audaciousness. It is not lawful for Subjects, says Tacitus, to condemn the Actions of Kings, nor to inquire into the hidden Reasons, and Mysteries of their Conduct: The Gods have made 'em Arbitrers of the Affairs and Designs of Empires; and have only left us the Honour to Obey. Besides, have the Subjects any reason to complain, that their Rights are invaded by the Surrender of a Province? Does the Kingdom belong to them? Is it not the Patrimony of our Princes? Have they not won by the Sword the greatest part of the Provinces that compose it? Four of our First Kings, especially Clovis? did not they alone conquer the greatest part of France? and is it not by Purchase, by Donations and Matches, that the rest of the Provinces are come to the Crown? And therefore especially in Hereditary Kingdoms, it is no such unjust thing for a Prince to alienate some part of his Dominions. Besides that, we are always to take it for Granted, that they never do it but when compelled by necessity; or that they find a considerable advantage by it.  
The opposition of the French to the Treaty which Charles the VI, made with Henry the V. King of England, and the War wherein they engaged to prevent the Effects, are proofs already without any appearance of Reason, that Subjects sometimes may oppose by force the Will of their Sovereign. For how can we say that the French upon that occasion, took up Arms against Charles VI or what Validity could they imagine to be in a Treaty made when the Prince was troubled in his Mind, and by which his Son was deprived of the Crown, which was his Right. In a word, the Ambition of Henry V. the Revenge of the Duke of Burgundy, and Queen Isabel of Bavaria's hatred of the Dolphin, were the true and only Causes of that Treaty. So that there never was a War more just than that which the French entered into, as being against the Usurper of the Kingdom; and for that they took part with Charles VII. who was not only Successor, but in Possession, and Master of the Kingdom, his Father being civilly Dead, and not in a Condition either to Treat or meddle with any manner of Affairs.  
As for the resistance of the French to the execution of the Treaty of Madrid concerning Burgundy, It is visible that Francis I. might easily have surmounted it, but that he cherished it, that he might have a pretence for the not observing a Treaty so disadvantageous. It is visible that he left Spain with a Resolution to break it; for so soon as he returned into his Kingdom, he summoned an Assembly of the Estates to meet at Angoulesme, where after he had protested in the presence of Laney (the Emperor's Creature) That for his part he desired to observe the Treaty punctually, he submitted to the Arguments on the other side, that it was not in his Power to perform it; for that by the Fundamental Laws of Monarchy, Kings could not alienate any Right or Inheritance that belonged to the Crown; and that having received the Monarchy entire from his Ancestors, he was obliged to leave it entire to his Successors. And of this Men may be soon convinced, if they consider, that Charles the VI a Prince of less Courage, less Formidable, and of less Authority than Francis I. laughed at an opposition of the same Nature; and that Francis I. by the Treaty of Cambray, which was an Alloy to to that of Madrid, renounced his Pretensions to Flanders and Artois, and the Right which he had to Milan, and the Kingdom of Naples, contrary to the Resolutions taken by the General Estates, and contrary to the Fundamental Laws of Monarchy. True it is, that these Arguments ought to be grounded upon some lawful Reason; and that King's would injure their Successors; if they parted with any Province from the Body of their Dominions, without being constrained: But when they condescend to those Retrenchments only by compulsion, or for the good of the Kingdom, their Subjects have no reason to complain; or, if they had, the greatest part of our Kings had more reason to complain of their Predecessors, particularly of the Children of Henry II. who by the Treaty of Careau-Cambresis restored near Two hundred Cities, or strong Holds to the other Party.  
To this we must add, that it is a difficult thing to observe that point of Grandeur, alleged by the forementioned Author; that when Dominions are united, it is not lawful for kings to part with any parcel thereof; because it is not long since the settlement of our Monarches, that France has been enlarged by the Conquests of our Kings, or been lessened by those of our Neighbours. Moreover, the Princes of the First and Second Race have frequently diminished its Grandeur, by dividing it among their Children into several Kingdoms. Lastly, not to mention all the Provinces that have been disunited from the Crown, it will be sufficient to remark, that Burgundy was disunited by Henry the younger Son of Hugh Capet, in favour of Robert his Brother, that it returned to the Crown under King John, who gave it in a short time after to Philip the Bold, his Fourth Son, and after the death of Charles, the last Duke of Burgundy, Lewis the XI. made himself Master of it, so that it had not been reunited to the Crown above Fifty years, when Francis I. was inclinable to have restored it back again.  
Let us proceed to those other Pretences for dispensing with our Loyalty to our Sovereigns. Religion, the Reformation of the Kingdom, and the grievances of Impositions, are the pretences most frequently made use of to debauch the Subject into Conspiracies and Factions. But a Loyal Subject aught to be careful of being deluded by specious Pretences, and to have always before his Eyes the saying of Tacitus, That Liberty, and Ease of the People are specious Words which the Factious make use of to withdraw Subjects from their Obedience. Therefore to those that complain of the burden of Taxes and Subsidies, we must answer, That God not only Commands Obedience to Princes that Govern their Subjects with Lenity and Mildness; but also to those that trample upon their Necks, and make an ill use of their Power. To those that Pretend Reformation of State, we are to affirm, that Disorder is not the way to Order, nor is the Cure of a distempered Kingdom to be wrought by such a violent and dangerous Remedy as War, which is a Remedy far worse than the Distemper, which they pretend to heal; or, than they can pretend to have suffered for several years together.  
The pretence of Religion is the most predominant of all; and whenever the Politic Heads of Factions pretend to cover their Ambition with that fair pretence, they fail not of wonderful success; Under this Veil were concealed the great Projects and Designs of the House of Lorraine, when the Duke of Guise formed that famous League against Henry III. And, the reason it got to such a head in so short a time: and therefore we find that it was the principal and continual care of the Duke of Guise, and after him of the Duke of Maine, to imprint in the Minds of the People, by the means of the Religious Orders, that Preached to 'em, and governed their Consciences, that Henry III favoured the Hugonots underhand; and reduced the King to such a condition, that he was forced to League himself with the King of Navarre, with whom he was no sooner agreed, but happened the deadly Blow at St. Clou.  
The pretence of Religion had the power to engage a prodigious number of Persons of Quality and Worth in that pernicious League, and to kindle a War both in France and Germany; not only through the Industry of the Nobility, who made use of it to bring about their own Designs; but also through Ignorance of the principal Maxims of our Religion; of which, this is one of great Importance; That we ought not to do an ill thing, to procure a certain Good, or to avoid an Evil. Now to rebel against our lawful Sovereign, is visibly Evil; therefore we ought not to Rebel in hopes of any Good whatever, nor for fear of any Damage or Evil that may ensue. And we must understand, that how terrible soever those Misfortunes are intended, we are like to fall into, they are beneath the wounding of our Consciences.  
This Religious submission to those whom God has set over us, remarkably appeared among the Christians of the Four first Ages, who never swerved from their Obedience to the Pagan Emperors; no, not from those that furiously persecuted both them and their Religion, that studied their Extirpation, and put 'em to death with innumerable Torments. And which was a greater wonder, that several were the Emperor's Domestic Servants, several that had great Preferments at Court, and so great a number that served 'em in the Field, that Dioclesian had no less than Thirty thousand in his Army. They that were the Emperor's Servants served him with Respect, Affection and Fidelity; and they that were Listed in their Armies, fought with so much zeal for the preservation of the Empire, that St. Sebastian, one of the Captains of Dioclesian's Guard, reproaching his Cruelty toward the Christians, Thou exercisest thy Fury, said he, upon thy best Servants, upon People that every day pray for thy Prosperity, and the safety of the Empire. St. Romulus, Grand Master of Trojan's Household, taxed the Emperor in the same manner when he disbanded Eleven thousand Christians, and banished 'em into Armenia; and boldly reproved him for depriving himself of the stoutest, and most faithful Soldiers in his Army.  
Now in regard the Form of the Oath which the Christians took, when they were enroled, cannot be thought impertinent to our purpose; I thought it not amiss to recite it here, as we find it in Vegetius.  
We oblige ourselves in the Name of God, of Christ, the Holy Ghost, and his Imperial Majesty, whom it behoves us to Honour next to God, to be faithful to the Emperor, to obey his Commands, never to desert our Colours, or refuse to die, upon all occasions that call us to defend the public Weal.  
This Form was admitted by all the Emperors, till the Reign of Maximian Hercules, who altered it, and Commanded all his Soldiers to swear upon the Altars of his false Gods, that they would Fight courageously against all that opposed his March. That Order was no sooner brought to the Theban Legion, consisting of Six thousand six hundred Christians, but they left the Camp, and set up their Standards about three Leagues off. The Emperor understanding what had happened, summoned 'em to return, and rejoin the Body of the Army. But St. Mauritius who Commanded that famous Legion, made answer to the Messenger, That he and his fellow Soldiers, were ready to expose their Lives in the Emperor's Service; but that being Christians, they acknowledged no other Deity than the Living God; and therefore could perform no Religious Act before inanimate Idols. Maximian having heard their Answer, commanded the whole Legion to be Decimated, and every tenth Man to be put to death; which not prevailing to shake the Resolutions, either of the Commanders or Soldiers, he ordered a second Decimation; but proving altogether as ineffectual, in a fury he let lose his whole Army upon those innocent People, and Massacred every Mothers Son. Gregory of Tours writes, That the Memory of these Christians, and generous Warriors was Honoured in the Ancient Church; and that there was a great Concourse of Pilgrims to the Place, where they suffered.  
I have given this Portraiture of the Primitive Christians, that the Christians of our time may therein, as in a Mirror, behold the just Condemnation of their own Sentiments and Behaviours; that they may learn from thence, That the French, who made war against Henry III. because they thought him a Huguenot, and afterwards opposed Henry IV. because he was really so, were guilty of High Treason, both Divine and Human; and Lastly, to convince 'em, That there is no difference of Religion, no Tyranny of Government, no Interest, no Reason, no Pretence whatever, that can justify Rebellion. Wise Men, says Tacitus, patiently endure the Government of bad Princes, like the Influences of evil Constellations; and look upon Oppression, Proscription, Poisoning, and those other Effects of their Cruelty, as Famine, Pestilence, and other Misfortunes that proceed from the ill temper of the Air. We ought to implore the Gods to send us mild and just Emperors; but we must be obedient to those the Gods have sent us, whatever they be.  
The justice of this obligation never to withdraw from our Obedience to our Prince, is to acknowledge, even by the Huguenots themselves, the most zealous in their Religion, such as was the deceased Monsieur Gombaut, who blames the Rochellers for shutting their Gates against the deceased King, and constrained him to lay Siege to their City.  
They should have set open their Gates, says he, to their Prince, and only have employed their weapons of Faith against his Force.  
The Theology of the Pagans agrees in this point with that of the Christians, and places the violation of Loyalty to Sovereign Princes, among the Crimes which are punished by the Gods in Hell.  
God, says Plato, has in himself the Beginning, the Middle; and the End of Things, and Condemns by his just Decrees all those that refuse to live humbly and peaceably in Obedience, but believing themselves capable to conduct themselves, shake off their Obedience to their Sovereigns.  
But God having established the Thrones of Kings for the benefit of the Public, and to uphold Order among Men, has not only forbid their Subjects to Rebel against 'em, but has also declared the Persons of Sovereign Princes to be Sacred, and that it is utterly unlawful to make the least attempt upon their Lives, how unjust, how violent and cruel soever they be. Touch not, says the Scripture, those that are Consecrated to God by their being Anointed, and consequently aught to be revered as Holy. And to the end we may not fail in our Duty to Kings, tells us he is so chary of their Honour, that he will not have it wounded so much as in Thought. " Curse not the King, no not in thy Thought, says Ecclesiastes.  
We need not wonder then, if the Church instructed by the Holy Spirit, has such a particular care of Kings, and that it appear by the great number of Decrees which she has made in their favour, that she employs all her Authority to preserve both their Lives and their Reputation. The Fathers in a Council of Constance, thundered out their anathemas against the execrable Thesis of John Petit, who subjects the Government of Kings to the censure of their Subjects, and exposes their Persons to Sacrilegious Attempts. That Doctrine, which the same Divine, corrupted by the Duke of Burgundy, adventured to maintain, and to colour the Assassination of the Duke of Orleans, the only Brother of Charles VI was so detested by all the World, that maugre the Power of the Duke of Burgundy, then Regent of the Kingdom, it was condemned by the University of Paris, and the Writing itself publicly burnt before the Church of Nostre Dame. A certain Council in Spain Excommunicated all those that exclaimed against the Government of Kings, and tore their Reputation with defamatory Libels. But it would be too long to recite what we meet with in Holy Writ, in Councils, and in the Writings of the Fathers upon this Subject.  
There is no question therefore, but the Obedience which we owe to God and his Church, obliges us to a high veneration for Sovereign Princes, inviolably to preserve our Loyalty, and Religiously to perform their Commands. In the mean while, where are those Christians that Honour God in the persons of their Sovereigns, who are Loyal in discharge of their Consciences, and who obey their Commands with so much exactness, as if they had received 'em from God himself. Do we not see that there is little or no Fidelity in those that are so sedulous in their attendance upon Princes? only the desire and hope of their Favours, redoubles their Zeal for the Service of their King when they receive Rewards? That it grows remiss and weary when they find themselves slighted; that it is utterly extinguished when they see no likelihood of bettering their Fortune. And therefore it is, that in all the motions of the Court, there are so many People that throw themselves into Parties, and endeavour to put themselves into a condition, as to be able to wrest by private Compact, and underhand Agreements, those Gratifications and Employments which are refused 'em, and which they believe to be due to their Merit?  
What is this Loyalty in others, but the fear of those Penalties and Punishments inflicted upon those that violate their Allegiance by Cabals and Factions prejudicial to their Prince, and by Conspiracies against their Persons? Which is apparent from hence that some Princes that loathe the severity of spilling Human Blood, spare not sometimes the most considerable persons in the Realm, to restrain others within the bounds of their Duty, by the examples of their Justice.  
The Loyalty of Men of Judgement and Solidity, does it not proceed from their Knowledge, that there is nothing so great as the Power of Kings? and that the very thought of their destruction is not only Impious, but void of Sense or Reason? They know that their very Guards which are a Body sufficient, and ready upon all occasions, will give no leisure to Rebellion or Sedition to grow to a head. They know moreover, that Kings are the dispensers of all those Favours, those Honours, Dignities, and Employments, which Men so ardently seek after: So that they have always in their power, the infallible means to reduce those that are revolted from their Obedience. Lastly, they know that the greatest part of those Subjects who have forgot their Duty to their Sovereigns, have brought themselves to unfortunate Conclusions, have waxed old in Prison, or spent the remainder of their days exiled in Foreign Countries with their Families.  
Is it not also easy to be perceived that the Loyalty of wealthy Persons, who are contented with their Estates, and have no other Ambition, them to taste the sweets of Life, is merely out of Interest. For in regard, that War is chiefly a scourge to them, which others desire in hopes to gain Honour, or to enrich themselves, they stand fast to their Prince, as being the Person that continually watches over the Kingdom to prevent the calamities of Invasion or Rebellion; and they look upon him as the Tutelar Angel of their Tranquillity and Happiness.  
Deus nobis hac otia fecit.  
Such leisure our Terrestrial God  
On us bestowed.  
Can we have a better opinion of those who being the King's Domestic Servants, and advanced to the highest preferments in the Household, can never prove disloyal without losing their Reputation, and ruining their Fortunes? and must we therefore believe their Loyalty to be unspotted and truly virtuous?  
What Idea can we form of the Loyalty of those accomplished Politicians, who at the first breaking out of a Civil War retire into the Country, there to observe which way the scales will turn, and to take the winning side? and so cunningly behave themselves as to be feared, and consequently courted from the Court, lest they should join with the adverse Party?  
In a word, the Loyalty of People is only a natural desire to live at ease and quiet: but as there are many with whom it is all one whither they live in Peace or no, we may be sure that all such People are equally disposed either to Obedience or Sedition; so that their Loyalty depends purely upon Seasons and Conjunctions.  
Let us acknowledge then that the Loy alty of those who have given, and every day give notable Proofs of their Allegiance is built upon a slender and sandy Foundation, as depending solely upon the dispositions of the Heart of Man, who changes every time he changes his Interest, or that he harbours new Thoughts in his Mind. For how can we rely upon a Person valiant and experienced in War, who in a civil Dissension takes the King's side, out of a persuasion that it is usually the victorious Party, and that it will be doubtless most for his advantage? Is it impossible to convince him that he shall make a better Market by siding with the other Party; or to tempt him with a promise of being their Chieftain? And more than all this, may not Revenge, or some other Passion provoke him to forget his Duty? How many secret Springs and Wires are there in the Heart of Man to move it to and fro, at the direction of commanding Passions and Pleasures?  
From whence we may conclude, that if we desire to be Loyally Virtuous, and Virtuously Loyal, it behoves us to be obliged to our Prince, by the same ties that we are bound to God: and that we honour Sovereign Princes as his Vicegerents and living Images, as the Ministers of his Justice, and the Organs of his Will.   

CHAP. XXVII. Fidelity in keeping a Secret.  
IT may seem that Men honour Fidelity as a Madam, because we have need of it. As the one is necessary for the Body, the Soul cannot be without the other. The Heart of Man, says an Italian Poet, is a vessel too small to contain all that fills it from without, and grows within itself: so that of necessity it must enlarge itself; and happy are they that can find faithful friends, that are able to receive what their Hearts cannot contain, and to lodge it carefully.  
But to say truth, it is not the smallness of Man's Heart that sets so high a value upon Fidelity. Thus 'tis the condition of Man, whom Nature has produced so imperfect, that he is not sufficient for himself. And therefore she allows him so great an inclination to Society. Man is therefore so prone to communicate and impart to others, that he would not be satisfied with his own Merit, if he did not hope to make it known in the World. This Hope it is that gives life to all his Sentiments, and sets all his Inclinations at work. This is that which makes him toil after the Acquisition of Sciences; for he would neither take any care to be Learned, nor any pleasure in being so, if he did not hope to make it appear.  
Man therefore being thus pressed by his violent Inclinations, to communicate to others his Thoughts, his Opinions, his Knowledge, his Designs, finds that he cannot gratify his Inclinations, without exposing himself to the visible dangers that threaten his Honour, his Repose, his Interests; that the Infidelity of Man is so great, and so general, that he cannot impart his secret designs, without raising obstacles at the same time, that may impede their accomplishment; nor without encountering Accidents, that sometimes injure the Reputation of considerable Persons, not without some blemish to his own.  
Therefore it is that he seeks out for persons Discreet, Secret, and Faithful. On the other side, They who are conscious of their Fidelity, well knowing how requisite and necessary it is, put as high a value upon it as they can, to render it useful and profitable to their Reputation and Fortune. For which reasons they generally apply themselves to persons of Credit, or of high Quality, and lay hold upon all opportunities to screw themselves in their confidence. That of Princes they easily obtain, because their idle hours and leisure require continual conversation; and besides that their Minds are sensible and impatient, and their Thoughts more lively and impetuous than those of other Men. So that through their impatience to satisfy 'em, 'tis a wonderful ease to their Minds that they are able to communicate, and tell what they know to persons that never betray their Trust. For this reason they love those that have the reputation of Secrecy, and favour 'em upon all occasions, and highly honour 'em; because they find that persons of Secrecy carefully preserve their Trust deposited in their Breasts; and not out of any real esteem that they have of their Fidelity.  
And indeed this disesteem of Fidelity might be excusable, if they knew the motives that obliged them to be faithful, whose Fidelity they have so frequently experienced: nor would they have such a value as they have for their Confidents, did they but consider that there is nothing so dear as to meet with Confidents that keep a secret to the utmost of exactness, without imparting it to any Soul whatever living. And they would extremely distrust some of those Secret-keepers, were they but well informed, that there are some persons that make a Trade of keeping Secrets, like Merchants that traffic for Pearls, which is a certain Truth, but such a one as requires something of Illustration to make it evident.  
All the world admires the prodigious vanity of Merchants in great Cities; and they cannot but wonder that the desire of Gain, has intermixed in Commerce 〈◊〉 only what is necessary for the support and conveniency of Life; but also what i● serviceable to Luxury and Pleasure But 〈◊〉 are ●ew take notice that all Men are become Merchants; that they expose every thing to sale; some their valour and military Experience, to be accounted while they live, the Props of the Kingdom, and to immortalize themselves after death: others their Arts and Sciences, to make themselves famous; others their Wit, to render themselves acceptable in all companies: others their dexterity in business, to gain credit at Court, and make a Figure. But what profit can they make of themselves that have no good quality, neither▪ Art nor Science, neither Wit nor Dexterity in business?  
These people gain by their double diligence near some great Person, who at length heaves 'em into some good employment. By their access to some Lady courted by all the World for the greatness of her Wit, whose approbation is to them instead of Merit. By the confidence which the Prince reposes in 'em; for having their Secrets at their disposal, he employs 'em to satisfy the Curiosity of some idle Lady, to awaken her Senses, and revive her out of that Languishment into which her sloth has cast her. Or else they oblige some Person considerable at Court, whose Ears itch after the rarity of News. Well— but are not these People soon discovered? No— For they never tell any Secret of importance committed to their charge, but to fuch as they are sure will never fail 'em, for fear of losing the satisfaction of their Curiosity. In a word they are no Sives that can hold nothing that is told 'em: nor no Fools, that what they hear they tell to all people without distinctions, but such as are judiciously unfaithful, and prudent dispensers of a Secret.  
But if there be any such as can keep a Secret so religiously, as to scruple the discovery of it to their most intimate friends, they never take this course but upon good grounds that regard their Interests. Of which the first is, that Fidelity is an honest way to accomplish their ends: for though all Men are governed by their Interests, yet the Interest of all Men are not the same. For in some the desire of Wealth predominates, in others the desire of being esteemed and valued, is more prevalent than that of getting Riches. Hence it comes to pass, that the latter scorn to profit by Prostitutions, and mean Tricks, and that they only make use of honest ways to advantage themselves.  
The Second Reason is, because it is a pleasant way. There being nothing so delightful to a vain person, as to be the Confident of a Prince; and to be frequently with him in his Closet, while the Door is shut to all others.  
The Third Reason is, because it is a safe way. For it is impossible but that the Persons entrusting must study the advancement of those into whose Bosoms they discharge the pleasures or Afflictions of their Minds; and with whom they have deposited their Lives, their Honour, and their Liberty.  
The last reason is, their fear of being disesteemed, and to be deprived of the advantages of such Honourable Society. For they who reveal the Secrets committed to their keeping, are despised by all the World, and excluded out of all companies.  
These Human Considerations render us secret and faithful, not the esteem or love of Fidelity: much less, out of any Obedience to the Commands of God, to do as we would be done by. And therefore the Fidelity of the wise Men of the Age is not out of any real Virtue; for that exact Fidelity is a rare thing; which made the Pagans complain, That there was no Fidelity among Men.  
Therefore only Christianity is to be looked upon as a Renovation of the first Age of the World, where true Fidelity and Loyalty are re-established. Which Virtues shined so brightly in the Manners of the Primitive Christians, that in the Portraiture which Pliny the Second gives of 'em to Trajan the Emperor, he marks out their Fidelity for a Quality that rendered 'em highly valuable.  
Their Life, says he, is very innocent, they keep their words inviolably, and faithfully restore whatever is committed to their charge.   

CHAP. XXVIII. Acknowledgement, or Gratitude.  
MEN admire those excellent Comedians that understand so well to vary the tone of their Voice, their Gestures, and their Actions, that they seem to be two different Persons at one and the same time. But they would much more admire, were they but aware, how Interest alone acts that infinite number of Persons which we see upon the Theatre of the World. 'Tis Interest that acts the corrupt Judge, and the Magistrate full of Integrity; the Modest, the Magnificent, the Covetous and the Liberal; which showing itself under the shape of a Person that demands Counsel, appears at the same time in the likeness of a kind Friend that gives his advice.  
If any Man question the truth of this, let him but nearly consider a Benefactor, and a Grateful Person. For though the First may seemingly study to bestow his Gifts without any design but merely to gratify his Beneficent Inclination; and that the other desires nothing more than to testify his Gratitude for the Favours he has received; and yet neither Generosity or Gratitude can be ascribed either to the one or the other, while both drive directly to their own Interests.  
To be convinced of the truth of this, we must first consider the carriage and temper of a Benefactor, who as soon as he has any employment or preferment to bestow, he not only studies who to gratify, but he is no less careful that the Present which he makes him, may not want any of those Circumstances which are proper to enhance the Price, and render it acceptable. To which end he casts his Eye upon some Person that never expects it, that never did him any service, nor ever spoke to him in his life.  
Certain it is that this way of proceeding, if we examine and look upon it, as to the intention of the Benefactor, is so far from being frank and generous, that it is only a piece of fine spun Interest; That the Benefactor studied not to lose his kindness, when he bestowed it with such a comely Grace, and that all his cares to render his proceedings fair and gentile, are the ties wherewith he desires to bind the Party engaged. And therefore we have reason to wonder at the saying of Seneca; We look round about the Houses of those to whom we lend our Money, or upon whom we bestow our kindnesses to see whither they have enough to answer us; for covetous Men are not more cautious of their Security when they lend Money, than others are when they bestow a Kindness; for that we never fix upon the Person, till we have a long time reckoned up what service he may be able to do us, or till we find he may be useful to us in our business, or fit to accomplish our private designs. Upon those Considerations we prefer one Man before another; and it is to engage him in such a manner that he may not fail us, that we are so careful, that the most endearing circumstances we can think of, may accompany our kindnesses.  
For proof of this, let us but consider the Surprises, the Indignation, the desperation of a Person that has met with an ungrateful return of his Favours, his secret Anxieties and public Complaints against Ingratitude; in what dismal colours does henot set it forth? How he tears up his Reputation, and exclaims against him as a Person that had robbed him; otherwise, had he sought to please himself in the Kindness, he had had his pleasure: or if he aimed at no advantage to himself, why is he so enraged at his loss? We must confess that his despair proceeds from this, that he finds all his hopes deluded; and for that he has not reaped the fruits of the tother's Promises. But there is no Man so simple to believe he hates Ingratitude for its self, or that he is so taken with the loveliness of the Virtue▪ that he cannot endure the deformity of the Vice.  
From whence we may easily conclude two things; First, that we are very deceitful and hypocritical, to make the World believe we carry noble Souls, and aim at no gratification for the Favours which we bestow; but that we are fully satisfied, in finding ourselves capable to do good to others. The Second is, that there would be no ingrateful persons, if this Maxim of Seneca were true, That Men are not obliged to acknowledge any other than the Favours done us freely, and without hope of recompense.  
Now let us see what are the sentiments of a Grateful Person, and what is the secret Principle of his Gratitude. The First Sentiments then that arise in the heart of a Grateful Person, are so tender, so affectionate, and seem so naturally conceived for his Benefactor, that an ungrateful person frequently deceives himself, and believes he has for his Benefactor a friendship, not only sincere but cordial. But whatever he thinks, proceeds from his own Self-Love, and causes him to be thankful for the kindnesses he receives to those that are the Donors, not for love of them, but merely upon the consideration of his Interest. But the next succeeding Thoughts to these are quite contrary; For he that has received great kindnesses, presently perceives, that they are no Presents but only Loans; he begins to look upon his Benefactor as his Creditor that Dunns him, and all the obligations which he owes, as so many Chains and Fetters that load and oppress him. Which Condition is to him so insupportable, that his desire to free himself inclines him secretly to laugh at all his Obligations; and his Ingratitude would doubly appear upon the first occasion, did he not fear the ruin of his new pretensions.  
This Fear, or rather Hope of some more considerable benefit, it it which inspires him with sentiments of Gratitude, which obliges him to publish the Generosity of his Benefactor, diligently to visit him; and to show him upon all occasions, how highly, and how particularly he is beholding to him. Nevertheless, if any other Person, in the height of all this double diligence, shows him but the least glimmering of some greater Preferment; he turns about immediately, and goes directly where his Interest calls him. However, he still carries himself outwardly very fair toward his Benefactors, till the fatal occasion gives him an opportunity to pick a Quarrel, and then without any hesitation away he dings to court his greater profit. Then his Interest declares itself, and his Ingratitude sallies out from the bottom of his Heart, and shows itself no less black than it is, notwithstanding all the care he takes to veil it with a million of pretences, and to lessen the benefits he has received.  
Nor need we be surprised, that a Sentiment so treacherous and base should breed in the Heart of Man: For more wondrous Sentiments breed there, if we may believe Aristotle. The Nature of Man is so wicked, that they who owe great sums, and they who have received considerable Favours, wish with an equal hatred, the one the death of their Creditors, the other of their Benefactors.  
Which saying of the Philosopher concerning the malice of Men to their Benefactors, will not seem incredible to those that understand the vastness of his Pride, and that all dependencies and duties are odious to him, but rather make it evident how far the Thoughts of Men are from sincere and virtuous Gratitude; and that when they do behave themselves gratefully, it is only in hopes of some newer Favour.  
Aristotle is so far convinced of this, as to assure us, that they on whom we bestow our Favours, have no affection for their Benefactors, only they admire the kindnesses which they receive or hope to receive. Which is the reason we do not apprehend the intention of Seneca, who takes upon him in several Treatises, to instruct how to bestow our kindnesses; supposing the ill choice of Subjects, to be the only cause why there is so little Gratitude stirring, when as it proceeds from the corruption of Man's Heart, which is so ungrateful and unjust, that unless we could make Men in love with Justice, it is impossible to make'em Grateful. If thou dost not inspire Virtue withal, says Plato, into those whom thou obligest, they will never be sensible of thy kindnesses.  
But Interest is not the only cause of Gratitude; there is also in the first place, the fear of that shame which attends upon Ingratitude. For since Men are become the Sovereign Judges of Human Actions, they have adjudged far more Infamous those that offend or injure them, than they that violate the Laws of God; and because no Men are more hated, than they who do not equal with their Services the Obligations they have received, but frustrate the expectations of their Benefactors: Hence it comes to pass, that they are looked upon by the Beneficent, as Men unworthy to live, and that Ingratitude is branded, when Sacrilege and Impiety are honoured.  
These two sorts of Gratitude, the one proceeding from Interest, the other from Fear, are the most usual. Those sorts of Gratitude that proceed from Pride and Vanity, are not so effectual, but they are common enough. We find this sort of acknowledgement in those, who having been the Favourites of Kings and Princes, take all occasions to mention the benefits which they have received at their hands, and enlarge upon the circumstances, seemingly to show that they preserve 'em still in their Memory; but indeed to let the world see that they were no mean Persons in those days.  
There are some sorts of acknowledgement that proceed from malignity, and murmuring Discontent. Such are those which some affect to show before certain Persons whom they design cunningly to accuse for neglect of their Services: who express themselves after this manner. I have been hugely beholding to such a Prince, he has done me a thousand kindnesses; but I took nothing so kindly, as that he still prevented my Requests. These Kindnesses thus acknowledged before great Persons, from whom they design to wrest particular Favours, are usually cunning Accusations and Reproaches thrown upon 'em for their remissness, and private intimations of what they expect at their hands.  
There are other Acknowledgements, Vicious and Criminal; Such are the acknowledgements of those who having a false Idea of Friendship, believe that gives 'em a privilege, and imposes an Obligation upon 'em to violate Laws, the most just and equitable, to espouse the unjust Quarrels of their Friends, to serve 'em in Duels and Revenges, and to assist 'em in the stealing of Fortunes, and to concern themselves in Intrigues and Confederacies contrary to their Duty.  
Lastly, there are cunning and politic Acknowledgements which we testify to those that solicit our Affairs, to oblige 'em to Fidelity and Diligence. For example, There was a Person at Court, who having obliged a Friend to serve him in a business of importance, that tended to the advancement of his Family, gave him full assurances of his acknowledgements, proportionable to the difficulties that presented themselves, so that when he saw him tired out with the pains that he had taken, and discoursed with the apprehension of new obstacles: Sir, said the other, I am sensible of the trouble which I gave ye, but consider how much you oblige me; and were not I a person of an absolute good nature, yet had I but a grain of Gratitude, it would suffice to make me eternally sensible of the Obligations you have laid upon me. And this he repeated as often as he found the zeal of his Friend begin to grow cold. It is not requisite to recite the rest of this Story; it will suffice to tell ye, that the Person of Quality's business being accomplished, he soon cancelled the Remembrance of the signal Service done him: so that indeed the more we study Men, the less we are able to apprehend, how they can live at peace with themselves. All that comes into his Mind is this, that while others observe Vices in his Virtues, he perhaps may see Virtues in his Vices; and in his Actions, look upon that for a great piece of Dexterity, which we rebuke for double-dealing and Imposture: Or else he may act like the Peacock, who always looks upon what he has most lovely.  
Spiegala Pompa del'e occhiute Piume  
Displays the Pomp of his Embroiaered Tail.  
But never minds his acts of Injustice, Infidelity, and Ingratitude.  
There are two sorts of Ingrateful Persons, as there are two sorts of Knaves. The First are ungrateful to the highest degree, and turn their Tails as soon as they have received a Kindness, fearless of the Disgrace or Infamy that attends it. The t'other sort fall off by degrees, and to render their Flight more Imperceptible, they turn their Flight into a Retreat. We find the first sort in the Country, where Men are more downright, and less able to disguise their Virtues. With the other sort we meet at Court, where they know how to put an honest Man upon the vilest and most wicked of Actions.  
True Christians therefore both know and practise virtuous and real Gratitude. For besides that, they are sincerely touched with the● Goodness of those that favour 'em with their kindnesses; and that they are always ready most faithfully and cordially to retallate to the utmost of their power; their Acknowledgement stops not with their visible Benefactors; it reascends to God, who is the Author and Fountain of all their Happiness, as they are commanded by the words of the Gospel. Call no man your Father who is on Earth, for your Only Father, and consequently the sole Benefactor, so bountiful to all Men, is God, who is in Heaven.   
FINIS.