Miscellanea: OR Various Discourses UPON 

1. Tragedy,  
2. Comedy,  
3. The Italian  
4. The English Comedy.  
5. And Operas,   & to his Grace, the D. of Buckingham.  
Together With Epicurus his Morals. Written Originally By the Sieur de Saint Euuremont, And made English By FERRAND SPENCE.  
To which is Prefixed a General Dissertation, introductory to the several Tracts, and Dedicated to T. M. Esquire.  
Licenced R. L'S.  
LONDON, Printed for Sam. Holford at the Crown in the Pall-Mall. 1686.   

TO MY Honoured Friend Thomas Milton Esquire.  
SIR.  
IT is the happiness of this Age, to equal, if not to exceed all others in true Philosophy, that is to say, in the knowledge of men and things. One reason of which knowledge. I shall only insist on at present, and that lies in the general Communication of Books by Translating them from all Ages and all Countries into all N●oterique Mother Tongues. But, if there be a more than ordinary Extension of this advantage, We, undoubtedly, meet with it in our own Nation: Where not only the best discourses, penned by the most Eminent Men of the States round about us, are taught to speak English, but the Primogenial Wits of Athens and Rome do not miss of such hands, as are in no wise unequal to the mighty task of Interpreting them, but seem Commissionated by Nature to handle and revive their Ashes, and perhaps bestow upon them a greater fame and lustre, than they had, when they first appeared in the World.  
This, I say, not to set a value or reputation on our own Country, by the disparagement of Greece or Italy, the first nurseries of Art and Wit, but only to show, that I am not as yet fully persuaded of the Divinity of those Ancient Heroes, and that he who adores 'em, must be at the same time blinded with that Cloud of Incense, which he offers up to them. Great Geniusses, most indubitably, they had, and did rarely well in those days, wherein they had not failed of Admiration) if they had done less: But, by no means, can I think it tolerable, that because they were accounted the chiefest Men in their own Age, they should indefinitely be looked upon as such in all succeeding times. I will readily grant that those Authors of Antiquity in their composures of Wit, and particularly in those that appertain to the Theatre, had a richer Vein, than we have, for the Description of Nature, and of humane Passions, and, in brief, of whate●er bears a respect to wording and expression, But, since in things of this nature there are other matters to be observed, and a due Decorum, Contrivance, Oeconomy and Methodical Distribution of the several Portions is to be carefully minded, (which I may call the Mechanical compounding Parts, and which will require no small number of Rules and Precepts that can never be found out but by a long train of Experience and Reflection) it must follow, that the last Ages will have the advantage in these concerns, for as much as they have enjoyed all the labour and thinking and mistakes of the former.  
Of all the considerations, that belong to Men of Letters, this seems to me the most weighty and Important: For, if, on the one side, a contemptuous treatment and irreverential behaviour towards our Forefathers be an ill quality in a Scholar, on th' other, a neglect and disestimation of the Moderns is still of as bad a consequence, by reason of the just indignation, which Men of the clearest Heads in this Age cannot but conceive, when having the most accomplished natural Endowments, and the greatest solidity of judgement, yet they shall choose rather to lie idle and bury their Talents in obscurity, than venture to come into the light, where they will have open injustice done them: Which Horace complains he met withal, when the least works of Antiquity were preferred before the acutest and most exact Complexures under the Reign of Augustus  
This remark, Sir, I hope, is sufficient both to excuse the labour I have bestowed on this piece, and likewise to make some Apology for my prefixing your name to it: For, as it is a thing of more than ordinary sagacity and delicacy of sense, and might claim a much more accurate Pen than mine, to put it into an English dress, and as here will be quarrelling work for the most ambitious and forward Spirits in the Empire of Wit, wherein no Man ought to plead the merit of Nobility and all-commanding Grandeur, but that only of good-sense to Rise, so, I think it a felicity worthy to be commemorated both by myself and this Book, that I have chosen a Man of that excellence and height of Soul, to whom I might justly assgn the protection of the highest and most incomparable present, which, (universally speaking) ever the Muses made to Mankind, since the Triumphant Ages of Conquests and Politeness. I was never so vain as to flatter myself, that I could write any thing, which would bear your Eye: But, having taken in the loftiest Ideas of these Papers in the Original, I fancied, I might safely venture an other Man's thoughts in your presence; Especially, when they were of so nice a stamp and so ponderous a character: Tho, perhaps, in this Translation they do not resemble the Elements of the Aristotelian Hypothesis, which are the more weighty, when removed out of their Native Station.  
Wherefore, to your Candour, Sir, not Judgement, I m●st appeal in this my Performance: And I do not care, with what disrepute to myself, provided I can get your single Approbation, which is more to me than the Applause of a whole Theatre. The truth is, unless we take this way, the Critics are too hard for us: They make Parties, and damn ev'ry thing without Wit or Conscience: Which, no doubt, is the readiest way of thriving and building a Man's Greatness in this World; For, if Alexander had snorted and boggled at invading other Men's Kingdoms, he had never wept for the scarcity of Worlds. Yet, let men say what they will, there is such a thing as Good sense, in the General Notion▪ whereof every one does agree as much as in the Idea of a Triangle. I have frequently met with it in the Pit among the Women, who have judged with that undebauched uprightness and Integrity, that I could hardly find any Imperfection, left by traduction in their Souls: Their minds enjoyed their Native Purity, were unsophisticated and free from all the Illusions of Prejudice, Friendship, or Interest: and to such minds as these must I recommend the Speculation of these uncompounded Essences of Poetry, with Reference to the Stage.  
For, this Enchyridion containing no superficial, but the fundamental Notions, and (as it were) the Metaphysics of the Theatre, will require a Mind abstracted from all Prepossessions, that can retire into it-self to Meditate, and there whirl about like so many Atoms, the Eternal Paradigms of things, those spectres and Ghosts of Entity, with which Plato was so much enamoured, as to relate them into the number of his causes. So that unless the Brain be thoroughly defecated, these thoughts will be neither well-understood nor relished: They are not of a cut for every ordinary Perception, nor the staring ghesses of the incogitant Rabble. For, as I have heard our Churchmen, say, that the Ancient Fathers supposed, that the sufferings which our Saviour underwent in his Body, were more afflictive to him, than the same would have been to an other person, by reason of his excellency and quickness of the sense of Feeling; so likewise these sublime Ratiocinations will be reached in proportion to the height of the capacity, that stretches itself at them. They are not delivered with Ornament and Polishing; they are firm and solid, like Metals of the strongest, most enduring and noblest substance, which are filled with the greatest difficulty: They are not set off with any pimping dress or foreign blandishments, but the Author seems to have that of Martial in his Eye.  Quicquid amas, cupias non placuisse nimis. 
Tho' certainly truth never appears more beauteous and kill, than when we have the good Fortune to see her as starknaked, as ever her Maker made her, or Men keep plaindealing still so in this World. Octavius took great care to express his mind with the greatest plainness imaginable, and was used to reprehend Marc-Antony for writing such things as Men did rather wonder at, than understand. To speak the truth, when we write on a rational Subject, it is a hard matter to be witty, without spoiling the Connexion and order of Deductions: For Wit being nothing but the ferment of the Soul, such Excoctions must necessarily offuscate the brightness of Reason, we must deal with it, as we do with dangerous Physic, weighing it by Grains and Scruples and nice Proportions. And, in the management of such Arguments, it is as carefully and prudentially to be dispersed, as motion in the Universe; what it gains in one part it loses it another, so that in the whole it remains always alike and the same.  
This Objection, I foresaw, would presently be raised against these Essays; and therefore, I have taken leave of you, Sir, here to answer it at first once for all. There are many others, that I know, will be started, which I cannot better obviate and make a reply to, as well as to those, which the Author himself brings against the English Stage, than by prefixing here a Preliminary discourse concerning the distinct Tracts of this Book which I must submit all along to your Lime and Correction: For, since Critics now adays, are grown more assuming than Jove himself, and the sacred Laurel itself is not over-safe from their Thunderbolts, the humbler Shrubs of the plain (as Cowley calls them) had best take all possible care to shelter themselves the best they can.  
This I shall endeavour to perform in Emulation of my present Author, with all the natural easiness imaginable: I will go no further than my own present thoughts which hazard rather than Study brings into my mind: I will fancy myself in your Company, sliding from one hint to another, in a grateful variety of Sentiments: I will only examine the plain nature of things, and not the adventitious Appendices of industrious Cogitation: If I must be sometimes forced to an Ostentation of Learning, when I come to want a Quotation, I will get up to reach down my Author: I will speak nothing in a passionate and Dogmatical Huff, nor will I follow in Poetry the great Duelists in Religion, who, though Chaplains to the Prince of Peace, are evermore termagantly mad, and with the most sanguinary zeal hacking and hewing one another.  
All the World knows, how necessary to our selves is the observation of other men's minds and manners. The Stage has been so often called the Looking-glass of Mankind, that I am as much ashamed to repeat it, as to obtrude a Proverb upon Company for a new notion, or to aver with an hundred and fifty Oaths, that two and two make four. It is almost an Eternal verity, and had not Cicero told me, that for the preservation of health, a Man ought to study and be thoroughly acquainted with the State of his own Body, yet I should have believed, that it is very requisite towards a good Regulation of our Lives, to take a Prospect of the loveliness of Virtue, the odiousness of Vice, and to see those little extravagancies of Men's Tempers, which are styled humours, publicly ridiculed.  
The two first of these are the proper business and subject matter of Tragedy and Tragi-comedy: For I shall use this latter Term, since it's not only authorised by Plautus, but also by the Modern Practice: Tho I may possibly elsewhere and at some other time take occasion to show, there is no such thing in Nature. In Tragedy every thing is employed to move and stir up the Passions of the Spectators by the dreadful Adventures which it represents, and then it's work is to appease and settle their Souls in their former calm and tranquillity; whilst the great Heroes of Antiquity are raised from their Graves, taking up their Tenements of Clay again, to converse with us. This, questionless, is a great advantage, that for half a Crown we can come into their Company, and hear them be their own Historians, and talk such fine things about Love and Honour, without being affrighted at their Spectres. And, this is one of the chief Preeminences of a City above a Country Life, that we can enjoy such illustrious and edifying Dialogues. We see virtue in its exalted State, that 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, L. 7. C. 1. which Aristotle (who poisoned his Pupil and Benefactor, mentions in his Ethics, whereby he denotes, that it is not so much situated above our Attainments, as above our obligations to attain it, but that when we have acquired it into our reach, it will, most infallibly, lift us above the ordinary Predicament of humane Nature, and we shall all become Transcendentals. So that, these great Heroes must be truly great, and endued with all manner of Perfections, and all the Moral Virtues: And their Vices must be either very carefully managed or quite concealed: Alexander must have a great deal of deference and veneration paid him, and he must not be exposed to laughter, though he should pretend himself to be the By-blow of a God, 
Inter Epistolas Mandi Procerum.  rather than that of honest King Philip, which his noun Mother resents most bitterly in a very pathetic Letter to the ungracious Universal Monarch. However, so many Abatements are not to be made, as that Tragedy should swerve from History: It may improve it, but in such a measure, that the discrimination of the real Persons may remain. Tragedy is to glorify them in this Resurrection, but yet they are still to continue the same Individual Men. It would be extremely ridiculous to draw Tully and Catiline, Caesar and Cato, Antony and Brutus with the same lines and the same features, though they lived in the very same Age together, and the same Commonwealth.  

P. 1.  And my Author says, that the French excel in works of the Stage, and he may say so with all my Heart, if he will give it me under his hand, that he speaks this in general, or in compliment to his own Country: For, upon no account can I concede it, if he affirms it with an Allusion to Ours. In which sense and acceptation, we may very well understand him, when he boldly Challenges all the Countries in the Universe to dispute with France the advantage of Tragedy, and immediately subjoins, that he will allow but four or five English Tragedies to be complete, and these neither, unless they were Guelt, and had a great many restraints and alterations made in them. What these four or five are, Sir, I am sorry he hath not nominated, so that we might have impartially examined both their Beauties and Imperfections, and compared them with as many of the best French pieces. Otherwise we cannot lay hold of him, he speaks at volley and universally; and there is no course to be taken in defence of the English Theatre, but one, which I judge to be very odious, and that is a general comparison betwixt that and the French.  
With this Province, Sir, I am not much taken, by reason it is my Opinion, wherein I have your concurrence, that 'tis a putrid way of Wit to draw Comparisons in National Concerns, and to make artful and blackening Observations on whole Communities: It almost looks as gross as a similitude in a dying Man's Mouth. I will, therefore, modestly, in our Honour only specify one or two things, wherein our Tragedies do as far exceed the French both for Profit and Diversion (if we may allow any at all in this case) as the Monument surpasses Pancradge- Steeple, both for strength, and height, and Beauty, and, I will leave it to any Rationalman to conjecture at the rest.  
The French Tragedy bears much resemblance to an Epique Poem, picking out, generally, one or two principal Personages of great Renown in Story, and laying out all its gifts on some certain notable passage and event of their Lives. Therefore it will suffer no more men to come upon the Stage, than what are purely necessary to the adornment and furtherance of that one main-action. And then, the whole intrigue is carried on in Rhythme, with tedious Harangues, Dialoguewise; wherein the Actors do as devoutly pay their respects to Honour, as if it was a piece of Religious Worship (as indeed Tragedy, heretofore, bore a part in the Heathen Liturgy) and have the most immortal occasions upon Earth to speak fine things, according to Mr. Bayes' Phrase in the Rehearsal.  
Contrarily, we introduce a manifold and thickening diversity of Actions into the leading designment; whereas the French are so very superstitious in observing the Stagyrites Rules of purging Pride and Ambition by showing, that no State can secure Mankind from the Lapses and Reverses of Fortune, that one would guests by their Tragedies, that they had no other vice than Ambition, nor other Men than Heroes, as we guess at the Diseases of a Country by their Remedies. But on th' other hand we aim at curing not only our soaring Sparks, Our Nahashes, Our Absoloms; but all such Fools as suffer themselves to be mad● their Instruments as Our Ziphs' by showing the fatality that attends all those that are engaged in such impious undertake. Thus we flow more free and unconfined, mixing with the great Plot many little circumstances, by the help of our Episodes. Whereby these considerable advantages fall on our side, that our scenes are not so nauseous, nor have so many Ambages, as our Neighbours, but the Audience's Mind, meets the more frequently with different Mutations and Prospects; that our Stage has more Persons upon it, which takes off the fatigue of still viewing the same-object, and adds a pickanter vivacity to whatever is spoken. In the last place, we, for the most part, do not use Rhythme; but blank-verse, whereby the Poet's minds is left more to itself, and has a fairer and more natural-field, wherein to expatiate, without the necessity of cursing Arabic Customs or Moorish Innovations, which forced a man to spoil a good thought by tagging it with Ting-tong.  
Had our Author duly weighed these things, he would not, perhaps, have so hardily pronounced against the English Buskin, as he has done, especially by way of comparison, when he could not but remember, what that honest-fellow of a Critic Rapine long ago confessed of his own Countrymen, that none of them had writ a good Tragedy, nor were ever like to write one. I know by intimation under hand he may oppose against what I have thought fit to say in our behalf, that this variety of Under-plots does bring an heap of confused-events: 
P. 9  But this lies wholly at the Poet's discretion; he is to answer this Objection, I believe, before he can get his Play acted. They may be confused, as in a Chaos, rudis indigestaque moles, while they lie in the Poet's Mind, they may be then like the first matter, without form: But it is the Poet's work; and, perhaps, one of the greatest Arts of human Wit to unconfound them, to find fit-digressions, and right Ligaments to tie one thing to another, lest instead of representing a true State of natural Society, he plunges himself into Hobbs' State of War.  
I might here, indeed, Sir, particularise in many of our Modern English Tragedies, endued with all the proportions of place, time and such external Regularities, which would prove the most forcible Argument against my Author: But since upon this whole matter, he hath chosen to deliver himself, and to sport in Generals, I have followed him but in such a way, that all men of judgement, who have studied the English Stage, will think him out of the way, when he judges thus of it. I must avow, Sir, I have here miss an heavenly opportunity of gaining the Amity of some of our Top-Poets: But you know, Sir, what a fierce Nation they are, (as Boileau calls them) and it is, perchance, as dangerous to praise as to discommend any one of them: And, therefore, I will still put both themselves and their Fortunes upon God and their Country.  
There is one thing more, which upon this Topick impinges on us, 
P. 9  that we are wonderfully pleased with the sight of barbarous Murders, that our Stage is an Acheldama, that there we read Eternal Paraphrases upon the third Chapter of Job, and that the more Blood is spilt, the more delight does the audience receive. I will not here allege the Roman Theatre, wherein were as many Knox's and Cargyls, as in the cirque of the Gladiators: I will only deduce a Replication from the nature of our Stage itself. Our scenes are much fuller than the French, in which I have already gloried; and consequently, the Dependants of great Men always partake of their Fates. Now, how can this be thought a piece of Inhumanity (as my Author thinks it) which is daily seen to be Acted in Prince's Courts, and upon the true Theatre of the World? Our shores (we thank God) are not inhospitable, as they were when Horace said, Visam Britannos hospitibus feros.  
And the French, I am certain, will allow, that the English can readily borrow a great many people, to help fill up these By-plots.  
I now pass to Comedy, wherein my Author seems not to take the same measures, as he did in Tragedy, 
P. 39  that every thing ought to be referred to one principal event, However, he declares not his own Opinion in this point, but with many allowances. He will only have it a contest depending on the Genius of the two Nations. He very fairly and justly allows Ben. Johnson to be an Excellent Comic Poet, 
P. 44.  in depicting the several humours and manners of men. 
P. 35  Yet he thinks, our humours are carried on too far, which proceeds from our too much thinking on the same thing, 
P. 35.  and our too long plodding in the same beaten Tract of Re-action. I had rather at any time, Sir, defend than accuse, but by no means can I omit in this place, what every body knows, in what a Lewd condition the French Comedy is at this day; that (as my Author confesses) it is mostly filched from the Spaniards, and that it is generally (with a few exceptions) degenerated into Farce, Puppet-shews, Buffonery, and Apish-tricks: Whereas the English sally into new Invention, and keep it up to the same sublimity and splendour, as it held, when Loelius and the Masters of Rome, who had crowned Heads for their Subjects, writ Comedies to divert the People.  
I will not affirm, that we Religiously observe all the Laws, which Kings and Parliaments of Parnassus have Enacted, and though a Man will hardly miss of Horace's Art of Poetry in the Title-page, that by consequence all the Rules of that Lycurgus are observed in the ensuing Comedy. 'tis enough the Prologue does still either Court or Huff the audience to surprise its good-Opinion: Love goes still on at the old rate, he is still reputed the most ancient of the Gods, 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 (as Plutarch says) all things are made and Providentially disposed by him.  Totamque infusa per artus Mens agitat molem— 
So that though the Sparks had a perpetual, but a very uneasy Celibacy, till the last Act, yet then from the objective they pass to the formal happiness. And though (as my Author remarks) the English may surpass the natural Ideas of things, by letting our thoughts dwell too long upon one Object, and rarifying it into vast dimensions, yet if it were otherwise, I am persuaded, there could be nothing heard for yawning, all would be cold and i'll and beyond the eight Degree. And this reason is to be assigned, for the continued thickness of the Wit, which sometimes is piled up so mountainously thick that it is impossible to think any man can be supposed to speak or answer so, extemperaneously, but upon Study and Premeditation.  
But, to consider this thing a little more closely and Philosophically, matters do, perhaps, stand in a much better condition as they are, than if they were entirely conformed to the precepts of Aristotle and Horace. Indeed, if none but the great Masters of Poetry, who have a thorough insight into these two Lawgivers, came into the Theatre, our Adversaries would say something, but our English Actors nothing at all, unless this, Unus est nobis pro Populo, I mean our Laureate. I have, oftentimes, applied myself in some difficult cases to some particular Men, who pretend to have made this Art their Study: But I have found, they either have not told me their minds sincerely, or else have made ill use of their Pains, seeing, afterwards, I have received more satisfaction from Persons of ordinary good-sense than these speculative Curiosi. For it is, indisputably, true, that as to the Art of the Stage, nothing is more easy, than for a Man to be deceived in his conceptions, when he will needs peep into its delicacy and fineness, and little Whimsies: Nothing is more easy than to give a wrong Explanation of Aristotle's or Horace's Rules, which are wont to breed as great a disorder and hub-bub in an unapt Brain, as they yield illumination and benefit to a mind, framed by nature for these sorts of notices.  
We are to consider that Comedy is appointed to please not only the Sir Courtly Nice's in Wit, but all true Souls, whom Terence calls the People; and we have his Affidavit, who was no Oats, that then it attaineth its end, when it pleases them. When a Man, Sir of unblundering sense, that does not lay claim to one jota of Greek or Latin, that never read (God bless him) either Aristotle or Horace, and that never yet aspired to write a Billetdoux so much as in his own dear Mother Tongue; when this Man shall tell you, that such a Comedy pleases him, that he sat easy and attentive all the while without ogling the Boxes, and though gifted with the Spirit of Ruffling, he balked the Masques of his Douceurs, that he comprehended the Plot very well, that he viewed its turmoils with some disturbance, that afterwards he saw 'em unravelled with some emotions of joy, that he came from the Playhouse in some haste, or, perhaps, stumbled in the way, while he was preparing his memory for his Friends, I should believe the Comedy good, and the testimony of this one man should be of more comfortable importance and judicious weight with me, than all the petty-reasons of an half-skilled Play-crafts-man. And I will not go far to prove, if not to demonstrate this as certain as any Problem in Euclid, at least in an equal, and not in a comparative sense. For, the difference which lies betwixt a Man of skill, and a Man of no skill, upon this postulatum that there be an equal division of good-sense between them, can never make them to have a different relish of the Comedy. They will be equally pleased or displeased at the same Play, with this discrimination only, that the Man of skill can tell, why he is pleased, or why he is displeased, and the Man of just-sense cannot, as having never made it his business to dive into the Art of Poetry.  
But, to leave it in suspense, whether all the Aristotelian and Horation Precepts are nicely requisite in the composition of a Comedy, and not to return back and inquire here, whether the same dispute may be warped also to Tragedy, we can make no manner of question, but that Operas or pieces of Machine are not subject to their Jurisdiction, but are wholly out of the pale of those two great Men's Territories, since they are of a later date, and owe their original to Florence in Lorenzo de Medici's time or to the Venetians, who (as Mr. Dryden thinks, might gather them up from the wrecks of the Grecian and Roman theatres, 
Postscript to Albi●● and Alba●ius.  which were adorned with Scenes, Music, Dances, and Machine's, especially the Athenian: Which polite Commonwealth, though it was very frugal in every thing else, according to Mr. Rhymer's observation, yet did tax and assess themselves, and did expend more out of their public Exchequer upon the representation of these public Plays, than all their Wars cost them, though sometimes both Sea and Land were covered with barbarous Foes, by whom they were invaded.  
Aristotle, whom all men agree, to have treated of the Stage the first and the best of any Writer, saith, that two things therein are particularly to be observed, which are verisimility and marvellousness, with this difference, that in Comedy nothing but what retains on verisimilitude is to be admitted, whereas Tragedy doth not refuse the marvellous, 
Preface Ibid.  or as Mr. Dryden calls it, the surprising conduct. However in this case, great moderation the Philosopher will have used, so that if a Man be forced to intermingle things supernatural and so usher in the Gods, it must only be on some pinch of necessity: And this is the sense of that Law and Ordinance of the old Peripatetique Gentleman, which Judge Hales himself cannot interpret more uprightly. From whence we may deduce this Corollary, that Dramatic Poetry is to be thus essentially divided: Comedy ought to have every thing likely and probable, i. e. only natural and ordinary Events; Operas which are a species, that stand in opposition to the former, must accept only of extraordinary and supernatural Adventures: But Tragedy, like the Aristotelian virtue, is to lie snudging betwixt them both, being compounded of marvellousness and possibility. So that hence we see, the vices and imperfections of a Comedy, are the virtues and beauties of an Opera. Nothing is more wicked in a Comedy than the slipping and alteration of the Scene: But nought is so rich and excellent in an Opera as the breaking of all the unities of time, place and action, I mean as the leaps, not only from one place of the Earth, to an other, but from Earth to the Empyrean Heaven, and from Heaven to Hell: While the simple Inhabitants of the Lunar Planet little think what work we make with them in Dorset-Garden. In a Comedy, nothing is so unmercifully insupportable, as to ungigg or explicate the Intrigue by a Miracle, or by the kind arrival of some 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉: whereas in an Opera nothing is so charmingly ravishing, as these sorts of Miracles and these Apparitions of Divinities, when Men have some ground and reason to introduce them.  
From this wide distinction betwixt the nature of Comedy and Opera, it may be determined, that either my Author did not understand the right notion of Operas, 
P. 42.  when he terms them, even beyond a literal sense, Comedies in Music, 
P. 45.  or else he means that abused Constitution of them, which he himself derides, when they are compelled in Music to negotiate the inferior and common affairs of civil Life. In this▪ Observation he certainly shakes hands with truth, and I am sure, you, Sir, will take his side: For I, partly, believe, that should a Man drillingly sing and warble out an errand to his Lacquais, the Fellow might, perhaps, go, but I fancy, he would make more haste to Court than to the place appointed him in his message, that he might be the first to make Friends for his Master's Estate.  
I will not here examine my Author's judgement in singing, nor the Preference he gives the French to the Italian Operas, such an attempt being extraneous to my undertaking: But since he damns the very essential constitution of this Theatrical Entertainment, notwithstanding the incivility, I think myself engaged to see him contradicted. And I hope, Sir, that I shall obtain your pardon both for the tediousness and the unpolished neglect of this discourse, especially in this part of it, wherein I have so few helps, seeing I do at once plead the cause of Friendship, and, perhaps, of good-sense: For, this portion of the Stage's diversion being but a Novice in our Theatre, and having just received the Royal Approbation and encouragement, as it would be unmannerly to let any thing slip the Press, that so much as indirectly strikes at the design, so it would be as severe too, and to the detriment of the Actors, who have been at immense charges in carrying it on, and some of whom of Eminent judgement and sense I am proud to call my Friends.  
All the reasons, therefore, which I can find my Author goes upon, in subverting root and branch, the constitutive Principles and foundation of Operas are two. The first is more general. That it is impossible for the mind of Man to be sincerely pleased, when it has so little to do, 
P. 42.  and that tho, perhaps, it may be at first surprised into some delight, yet, afterwards, it presently sinks into itself, and becomes tired and drooping. The other is, that he never saw an Opera, 
p. 44.  but what to him appeared foolish and contemptible, either in the disposition of the subject, or in the composure of the Verses.  
In reply to these reasons: This principle is acknowledged as a Basis and Groundwork in all Arts and Sciences, that those who first invented them, and gave 'em all the perfections requisite to their Frame, Nature and Constitution, aught to be the Supreme Dictator's in whose steps, all the following Disciples are to tread: Otherwise, they tread awry. So that, as the Italians did first pitch upon and accomplish in all its numbers this Entertainment of Operas, whoever undertakes to compose an Opera, must wholly square his measures to their design. This my Critic ought to have considered, before he had gone, and committed High-Treason against one of the most established and most famous Laws among Men of Wit, by not having the fear of Authority before his Eyes, and by contriving some new Atheistical Regulations, according to which he would alter the settled Government.  
But (it seems) he has reason so to do: No Man of sense can be taken with things, which have no sense in 'em: The mind does not find matter enough in 'em, to employ itself about nothing but noise and fine shows: And the Ludgate-audience, provided they be neither Deaf nor Blind were by Predestination devised to be charmed with these superaerial practices: Mighty Scenes and Fustian adorned with extravagant Decorations never fail, but operate as certainly as a Devil, a Fool, and a Friar: And what is the effect of all this, but to be praised by such a Riff-raff is to be condemned.  
It was said of the Emperor Trajan when he boasted of his Parthian Trophy before the Gods, that he was 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, and that he regarded a sound of words more than real matter itself: But whether this is liable to be applied to Operas, I will leave it to the decision of all judicious men, from the consideration both of what has been already urged upon this Topick, and what I shall further add in confutation of the second argument. In the interim, I will here put the case, that there is nothing to be heard, felt, or understood but a nonsensical sound: Yet, if this sound be truly Harmonical, whether vocal or Instrumental, or both, men will certainly prefer it sometimes before the greatest. Embellishments of Wit. Music, therefore, as well as all other polite Arts has been embraced and cherished by all the most glorious Nations in the Universe, and has received its augmentation proportionable to the augmentations of Empire. I have already particularised in two immortal and commanding Nations, especially the Romans, who not only used it in their theatres, but in Religious matters on the greatest of all days, when their Carmina soecularia were sung with so much pomp and ostentation, that they were styled 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, The Hebrews themselves (not to speak of the glittering and incessant use of it in their Temple) did in Solomon's time, when that Dominion was elevated to it's highest Akme, and even a note above Ela, had ' public times of joy adorned with the magnificence of musical performances. And, as Mr. Dryden has remarked that the first Operas 
Pref. to Alb. a●d Alba●.  seemed to be designed by the Italians for the Celebration of Prince's Marriages, or days of Universal rejoicing, whereof he gives us an instance in Guarini's Pastor fido; So the Song of Songs, (as our Learned Churchmen long ago expressed it) is a kind of Divine Pastoral, or Marriage Play, consisting of divers Acts and Scenes: Or a sacred Dialogue (by way of Opera) with many interlocutory passages. First the Bride comes in, and saith, Let him kiss me with the kisses of his Mouth: Then the Bridegroom, I have compared thee, O my Love, to a Troop of Horses, etc. After which he withdraws himself, and sits at his repast, leaving the Bride with her Companions, as it were alone upon the Stage, who thus speak to her, We will make thee Borders of Gold and Studds of Silver, etc.  
But to come nearer home, and to give a taste of our own times, Balets have ever been in vogue in France, Spain has its Bull-feasts, the Moors their Zambra's, the Germans their Wirschafts, being pieces composed of Mascarad●s, Balets, and Songs, the Court of Savoy it's Sapates, and none of these Entertainments but has Music for an essential Ingredient.  
Can we, then, think that Actions, though long, of Dramatic Music to be ungrateful, and sure to put the audience to the most hideous Agonies of yawning? Can we suppose the most delicate People, that ever yet lived upon Earth to be Sots and heavy Idiots? Can we imagine them to be weary of an happiness of their own contrivance, and to be as great Fools as the Apostate Angels, who were cloyed with their felicity, and left th●ir own Habitations? Toward a plenary satisfaction and complete acquiescence of mind, it is necessary, that all the powers of our Souls, be adequately filled with Pleasure, and be rapt up into an Eternal Enjoyment. There must be no interfering Accident, to break it off. The trance must be ineffable, and what signifies it, so it be a Trance, whether it be agreeable to the Catholic▪ measures of sense or reason? I confess, Mr. Cowley says, that Wit should not be laid too thick, but discreetly managed and scattered up and down: But for my share, I do not think this notion is extensive to the divertisements of the Eye or Ear: And I fancy a Lady much more richly dressed in a Gown all laid over with Jewels, than with here and there one, nicely situated.  
The Thomists will have the fruition of the Divinity to consist solely in an Act of the Understanding, which they call Vision: But the Scotests in an Act of the Will, which is Love: And the Thomists seem to have the better of the argument, because seeing the operation in which our perfectest happiness is founded, must he the perfectest operation, and seeing that of the intellectual is more perfect than that of the sensitive part, it is apparent, that the operation of this fruition must lie in the Intellectual Part only. But though I question not but that both in th' upshot may be brought to an accommodation, according to the Maxims of the new Philosophy, which holds all sensations not to be realities either in the senses or the objects of them, but to subsist solely in the perception. I say, I do not care, whether the Pleasure springs from either part, provided I have the Pleasure: Tho, perhaps, all that results from Harmony, arises from the Concord, it bears to our Souls, which some have opined to be Harmony.  
I know, sometimes, our sense of seeing is affected to that degree with the Harmony or Beauty of Colours, and our hearing with that of sounds, that some have proved too frail for the enjoyment, and have become maddish with the superlative Pleasure. And to this cause may be ascribed the extravagant joys of the Italian Theatre, where the Composers of the Music of the Opera, endeavour to end the Scenes of the principal Actors, with such Airs as not only draw the applauses of the whole Theatre, when Benissimo is heard from a thousand Mouths at once, but have sometimes transported some Gentlemen besides themselves and their Wits by the charming voices of their Young Women, so that they have cried out, while they lean over from their Galleries, Ah Cara! mi Butto, mi Butto, as if they were about to precipitate themselves down in the ecstasies, into which they were rapt by these divine voices.  
This, I think Sir, enough to offer in contradiction to the first reason of my Critic: The second does without any exception or dispensation condemn every particular Opera, he ever yet saw, both as to the disposal of the main subject, and the composition of the verses; I will not here object to him Lovigis Operas, wherein he frankly avows, 
P. 5●.  himself hath found inimitable things, nor any of the Illustrious Achievements in this kind of the Italian Masters: I will only bring our Alb. and Albanius into his consideration, which not only for the amussitated management of the subject-matter, and the ingenious contrivance of the versification, but for the great and Godlike Argument, for the Heroic design of its Instruction, for the admirable and sumptuous performance in the sweetness of the Music, in the Harmonique Movements and Postures, in the richness of the Habits, and the Beauty of the Machine's and Decorations, we may oppose in competition with any thing, that ever Paris or Venice itself did yet see. Notwithstanding the general design is but as yet in a State of Probation.  
The Argument is both according to and beyond the Poets own Heart, both literally true and super-naturally Historical. The miraculous Restauration and Deliverances of the two Royal Brothers, with the Apotheosis of our late Immortal and cherished Monarch. The Instruction easy and fresh in our Memories, Treason defeated by the Almighty, and his Vice-gerents preserved. We are not constrained like our Neighbour Nations, to feign Poetical Tales: We have daily new-subjects for Operas set before our Eyes, and we see ours acted first on the true Theatre of the World.  
The conduct sublime, yet no great chasms in it, but such as rather seem to heighten than stint the minds of the audience. The Verses pure, fluent and filled with a Celestial and Blissful Cadence, nothing in our Language, yet extant, comparable to it. And we can find but one and twenty Apostrophe's (I mean of distinct Woods) through the whole Series of the verse.  
This was a way of writing, first observed and introduced by Mr. Waller: And without this, the contrivance of Operas could never stand. And as there is a sweetness in the middle, so is there at the end of the verse, which is chiefly caused by the Dissyllable and Trissyllable Rhymes, lately much used in our Songs, and borrowed originally from the Italians. ●or, it is generally of the Constitutive nature of all Italian verses, of what num●er of Syllables soever they be, to have the Accent upon the P●nultima. There a●e some, indeed, which they call Sdruccioli or slippery verses, that lay it upon the Ante-penultima, their final Cadence running swift: Whereof we have many examples in this English Opera, as being naturally Compatible to its Constitution, as may be prov●d by this instance.  
The Italians, as they have preserved many things of the Latin through their whole Tongue, so have they retained a sort of verses, named Sciolti, without Rhyme: Wherein that excellent Traduction of Virgil's Aeneis is written by Hannibal Caro, from whom, I am of opinion, Sir, that that great man of your name, whose enlarged Genius, you inherit, separated from the unhappy and fatal malignities, which belonged to that Age, took his design. The body of the work consists of Heroic verses of eleven Syllables, but he sometimes mixes the Sdruccioli of twelve, and then principally, when he makes the Gods to speak as in the sybil's Answer in the Sixth Book.  
Verrano i Teucri all regno di Lavinio,  
Di ciò t' affido. Ma benstoito desser vi  
Si penteranno. Guerre, guerre horri bili  
For gear ne veggio, & pien di sangue il Tevere.  
As to the performance, I will not inquire whether our English voices are so fine and fit for things of this nature: I will rather suspend my judgement with my Author, remembering, that things cannot at first receive their ultimate perfection, qui non est hodiè, cras magis aptus erit; and that there is a strife among Musicians as well as Men of all other Professions:  〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉. 
I will not strain in commending the vision of the Honours of the Garter, in which we see the Glories of our August Prince with all the lesser Deities about him.  Divisum Imperium cum Jove Caesar habet. 
Neither will I mention the Peacock which had the Samii seen (who stamped its Portraiture upon their Coins, because Juno, to whom it was dedicated, was by them adored) they would not only have Worshipped her but the Bird too, and, perhaps, more the Birds very Portrait. She, indeed, is appointed by the Poets to convert the Eyes of Argus in the Peacock's Train: But here the Spectator does wish for his Eyes to look upon the Bird itself, as being as rare a sight, as when it was first transported from the Barbarians into Greece, at which time Aelian tells us, that among the Athenians it was not to be seen without Money.  
I will not enlarge, Sir, upon these Occurrences, because they have already betrayed me into a great deal of Pedantry, though I have made it my scope all along to keep at as great a distance as I could from the Anonimous Translator, who some days ago put forth these Stage Essays. I will say nothing in derogation of his Traduction, nor build my own Reputation upon the ruins of another Man's; But I do not doubt, that if he had pondered more, he would have more throughly understood his Author, and a little more pains would have better spoke his Acquaintance with honest Will. Lilly.  
And now, Sir, I think I have been sufficiently guilty of the Vice the Greeks called 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, as to have tried to what a degree you stand possessed of the great virtues of perseverance and long-suffering, so as that it's high time to make an end, lest I be gored with questo non sa la storia intiera, perch non gli fu insignata la fine. Wherefore I shall leave all I had to say about Epicurus, to my Annotations: It being an infinite work to dispute concerning summum bonum, of which Socrates affirms in his Ecclesiastical History, there were three hundred several Opinions. This is all I have to add, that Epicurus had a Garden, and in that Garden stood a Tree of Knowledge: But in the Bark of it was writ, by some Lycurgus or other, a Noli me tangere.  
I am, Sir, Your Most Humble, Most Affectionate, Most Obliged Servant. F. SPENCE.   

ERRATA.  
PAge 43. line 9 deleatur a, P. 48. l. 2. read made, p. 63. l. 1. del. no doubt, p. 69. l. 18. r. calumniate, p. 77. l. 6. r. with which, p. 79. l. 10. for than is there, r. there can, p. 83. l. 23. r. si●ce, p. 89. l. 8. r. innocent, p. 90. l. 18. r. cotton, p. 39 l. 10. r. twinges and pinches, p. 97. l. 2. for then, r. thee, ibid. l. 12. r. Ruins, p. 98 l. 11. for ten, r. a, ib. l. 22. r. laudable, p. 99 l. 3. r. contrarible, p. 104. l. 18. r. he became, p. 135. l. 16. r. Tergilylinus, p. 113. l. 20. r. Thyestes, p. 115. l. 1. r. horrid, ib. l. 11. r. Alemeon, p. 118. l. 19 r. that th● it, etc. p. 123. l. 2. r. an, p. 129. l. 12. r. est? p. 130. l. 6. r. ruinated, p. 131. l. 24. for theirs, r. other's, p. 133. l. 8. r. her, ib. l. 9 r. Jilt, p. 136, l. 1. r. Camillus, ib. l. 12. r. are, ib. l. 14. for being, r. is, p. 141. l. 1. r. starry, p. 144 l. 11. for bate, r. ca●l, p 145. l. 7. r. sublimi, p. 146. l. 10. r. sparkling, p. 155. l. 4. r. thou. These are the material Errors, which have escaped the Press, except some few Literal ones, the Principal whereof I leave to be corrected by the Reader, in page 102, 106, 114, 115, 117, and 140.   

MISCELLANY DISCOURSES.  

§ Of TRAGEDY.  
IT is my Opinion, that the French excel in Works of the Theatre; and I believe, I should not flatter Corneille, if to many of his Tragedies I gave the Pre-eminence over those of Antiquity. I know, the Ancient Tragic Poets have had Admirers in all Ages; but I question whether this Loftiness, both of Place and Wit, ascribed 'em by these Admirers, has any solid foundation.  
To make us believe that Sophocles and Euripides are as admirable, as they tell us, we must fancy many more things in their own Works, than what we can learn from their Translators, and in my mind, the words and Language must claim a considerable portion in their Beauty.  
Through the Praises of their most Renowned, and most Partial Adorers, (methinks) I see, and perceive, that Grandeur, Magnificence, and chiefly Dignity, were things very little known by 'em: They were a parcel of Good Wits cooped up in a narrow Family of a small Commonwealth, to whom a Necessitous Liberty served instead of all manner of Things.  
Put'em upon representing the Majesty of a great Monarch, they knew not scarcely how to enter on such an unknown Grandeur: Their Senses were so used and assubjected to base and mean Objects, that they could hardly avoid them.  
'Tis true, these Wits, distasting such Objects, sometimes heaved 'emselves up to something wonderful and sublime: but then, they would be ever bringing so many Gods and Goddesses into their Tragedies, that a man could meet with nothing Mortal or Humane in 'em: What was Great, was Fabulous; what was Natural, was Poor and crawling.  
In Corneille, Height and Grandeur is known by itself: The Figures, he uses, are handsome, when he has a mind to trim it with some Ornament; but generally, he neglects those extravagant Sallies, and goes not o' hunting in the Heavens for something to set off that which is already considerable enough on Earth: He thinks it sufficient to make a right entrance into things; and the full and just Image, he gives us, of them, makes that true Impression, which Men of good sense love to receive.  
In effect, most admirable every where is Nature: And when Men have recourse to that strange and borrowed Splendour, wherewith they think to embellish Objects, 'tis frequently a tacit Confession, that they do not know their Propriety and true Nature. Hence proceed the greatest part of Our Figures and Comparisons, which I cannot approve of, unless they come very seldom, unless they be altogether noble, and altogether just: Otherwise, by this subtle dexterity, they seek a diversion, to turn a Man's thoughts away from the things, which themselves do not understand. Yet whatever Beauty similes may have, they agree much better with an Epic Poem than a Tragedy. In an Epic Poem the mind seeks its Divertisement out of the main Subject; but, in a Tragedy, the Soul being full of thought, and crowded with Passion, does not easily move at the mere glittering of a Similitude.  
To return to those Ancients, from whom our Discourse has insensibly strayed, and that we may do 'em Justice, we must confess, that they have succeeded much better in expressing the Qualities of their Heroes, than in describing the Magnificence of great Kings. A confused Idea, of the Glories of Babylon, did rather spoil than exalt their Imagination: But their Wit could not commit any mistake as to Strength, Constancy, Justice and Wisdom, whereof they had evermore Examples before their Eyes. Their sense being disengaged from Pride, in a mean sort of Commonwealth, left their Reason more free to consider Men by themselves.  
Thus nothing diverted them from studying Humane Nature, from applying their minds to the Knowledge of Vices and Virtues, of Genius's and inclinations. By this means, they learned to frame their Characters so well, that a man cannot wish 'em to be more just according to the age, wherein they lived. Tho we may be satisfied with knowing persons by their Actions, yet Corneille did believe, it was not enough to make them Act, he went to the very bottom of their Souls, to find out the Principle of their actions, he descended into their hearts, to see the passions formed, and to discover what was most hidden in their Motions.  
As for the ancient Tragic Poets, either they neglect the passions, to keep closer to the exact representation of Passages, or else they bring in grave Talkers, even in the midst of pinches and perturbations, and will tell you starched Sentences, when you are to expect Despair and Trouble.  
Corn●ille robs us of nothing of what passes, but brings every Action into view as far as decency permits: Yet still, to his Thought, he gives all the extent it requires, conducting Nature without perplexing or abandoning it too much to it self.  
What ever was barbarous, he has pruned off from the Ancient Theater: He has mollified the horror of its scene, by certain tendernesses of Love judiciously distributed: But he has taken no less care, to keep up our fei● and our enjoy in his Tragical Subjects, not diverting the Soul from those true Passions, which it should feel, to those little troublesome Sighs which, tho' varied a hundred times, never cease being always the same.  
What Praises soever I give this Excellent Author, I do not say, that his pieces are the only, that deserve applause upon the French Theatre. The French have been taken with Alc●one, Sophonisba, Mariam, Stilicon, Andromache, Britannicu●, and many others, whose goodness I do not pretend to disparage, by not naming them.  
I avoid, as much as possible, being distasteful; and I shall think it sufficient to say, that never any Nation could dispute with [ours] the advantage of excelling in Tragedies.  
As to those of the Italians, they are hardly worth mentioning; to name 'em only is enough to clog a Man: Their Feast of Peter would kill the patientest Soul upon Earth, 'tis so tiresome; and never did I see it, but I wished the Author of that Piece Thunder-stricken with his Atheist.  
There are four or five English Tragedies where, in good truth, many things ought to be retrenched; and with this Curtailing they would be rendered altogether exact and complete.  
In all the rest you can see nothing but matter without form and digestion, an heap of confused events: And without consideration of places or times, without any regard to decency; their cruel Eyes delight to see Blood and Wounds and most direful Murders.  
Of these things to take away the horror, by Recitals and by telling Stories, as is used in France, this is to rob the People of the sight of what affects 'em most.  
Men of sense do disallow of this Custom, established perchance on no very civil and humane sense in the Minds of Men: but it is an Ancient Habit and way, wherein the Nations Taste in general takes place over the delicacy of particular Persons.  
To die is so trivial a thing among the English, that to move them there is need of Ideas and Images more dreadful than death itself: Upon which account the French do reproach 'em for allowing too much to their se●ses in the Theatre. On the other hand the French must take that twitting very kindly from them, in that they pass into the other extremity, when they admire such Tragedies, as have little fine softnesses, which make no very strong Impression upon the mind. Sometimes their Hearts, being very ill satisfied with a tenderness, which has been ill-formed, they seek for a further emotion in the acting of the Players. Sometimes they will have the Actor be more transported than the Poet, and lend some fury and despair to a mean agitation and too common a grief.  
In a word, that which ought to be tender, is only sweet; what is to Create pity, only causes tenderness: A mere emotion serves instead of a seizure, and Astonishment of Horror.  
Something, that is profound and searching, is wanting to our Sentiments: And the Passion, being touched b●t by halves, excites only imperfect motions in our Souls, which do neither leave them in their proper seat, nor yet raise 'em up ●●ove themselves▪   

§ Of COMEDY.  
AS to Comedy, which ought to represent Life in ordinary and common Conversation, the French have altogether wheeled it upon Gallantry in imitation of the Spaniards, not considering, that the Ancients made it their whole burness to represent Humane Life according to the diversity of Humours; and that the Spaniards, to follow their own proper bent and Genius, have only described and painted out the Life, that is lead at Madrid in their Intrigues and Adventures.  
I confess this sort of work, among the Ancients, might have had a much more Noble Air, and more Gallant: But this was rather the fault of those Ages than the fault of those Authors. Now-adays the greater part of our Poets are as little acquainted with the manners, as they in those times knew what Gallantry was. You would swear, there are no more Covetous Rogues now living, no more spendthrifts, no more good natured Men, of an humour fit for Society, no more People naturally peevish, gloomy; and austere; as if Madam Nature was changed, and Men had worn out these several Impressions. Now under the very same Character they are all represented, whereof I know no reason, unless it be this, that the Women in our days have found it very seasonable, that there ought to be no Creatures but Gallants in the World.  
I must acknowledge, that the Madrid-Wits are much more fruitful in Invention than the French Sparks: For which reason, the Latter have fetch't thence the greatest part of their Subjects, which they have crowded with amorous or tender Discourses, and wherein they have put more Regularity and likelihood. The cause is, for that in Spain, where the women are seldom or never seen, the Poet's imagination is spent in ingenious ways to bring the Lovers together into the same place; whereas in France, where a free liberty of Commerce is settled, the Author's greatest delicacy is employed in the tender and lovely expressions of Thoughts.  
'Tis not long since [let me see] a Lady of Quality, in Spain, read the Romance of Cleopatra: And happening, after a long narration of Adventures, to fall upon a very curious and nice conversation, betwixt a Lover and his Mistress, that had an equal passion one for the other: God bless me, says she! What a World of wit is here ill employed? What signify all these fine discourses, when they are got both together? The pleasantest Reflection was this, that ever I heard in all my Life: And Calprenet, though a Frenchman, aught to have remembered, that, to Lovers born under a Sun much hotter than that of Spain, Words were very useless on such occasions: But this Ladies good sense would never be received in the Ordinary gallantries among the French, where a man may speak a thousand times of a passion, before he can be once believed, and be whole years making complaints, before he can meet with the happy minute of putting a period to his torment.  
Moliere's Coy Lady is made a ridiculous Character in the thing itself, as well as in the Terms, to be loath to take the Roman by the tail, when he is about treating the serious affair of Marriage with her Parents: But it had not been a false delicacy with a Gallant, to expect his Declaration, and whatever comes by degrees, in a procedure of Gallantry.  
As for Regularity and Verisimilitude, 'tis no wonder, we meet with 'em less among the Spaniards, than among the French: As all the Spanish Gallantry came from the Moors, there still remains in't some relish of Africa, unknown to other nations, and too extraordinary to be accommodated to the exactness of Rules.  
To this add, that an old impression of Knight-erran●ry, which has the ascendant over all Spain, does bias the minds of the Cavaliers to mighty silly adventures. The Young Ladies, on their parts, in their very childhood, draw in this Air from the books of Chivalry, & the fabulous prittle-prattle of the old women about them. So that with the same Ideas do both the Sexes fill their minds: And generally, the Men and Women look upon the scruple of an amorous extravagance as a pitiful coldness, unworthy of their passion.  
Though Love, in no Country whatever, takes very good and accurate measures, yet still this I will say, that it hath nothing very extravagant in France, either in the manner of its making, or in the ordinary events, which it produces. That, which is called a true passion, has much ado to preserve itself from being Laughed at: For the People of Quality, being engaged in several cares and employs, never devote their thoughts to it, as the Spaniards do amidst the 
† In the French Inutilité, which I render in Virgil's Language, Ignobile Otium. Georg. lib. 4.  inglorious ease of Madrid, where no motion is but what proceeds from Love.  
At Paris, the continual hurry of the Court ties men up to the Function of a charge, or else the design of an employment keeps them awake, fortune prevailing over the Mistress in a place, where the Custom is for a man to prefer what is his interest before what he Loves: And the Ladies, who are to regulate 'emselves accordingly, have more Gallantry than passion, and besides do make use of their Gallantry to dive into Intrigues.  
Very few are there but are swayed by vanity and interest and so the concerns jog on the better o' both sides, they interchangeably make use o' one of the other, they of their Gallants, and their Gallants of them, to get their own ends.  
Love never fails of intruding into the Company of this Interest, but he seldom becomes its Head or Master. For the conduct, which Men are obliged to keep in their Affairs, does adapt and fashion 'em to some regularity in their Pleasures, or at least distances them from any Extravagant Actions.  
In Spain to Live, is to Love: What they call Love in France, is only ●o talk of Love [in propriety of speaking] and to mix vain gallantries with the sentiments of Ambition.  
These differences being considered, no Man can think it strange, that the Spanish Comedy, which is nothing else but the representation of their Adventures, should have as little regularity as the Adventures themselves; nor any more can he admire, that the Comedy among the French, which does not stray from their Usages, should keep up those Respects in the representation of their Amours, as they commonly keep in the Amours themselves. I confess, good sense, which ought to be a Native of all Countries in the World, does establish certain things, which in no part can be withal dispensed. Yet it's an hard matter, o' my word, not to allow much to Custom; since Aristotle himself, in his Art of Poetry, sometimes places Perfection in what was believed and thought better at Athens, and not in what was really the most perfect.  
Comedy hath no more Privilege than the Laws, which ought all to be founded upon Justice, yet nevertheless have particular discriminations according to the different Genius of the People, that make them. And if a Man be obliged to preserve the Air of Antiquity, if he is to keep up the Character of Hero's, that are dead two thousand years since, when he represents 'em upon the Stage, how can he not follow the humours, and fit himself to the manners of those now alive, when he represents to their Eyes that which they do every day themselves?  
Yet what Authority soever Custom is pleased to assume, yet undoubtedly reason holds the Primary Rights; but its exactness ought not to be harsh and rigid. For, in things designed purely for Pleasure, as Comedy is, it is unkind and troublesome to enslav● a Man to an austere order, and to begin with the Rack in Subjects, where we only seek for diversion.   

§ Of the Italian COMEDY.  
YOu have heard what I had to say of the French and the Spanish Comedy: I shall now tell you my Thoughts of the Italian. I shall not speak of Amyntas, Pastor Fido, Phillis, Cyrus, and other Comedies of the like Nature. A Man must understand the graces of the Italian Tongue a great deal better than I do: for, though I am charmed with Amyntas perhaps more than any Italian, 'tis because I make a thorough passage into the Poet's mind, and apprehend the things more sharply than the Verses. On the other hand, in this discourse I design to speak of Comedy, as it is ordinarily seen upon the Stage. That which is shown up and down in France, of the Italian Theatre, is not properly Comedy, since it has no true Platform; the subject has no ligament to tie the parts together; nothing of Character is well kept, nor of Composition, whereby an happy wit is well guided, at least according to some rules of art: But it is only a kind of ill-managed consort among many Actors, where every body supplies and provides of himself, what he judges fit for his proper Person: 'Tis (in short and to speak my mind) a medley and heap of impertinent Tuneable Words in the mouths of Inamorato's, and cursedly foolish Buffooneries in those of Zanis.  
You can see nothing of true Judgement any where, but false wit, which reigns either in very heavenly-minded thoughts, as Suns, Stars and Elements, or in an affectation of Nativeness and plaindealing, that has nothing of true nature.  
I confess the Buffoons are inimitable: and among the hundreds of Imitators or Posturers [if I may use such a word] that I have seen, there has not one come near resembling them in their Grimaces, their motions, their agility, their Fea●s of Activity, their disposition to change their Faces as they please. I know not whether the Mimi and Pantomimi among the Ancients had any great Advantage over them, though we read very wondrous things of 'em. 'Tis certain a Man must love such waggish jesting and unhappy Merriment to be really affected with what he hears. He must also be of a very grave and composed humour, not to laugh at what he sees: And 'twould be atoo-too-much affected moroseness, not to be pleased at their Acting, though a Man of a delicate Ear would not take any pleasure in their discourse.  
All representations, wherein Wit bears no share, are troublesome at the long-run, but yet they fail not to surprise and be agreeable sometime before they grow troublesome, as Buffoons divert a Man of sense only by while and interims. The Art is to put a stop to it in due time, and not allow the mind space to return to the justness of thinking and discourse, and to the Idea of un-hypocritical Nature. This Oeconomony, as it is desiderated, so is to be desired and wished for in the Italian Comedy: For the first distaste is followed by a new trouble much more wearisome; and the Variety instead of refreshing you, brings only a new sort of Drooping.  
In few words, when you have been most unmercifully tired with the Buffoons, that have stayed too long on the Stage, to complete your ruin the Amorous hotspurs appear: This, in my opinion, is the last and utmost Punishment that can be inflicted on a judging Person; and a Man would have greater reason to prefer ready and immediate death to the patience of hearing them out, than Bocaliny's Lacedaemonian had, when he preferred the Gibbet before that long and tedious Reading the War of Pisa, in Guicciardin's History. If some one, that is overfond of Life can weather-out so mortal a Lassitude, instead of recovering himself by some pleasurable diversion, he finds no change, but presently meets with another dreadful business, which makes him despair, and think of nothing but a State of Separation, and that is the Doctor. To describe well the folly of a Doctor, I know, it must be done in such sort, that he turn all his discourse and Conversation upon the science, wherewith he is possessed [even in the worst sense of the word;] and that he never answer to what is said to him, but quote a Thousand Authors, and allege a Thousand Passages with such a nimbleness of Tongue, as shall put him out of breath: This is to introduce a fool on the Stage, that aught to be chained up in Bethlehem, and not rightly to manage the Impertinence of a Doctor.  
Petronius has taken quite another way in his ridiculing Eumolphus. The Pedantry of Sidias' is otherwise handled by Theophil, to whom the Praise is due of knowing how to form the most Accomplished character, that is bestowed upon this sort of Pedants. That of Charitides in Moliere's Facbeux is altogether just: Nothing, can be taken from it without disfiguring the Picture. And these are the Learnedly-ridiculous Creatures, whose representation would please the Pic.  
But 'tis a bad divertisement to a Man of sense, this, to bring him a Wretched Doctor, whom Books have made a fool, and who ought very carefully to be locked up (as I said) lest the World should see the weak and mean estate of Man's Condition, and the Misery of humane nature.  
Now, that I may not stretch too far my Observations on the Italian Comedy, and to sum up all, I have displayed, in a few words; I say that, instead of agreeable Lovers, you have only affected discoursers about Love; instead of natural Comedians, incomparable Buffoons, but always Buffoons; and instead of ridiculous Doctors, poor little Insensate Schoolmasters. Not one Person is there, but is clearly over-do●●; that of Pantalon only excepted, who is the least taken notice of in the Play, and yet the only thing, that does not out go the veri-simile.  
Tragedy was the first pleasure of the Ancient Republic; and the old Romans, being Masters only of a severe and stern Virtue, went to the Theatre with no other design than to fortify their natural courage, and to acquire and entertain rugged and austere Habitudes of Mind. When they began to add a sweetness of Wit in Conversation to a force and Vigour of Soul in great things; they also took a delight in Comedy, and sometimes would have strong Ideas set before their Eyes, and sometimes divert 'emselves in pleasing Impressions.  
As soon as Rome came to be corrupted, the Romans quitted Tragedy, and could not endure to behold any Image of the Ancient Virtue, [or Valour, for Virtue signifies nothing else,] on the Stage.  
From those days to the last of the Commonwealth, Comedy was the Recreation of Great Men, the divertisement of Polite Persons, and the amusement of a People either Remiss or Soft'ned.  
A little before the Civil War, the Spirit of Tragedy began to animate the Romans, by a secret disposition of a Genius, that prepared 'em for the dreadful Revolutions happening afterwards. Caesar wrote one, and many Persons of Quality wrote some likewise: But the disorders being calmed under Augustus, and Peace and tranquillity Re-established, Pleasure was the only thing, they hunted after.  
Then came Comedies into Play again, the Pantomimes were Men in vogue and credit; and Tragedy made a shift to keep up her Reputation. Under Nero's Reign, Seneca imbibed fatal Ideas, which made him compose the Tragedies that he has left us: And when corruption was in full Sway, and Vice general and A-la-mode, the Pantomimes did utterly destroy both Tragedy and Comedy. No longer now had Wit any part in the Stage-representations, and only the sight did seek, in Postures and motions, that which might imprint Voluptuous Phantasms on the Soul of the Spectators.  
At this day the Italians bless 'emselves for being shone upon by the same Sun, for breathing the same Air, and inhabiting the same good Land, that the old Romans dwelled in heretofore: But they have even very wisely left that wicked rigid Virtue of those Romans to their Histories, and have believed, that they (good Men) have no need of Tragedy, to encourage them to those difficult things, which they have no mind to do. As they love the indulgent comforts of an ordinary and un-fighting life, and the pleasures of a Voluptuous one, they desire to form such representations, as agree both with the one and the other: And this was the Origine of the mixture of Comedy and the Pantomimic Art together, which we see in the Italian Theatre.  
All the Actors, that play now, are generally very excellent, even those that play an amorous part: And not to do them an injury, any more than show them any favour, I will say, they are very good Astors, but have very bad Comedies; and perhaps they could make good ones, and perhaps they have reason not to make such. And one day telling Cintsio, in a slurring way, that there was not Veri-similitude enough in their Pieces, he answered me, that, if there were more, I should soon see my good Comedians die o' Famine with their good Comedies.   

§ Of the English COMEDY.  
THere is no Comedy more conormable to that of the Ancients, than the English, in what respects the manners. It is not pure and sincere Gallantry full of Adventures and amorous discourses, as in Spain and France; but the representation of humane life in common, according to the diversity of Humours, and several Characters of Men. 'Tis an Alchemist who, by the illusions of his Art, entertains the deceitful hopes of a vain curioso: 'Tis a simple and Credulous Person, whose foolish easiness is eternally abused: 'Tis sometimes a ridiculous Politician, Grave, starched, and composed; who plucks up his Shoulders, and pinks with his Eyes at every thing, being most mysteriously suspicious; and who fancies he can find designs hidden in the most common Intentions, and thinks to discover Artifice in the most innocent actions of Life: 'Tis a foolish Lover, a false Bravo, an unthinking great Clerk, the one with his natural Extravagancies, and the other with his ridiculous Affectations. Indeed these Cheats, these simpletons, this Politician, with the other Characters, being ingeniously formed, are carried on too far according to Frenchman's Opinions, as those of the French Theatre lie somewhat heavy on the Stomach of an Englishman. And the reason hereof is, perhaps, that the English think too much, and most commonly the French think not enough.  
In effect, the French content ' emselves with the first Images received from Objects: And to stop them at the mere Outsides of things, an appearance almost always serves instead of truth; and what is easy, for that which is natural. And here I shall say, upon the by, that these two last Qualities are sometimes confounded together very ill to the purpose. What is easy, and what's natural, agree sufficiently in their opposition to what is hard or forced: But when the French go about to dive into the nature of things, or the natural disposition of Persons, every Man will confess, that they do not always easily attain their end: There is some Internal thing, something hidden, which they would discover, if they would plumb matters a little deeper. In as much difficult as it is for the French to enter things, so much h●rd a business do the English find it to get out: They never leave off thinking, till they become Masters of the thing on which they think; and when they comprehend their subject, they dig still, where nothing is to be found, and surpass the just and natural Idea, which they ought to have, by an over-profound inquiry.  
To speak the truth, I never met with people of better understanding than the French, who give attention to consider, and the English, that can break off, from their too great Meditations, to return to an easiness of discourse and a certain Liberty of Mind, which we ought always, if it be possible, to enjoy. Men of the best sense in the World are the French that think, and the English that speak. I am insensibly casting myself into too general considerations, and therefore shall resume my subject concerning Comedy again, and pass to a considerable distinction and difference betwixt the English and French sock: And that is, that the French, being tied up to the regularity of the Ancients, refer all to one principal action, without any other diversity, than that of the means, whereby they think to bring it about.  
We are all to agree in this point, that one principal event ought to be the only scope and end of the Representation in a Tragedy, wherein the mind would suffer some violence in such diverting, as would turn its thoughts aside.  
The misfortunes of a miserable King, the fatal and tragical death of a great Hero, hold the Soul strongly chained up to these important Objects; and instead of all the variety in the World it is satisfied with knowing the different means that lead to this principal action. But Comedy, being made to divert us, and not wholly to seize us, provided that likelihood be kept and Extravagance avoided, in the opinion of the English, the diversities are pleasing surprises and agreeable Alterations; whereas the continual expectation of the same thing, wherein nothing of importance can be conceived, must necessarily create a faintness in our attention.  
So that, instead of representing an eminent and signal Imposture carried on by means that refer all to the same end, they represent a Famous Cheat with his hundred several tricks, every one of which produces its particular effect according to its proper Constitution. As they almost always renounce Unity of Action to represent a principal Person, who diverts 'em with different Actions; so they likewise forsake this Principal Person, to let you take a prospect divers ways of what happens in public places to many Persons: Ben. Johnson has taken this course in his Bartholomew Fair: The same thing we see in Epsoam Wells: And in both Comedies are comically represented the ridiculous passages in both those places.  
There are other Pieces, where (as it were) a couple of Subjects do so ingeniously commix one with the other, as that the mind of the audience (which might be wounded by an over-sensible change) finds nothing but pleasure in that diverting Variety, which they produce. We must confess, that this is not according to Law and Rule: But the English are persuaded, that the Liberties, which are allowed for the greater Pleasure, aught to be preferred before such exact Rules, as every barren and sleepy Author can make an Art of plaguing others withal.  
To avoid confusion, we ought to observe Rules and directions, and to follow true judgement and good sense, which may allay the heat of an inflamed imagination: Yet we are to undress those Rules of all tormenting constraint, and to banish a scrupulous reason, which through too close embracing of justness, leaves nothing free and natural behind it.  
Those whom Nature has sent into the World without a Genius, being never able to give it to 'emselves, allow all to Art which they can acquire: and, that their servile observation of regularity may not go without its due merit, they never forget to decry a work, which is not perfect cap●●pe. As for those that love ridiculing; that take a pleasure in spying the blind sides of the black Eyes of the Town; that are delighted with true Characters; t●ey will find the English Comedies excellent and right for their taste and purpose, as far, and (it may be) more than any they have ever seen.  
The French Moliere, into whom the Ancients inspired the true Spirit of Comedy, equals their Ben. Johnson in admirably representing the several humours and different manners of Men, both of them in their respective paintings, keeping a just regard to the genius of their Nation. I should believe that, in this point, they were as much out, as the Ancients: But we cannot deny, but that they had more regard to the Characters than the main subjects, whose successive Inferences also might have been better tied together, and the laying 'em out naked much more natural.   

§ Of OPERA'S, Written to his Grace The Duke of Buckingham.  
IT's a long time, MY LORD, since I have had a desire to tell you my Opinion concerning Operas, and to write to you about the difference, which I find betwixt the manner of singing among the Italians, and that among the French.  
The cccasion, that I had to speak of it, in company with Madam the Duchess of Mazarine, has rather increased than satisfied that desire: Which I now do at length satisfy, in this Discourse, which I here send you, My Lord.  
I will begin with great Freedom, and tell you, that I do not much admire Comedies in Music, such as we see 'em at present. I confess, their Magnificence abundantly pleases me, and the Machine's carry a great deal of surprise; the Music at certain times is very moving, and the whole thing taken together appears almost Miraculous: But we must likewise confess, that these Miracles and wonders are very troublesome; because where the mind has so little to do, there is an unavoidable necessity, that the senses will fall a languishing. After the first pleasure of the surprise, the Eyes are busily employed, and afterwards are continually fixed upon some objects. At the beginning of the consorts, the Justness of Accords is observed, and there escapes nothing of all the diversities, which concurs not to make up the sweetness of Harmony: But sometime after, the Instruments deafen us, and the Music is nothing to our ears but a confused Noise, where nought can be distinguished: Now, who can resist the tediousness of a Recitative in a modulation, which has neither the charm of a Singing, nor the pleasant force of Speech? The Soul, being wearied out with long Attention, where it can find nothing to think on, looks after some secret motion in itself, that may affect it: The mind, that is vainly urged upon by impressions from without; le's itself fly at Rovers, or else is dissatisfied with its own Impertinence: In brief, the Tiresomeness is so great, that a man dreams of nothing but going out, and the only pleasure, remaining to the drooping Spectators, is the hopes to see the show done very soon. The ordinary drousiness, whereinto I fall at an Opera, proceeds hence, That I never saw one, but it appeared very contemptible to me, or in the disposal of the subject, or in the verses. Now 'tis in vain, that flattered is the Ear, or the Eyes are charmed, unless the mind be satisfied. My Soul being of Intelligence with my mind, rather than with my senses, shapes in itself an opposition to the Impressions, which it may receive; Or at least, it fails to lend a willing and agreeable Consent, without which even the most voluptuous object cannot afford any great pleasure. A Foppery beset with Music, Dances, Machine's and Scenes, is a magnificent Foppery, yet still its a Foppery: It's a pitiful mean thing under glorious outsides, which I look into with much unwillingness. There is another thing in Operas so much against nature, that my Imagination is offended with it, and that is to make the whole Stage do nothing but sing from the beginning to the end; as if the Persons represented, were bound most ridiculously, in Music to treat of both the most common and most important affairs of their Lives. Can any Man fancy, that a Master should call his Servant, or give him orders for such or such things, while he is singing? that one Friend should declare a secret to another in a Song? that Men should deliberate in a Privy Council Singing? or, that they should melodiously kill one another in a Duel? This destroys the Wit of the Representation which, questionless, is Preferable to that of the Harmony; since Harmony ought only to be a mere attendant, and the great Masters of the Theatre have added it as a pleasant, but not as a necessary thing, after all has been rightly ordered, which regards the subject and discourse. However in Opera's the Idea of the Musician goes far beyond that of the Hero: 'Tis Lovigi, Cavallo, and Cesti, that present themselves to our imagination. The mind, being unable to conceive an Hero in a Songster, is wholly affixed on him that sings; and no body can deny, but that at the representation of the Palais Royal, [we] dream an hundred times on Baptist to once on Theseus or Cadmus. Yet nevertheless, I do not pretend to exclude all sort of Singing on the Stage. There are such things as aught to be sung, and may be, without any offence to decency or reason: Vows, Prayers, and Praises, and generally every thing, relating to the service of the Gods, have been sung in all Nations and at all times. Tender and dolorous Passions are naturally expressed in a sort of singing: The utterance of an amour just in its birth, the irresolution of a Soul, tossed and tumbled with several motions, are fit matter for Stanza's, and Stanza's will do well enough for a Song. Every one knows, that Choirs were brought upon the Athenian Stage; and we must confess, that they may, with as much reason, be introduced upon ours. So that this is the distinction, which I make, whatever belongs to conversation and conference, whatever concerns Intriqus and affairs, whatever appertains to Counsel or Action, is proper to be recited by Comedians, and ridiculous in the mouth of a Musician. The Greeks made excellent Tragedies, wherein some part was sung: But the Italians and French make wretched ones, where they sing all. If you would know what an Opera is, it is nothing else but a fantastical piece of Drudgery mrde up of Poetry and Music; where the Poet and Musician being equally racked one by the other, do take a great deal of pains to make a dull piece of Work. Not but that you may find very pleasant words, and very good Airs: But most assuredly you will at last be disgusted at the Verses, in which the Poet's Genius has been mightily strained and confined, and the Musicians and Singers quite exhausted and spent by so tedious a labour. If I were fit to give advice to our Men of sense, that take much delight in the Stage, I should direct them, to resume our best Comedies into their hands, where Dances and Music might be introduced, that would not spoil the Play. The Prologue might be sung with very pleasant Attendances: In the Chorus's a Song would animate such words as might seem to be the very Soul of what is Acted. And then, the Epilogue might be sung, or some Reflection on the greatest Beauties in the Play: The Idea and shadow might be enhanced and strengthened, and the Impression more cleverly and lastingly made on the Spectators minds. 'Tis thus we may find satisfaction for the mind and senses, while we cannot any more desire the charm of Singing in a pure Representation, nor the Vigour of a Representative in the drowsiness of continual Music. It remains still behind, that I should give some directions for all those Comedies, wherein Singing is put: which is to leave the main Authority to the Poet for the management of the Piece: The Music should be made rather for the Verse, than the Verse for the Music; it belongs to the Musician to follow the Poet's Order; from which course only Baptist, in my Opinion, aught to be exempt, for his understanding the Passions better and sinking farther into men's Hearts than the Authors themselves. Lambert, undoubtedly, has an excellent Genius, fit for an hundred several sorts of Music, and all are well managed with a Righteous Oeconomy of Voices, and Instruments; there is no Recitative better extended nor better varied than his: But as to the nature of the Passions, and the quality of Sentiments to be expressed, he ought to receive that light from the Authors, which Baptist is able to give them himself, and not to refuse direction, though Baptist through the vast comprehensiveness of his knowledge may very fitly be the director. To my discourse I will not put an end without entertaining you with that small esteem, the Italians have for our Operas, and the great dislike we bear to those of Italy. The Italians being altogether employed about the representation, and particular care of expressing things, cannot endure the French should call an Opera a concatenation of Dances and Music, which have no just Affinity, nor natural correspondence with the subject. The French being accustomed to the Beauty of their Scene-opening, the pleasantness of their Airs, and the charm of their symphonies, do with much passive valour bear with the ignorant brutishness or wicked use of Instruments in the Venetian Operas, and refuse Attention to a long Recitative, that becomes troublesome by the little Variety, we meet with in it. I can not tell you properly what is their Recitative: It is something unknown to the Ancients, which we may define a bad use of Song and Speech. I confess, I have found inimitable things in Lovigi's Operas both in the expression of thoughts and the charm of Music: But the ordinary Recitative was extreme tiresome, insomuch as the Italians did even impatiently expect those acquaint Passages, that came very rarely in their Opinion. The greatest defects in the French Operas, I will comprise in few words: They think to come to a representation, where they will find nothing represented; they go to see a Comedy, where no Spirit or shade of a Comedy is to be seen. This is what I had to say concerning the different constitution of Operas. As to the manner of Singing, called in France, Execution, I believe without partiality, that no Nation can reasonably dispute with it. The Spaniard is admirably well disposed in his Windpipe, bu● with his quavering and rollings, he seems to aim at nothing else than to triumph over the easy Throat of the Nightingale. The Italian he has a false expression (or at least 'tis overdone) not knowing exactly the nature or degree of the Passions: He breaks out into laughter rather than Sings, when he wou●d express some sentiment of Joy: If he would sigh, you hear such sobs as are violently formed in the Throat, and not such sighs as secretly escape from the Passion of an amorous Heart: At a dolorous Reflection, you hear the Loudest Exclamations; Tears of absence become Funeral-wailing; and the Melancholy Man becomes so sorrowful in their Mouths, that they send forth cries instead of complaints in grief; and sometimes they express a languishment of Passion by a swoon of nature. Perhaps the Italians have now made some alteration in their way of Singing, and bettered 'emselves by a commerce with the French as to the neatness of a Polite Execution, as the latter have drawn advantage from them in the Beauties of a greater and more bold composition. I have seen Comedies in England, where there has been rouch Music: But to speak of 'em with dscretion, is impossible for me, since I could not fashion myself to the English Singing. Too late I came to take a Relish so different from any other. There is no Nation, where appears more courage in the Men, or more Beauty in the Women, or more wit in either Sex. We cannot have every thing, where so many good qualities are so common: 'tis not so great an evil, that the true taste should be so rare; and certain it is, we meet with it very seldom there. But those Persons, in whom we find it, have it as nice and delicate as any people in the World, escaping the common Misfortune of their own Nation by an exquisite Air and most happy natural parts. Solus Gallus cant at, only the Mounsieur Sings: I would not be injurious to all other Nations by maintaining what an Author has been pleased to promote: Hispanus f●et, dolet Italus, Germanus boat, Flander ululat, & Solus Gallus cantat: To him I leave all these cunning distinctions, and think it enough to found my Opinion on the authority of Lovigi, who could never endure the Italians should sing Airs, after he had heard 'em sing at M. Nyert, Hilaire, and la petite Var●nne. At his return into Italy, he made all the Musicians, of that Nation, his Enemies, by saying openly at Rome, as he had done at Paris, tha●, to make the Music pleasant, the Italian Airs should be put into Frenchman's Mouths: He made very little account of French Songs, excepting Beausset's, which he loved particularly. He admired the concert of [our] Violins; he admired our Lutes, our Claricords, and Organs: He was ravished to hear, the first time, the great Bells of St. german des Prez: And what charm might not he have found in our Flutes, if they had been in use at that time? This is certain, he was mightily disheartened and dissatisfied with the rudeness and harshness of the greatest Masters of Italy, when he had tasted the tender way of moving, and the neatness and manner of the French. I should be too partial, if I spoke only of [our] Excellency's: There is no People, that have a more slow apprehension both as to the sound of the words and the mind of the Compositor as the French: Very few there are, that understand the quantity less, and with more trouble find out the Pronunciation: but after long studying has made 'em overco●e all those difficulties, and they come once to comprehend what they sing, nothing comes near them. The same thing befalls 'em in Instruments and particularly in consorts, where nothing is very sure or just but after infinite Repetitions; yet nothing so neat and handsome, when the Repetitions are done. The Italians go deep into Music, and bring their Science to our Ears without any sweetness. The French are not satisfied with taking away from the Science the first roughness, which smells of labour in Composition: But also in the secret of Execution they find a charm for our Souls, and something in itself so moving, that makes its way to our Hearts. I had forgot to talk with you concerning Machine's; so easy is it, to forget such things, as we would have retrenched. Machine's may satisfy the curiosity of Ingenious Men in Mathematical Inventions, but upon the Stage they can never please Persons of true judgement. The more surprising they are, the more do they divert the mind from its attention to discourse: And the more admirable they appear, the impression of this admiration doth leave the Soul the less exquisite sense and tenderness, which it has need of to be affected or charmed by the Music. The Ancients used Machine's only upon necessit● to fetch in some deity or other, though the Poets were almost always laughed at for letting themselves be reduced to such a strait. If a Man hath a mind to be at any expense and charge, let him open his Purse-strings upon handsome Scenes, the use of which is more natural and pleasant than that of Machine's. Antiquity, that exposed its Godheads to Poets, and even on hearths; this same Antiquity (I say) as vain and credulous as it was, yet did very seldom expose them on the Stage. After the destruction of their Creed, and Mortals trusting in 'em, the Italians, in their Operas, revived and settled, the Heathen Gods again in the World, and feared not to possess Men with those ridiculous Vanities, provided they gave a great Splendour to their pieces by the introducing that false and dazzling kind of wonderment. These Theatre-divinities abused Italy a long time: but at length being happily undeceived it renounced these Gods, whom it had restored; and it returned to such things, as though really they were not exactly true, yet were less troublesome, and such as good sense with a little Indulgence would not reject. In the case of Gods and Machine's it has happened to the French, what almost ever happens to the Almains in Gallican modes; the French take up what the Italians leave: And as if [we] would repair the fault of having been prevented in the Invention, we carry on the humour of a custom or mode even to excess, which they had brought in for no good in the World, but managed it with reserve and moderation. In effect, we cover the Earth all o'er with Godships; and make 'em dance, and descend in troops, whereas they made 'em come down with some sort of managment to the most important occasions. As Ariosto outflew the most wonderful sublimities of Poetry by his incredible Fables, we outdo all Fable by a confused Assembly of Gods, Shepherds, Heroes, Enchanters, Phantomes, Furies, and Devils. I admire Baptist as well for his ordering Dances, as for that which concerns Voices and Instruments: But the constitution of our Operas ought to appear very Extravagant to those that have a true taste of Verisimilitude and things marvellous, yet a Man runs the hazard of being cried down for his true taste, if he dares make it public: And I advise others, when they hear any discourse about Operas, to keep their own thoughts secret to themselves. As for myself, who have now past the Age and time of signalizing myself in the World, by the humour of modes and merit of fancies, I am resolved to take the side of good sense [as much abandoned and forlorn as it is] and to follow reason in all her disgraces with as much Loyalty, as if she had now her first consideration. That which vexes me the most for the giddiness of Pate, wherewith Men run after Operas, is, that they will ruin the best thing we have, the most proper to elevate the Soul, and most capable to form a true wit. So that we will conclude, after so long a discourse, that the constitution of Operas can hardly be more defective than they are.  
The End.    

EPICURUS HIS MORALS·S  
MOst Men, no doubt, find fault with Epicurus and reject his Doctrine, not only as unworthy of a Philosopher, but as dangerous to a Citizen, imagining a Man Vicious as soon as he is of the number of his Disciples. On all occasions, they brand his Opinions, as opposite to good manners, and his name is blasted with shame and Infamy Yet some Stoics, who were his greatest Enemies, have not used him so roughly; their Eulogys' accord not with the public Aspersions▪ they have combated him, without outraging him; and the Books they have left us, still speak, in several Passages, the great value, they had for him. From whence then does this extreme difference proceed, And why are we no longer of the same Opinion with the Sages? It's very easy to give the reason; we do not act like them, we make no enquiry, we do not sift matters, we adhere only to what is told us, without instructing ourselves in the nature of things; we account those the best, which have most examples and approvers: And we do not follow reason, but only its resemblance, we retain our errors, because they are authorised by those of others: We love rather to believe than judge; and we are so unjust, that we defend against reason, the spurious opinions that have come down to us. Thus this infirmity is one of those, which hath made Epicurus fall under the public Aversion, and which has almost egged on all Men to strike him out of the List of Philosophers: They have condemned him without knowing him, and have banished him, without hearing him; they would not pry into the merits of his cause, and seem to have been afraid of his making his own justification. But in my opinion, the first and most reasonable pretence, that Men had to slight his Doctrine, was the life of some Vicious Wretches, who having abused the name of that Philosopher, corrupted the reputation of his Sect. These People have given their Vices the inscription of his Wisdom: They have popped their defects into the Bosom of his Philosophy; and flocked in vast multitudes to places, where they understood Pleasure was commended. The mischief was, they did not throughly apprehend that pleasure and those praises: They rested satisfied with its name in general, and veiled and defended their Debaucheries, and courted the Authority of a great Man to support the Lewdness of their own lives, so as instead of profiting by the good Instructions of that Philosopher, and in his School, correcting their own evil Inclinations, they have even lost that, which could only be left'em, namely the shame of tripping. They are come to that pass as to fall extolling Actions, whereat they blushed before; they have gloried in the Vices, they concealed, & [in short] have followed without any shame the pleasure they brought along with them, and not that which was endeavoured to be inculcated into them. In the mean while, the World had judged upon appearances; and seeing that those persons, who st●l●d themselves Philosophers, were extremely dissolute; that they made a public profession of their failings, that they cited Epicurus to authorise their impurity, laziness, and gluttony: This same World made no difficulty of pronouncing, that this Philosopher's Doctrine was most pernicious, and of comparing his Disciples to the vilest Animals in nature:  

Epicuri de grege Porcum.  
PEople would deal very unreasonably with Epicurus, and his affairs would be in a very ill posture, if some had not been careful to put them to the Test, and separated 'emselves from that multitude, which has ever been an Enemy to all Wise Men and 
† Sur [opinion d'autruy.  upon an alien opinion condemned Socrates, though approved of by the Gods. Thus they have met with some, who have taken Information of that Wiseman's Life, and without dwelling upon the belief of the vulgar, or the face of things, have penetrated farther and in the result of their research, given Testimonies of his Probity, and the Sanctity of his Doctrine.  
After due knowledge, they Proclaimed his pleasure, as severe as the Stoics virtue; that though its title was delicate, its precepts were difficult, and to be debauched like Epicurus, a Man must be as sober as Zeno. And certainly its incredible, that a Person whose Country erected him several Statues; whose Friends swayed the Cities of Greece; who loved the Worship of the Gods and his Country's good; who had piety towards his Parents, Liberality towards his brothers, and gentleness for his Slaves; whose modesty kept him from tampering in the State, and Temperance made him commonly only live on Bread and Water; its incredible (I say) that this Man should write the Precepts of Lewdness, or teach his Disciples the practice of the vices he naturally abhorred. On the contrary, as if this excellent Personage had apprehended, that the title he bestowed upon his Discipline, might foster the naughty inclinations of several, and that Men might fall to caluminate his pleasure: As if he had foreseen the unjust Hatred of following Ages, and the Lewd Life of those who should abuse his Doctrine, he took care himself to make its Apology; he explained its 
* Comme elle ét●it sobre et Si●ne.  great Thirst and sobriety, and banished from the Garden, where he Philosophized with his Friends, those, who abusing the name of pleasure were its corrupters, and who considered their own vices as the sovereign good of Man and tranquillity of Life. By no means will I that in this you pin your Faith upon my Sleeve; I will make him speak in his own person, and I'll show you one of his Letters. Thus he Writes to Menecans.  
Notwithstanding we say (these are his words) that pleasure is the end of Man, we do not mean vile and infamous pleasure, such as proceeds from the Taste and Gluttony: this unlucky opinion is of persons that are ignorant of or oppose our precepts and separate themselves from their Communion, or turn 'em into an ill sense.  
So that you see, how careful he was of having a defence ready against ignorance and ill opinion; that he believed there were only those two things capable of decrying him, and which indeed were, [as we have already said,] the only things, which ruined his repute among the greatest part of the World. His very Life though discreet and sober, has not (however) wanted to be attacked by Invectives and detractions, but those who have written it, having recited the calumnies of his Enemies, have incontinently refuted them, and have not composed the History of that Philosopher, but at the same time they have made his Apology. As my design is not to entertain you with his Actions, but only to defend his pleasure, I'll 
* And the Englisher [possibly wi●h more reason] t● the Learned Gassendus his Notes upon it, together with a la●ge account of Epicurus his Life, writ by the same Famous French Philosopher.  refer you to Diogenes Laertius for the relation of his Life and content myself with Philosophising with you upon the Nature of that Pleasure, that has so many Enemies; and we will examine whether it be such as to exclude, out of the rank of good, and wise Men, those who defend and follow it. Living according to Nature, and not having any sensation of Pain, is what Epicurus calls living pleasantly. Methinks herein there is nothing to be taxed; and such a Life has no need of censors; and there is no Government so severe in the World, as can disapprove any thing in this position. Following Nature is following Reason; the bounds nature has prescribed are those of Innocence's; there is nothing in nature but what is just and equitable. From nature it is not, that Avarice came: she has concealed Gold in the Bowels of the vilest Element, and we have torn it thence: Nature was not the cause of Ambition which torments us: It brought us into the World, and with equality sends us out thence packing. We only differ from one another, in as much as we corrupt it. We eye at the same time, both Liberty and the Sun: servitude was introduced by violence; and the first Kings were Tyrants. Is it nature [think you] which prompts to delights? The Poets themselves, who have foisted defects into the very heavens, to screen their own blunders with examples, and made Jupiter wicked, that they might be so themselves, durst not own such a thought. They have preserved its purity entire, and have not couched in the description of its own, that is to say, the Golden Age, the Luxury of others, that succeeded it. Do but hear 'em talk; They'll tell you, that Acorns were then men's Food, that Rivers squenched their thirst, that they dwelled in Caverns, that they had no clothes, which defended them against the cold, and that they followed Nature in all their Actions. I'll willingly own, that there was never such a constitution of things, and that Men were never reduced to the Villainy of Brutes; the Poets have pushed on their fiction much farther, but at least they were willing to let us understand, that our excess proceeded not from nature: that she does not advise us to them, and that it is not nature, which says, 
Alice Phasiacis petita Colchis,  
Atque Afr● Volucres placent Palato;  
Quod non sunt faciles;   
And that in fine, 'tis we, who abuse the Gifts of Heaven and the advantages, it confers upon us. How then to live according to nature, must a Man abstain from the things, that are submitted to him, and of which she has appointed him Lord? This I do not say, I rather say, we ought to use 'em, provided we use 'em according to nature. We must use things in such sort, as that we may be without them, we must be their Masters, and not their Slaves; we must not grow impatient for 'em, nor be cast down for their loss; le's enjoy 'em peaceably, when occasion is offered, and not pursue 'em with disquiet and turmoil. There's no condition, but what's becoming the Wise Man: So as I shall never blame a Philosopher for inhabiting a Palace, but in not having the power to be contented with a Cottage. I shall not be scandalised at seeing him in the Robes, if he has not the Ambition of a King; Let Aristippus possess the Riches of Croesus, what matter? He'll throw 'em away, when they incommode him; let Plato be at Denis' the Tyrant's Table, yet in the midst of that abundance of delicacies, he will eat sometimes only Olives: We do not damn the Possession of goods, we damn their servitude; it is not Poverty will make us wise, it may purge away, indeed, the desire of committing certain faults, but there are others, which it cannot remedy. The Cynics rags contribute not the least to tranquillity or moderation; Ambition follows Diogenes into his very Tub, and there it was he had the confidence to command Alexander the haughtiest of all Mankind. All that comes from us, will be indifferent, if we have moderation of mind, that is to say, if we are wise, and follow nature. Very true it is, that there is more difficulty, in following nature in abundance, than in necessity, and that the Spurs, which our delights use to try our moderation, are much more keen than those adversity employs for that purpose: But still there is much more glory in surmounting them, and the loss of false joys secures much better the Possession of real ones. We are not sensible of the felicity which costs us nothing, and for which we are indebted to chance; it must be given us by Wisdom; and trouble sometimes must usher us to pleasure▪ A Man, who at the Olympic Games, should be in the Lists with a design to try his skill, if no body stood forth, might possibly be Crowned, but nevertheless, that would not render him Victorious. Storms and Tempests are what procure reputation to Pilots, and if Penelope's Chastity had not been tried, some might have said of her, it only wanted corrupters: Wherefore, let's not fly the World, let's not fly the Court, let's not sculk in the Deserts, from whence Philosophy fetched the Primitive Mankind; let's possess Riches, let us not refuse to enter upon Public Offices; if we are Wise, we may enjoy these things without any danger, we shall Sail happily amid those Rocks, we shall eye all this with an unconcerned look: And if we be stripped of it, we shall testify by not looking back upon't, that we despise and were not wedded to it. It is a shame in the Wise Man to fly, and to be more feeble than such desires, which being unnatural, have no other credit but what is acquired them by opinion. This is [in part] the pleasure of the Epicureans, this is what they call, to live according to nature: This is their Doctrine, and these their Sentiments. Consider now whether this Opinion merits our odium, and see whether we have reason to despise it; Whether their Pleasure Pimps to Debaucheries and Excesses, and whether than is there be any thing more sober or more chaste? Ask you me Epicurus, what is it to live voluptuously? He will answer you, that is is not the having a fondness for Worldly concerns; that it is resisting evil desires, contemning Honour, getting the Mastery of Fortune, and that it is (in a word) possessing absolutely Peace and Repose of Mind. Hereat are leveled all his Precepts; here you meet with pleasure, and here it is indeed, we ought to seek it, not in the satisfaction of the senses, nor in the emotion of the Appetites. It is too pure to depend on the body, it depends on the Intellectual part: ●eason is its Mistress, reason is its rule, the senses are only its Ministers: And besides, what delights soever we may hope for in indulging a revelling Palate, in the Pleasures of the sight, in Perfumes and Music, if we do not approach those things with a calm mind, we shall be deceived, we shall fall under the delusion of a false joy, and take the shadow of Pleasure for its real body. We will burn [if you please] all the Wood of Arabia the happy; we will closet up ourselves with Venus, we will live on Nectar and Ambrosia; we will enjoy the Pleasure the Poets have imagined; all this will prove bitter, if we are under disquiet; and our Pecvishness will force us to complain in the midst of these delights. I'll give you an instance of this Assertion, and show you, how much a Man is uncapable of Pleasure, when his mind is in trouble. You have read of the Feast, which Tigellinu● made Nero; and you may remember that great Debauch the Renown of whose Luxury has lasted to our Age. It seems to have been the last effort of sumptuousness and delicacy, and that sensuality has not been able to make any farther Progress. Agrippa's Pond was pitched on for this extraordinary repast, it was made upon a stately Bark, which being drawn by a great many others seemed of itself insensibly to move: All these Barges appeared enriched with Gold and Ivory. Many lovely Youths were the Rower● or rather so many Cupids. The taste knew no Fowl, but what it was furnished with at that entertainment: The Ocean provided it with Fish, and the Provinces of the Empire with diversity of Meats. In short, all appeared with huge daintiness and abundance. I omit speaking of the infamous Houses erected upon the Banks, which were stocked with Women of great Quality; and I will forget the Courtesans there seen stark naked. The Night itself contributed to the Pleasure of this Debauch; its shades were combated by an infinity of Lights, and its silence agreeably disturbed by the Harmony of several consorts. Would you know, what delight Nero took in all these things, and if he departed satisfied from this Banquet? You need only imagine, that he carried with him thither the memory of his c●imes and the remorses of his conscience, and you will make no difficulty of concluding, that despair accompanied him to that Entertainment, that he there felt the Penitential Whip, and that though his outside had the face of a triumph, he acted in his mind a Bloody Tragedy. If he had any joy, it was that of the Maenads: He was obliged for his Pleasure to his fury or Drunkenness, and his happiness augmented with the diminution of his reason. I suppose the same thing of all those of his retinue, for I imagine there neither Seneca, nor Thraseas, Poetus, nor Bareas' Soranus, who lived according to nature amidst the corruption of their Age, to be of the number of the Guests. Doubtless, such only were present as endeared themselves to his conversation by a congruity of manners: Who egged him on in his crimes: Who were his Minister's, in 'em, and before whom he ought not to blush at least, sin the resemblance of the wicked, hinders their shame. Certainly, such ● Riff-Raff were far from being happy; there was no finding a sound Man in all that Assembly: Pleasure could not get admittance into those Bosoms, which excesses had entirely possessed.  
Quemvis media erue Turba,  
Aut ob avaritiam aut misera, ambitionelaborat;  
Hic Nuptarum insa●it amori bus, hic Puerorum.  
In short, they were assaulted with all the ill passions, which destroy the repose of mind, and by consequence, were not in a State of relishing the Pleasure, we approve. I could wish that this Philosopher had been present at this Debauch, and that in the Eyes of the universe he had told his opinion; I am sure he'd have declared the truth before Nero's Face: He would not have dreaded death, which he held indifferent, and I imagine in this manner he'd have spoken:  
Oh Wretched Prince! How art thou mistaken in believing, that pleasure is found in thy excesses! It is as far remote from 'em as thou art from Life's true happiness. Thou dragg'st thy unhappiness along in all places, where thou go'st, and do what thou wilt, thou canst not sculk one moment from thy conscience. Thou may'st cover thy Table with Meats still more precious than those it abounds with; taste the most delicious Wines of Greece and Italy, Sully thyself afterwards in all abominations, that Debauchery can invent; yet nothing wilt thou find in all this to afford thee satisfaction; and though thy body were filled, thy mind would still be in quest of Pleasure. These are not the things, which render Life happy; 'tis only Prudence, which composes the sovereign good; 'tis she alone which will teach thee to regulate thy desires according to NATURE, and in this Rule it i● thou wilt find what thou canst not meet with in thy disorders; If any thing be wanting, turn thy Eyes towards that common Mother; she will give thee wherewith easily to content thee. Art thou thirsty? She has every where placed Rivers and Springs, where thou may'st squench thy Thirst. Hungry? Places, where thou wilt find Fruits to live on. If thou art not satisfied with these things, thou wilt never be satisfied with all thy Excesses; consult thy Hunger and thy Thirst, they will make thee find delights in the simplicity of nature; and Bread and Water will serve thee instead of the best Dish upon Earth thou canst call to mind when thou art in necessity. Now that thou art not so, thou dost not give thy Stomach time to digest Meats, thy intemperance daily engenders crudities; it advances the hour of that death, which Hobgobling thee with so many apprehensions. Thus thou makest Feasts without their affording thee any Pleasure, because thou constrain'st thy Nature, forcing it to obey thy Desires: But know, thy Desires interfere with thy Nature, and the overflowings of thy Mind darken the light of thy Reason; wherefore, do not flatter thyself with tasting the Pleasures thou imagin'st: There's nothing bounded but in nature; all that is repugnant to nature is infinite, and consequently, above us. Ambitious Subjects aspire to Crowns: If they became Kings, they would be the sole Monarches of the World: Being Monarches, they'd wish for Incense and Sacrifices, and the Fable of the Giants informs us, that the Earth has dared to pretend to Heaven's Dominion. It is so with other bad desires, no body can be happy but he who knows how to regulate his desires. And as it only belongs to the Wise Man to undertake that Province, so it only belongs to him to command the universe. Only he can extract Pleasure out of all these things, and he alone uses Delights soberly, and despises them in their Possession. For thy part, who dishonourest the race of Augustus, and art the Infamy of human kind, over whom the anger of the Gods has given thee the command, do what thou list, thou wilt ever be unhappy? thy grief will backney thee at all moments, and in all places: Thou wilt never steal one minute from thy conscience: And in the midst of thy good cheer, thou wilt drink no Wine, but what will represent to thee the Innocents' Blood, which thy cruelty has shed on such or such an occasion. This is [if I be not mistaken] what Epicurus would have said; this is what he would have alleged in Justification of his Philosophy, and thus would he have reproved the Emperor's Enormities. But forasmuch as that 'tis impossible, that the mind [the Arbiter of Pleasure] should enjoy perfect pleasure, if the body its Minister endures any torment; Epicurus or rather truth teaches, that the privation of corporal pain, is necessary to the composition of that summum bonum, which the pleasure of the Sages does produce. And in truth, the alliance betwixt the mind and the flesh is so close, that it's very difficult to separate their pleasures and their sufferings. The mind can scarce be sovereignly happy, while Maladies afflict the Body: The mind can scarce think of joy, while the violence of pain tears from it complaints, or can the mind be sensible of pleasure, as long as it is in all parts, that undergo the assaults of pain? Let the Stoics boast as high as they please, the insensibility of their Sect, and that rigorous virtue, which makes a mock of pain, they'll find their body does not colten with their opinion, and that though their discourses be magnificent & sublime, yet they are neither according to truth or humane nature. I will not prop this Proposition with the example of the Mobile of those Philosophers. I will not make use of a Name, they may scruple to receive, nor pitch on a Man, whose virtues may seem suspected by them. Hercules alone shall bear testimony of what I urge; that Hercules, who is placed among the Gods, whom so many labours have rendered Famous, and the Poets made choice of, for a perfect model of the force of their Wisdom. What if we take a view a while of that Hero dying, and consider the last Actions of his Life? That Invincible Man's Congee will be doubtless like his entrance, Illustrious in performing something Heroic. Certainly he will say nothing as may dishonour his Noble Actions, or seem unworthy of his former virtue. The strength of his pain gets the mastery over his courage: His Constancy yields to the ardour of the Venom,. which devours him; he does not only complain, he weeps, he cries, he howls: 
At circum gem●nt petrae,  
Locrorum & alta Eubaeae  
Promont●ria.   
And 'tis with the last effects of rage and despair, that he departs out of this Life to take his place among the Gods. Therefore, let the Stoics rank themselves in our party, let 'em tattle no longer of their insensibility, nor foist on us, that the Wise man may be happy amid Tortures, and let 'em not despise pain, to which Hercules himself was constrained to submit so many victories. But if it be answered, that the Poets were to blame for representing Hercules in this manner, and that in favour of that Hero, they are willing to rescue him from the Authority of Books, and the consent of Theatres: Possidonius, formerly one of Cicero's Masters, and the greatest of all the Stoics (for so he is styled by that disciple) will serve us for an illustrious example, we shall see a Pillar of the Porch staggered by a Disease. The Gout being the Malady of that Philosopher, was likewise the wrack of his constancy; he endured its violence as patiently as an ordinary Man would have done; and though he upbraided pain, that all its twinges pinches could not constrain him to own, that it was an evil; yet for all this it afflicted him, and made him complain. It seems too that Cicero was choqued, or at least astonished at this wiseman's weakness. I have seen, says he, Possidonius the greatest of the Stoics have as little power to undergo the pains of the Gout, as my Host Nicomachus, whom Tully accounted a common sort of Fellow. And assuredly I am so far from believing that true felicity can concur with pain, that I should esteem it the action of a Wise Man to part with his Life, if he could not separate it from pain. And because the Memory of Maecenas is in great veneration with me, and in my Opinion he ought never to be mentioned but with Honour; I wi●h, if it were possible, that those Verses, which remain to us of him, had been stiss●d, and he had not informed us, that he was more wedded to Life, than became (I do not say a Philosopher, but only) a Man of Courage. You could not have offered him any condition, so he might but live, but what he would have accepted; were he deformed? that's no matter; were he maimed? he'd find some consolation in living; let him endure all the Torments of the most violent Distempers, he'd still be happy, if they were not mortal; and though you should have sentenced him to the most cruel of Deaths, he would not consent to quit Life, provided he could keep it amidst the Tortures of Executions.  
Debilem faci●o man,  
Debil●m pede, coxa;  
Tuber adstrue Gibberum;  
Lubricos quate dentes;  
Vita dum superest, bene est:  
Hanc mihi vel acuta,  
Si sedam Cruse, sustine.  
Without doubt, Effeminacy dictated these Verses to him, while he tasted all the Pleasures of Life. He never had had any experience of pain, and had he fallen into the ill condition he proposes, Death would have been as welcome to him, as a Reprieve to a Criminal upon the Rack. It's easy by this to understand that M●caenas was voluptuous; but no Epicurean, since those Philosophers have too generous a Soul to shrink to such feeble sentiments; they dread Death much less than pains, and sometimes renounce Pleasure for very pain. And the reason is, that Epicurus well judging that most Men being alured and corrupted by the fruition of pleasures, and suffering themselves without Rule, and blindly to be hurried away by the current of their Appetites, would not be in a capacity to foresee the pains and afflictions, which would fall upon 'em in consequence of those disorders: And besides, fearing that the love of case and Effeminacy of spirit, joined to the fear of pain and labour, might oblige them to be wanting in their Duties, and to render themselves useless in L●fe; he was of opinion, that in the time wherein a Wise man should have full liberty of Election, and wherein nothing should hinder him from procuring his own satisfaction, he might abandon himself to pleasure, and give a temporary Farewell to Pain: But That then are certain seasons, in which they must be Friends again, and during which the Obligation of Duties, and the Necessity of Things ought to constrain him not to refuse Dolour, and to reject Voluptuousness.  
'Twas this generous Maxim, that made Cato of Utica his own Executioner: For, tho' he might have born himself up on the Mines of his Party, and Caesar would have been mighty glad to grant him his Life; yet, the shame of surviving the Loss of the Public Liberty, and the Infamy of Servitude, would not let that large Heart even deliberate, whether he should choose. the Pain of dying gloriously, to avoid the Pleasure of living after a manner, that seemed to him unworthy of a Roman. This Maxim it was, that made Regulus to reput himself into the hands of his Enemies, where the Cruelties of his Tormentors were less sensible to him, than his Remorse would have been for having broken his word. 'Twas this Maxim, which making Fabricius to despise the Treasures of the King of Epeirus, made him also despise the evil desires, which follow the possession of Riches, and preserve to himself the Repose of Mind, the sovereign and chiefest of Pleasures. Lastly, it was this Maxim, that set Cicero o' declaiming against Anthony, to devote himself for the safety of the Commonwealth at a time, when he might have stayed at home very fairly in Peace and quietly enjoyed an easy Life, and the Delights of his own Studies.  
To this Maxim there are no laudable Actions but what may be referred: And what Heroick Pea●s soever those great men have achieved, you will find, that if they have run towards Pain, it hath been to avoid a much greater, and contrariety, if they have not glanced upon some pleasures, it was by such an Abstinence, to acquire Others more satisfactory and solid. For, what other cause would you have us ascribe to their Illustrious Actions? Do you think, they would have so boldly left this Life? That they would have turned their backs upon the possession of Gold? That they would painfully hunt after very dangerous. Enmities? And, not consider at the same time, if what they did, was useful or agreeable to them? with this Censure, let us not bespatter them: The Effects of their Wisdom let us not impute to the unruliness of their Mind, but believe, that they consulted generally themselves and their own Intellectuals upon their Actions: And let us not state them in a worse condition than the most savage of Animals, which are never transported nor troubled in such a manner, but that it is easy to discover, what is the Aim of the Impetrosity of their Movements. Cato forsook that Life, which was become his Burden; he found it less grievous to quit the World, than to obey Caesar, whom he believes to be no good man, and he thought it more pleasant not to live at all, than to live in an ignominious slavery. Regulus returned to Carthage: If he had not done so, he had been accused of Perfidiousness. Fabricius could not be corrupted by Pyrrhus, in which he exerted his Integrity: He served his Country, and in the single pleasure of refusing Riches, he satisfied himself more than if he had accepted all the Treasures of the Universe. In short, Tully gave hard words to Antonius, and declared himself his capital Enemy: If without any reason he did so, he is much to blame: But, if at his own peril he had a design to establish the Commonwealth, and if he undertook Marc Anthony's Ruin, to prevent that of Rome; as hereby he took care of the common safety of his Citizens, wherein his own was contained; so he, moreover, deserved the praise of all Mankind, and the love of the whole People of Rome. Those Great Men, indeed, were not of the Family of Epicurus, and One of 'em hath even endeavoured by his Writings to destroy his Opinions: But it's sufficient, that the Authority of their Examples is found in the Doctrine of that Philosopher, and that the World know, That it was not Virtue alone, which was their Motive, or at lest what they called Virtue, aught to be styled Pleasure.  
However, out of this School there have issued Spirits completely Heroic, who in a corrupted Age have performed as vigorous Actions, as those Ancient Romans in the flower of their Republic under Nero's Reign, the World admired the death of Petronius, as much as that of Seneca. The Emperor's Tutor acquired no Glory by dying, but what was afterwards bestowed upon the Arbiter of his Pleasures; and the common Sentiment was, that the Stoician who had always held forth and preached up a contempt of Life, did not leave it more generously than Petronius, who had courted all its Pleasures.  
In this place, I am bound, for the honour and sake of Epicurus, to retrace something of the Life and Death of this great Disciple: As indeed, it would be impossible for me to pass by this point without some discourse to you concerning it, and as you with a very willing Ear listen to the performances of Illustrious Men, you will not be loath to rank Petronius in their number, and take a transitory view of the marks of his Wisdom and Generosity. This famous Epicurean, far from resembling those Sots and Debauchees, who commonly gourmandise all their Estate away, made Profession of a Polite Luxury, making Pleasures his only study. And as Toil and Industry confer Reputation on the ●est of Mankind, he alone obtained it by a gentile kind of Idleness. Very free and very much neglected were his Words and Actions: And, for as much as they demonstrated the goodness and the candour of his Soul, appearing under the garb and covert of simplicity, with so much the more pleasure and satisfaction they were received. Notwithstanding which, this excellent Man knowing well, that there are times, wherein the Wise Man is obliged to lay aside the repose and tranquillity of Life, to serve the State in Public Affairs, did wholly throw away that happy way of Living, when he was Elected Proconsul of Bythinia, and afterwards was chosen Consul: And acquitting himself worthily of those glorious Employments, he showed by his Application and Conduct, that no affair, how bulky soever was too unwieldy for his management. At the Expiration of these Charges, he fell again to his wont way of Living, and then being became one of Nero's most intimate Friends, when though this Prince had very bad Inclinations, yet he was so much enchanted with Petronius his merit, that he made him the Arbiter of all his Pleasures, and fancied, that amidst the affluence of these Delights, none were to be accounted sweet and pleasant, but such as were approved by Petronius. [I would be understood here to speak of honest Pleasures: since he was so far from participating in the filthy Debauches of Nero, as that that Emperor was used to wonder, how they could come to the knowledge of Petronius, who reproached him with them by his Codicils; so that he caused Silia to be punished, as suspecting, she had revealed them.]  
From that time, Tegaltinus eyed Petronius as his Competitor; and fearing, that by the means of honest Pleasure, he might do what Seneca was unable to effect with the austerity of his Sect, i. e. that he might reduce Nero from the disorders of his Life, and restore a true Emperor to Rome; he resolved to under-mine him, saying, there was no establishing his own Fortune but by the ruin of Petronius. Wherefore, he straightways attacks the cruelty of that Prince, to which all his other Pleasures yielded, and gave way: he accuseth Petronius of having been of the number of Scevinus his Friends, who had shared in Pisoe's conspiracy: He corrupt a Slave of his, to depose against him: He deprives him of all ways to make his Defence, and causes the greater part of his Domestiques to be laid in Shackles, under such Circumstances, a Man, less generous, would either have flattered himself with the hopes of Pardon, or prolonged his Life to the utmost Extremity. But he, for his part, was of a quite contrary Opinion; he thought it both a vile and a weak thing to support any longer the fatigues of Fear or Hope, and resolving to die, he contrives to do it, with the same Tranquillity, in which he had lived.  
Thus, unwilling to part with his Life in a precipitate way, he has his Veins opened, and then bound up again, and still now and then taking off the Bands, according as his fancy moved him, he discoursed his Friends upon agreeable matters; not affecting to entertain them with serious Debates and searched sentences, by which he might pretend to the glory of Constancy. The last hours of his Life, by no means would he employ, in speaking of the Souls Immortality, or of Philosophical Opinions, but having pitched upon a sort of most voluptuous and most Natural Death, he chose rather to imitate the sweet fate of Swans, and had smooth and easy verses rehearsed to him, with miscellanies of Poetry. Yet he reserved to himself some moments for the disposing of his Affairs: He rewarded many of his Slaves, punished some, and seeing the time draw near of shaking off Mortality, after having used a little exercise, he fell into a calm and gentle Slumber: So that his Death, which was constrained, might seem casual and Natural. Now, let men talk of Socrates! let them boast of the constancy and firmness of mind, wherewith he drank the Poison! Petronius doth not yield, to him in the least ●unctilio. Nay, Petronius may pretend to the advantage of having abandoned a Life infinitely more Delicious than that of the Greek Sophy, with the same serenity of mind, and the same equality of Countenance.  
But that you may the better know, how rich and precious is the Pleasure, I defend; I design to give you the Portrait of a man who possesses it in perfection, and by depicting his contrary afterwards, to take away all reasons of jealousy and doubt, that Epicurus his volupty is of high esteem. Imagine then a Man in perfect health, possessing a good Estate; enjoying delights handsomely; having a mind peaceable and contented; tasting always and with abundance the most diverting pleasures of Body and Mind; not troubled with the presence, nor menaced with the fear of any Pain: What condition can you suppose more excellent, or more desirable than this? For, it is necessary, that, such a Person, to be in this State, shoved possess a force of Mind proof against ●ain and Death itself; should be absolutely undeceived of the false Opinions of the Vulgar; should be insensible of impertinent Terrors and Scholastic Scare-Crows; not suffer the Pleasures to escape, which he enjoys; always entertaining himself in the sweetness of their Remembrance: And, this is to be at the high●st period of Felicity, and to have nothing more to pretend to for the accomplishment of ones happiness.  
On the other side, let us figure to ourselves a Man oppressed with all the evils, that can afflict humane Nature; deprived of all hopes of ever seeing them lessened or abated; sensible of no present Pleasure, having never tried any past delights; not daring to aspire to the possession of future ones: And when we have acknowledged, that nothing can be imagined more miserable than this Estate, let us confess withal, that there is nothing more happy than the voluptuous Follower of Epicurus.  
Now if you think this happy Man, whose Picture I now draw, is no where else to be found than in my imagination, and that so perfect a Felicity cannot be among Men; I must confess, you have but sorry Sentiments of our humane condition, and of the goodness of Heaven, and I fancy myself engaged to retrieve you out of this error, if I would pass with you for a real Man, and to keep you from maundering any more against our misery, and the Injustice of Destiny. Thus then, I find, that original done by the hand of one of the greatest Masters, placed in the Cabinet of the curiousest of Authors, that ever Writ: It is Felicity itself painted under the visage of Orata, for so Tully calls him; and here follows a faithful Trad●ction of what he relateth of his happiness. To Orata, a Man of Wealth, Pleasantry, and Niceness, nothing was wanting of all that can serve to live voluptuously, to procure Love, and enjoy an entire and a perfect Health. For he gathered very ample Revenues from his Noble Lordships: He had always many Friends very useful, agreeable, and diverting: He dexterously made use of all these things, to maintain a sweet solacing Life: And to say all in few words, his Wills and Designs had ever a success as propitious, and an accomplishment as favourable as he could wish. In this condition, I do not think, any thing could befound fault with, in provision no change fell out, but that Orata must be perfectly happy, if he can remain in the State, wherein we show him. And this, if I am not mistaken, is a Portrait, that bears assimilation enough to the first design, which I showed you, and which you might peradventure take for Crotesque and a fancy of the Painter.  
Let us now seek for some miserable men in opposition to this Orata: We will compare him (if you please) to those unfortunate Wretches. whom we see upon the ancient Theatre, the one of whom Judges himself too criminal to manage the Grecian Sceptre, who fears to dishonour the Race of Pelops by owning himself a Branch of that Family, and who dares not show his Face to Mortals. Or let us compare him with that other, who beck'ning to his Friends, that they should not approach him, esteems himself so unhappy, that he fears, his very shade may be contagious. Or rather, let's not call to mind Atreus or Thyastes: Let us forget their Crimes, whose Memory creates an Abhorrence; and let our Eyes no longer dwell upon a Family, that hath forced the Sun to return back to the East, and has furnished Hell with one of its most famous Punishments.   

Occule.  Noxitudo obliteretur Pelopidùm. 
Let us rather choose Heroes and People as wretched as the Progeny of Tantalus. Let Amphiareus' Son come and acquaint us with his being Habgoblined by Vision●, and his demanding succours against the Furies that haunt him.  
Oh Wretch! What is't, I see?  
Whence come those Lamps,  
Which seem to rise from you  
Tombs gloomy Damps?  
Help me, defend me from the burning Rage  
Of this hot Fire: Oh! Its damned heat assuage!  
Night's ghastly Daughters, round each awful Shrine,  
With bluish Snakes their horned▪  
Miens entwine:  
The direful hissings! Now, they me assail,  
Now, now I feel their Flames:  
No plaints avail.  
The sound of crashing stripes invades my Ears,  
And stubs my drooping Soul with thunder-pointed Fears.  
After Al●meon has thus let us see the tortures of his Conscience, and the racks of his Mind, let Philoct●tes entertain us with the miseries, which he is reduced unto! Let him speak, and complain of his ill Fortunes; for truly, he makes no distinction of Persons, when he says: 
Poor Mortal thou, whom Winds and Seas that roar,  
Drive on the Isle of Lemnos sacred Shore.  
Contemn me not, tho' thus; tho' me you find  
Most solemnly forlorn of all Mankind.  
View those vast Rocks, exposed to th' Firmament,  
Where midst of sorrows, I nine years have spent.  
Hard Stones my Bed, of Glory quite bereft,  
Here far from Battles, far from Laurels left,  
Debarred the Freedom of the Aer,  
I snap the flying Fowl of fleetest Wing,  
And with their Plumes, I wove my covering.   
Let him then show us his Bodily Pains, when his Ulcer becomes inflamed: He despairs in these Verses: 
Has no Man, of you, pity in his Soul,  
That his soft Heart may my hard Fate control?  
Will none from this high Pike, this savage Rock,  
Give me one gentle and good-natured Shock;  
That headlong into raging Billows thrown,  
My much more raging Tortures I may drown?  
There let me Bulge upon the boisterous Floods,  
Until the Sea has laved me into Suds.  
Nothing is equal to my Pangs: The Fir●  
Burns in my aged Wound with Ulcerous Ire,  
The great Vulcano to this Mound, while I  
In Flames, a Salamander, never Dye.   
Or, if these Misfortunes be not yet sufficient, let us with Ovid amass together all the miseries of Fables, to wish them to a Man, and then judge, whether his condition be more happy than that of Orata, or of that famous Vatia, who formerly merited this Exclamation; O Vatia, you alone know, how to live: And, consequently, let us conclude with a like Exclamation: O Epicurus, thou alone knowest how to Philosophise.  
By all these vanities we may know, that Volupty is not only worthy of the Eloges of all Men, but that it is their Sovereign good and sole end. Yet in regard this first Proposition makes the principal point of Epicurus his Doctrine, and that is the most true, it is also the most contested. Having begun to undeceive these Enemies of his, I must consummate my Documents and their Instruction, and leave the truth of this Opinion so well established in their minds, that no more occasion they may have to dispute it, but with extreme Injustice. Therefore, that they may be of this Opinion, I will only desire them to cast their Eyes upon Nature, whose effects are rational and certain experiences. They will not only find, that she authorises what I say, but she gives them such clear Demonstration●, that, unless they purposely hoodwink themselves, they will be constrained to acquiesce therein. Let 'em, consider, what this common Mother doth in the production and Birrh of Animals, that is to say, in her entire Purity and before her Corruption: They may observe, that she inspires them with the love of Volupty, and the flight of Dolour; that she conveys 'em to what is pleasant, and distanceth 'em from what is hurtful; that she teaches them (if a Man may say so) good and evil, and when they attain the former, they rejoice and rest satisfied in it. For which reason, when our Philosopher, following the Institutions of Nature, pronounces, that the voluptuous Life is the end of Man, he does not trouble his Head about proving this Proposition. As he thinks, there is no need of the dint of Ratiocination to persuade Men, that Fire is hot, Snow cold, and Honey sweet, because these are sensible things; he, likewise, believes, that to apprehend the love of Pleasure, which may easily be known by natural effects, a Man need only make use of a mean Animadversion, and a simple Advertisement upon those effects.  
However, tho' we have nature on our side, that is, an infallible Decision; tho' we fully perceive in our minds a certain notion, which inclines us to hate evil and pursue Pleasure; though the beginnings of our wishes, of our disgusts, and of all our actions draw their origine from Pleasure and Pain; nevertheless, because some Philosophers maintain, that dolour ought not to be reckoned among evils, nor Pleasure among Goods, and because to establish this Opinion, they allege many curious things, we must not so strongly confide in our own, as not to stick to the naked truth. We must argue in favour of the Epicurean pleasure: We are to show, that Reason as well as Nature authorises that sect. And certainly, if the philosopher's, who found fault with this pleasure, had considered it well, if they had viewed it, before they attacked it, they would have easily discovered, that they were mistaken in their Enemy, and that their Forces ought not to have been bend against this pleasure. That they were mistaken in their Invectives, and rejected it only on the score of the Pains, which follow it sometimes; they might have perceived; for that those pains did not proceed from it, that it is the fault of those who use it ill, and by consequence, they would not have decried a pure and clean source, for having found it mudded and defiled by dirty Beasts. For, they must confess to me, that there is no Man in the World, that despises Pleasure, quatenus Pleasure, that hates or eschews it; that loves Pain as Pain; that follows or endeavours to attain it. But because those who use the most moderate Pleasures ill, afterwards undergo many disquiets and torments; and, on the contrary, there are certain Seasons, in which pain and labour do occasion exceeding great pleasures: This hath made those Philosophers (who had only considered the Sequels of a Ill-husbanded Pleasure, and of a profitable and necessary Pain) to strike the former out of the class of Goods, and then set pain among praiseworthy things. But in my Opinion, they had acted much more discreetly, if they had emulated us; and if after having accused the profaneness of pleasure, as the Epicureans do in their School, they had not only discharged pleasure from the crimes, by them imputed to it, but also had bestowed upon it Encomiums and Crowns, and openly pronounced in favour of its Innocence. For, under what colour, could they reprove a Man, who is desirous to enjoy such pleasures, as from which he receives no annoyance, and who will endeavour to avoid the pain, that brings him no profit? Let 'em, then, quest about, as long as they please, they will never find the least shadow to condemn it: On the other hand, right reason will still force them to adorn it with the sublimest praises.  
Now, it is time, to employ all our forces in an enterprise, that needs them: Now are we to combat generously, that so we may acquire an immortal victory. The case is no longer the defending pleasure, or considering it as the chief good of Life. We must raise it upon the Throne of Virtue, which disputes with it that Title: And though we do not chase that virtue away from it, whereof we make profession, we must constrain it to yield the first place to pleasure. And certainly, as all Philosophers agree, that the ultimate end, which Man ought to propose to himself in this World, is a calm and a pleasant Life, many of them are choosed in situating this Life in Virtue and not in pleasure, and in making their applications to the Splendour of a name, that tops upon 'em, without considering an opinion, whereto nature herself compels their assent. And in truth▪ if they would consult and believe her, they must own, that those virtues, which they style great, precious and magnificent, only seem estimable to them, in as much as they contribute towards pleasure, and that, consequently not considered by themselves, they ought not to prefer 'em before a thing, from which they receive their whole Value and Reputation. For, in the same m●nner we approve of Physic not upon the account of the A●t, but upon the score of Health; and the Science of Pilots deserves commendation only for the usefulness of Navigation; we, likewise, should not wish for wisdom, which may be called the Art of Life, if it were of no use to us, and did not contribute towards our obtaining the possession of v●lupty.  
There is no necessity of repeating here, what that Pleasure is, or of designing you afresh, not to despise that Name, which Men have corrupted. You know very well, how severe Epicurus renders it, and you must needs avow that it is no shame for wisdom to veil to it, and thence to borrow its whole consideration. Also, on our side, we will confess, that without being a Philosopher, a Man cannot be happy, and that wisdom is the only means to attain Pleasure. In effect, the weakness and frailty of humane nature, being afflicted with the ignorance of good and evil, floating commonly betwixt those two things, without being able to discriminate them, and often electing with joy, what is to be avoided with care, doth fall into so monstrous a blindness, that Men instead of meeting with the felicity, they gape after, shear oft aloof from it; so that they become miserable instead of finding satisfaction, and in exchange for the Pleasures proposed to themselves, they plunge themselves into Pains, which vex and torment them. Wherefore, the use of wisdom ought to draw 'em out of this miserable condition: Its Candle is to light them in such an irksome and lonely darkness: Its power is to redeem 'em from slavery and bondage; from inordinate desires; from inconsiderate terrors, and from rash Opinions: In imitation of Hercules, it must make them a passage through so many Monsters, and conduct them with safety to Pleasure. Wisdom alone performs these great things, like a faithful and a generous Guide: She removes the difficulties of the way she points out to us. But it is not sufficient, that we do not ramble out of it, we must also in safety walk therein: And while the Winds and Seas disperse and drown the Ships, which Sail without her Steerage, others whose Rudder she hath taken in hand, pull into Harbour without running any Risque or dreading any Tempest. In this Port, it is, where the Wise Man meets with pleasure: In this Port, he reposedly contemplates the turmoil of the rest of Mankind: He discovers all the impertinent errors, which persecute their weakness: He observes, with how much busy eagerness they endeavour to satisfy their Passions: He sees 'em crowed in multitudes, striving who shall advance farthest in Power, in Richeses, and in Fortune.  
Certare Ing●nio, contendere Nobilitate;  
Noctes atque dies niti praestante labour,  
Ad summas emergere opes, rerumque Poti●i.  
And then, having considered all these things, he breaks out into this Exclamation.  
O miseras ho●inum mentes! O pectora caeca!  
Qualibus in ten●bris vitae, quantisque periclis  
Degitur hoc A●vi, quodcunque hast?  
For his particular, nothing disquiets him; nothing frets him; nothing troubles him: But, he is happy, he follows nature; he enjoys an accomplished felicity; and in this state he offers up his Thanksgivings to wisdom, the donatrix of his Pleasure. Like him, we must act, if we mean to be happy, like him: We must throw ourselves into the arms of that wisdom, and endeavour to attain that Pleasure. We must stifte those unlucky desires, which rob us of it: They are insatiable and dangerous: They not only minate private Persons, but destroy whole Families: They pull down States; they create Odiums, Divisions, Discords, Seditions, and Civil Wars: They are the Tyrants and Enemies of those Breasts, that foster them. And if we put the Poets to a scrutiny and examination, we shall find, that by the torments of the Damned, they design to figure out those whom these internal plagues do afflict.  
Cui Vultur jecur ultimum pererrat,  
Et pec●us trahit, infimasque Fibras,  
Non est quem Tytium vocant Poetae,  
Sed cordis mala, livor atque luxus.  
Since, therefore, by the sole aid of wisdom, we can surmount them, as she alone makes us capable of resisting Fortune, and by her we learn all the means of acquiring tranquillity and a sedate Life; why should we fear to conclude, that it is only desirable on the account of producing Pleasure and opposing Pain? The same thing we are to say of temperance, and only not desire it for it self, but because it preserves to our Souls that Peace, without which we could not be happy. and by the Concord it inspires, it appeaseth our troubles, and finds even Pleasure in them. 'Tis this Virtue, which always comes to the assistance of wisdom: 'Tis that which executes what the other doth only deliberate: And as that shows us, what we are to shun, and what to follow, this stops us, when we run contrary to the their advice, and when we give more credit to our senses that our reason. This is a Bridle, which holds us in▪ when we are hurried on towards evil Pleasures; a Hand, that conducts us in the road of true joy; and, in brief, a virtue, without which we can neither be happy nor wise. And truly, what avails our knowing good, when we are too weak to practise it? What signifies our seeing a precipice, if we suffer ourselves to tumble down it, and our giving the glory of all words to wisdom, when we rob it of all its actions? To this pass most Men are reduced: they conclude all for wisdom, but they cannot keep to what they have concluded. They know, there are pleasures, whose results are dangerous, and most austerely forbidden by Epicurus: But they make a mock of this Philosopher's prohibition, and abandon 'emselves to the empire of their bad desires. They are like to Phaedria in Terence, and they speak through his Mouth on the Theatre of that excellent Comic Poet. This outraged Lover acknowledges, indeed, he should do an unworthy action, if he came once more to a reconciliation with his Mistress. He declares here ipso facto a guilt, and himself a wretched Man: He frets terribly, and grows very uneasy. What then? he does not reform; he burns still with Love, and when he most apparently sees, that he stands upon the very brink of ruin, yet even then he perishes with deliberation. So that Phaedria does want no wisdom, but he wants temperance. He knows, what ought to be done in order to his repose and pleasure, but he doth not practise it. He knows, what is b●st, and approves it, and yet he follows the worse side. These are men's ma●ners, admirably well described and expressed. This is the image of their sentiments and frailties. Thus, without temperance, they cannot find pleasure. In vain do you upbraid them, that what they follow, is irrational; that it is unnecessary; that its privation produces no pain. In vain do you index the Diseases, Damages, or Infamy, that follow their enjoyments. In vain, do you menace them with the punishment of Laws, and the severity of Magistrates: You can tell 'em nothing, but what they knew before, and what they'll say themselves. What of all this? Why, still they are the Slaves of what they as well as you detest and abhor, resembling those Grecian Philosophers, that were allowed in an high and mighty strain to talk of such virtues, as they never practised.  
A sort of Men there are still behind, who indeed are no Philosophers, but yet dispute with much acumen and vivacity. These Men (whom we may call the Prophaners of the Epicurean Pleasure,) will upon no account allow temperance to be a virtue, and loudly declare, that happiness depends upon the fancy and imagination. There is no staying to contest with unreasonable people: And the greatest mischief, we can wish them is, that they may live according to their own desire. Ourselves we may barely content with knowing, that their opinion is false and horribly ill grounded, and that felicity is never but in the desires, which temperance brings along with it. For, it is not only a miserable thing to desire what is not honest: But also it is more advantageous, not to obtain what we desire, than to obtain what we cannot without shame desire. Insomuch that we ought to be of the Opinion of that Ancient Gentleman, who judging of Comitty banished from Rome, while Manlius was Master of that City, esteemed the condition of that virtuous Exal to be better than that of that bad Citizen. But in truth, those who study temperance, and manage the possession of pleasure so well, that they feel not any pain; these Men, certainly, may be termed happy, and merit the Title of Sages. Most durable as their pleasures, as being well regulated, and their whole Life being calm and eas●e, because it is innocent. They are far from pursuing inordinate pleasures: Their felicity consisting in a total abstinence from them. Nay, they go to meet some pa●ns, that they may avoid greater: And from their only using temperance in the enjoyment of pleasure, they leave us to conclude, that temperance as well as wisdom, tend only to a more quiet possession of that pleasure, which temperance is in quest of: Not that it makes the pleasure, but it preserves it in us, by making us to use it rightly and with Judgement. You would peradventure be startled (if not troubled) at it, if prosecuting the examination of Virtues, and referring them to Pleasure, I aver, that fortitude depends on it as well as wisdom & temperance; & that that Virtue, which terrasseth Lions under foot, which despises dangers, and could without any dread view the ruin of the whole World, produces nothing illustrious, but what bears a respect to pleasure, and proceeds from it as from a source. For, first of all, it must be conceded, that neither the labours we undertake, nor the pains we support, have any thing to provoke our Stomach●, if we consider them simply, and separate them from other things: And that the care and diligence, so frequently commended in Life and in Affairs, and the force (whereof we are now speaking) are never pracrtised, unless it be with some design, some cui bono, and for some certain cause. But we must say, that these things were introduced for the tranquillity of Life, and we follow them only, that we may live without care and fear; with an intent to deliver (as much as possible) our Body and Mind from the Maladies and Troubles which might afflict them, and safely to enjoy that indolence, which is one of the compositums of Epicurus his pleasure. And indeed, how would you have a Man live happy, when he fears death? How would you have that Sicilian find pleasure in the midst of Feasts and Music, when all the while he dreads the fall of that Sword, which threatens his Head and Diadem? Is it not an extreme misery to fall under pains, and yet support 'em basely and with weakness? Did not this debility of mind formerly make several to lose 'emselves, after having lost their relatives and their Country? What was it, I wonder, that occasioned poetry to Metamorphose Hecuba into a mad Bitch, unless it be, that the grief which overcame her, compelled her to imitate the fury of that Creature? Perhaps, if she had withstood her grief, or, at least, had endeavoured to forget the occasions of it, they would not have made her to proceed from tears to despair, and from desperation to rage. Now, these are the complaints, they put into her mouth, and, by the representation of the wretched estate she was reduced to, and of that which she had lost, she fosters her mourning Soul upon their Stage, and enkindles the flames of that rage, which was ready to seize her.  
Under the pressure sunk of heavy Fate,  
Alas, what can I do in this Estate?  
To what retreat can Hecuba now fly?  
What kind As●lum, or what Fort is ●igh?  
Out of bely's jurisdiction here I lie.  
●ion's high Tower a●d Cit●, where the Gods,  
Like Heaven itself, did settle their Abodes,  
Where they themselves with Vows and Offerings came,  
Is now th' insulted prey of the l●wd Grecian flame,  
I've lost these Treasures. Whither can I go,  
W●at hope expe●t or what s●●●l com●ort know?  
Whe● to Me● Altars Sacrifices 〈◊〉,  
And Deities their bo●y losses 〈◊〉,  
When ●i●ty is Chaos, etc.  
Afterwards, she calls to mind the beauty of her edifices, and the Riches of Asia, to augment both her own grief, and that of the Spectators: For who can remain unmoved with her discourses.  
Oh, d●●●st Country, or, my Country's Shade!  
Priam's high House in lowly Ruins laid!  
Oh, Temple's worthy of the Godhead's Eye●,  
Wh●se 〈◊〉 with Godlike Art Men did devise  
I've seen your Fangs and wealth Shrines shine bright  
With Starry Gems, that cast Catestial Light.  
The Gold, the Ivory, etc.  
And, what Person can avoid being seized with both horror and pity, when she proceeds in this manner?  
By merciless Flames all this I've seen devoured:  
I saw the Aged Pr●am, when he poured  
His Royal Soul upon Jove's Heart i● Blood:  
Never so great a Victim it embrued.  
Dragged through the dirt I've seen my Hector's course,  
Without the Grecian's pity or remorse,  
And to complete the sum of Funerals  
I've seen his Son thrown headlong from our Walls.  
So that I do not at all wonder, that the People of Rome should sigh heretofore, when they heard these Verses publicly rehearsed, and that I myself in reading them gushed out into tears. Thus their strength and beauty forced me to translate them: And, tho' perchance I have injured both: Yet as in translating them, I have imitated the Ancients with some latitude, I have likewise satisfied such persons, as do not understand them, and have in no sort robbed others, who understand 'em in their original. But in what language soever we consider them, it is easy, to perceive, they come from a mind very sorely afflicted, and tho' they were stripped of their finest Ornaments, they contain sufficient seeds of sorrow to create pity. Hecuba, indeed, hath great occasions to bemoan her condition. She had lost her Husband, her Son, her Empire, and her Freedom. If she beheld these misfortunes without bewailing them, she had been insensible, and we very inhuman, if after so many very literal losses we should go about to debar her tears. But for all that, when she has wept and bedewed four or five Handkerchiefs for some time, we should not be unjust to prescribe bounds to her affliction, by regulating her tears and sorrow, and by advising her at length to oppose the force of reason against that of despair. Now some delicate and Womanish Man, that is affected with her complaints, might perhaps start in her defence, that those who would limit her sorrow to the first motions of her mind, would allow her her laments to the last minutes of their Lives, if they shared the afflictions, whereof they only judge. And, by consequence, they would prove, that our Philosophy, which only talks of Victories, would take wing at the sight of so many calamities, when it should see them coming pellmell to overthrow it. To such a tenderhearted Man I wish a mighty deal of happiness, for, without dispute, if any mischance befall him, he would not forbear weeping most bitterly: Yet not unless upon this condition, that for this kind wish, he will give me a dispensation from believing, what he says, and not exact of me, that I judge of the strength of his Philosophy by the feebleness of reason. For, not staying much to refute all those Men he may have corrupted [in case there be any such, and it be lawful, to hate such effeminate People Men] I shall content myself with putting him to the blush with two common examples. They are Persons, whose Age and Sex might probably render extremely feeble, and yet in their infirmity have that force and strength, which our effeminate Blade does not desiderate in Hecuba, and does even despair to find among the Philosophers. Let him consider the deaths of Astyanax and Philoxena, a Child, and a Virgin: These the Greeks condemned both to execution. See here Ulysses advancing himself, holding the first by the hand, and walking fiercely to tumble him down But, See! the Boy follows him with no less assurance.  
— Sublin i gradu  
Incedit Ithacus parvulum dextra trahens  
Priami Nepotem; nec gradu sequi Puer  
Ad alta pergit mania.  
Consider, that among all those who accompany and lament him, he alone it is, whose Eyes are dry, and who refuseth Tears to his own Death. Observe, that whilst his Executioners are invoking the Gods to that bloody Sacrifice, he Throws himself down from the Pinnacle of the Tower, from whence he was doomed to be precipitated, and voluntarily himself puts a Period to a Life, which had hardly begun its Part.  
But let us turn our eyes to the other side: For, Polixena is already placed upon Achilles' Sepulchre, and only expects the Blow, which is to appease that Grecians shade, and rejoin his Soul to those of his Forefathers. Admire her Beauty, which appears so sparling and Serene; Her Mien, not at all discomposed at the approach of Death: On the contrary, this Sun, which is going to set for ever, seems to add a new Lustre to the last Beams of its Light. There is also in her Aer something more strong than her Sex & present Condition ought to bear. And indeed, she thinks it not enough to expect the Blow, without Shunning it: But, she sees it coming with much fierceness.  C●●versa ad ●ct●n stat Tr●ci vultu Fer●x. 
And, when Pyrrhus had given her the Mortal stroke, her last action seems still an action of courage, and she does not let herself fall upon the Sepulchre of Achilles, but with design to make its Earth more heavy, and even in dying to revenge herself.  
Tell me now, if it be not a shame in Hecuba, to see her Children more courageous than herself. Tell me, if it becomes her to pour forth such an Ocean of tears, while Astyanax and Polixena die without shedding one single Melancholy drop. Tell me, if you do not think those persons happy, in comparison with that miserable Woman. Or, if you are so nonplussed with the prospect of all these things, that you have nothing more to urge in her behalf, acquiesce at the long run with us, that she had too little courage in her calamities, and wanted fortitude to resent them less cruelly. Now if it be true, that a weakness of mind is the only thing, which renders misfortunes insupportable to us; and which making us to leave the Helm in the sharpest Tempests and Hurricanes of Fortune, doth occasion the wrecks we suffer in places, where with safety we might plow the billows: Ought we not to seek fortitude, that so we may use it as an Anchor, opposing it against the rage of Wind and Water, and sheltering ourselves from the barbarity of the Stor●? Upon this Pillar we ought certainly to lean▪ which serves for a foundation to pleasure, joining this Virtue to temperance and wisdom: And for the living in repose and in the privation of misery, we must believe, that this firm and courageous Spirit is ever above anxieties and cares, seeing it despises death itself: And it must be so well prepared for pain, as to bear always in mind, that death is the remedy of the most violent, that the lest have many good Intervals, and that it is Master of the middle and moderate ones. Which things standing thus, we are to infer, that we do not blame timidity and weakness, nor praise fortitude and temperance for their peculiar regard; but that we reject those and desire these, because of the former pain is the effect, and the latter screen us from it.  
So that, now, Justice remains only behind to be examined, and then we shall have done with the principal, which our Ethics call the Cardinal Virtues. But the things, that might be said upon this point, are almost the same with the foregoing: And it is no less conjoined with pleasure than Prudence, Temperance and Fortitude, which can no ways be withdrawn nor separated from it. And truly, this pleasure is so far from bringing any damage to our minds, that it doth ever nourish therein by its influence and its nature, such thoughts and sentiments as are sedate, and never leaves us without these hopes, that we shall never want any thing of all that nature desires, when it is uncorrupted. And just as Intemperance and Folly afflict, torment and trouble us incessantly: So Injustice no sooner seizes on a Man's Breast, but it instils disorder and confusion into it, rendering him unhappy, though it should not render him criminal. But if an unjust Man does any sinister action, though he commit it in such sort, that neither Men nor the Sun are privy or can bear witness of it; yet notwithstanding that he is sure of its being concealed, and what obscurity soever the shades might have, which covered it, he is still under apprehensions of its being discussed by truth. Suspicion, commonly, follows the actions of the wicked, and then discourse, and then rumour, and then the accuser, and then the judge: And though all these fail, their own Consciences will not fail to lay themselves open. Now if some Men believe, that their Riches and ●ower fortify 'em sufficiently against humane justice, and set them above Laws and Punishments, yet they cannot secure their dear Persons against Divine Justice: They never lift up their Eyes towards Heaven, but their Consciences fly in their Faces, and give 'em horrible apprehensions; and they are still phancying, that those piercing disquiets, which devour them without abatement, are the secret Executioners of the punishment, which the Divinity inflicts upon them. For, what Power, or what Riches, when they are justly acquired, can so much diminish the irksomnesses of this Life, but that at the same time the remorses of Conscience, the fear of punishment, and the Aversion of Men do the more augment them? Are there not many Persons, who cannot set bounds to the desire of being more Rich, of getting more Honours, of Lording it more absolutely, of showing themselves more voluptuous, of making more stately and delicious Feasts, of still propagating more and more their sinister Sentiments? And do we not see, that how great a prey soever they may have scraped together by their lewd ways, all this instead of pacifying their evil desires, helps only to inflame them still the more, and these people have more need of being chastised by the Laws, than corrupted by reprimands? Thus, reason invites Men of a sound judgement to maintain the justice established by the Laws and Equity, which derives its origine from Nature and Faith, which may be termed the Band of Civil Society. And this very reason shows, that unjust actions ought never to be undertaken; not by the weak, who would undertake to attempt them without success, nor by the Potent, who having compassed them, would not meet with due repose, nor the accomplishment of their desires in them: And, in short, it forces us to own, that justice is not desirable for itself; but because it procures us much contentment, because it makes us to be beloved and cherished, which are two delicious things: And in a word, by these two means, it renders our Life the more secure and our Pleasure the more complete. Now, if the praise of those very Virtues, wherein other Philosophers did principally employ their most magnific Harangues, cannot find any issue but that which leads to Pleasure, and, if that Pleasure, which is the end of all the Virtues, be the only thing, which calls us to it self, and attracts us by its own proper Nature, we may boldly deduce this Corollary, that it is the summum bonum, and the most perfect of all the blessings of humane Life: And we can no longer question, but that that is the truly happy Life, which Epicurus hath taught us. O holy and severe Pleasure! O admirable Philosophy! By what mischance did Men come to decry thee! How hast thou been abhorred by many virtuous Persons, that did not understand thee! What has hindered their Eyes from seeing through the Veil, that their Virtues are under thy Dominion! And how did they happen to treat then with opprobrious terms, when they are obliged to thee for their Felicity! But happy the Men, that have been of the Wise Man's Sect, that hath followed thee! Happy those, who have imitated him! Happy even those, who being born in an Age, wherein several believe, that the Vice and Pleasure of Epicurus are but one and the same thing, have had sufficient light to discover the contrary, or at least sufficient, address to stand up in its defence, though they have not had courage sufficient to put it into Practice.  
FINIS.    

Annotations ON EPICURUS HIS MORALITY.  
PAge 63. some Stoics, who were Epicurus greatest Enemies, have not used him so roughly.] I suppose he means Seneca for One, (though he was no Enemy to Epicurus in his Life, whatever he might be in his Doctrine) who in many places of his Works giveth him high Commendations. More particularly, there is one Sentence, which speaks mighty kindly in his Favour, and which Gassendus has placed in the Title Page of his Life of this Philosopher: But I cannot at present set it down here, the Place not recurring to me in Seneca (only I remember in general, that 'tis in his Epistles) and not having by me the Book written by that immortal Gallican Philosopher, whom this latter Age may boast of no less for his Learning than Experience, and who seems to have made an equal Combination of Speculation and Practice together. But I am heartily of Opinion, that all these good words, which Seneca gave Epicurus, were in compliment to the rest of the Great and Lordly Men of his Age, who through the Extremities of the whole Roman Empire, were generally Epicureans, if they did at all hold any solid and fundamental Opinions.  
Page 67. People would deal, etc.] In this place my Author infers the innocence of the Philosophy from the Life of the Philosopher, which is no conclusive way of arguing. Mr. Hobbs, no doubt, doth hold many Dogmes, which are repugnant if not destructive, to our holy Religion. Now, I cannot conclude, because his Life (I mean as to the greater part of it) for innocency and strictness might be paralleled with that of the Primitive Christians, that, therefore, those Tenants of his were as harmless and meek as any those Catechumen did entertain. But, whatever our Author says upon this Head, is not so true of Athens as Malmsbury: There is a different Fame goes aboat of every Man, and it belongs to our judgement to weigh all sides: Epicurus his Friends aver this and more of him, than is here related; But they are, unquestionably, over- balanced on the other side. However, as to Mr. Hobbs, I do believe him to have been a truly honest and sincere Man, who spoke what he thought, and moreover to be upright in his Life and Conversation, notwithstanding the stories I have heard at Bishop's Tables concerning his dealings with the foremention'd Gassendus.  
Page 68 Some who have taken Information of that Wiseman's Life.] But if they happen to take Information from his Adversaries, that dissented from him, or perhaps those that writ the plain truth of things, they will not present the World with such a fair History of his Life, as they find Epitomised in this and the ensuing Page. They will find, that he stole every Mother's Son of his Opinions from Democritus and the Eleatic School, tho' afterwards he endeavoured to hide and conceal the Theft by changing the Opinions in some little things: That he was so vain and proud, as to exclude from the number of Learned Men all that did not adhere to his Philosophy, and did not declare themselves his Sectators, as Plutarch acquaints us: That he was of a fierce and vexatious Spirit, would let no body alone but railed at every thing, that stood in his way, most contumeliously contending with Aristotle, most shamefully Billings-gating Phaedo the Socratic, and in several Volumes opposing Timocrates, the Brother of Metrodorus, his Companion, because he in some small concerns differed from him in Philosophy. Laertius, indeed, on whose Sleeve Gassendus seems to pin his Faith, hath spoken much in his behalf; & to vindicate his Reputation from this among other Aspersions, that he asserted the lowest sorts of bodily Pleasure to be the supreme Felicity of Mankind, he says, that his Scholars did either ignorantly or wilfully mistake him. Yet, his professed Disciple and great Admirer Lucian, who preferred him before all other Philosophers, and exalted him at such a rate as never Man was exalted, unless Lucretius had the management of him) comparing him with Aristippus and Democritus his Masters, saith, that he exceeded them both in Impiety and Luxury. His impiousness appears, that he had the most monstrous conceptions of God and his Providence, that ever Atheist pretended to own, and that he denied the Immortality of the Soul: All which Metaphysics may be seen in Laertius himself. But as for his voluptuousness, we know that Tully an Author of much greater Authority than Laertius, having objected to one of Epicurus his Friends his unworthy definition of happiness, quoting it in his own words, and reproaching the sense of it, asserts that Epicurus did acknowledge no happiness distinct from corporal and soft and obscene Pleasures, of which he used to discourse by name without blushing. He reports also concerning Metrodorus, who (as we have said) was Epicurus intimado, that he did scornfully disdain his Brother Timocrates, because he hesitated whether all things that belong to an happy Life, are to be measured by the Belly, and offered to show Velleius his Books, if he questioned the Allegation. His Garden was not shut to Whores and Strumpets: It was a perfect moorfield's, only I believe, it might be a cleanlier place, and better situated: Leontium was the Creswel, Famous for her audacious Writing against Theophrastus, and the right knack of a virtuosa●Impudence, which had risen to that height, as to cast very foul blots on the impotent Lust of Epicurus, when the poor Gentleman was now grown deadly old, in a Letter, which she wrote to Lamia, yet extant. It is recorded in the second Book of Alciphron, where the Learned part of the World, if they have any occasion for it, may find it whole and entire: I only think fit, in this place, both for the honest satisfaction of the Reader, and for an Idea of Style to our Modern Jilts, to translate the beginning of it.  
Nothing, in my Conscience, is more hard to please, than that old Fellow, when he grows young again; this Epicurus, (O Laud!) does so mortify me. He must be picking faults with every thing, suspecting the very Leaves of the Trees, that make a noise, writing Eternal Love Letters to me, which keep me from his Garden. By Venus, if Adonis were now Fourscore years Old, Lousy, always Sick, and wrapped his Head in a Fleece of Wool instead of a Cap, I could not endure him.  
These brief Memoirs may satisfy any Man, that has no mind to take up any thing upon trust, before he comes to read this dissertation, wherein the Foundation-Principle of the Epicurean Philosophy, i. e. That our happiness doth consist in voluptuousness, is with great Industry canvased, and to the great honour (greater perhaps than he deserved) of Epicurus.  
Page 87. There is nothing bounded but in Nature.] That is to say, every thing in nature hath its particular Limits and Circumscriptions, according to the threefold dimensions of places: Tho all things taken together, i. e. the Universe or natura rerum, may have a vast and indefinite Extension, and banish the supposition of imaginary spaces. Yet, in things immaterial, and independent of matter and body it is not so: Ex. Gr. The Will enjoys an Attribute, next to infinity: There are no bounds to be set to it, but what reason prescribes; and this prescription is to be guided according to the necessities of Nature. Ambition is the greatest Extravagance and Monstrosity, and gave a Monmothian Birth to the Fable of Typhon, who was a Giant, feigned to be the Son of Erebus and Terra: Ambition ascending as all other vices from Hell, of which he was a Type. He was said to have reached Heaven with his Heads, because of his aspiring Thoughts, and to have forced Old Jove from thence, in regard by Ambitious Spirits Princes are often chased from their Thrones.  
Page 90. Let the Stoiques boast as high as they please, the insensibility of their Sect.] They held 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, that Passions were Irrational; whence they defined 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, an inordinate Impulse, straying beyond Nature. This was a pleasant conceit, but such a one, as, I am glad, they held with all my heart; since, otherwise, we had never met with all that Wit, which Seneca bestows upon the Illustration of this Point, while with a great deal of Passion he labours to prove that the Wise man ought to have none. 'Tis certain, the whole Intrigue of Virtue and Vice consists in the Passions: And by the same Argument a Papist may persuade us Protestant's to throw away our Bibles ●tterly, because we, sometimes, make bad use of them.  
Page 94. And because the memory of Maecenas] These verses of Maecenas, Seneca comments upon excellently well and like himself, in his hundred and first Epistle. He calls it Turpissimum Votum, that ever Man should refuse neither weakness, nor deformity, nor the Cross itself, provided but a little Life would stay in him, during his sufferings. Herein, he prays for the Greatest Curse that could befall him, & he begs for a continuance of his Punishment, as if it were for Life itself. But of all things this was the most contemptible, that he should desire to live, though it were to be Crucifi●d. You may debilitate, cripple me (says he) if you please, so that the Soul does but stay in my broken and useless body: Squash me double in pieces upon the Rack, so that the distorted Monster does get some Time: You may hoist, and nail me to the sharpened Cross, yet it is worth my while, to compress my Wounds, and to hang down straightened from the Tree, so that I but defer what is best in Evils, an end of the Punishment. It is worth my while to have a Ghost, that I may give it up. What can we wish to this man, but that his Prayers may be answered? Was ever heard a Bargain of so much foolish Fear? Did ever man beg his Life with so much Turpitude? Do ye think, Virgil had ever repeated that to him, Vsque adeóne mori miserum est? Or he had ever seen [let me add] those Verses of his beloved Horace, wherein Regulus is described leaving Rome at his return for Carthage, and which in my weak Judgement, I think, to go beyond any thing, that ever Horace writ of Imagery? 
Fertur pudicae Conjugis Osculum,  
Paruósque natos, ut capitis Minor  
A se removisse, & virilem  
Torvus humi posuisse Vultum:  
Donec labantes consilio Patres  
Firmaret Autor nunquàm aliàs dato,  
Intérque maerentes Amicos  
Egregius properaret Exul, etc.   
Page 101. One of 'em hath endeavoured by his Writings to destroy his Opinions.] i. e. Cicero, who in most of his Philosophic or Moral Writings doth oppose the Opinions of Epicurus, especially this of Volupty being the Summum Bonum. And he deals not only with his Ethics, but his Physics and Theology too, by introducing several of the Greatest Wits and Gentlemen of Rome, in company and conversation, some of whom being leven'd with these Principles he makes to dispute with huge vivacity and acumen with him and his Friends.  
Page 107. Petronius did not employ the last hours of his Life in set Speeches concerning the Souls Immortality.] As Seneca did, who made better use of his time, and did not die with the Crowderos about him. This may be easily interpreted in a very bad sense, principally when my Author elsewhere (page 60. of the second Volume of his Works Printed at Paris) speaks so slightingly of the Eternal duration of the Soul: And therefore, I think myself obliged not to pass it over without some Asterisk fixed upon it. For my part, I would go no farther than this place to find an argument for the Soul's Immortality: For, I think it an undeniable proof, that if the Soul be Immaterial, it is certainly Immortal, unless God will withdraw his ordinary Providence and annihilate it. Now, that its essence is immaterial and not corporeal, may be gathered hence, that if it were co-substantial with the body, it could never act as it does in a dying man. When one Vein was Lanced, then would so much Soul fly out with the Animal Spirits, and the mind would contract an equal Imbecility with the Body; Judgement, Invention, Memory, would all fail Gradually: And the very Harmony, which Petronius thought to find in his Music, would prove Discord to him. Not to engage here in any disputes, I will only mention a Story that a Roman Catholic, my Friend and a Person of excellent sense told me t'other Night: When he was last in France, he paid a Visit to an Hermit: And after much discourse, finding him to be of a free temper, and (as we say) a Good-humoured Man, he became so confident, as to ask him, why he being so accomplished a Man, and so fit for the Pleasures as well as Affairs of humane Life, should go and macerate himself at this rate for a thing that is doubtful and Cross and Pile: Why, (says he) If I am in the right at last, I am most happy; if wrong, I am where you are still.  
Ibid. He chose to imitate the sweet Fate of Swans.] Pausanias' notes, that Cygnus King of Liguria, a Prince much addicted to Music, was transformed into a Swan by Apollo, which Bird ever since was Musical, entertaining its own death with Songs and Rejoices. Ovid in his Epistles: 
Sic, ubi Fata vocant, udis abjectus in undis,  
Ad vada Maeandri concinit albus Olor.  
The dying Swan, adorned with Silver Wings,  
So in the Sedges of Maeander sings.   
'Tis true, the Authors of natural History, give little credit to this Relation of their Harmonical Notes before death, as Aristotle, Pliny, Dr. Brown, etc. and Alexander Myndius says, That he has attended the death of several of them, yet could never for his Life hear one Musical Note. However, since it was, the vulgar notion, it served the Poets to beautify their Poesy withal; and when my Author was speaking of a Poetic death, it was pity but the Mantuan Swan should come into his Head. The Roguy Martial himself used it as one of his Flowers in his Epigrams: 
Dulcia defectâ modulatur carmina Linguâ,  
Cantator, Cygnus, Funeris ipse sui.  
The Swan her sweetest Notes sings as she dies,  
Chief Mourner at her own sad Obsequies.   
Page 110. Impertinent Terrors and Scholastic Scare-Crows.] This is such a description of happiness as we meet with in the Poet: 
Felix, qui potuit rerum cognoscere causas,  
Atque metus omnes, & inexorabile Fatum  
Subjecit pedibus, strepitumque Acherontis Avan'!  — Virg. Georg. 2.  
The Lord Verulam somewhere observes very well, that perhaps a little Philosophy may make men Atheists, but a greater search into the Clue of Causes, doth certainly extricate them from that pestilent Principle; it being (as Pindar calls it) 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, a wicked Craft, and seems to entitle Atheists to the Denomination of Wits, when indeed it is 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, the very height of Folly, or rather of Ignorance, as Clemens Alexandrinus says. And we have an Instance of it in Hobbs himself, even where in effect he expresses himself One; who in the very same Book, in which he pretends, that it is highly necessary to the Empire of our High and Mighty Sovereign Lord and Master Leviathan, that the unthinking Mobile be abused with the Belief, and scared with the Terror of Invisible Powers, yet lest the World should be tempted to think him so weak as to be betrayed into the same Opinion, he declares openly totidem verbis, That neither himself, nor any wiseman ought to regard the Tales of Religion, and that they are only designed to chouse poor Ignorant and Foolish Creatures. Just as if this great Politician should go about to fright Birds from his Corn (which is one of his own similitudes and colours of Speech) with an empty Doublet, an Hat and a crooked Stick, but yet lest the Jackdaws should take him, for one of their own silly Flock, he shall take most especial care to inform them, that himself knows it only to be a man of Clouts.  
These are men's manners, admirably well described and expressed.] 'Tis the nature of Flesh and Blood, sometimes, to run counter to that Old Ethical Axiom, Omnia appetunt bonum, but than it appears under the notion and semblance of Good: As you see this antique Saw, a line above translated, 
— Video meliora proboque  
Deteriora sequor.   
Saluft the Historians Excellence lay in characterizing men, and his chief strokes in those Characters lie in the representations of the same Persons frequent Differing: from themselves, in their Passions and Habitudes of Virtue and Vice.  
Page 146. This Sun, which is going to Set for ever.] He alludes to that of Catullus: 
Soles occidere & redire possunt:  
Nobis, cum brevis occidit semel Lux,  
Nox est perpetua una dormienda.   
Page 151. They never lift up their Eyes towards Heaven, but their Consciences fly in their Faces.] Conscience is a Principle inherent in the Soul, and derived from God and Nature, and not to be eradicated by the Art of Man. Great Philosophers have Christened it by the most venerable Names, as 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 and 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, i. e. a Domestic God, a Divine Bishop or Overseer, a Sacred Deity, a Power, that hath framed to himself a natural Temple in the Conscience. Tho Atheists pretend to slight it, yet Cotta who disputed zealously against it, confessed that as to Matters of Virtue and Vice, sine ullâ divinâ ratione grave ipsius Conscientiae pondus est. [Tull. de Nat. Deorum lib. 3.]  
But it begins to grow dark, and I think, here are notes enough o' Conscience already for a Book of this small magnitude. I will, therefore trouble neither my Reader nor myself any further with such stuff, as any Fellow who has but one Eye to look into an Index and another into a Book, can with as great ease as haughtiness present him withal, upon some hours retirement into his Study. This, in plain truth, is my case: For, I am not indebted to my Stars so much, as Seneca (the Declamator) was, who could repeat two Thousand Names in the same Order, that they were rehearsed, and could remember all the lovely things in the Juvenile Harangues of Rome, Forty years before. Beyond all contradiction, this is the best way: I love, when Men do a thing, that they should do it throughly!  
FINIS.