CIRCE'S  
Of john Baptista Gello, Florentine.  
Translated out of Italion into English by Henry Iden.  
ANNO DOMINI. M. D. LVII.  
Cum privilegio ad imprimendum solum.   

¶ To the right honourable the lord Herbert of Cardiff, Master Edward Herbert, and Master Henry Compton, his brethren.  
reading sometimes these dialogues of Gelli (right honourable, and my singular good lord and masters) and finding them not only thought worthy translation into other languages, but also dedication to kings, and Princes, I fell likewise together with the instigation of divers my friends, in such desire to see the same in our tongue, that others have brought to pass in theirs: the which having now finished, as I have best been able, and considering how goodly a glass it may be to them that know none other language than their own, to see herein how like the brute beast, and far from his perfection man is, without the understanding and following of divine things: And what his perfect being is, having that, and may thereby set apart, and leave those base and sensual appetites led with inordinate will, taking a free course guided by reason, by the mean of the understanding: and threewithall remembering aswell my bounden duty, both for benefit received by the goodness of your right honourable father, and the most gentle affection (I persuade myself your selves bear towards me) as also the prose of the undoubted towardness unto all virtues and knowledge, the mighty maker of all hath put into you, in this time of your tender ages, as an assured hopo of your most nigh coming to very true perfection: I have thought it my part, as one desirous rather indedes than words to show mine assured service towards you, even as I have of long time heretofore served in your education, in one equal sort, so likewise to unpart unto you these my small traveles: though not answerable to your honour and merits, yet of the best of my little power, and somewhat apt for your conference in the Italion or other tongues, the which already you well taste and savour of. most humbly, therefore beseeching, it may please you, to accept this my mean traduction, not so much for the quality of the gift, as for the great desire I have to show, not only my labours and pains bound unto you, but my life also as it may stand in stead: The eternal God preserve you, with much increase of honour.  
From London, the xu day of March. Your most humble 
 servant. H. Iden.   

¶ To the most mighty and excellent Prince Cosimo de Medici, Duke of Florence.  
AMong all things that are in the universal world, most virtuous and gentle prince, it seemeth that man only can choose of himself, a state and end after his own mind, and walking in that path, that most pleaseth him, can rather rule his life freely according to th'arbitrement of his own will, then to th'inclination of nature. For if the nature of things be diligently considered, to all the special kinds of them, there have been appointed and with an inviolable law assigned, by him who is cause of all, certain bounds, out of the which they can by no possible means pass, changing into better or worse sort, that being, that at the beginning was granted them. Whereas in the power of man there hath been freely put an ability to choose a way wherein he mought lead his life most at his own pleasure. Ind almost like a new Prometheus, to transform himself into what he most willed, taking like a chameleons the colour of all those things unto the which with thaffect he is most nigh.  
And finally to make himself either earthly or divine and to pass over to that state, that to the election of his free will shallbe most agreeable Whereby it is plainly seen, that whiles men, either by their ill chance, or their noughty choice, live holy bent and occupied in worldly things, fixing their eyes in these sensible objects, without any lifting them up to the heavens at all, their condition is very little better, then that of brute beasts, or rather they become almost like tother beasts, who wholly lack reason. And contrary when they withdraw them the most they may from thence, and return to there own true and proper operation, and lifting themselves from things base and earthly, to things high and divine, are brought to their own true perfection, like unto those happy spirits, who out of this corruptible world, live in contemplation of divine things, their life is most happy and blessed. This is the thing most mighty and excellent prince, to help others the most that in me lieth, as the proper and true duty of man is, following the steps of the most learned Plutarch, that in these my present dialogues, I have sought as I have been best able. And for that like as men are naturally bound to give honour to God, not only with their mind and words, but also with some outward sign, offering him of the most dear and precious things they have, they also ought in that sort they best know and can, to honour always their Princes, because they are (as the same plutarch said) the very and true Images of god, for that they keep the same degree in their states, that the most high and mighty God holdeth in the universal. I both by nature and election servant of your highness, knoinge how much aswell naturally, as by benefits received, I am bound always to honour the same, and not being able to do it in such sort as I gladly would, desiring at the lest to show the readiness of my good will, have taken courage to present the same with these, such as they are, my small travails, humbly praying your highness, that like as god himself, as great as he is, never despiseth any gift, though most small and of little value, offered him of a pure and sincere mind, the same now like wise will not set light this my most little gift, sins although it be of the best and most dear things I have, it may seem in very deed, to small and poor, in respect of your highness and deserts of the same. I beseech then finally your excellency, that recompensing every lack with the goodness of my will, you will gentellye receive the same. Sins I desire nothing more, then as my duty is (being your most faithful and obedient servant) always to serve and honour your highness. From Florence the first of March. 1548.  
Giovanbaptista Gello.   

The Argument  
Ulysses after the wars of Troy, returning into Gretia his country, and being by contrary winds to his navigation, driven to diverse and sundry countries, arrived at the last in the Island of Circe's. Where he was by her most gently received, and there for many courtesies that she showed him, tarried a certain time, and so desirous to so his country again he asketh her licence to depart, and also that she would cause all those Grecians, to become men again, whom she had transformed into divers beasts, and were then there, that he might lead them again into their own countries.  
Circe's granteth him this favour, but yet with these conditions, that only they that would should obtain this thing of him, and thothers should remain, to end their lives there so in bodies of beasts. And because he might know this thing of them, she granteth, to every one of them the power to speak, even as he could when he was man. Ulysses seeketh through all the Island and speaketh with many, who for divers occasions will rather remain in that life, then to become men again. Finally finding one, who considering well the mightiness of man, and how far he is more noble than any other beast, by mean of thunderstanding desireth to become man again as he was. And so being restored by Ulysses, into his former being, first (as it is the duty of man) having acknowledged and given thanks unto the most high and mighty God of all, they returned merely together into their country.   

The first dialogue. Ulysses and Circe's, Oyster and Moule.  
Although the love that thou bearest unto me most famous Circe's, & thinfinite curtesis that at all times I find in thee, are occasions, that I should willingly remain with thee in this thy fair and pleasant Island: Yet the love of my country, and the desire, (after so long wandering) to see my most dear friends, stir me continually to departed from thee, and to return to mine own house. But before my departure, I would gladly know if among those, whom thou hast transformed into Lions, Wolves, Bears, and other beasts, there be any Grecian?  Cir. 
Yea there are many my most dear Ulysses: But why dost thou ask me this?  Vli. 
Let us sit down here on this rock, where both the sight of the divers waves of the sea, and the pleasantness of the sweet winds, that pass through these savoury plants, sweetly blowing, shall make our talk much more delectable, and I will tell it thee.  Cir. 
Let us do what thou wilt Ulysses, for I desire none other thing then to please thee.  Vli. 
The cause why I have asked thee most fair Circe's, if amongst those whom thou haste transformed into beasts, there be any Grecian, is for that I would desire to obtain by my request at thy hand, that they might be restored unto their human being, and I lead them again with me into their own country.  Cir. 
And why desirest thou this?  Vli. 
For the love I bear unto them, and for that we are of one country, hoping thereby to be amongst my Grecians much praised. Whereas by the contrary, being known that I were able to get them out of so miserable an unhappy state, have suffered them so wretchedly to lead their life in bodies of beasts, I think it would be unto me no small blame.  Cir. 
And if others, as thou thinkest Ulysses would praise thee for the same: Yet they therefore would bear the so great hatred for the hurt thou shouldest do them, that thou wouldst repent the thereof a thousand times a day.  Vli. 
Is it harm then to cause one to return from a beast to a man?  Cir. 
Ye most harm. And to try the truth, ask of them, for I will not grant thee this favour, except they also be contented therewith.  Vli. 
How may I know this of them, who being Beasts, understand not? nor yet can speak? I doubt that thou mock me.  Cir. 
Change not thy mind, for I shall grant them speech.  Vli. 
And shall they have the self same discourse that they had when they were men?  Cir. 
Yea for like as I changed them into beasts so shall I cause the knowledge of very men to come into them again. And for to lose no more time: seest thou those two shells fastened to yonder stone, that open & shut again, and that hillock of earth a little without the water, at the foot of that Palm tree?  Vli. 
Yea I see them well.  Cir. 
In th'one is an Oyster, and in tother a Mole, who heretofore were men, and Grecians, thou shalt speak with them. And because thou mayest more freely do it, I will get me hence sporting me on this strand. And when thou hast perceived their minds, come to me and I shall do as thou thyself wilt.  Vli. 
Truly this is a great matter that Circe's hath told me, that these being thus in bodies of beasts, shallbe able, (and by her means) to discourse and reason with me. And it seemeth to me so incredible that I dare not almost prove it, fearing that if it came not to pass, I should (as reason is) be accounted a fool. But here is none besides her that can blame me therefore: And yet can not she reasonably do it, for that she herself hath counseled me thereunto, and therefore I will not fail to prove. But how must I call them? I of myself can not tell how, but by the name that they have being thus beasts? Let me so do then. Oyster, O Oyster.  Oist. 
What wilt thou with me Ulysses.  Vli. 
I also would call thee by thy name if I knew it. But if thou be a Grecian as Circe's hath told me, it may please thee to tell it me.  Oist. 
A Grecian I was, before I was changed into an Oyster, and I was of a place beside Athens, and my name was Itacus: and because I was but poor I became a fisher.  Vli. 
Then rejoice. For the pity that I have of thee, knowing that thou were borne man, and the love that I bear thee, for that thou art of my country, have caused me to pray Circe's to restore the into thy former shape, and that I afterwards may lead thee again with me into Gretia.  Oist. 
Follow that no farther Ulysses, for this thy wisdom and eloquence, for the which thou art so much praised amongst thy Grecians, have no force at all with me: So that go not about to counsel me with th'one, that I leave so many commodities, the which I now in this state so happily enjoy without any thought at all, nor to persuade me with tother that I should return man, since he is the most unhappy creature, that is in all the world.  Vli. 
Oh my Itacus, when thou lost the shape of man, it should seem thou lost reason also to say thus.  Oyst. 
Thou canst not lease it. Ulysses thou, because thou haste it not, if thou believe as thou sayest. But let us set injuries a part, and let us reason friendly a little togethers, and thou shalt see if I that have proved th'one life and tother, can show thee that, that is true that I say.  Vli. 
Truly this would I gladly see.  Oyst. 
Then hearken unto me: But hearest thou? I will that thou promise me that while I open (as thou seest) to speak, thou wilt watch, that some of these traitorous reabbes, come not and cast a little stone between my two shells, whereby I could not afterward shut myself again.  Vli. 
And why so?  Oyst. 
To draw me afterward forth with his claws, and to feed himself of me, for thus they are want to do when they find us open.  Vli. 
Seo a subtle craft. And who hath taught you to beware of them, and so to fly these their deceits?  Oyst. 
Nature, that never faileth to any thing, of that, that is necessary.  Vly. 
Be without fear, and speak safely, for I will watch.  Oyst. 
Go to then, hearken unto me. Tell me a little Ulysses: you men that glory yourselves so much, to be more parfitte, and more wise than we, for that you have the discourse of reason: do not you esteem those things more, the which you judge to be better than tother?  Vli. 
Yea verily, and this rather is one of the chief signs whereby our perfection and wisdom may be known. Forasmuch as the esteeming of every thing alike, cometh of the little knowing of their nature and goodness, and is a manifest token of foolishness.  Oyst. 
And do not you love them better than tother of less estimation?  Vlis. 
Ye, because ever by the knowledge: either love or hatred followeth.  
For all those things that appear good unto us, are beloved and desired, and contrary those that seem nought to us, are hated and eschewed.  Oyst. 
And loving them more than the rest, have you not also greater care of them?  Vli. 
Who doubteth thereof?  Oyst. 
Thinkest not thou that nature also doth the self same, or that intelligence that guideth her? and with much more reason than you, because she can not err, as oftenne times I have hard say of those Philosophers of Athenes, whiles I, to sell the fish that I took, stood by the galleries, where they a great part of the day, disputed and reasoned together.  Vli. 
This think I also.  Oyst. 
If thou grant me this, thou hast granted me also that we are better and more noble than you.  Vli. 
And by what means?  Oyst. 
Because Nature making more account of us, than she hath done of you, it followeth that she loveth us better. And loving us better she doth it for none other cause then for that, that I have told thee  Vli. 
What, me thinketh thou art the best Logician of Athenes.  Oyst. 
I know not what Logic meaneth, consider how I may be a Logician, I speak in such sort as nature hath taught me. And this reason might every one make, that hath the discourse of reason, and it is most true.  Vli. 
Yea if it were true that Nature set more by you, than she doth by us.  Oist. 
This is easy to prove, and if thou wilt that I show it thee, hearken unto me, and because thou shalt perceive the better, I will that we begin from the first day that she bringeth forth both you and us into the world, the which is the day of our birth. Where, tell me I pray thee, what care hath she showed to have of you, sins she causeth you to be borne naked? where contrary she hath showed to esteem us much, causing us to come into the world clothed, some with leather, some with hear, some with scales, some with one thing, and some with an other, the which is a manifest token that she hath greatly in her heart minded our conservation.  Vli. 
This reason maketh not for thee, for though she hath made us naked, and covered us with so thin a skin, that we are hurt by every little thing, she hath done it, for that we having to excludeth fantasy, and other our inner senses, far more diligently than you, to serve afterwards the understanding: it was convenient that our members, and particularly those organs, and those instruments, where those operations are made, should be of a more gentle, and more light matter, and so also more subtle blood, & more hot than yours are, whereby the weakness of our complexion groweth. For if we were made of those evil humours, and those gross bluddes, that ye are (whereby it followeth that you are more strong, and of more lusty complexion than we, but yet not of longer life, for this cometh of the temperature of the complexion in which thing we pass you very much, & therefore we have the perseverance of touching much more perfit than you, for it perceiveth every most little difference) it should follow that we should be of little knowledge, and of little wit as you are. For as these Phisnomiers say, the customs of the mind follow the complexions of the body: whereby it is ever seen, that to the members of a Lion, the conditions of a Lion, and to the members of a Bear the conditions of a Bear follow. And that this is true, mark well among men, and thou shalt see, that they who are made of gross humours, are also gross of wit, and contrary, they that are of thin and quick flesh, are likewise quick of wit, so that nature willing to make us reasonable & of most perfect knowledge, was in manner enforced to make us so.  Oist. 
Enforced, no I will not believe this yet, because she making all things, mought have made them as she had listed, and mought very well have kept an other rule, and an other order in them. And for an example, to make that water of itself, should heat, & fire should refresh.  Vli. 
Ye but this wonderful order the which is among all creatures and from whence each one confesseth his beauty to come, could not by this means have been in the whole world.  Oist. 
No there should have been an other from whence an other manner of beauty should have proceeded, peradventure far fairer than this.  Vli. 
Whiles we are upon peradventure we walk as out of the way. But what matter maketh it though nature hath made us naked, since she hath given us such knowledge and strength, that we can cover us with your clothes?  Oist. 
Ye but with what danger how many of you have come to mischief, by your myndinge to take us to serve yourselves of ours? And besides this with how great labour? For if you will be served with our skins, you must dress them, our hear you must spin them, weave them, and do a thousand other things unto them, before you bring them into such frame, that you may serve yourselves of them.  Vli. 
These labours are sweet and pleasant unto us. Ye they are rather a pastime to us than otherwise.  Oist. 
Ye, to them that do it for pastime, as thou sometimes dost, but ask a little of those, who do it enforced by necessity, and to scratch out by their labours, so much as may serve their very need, and thou shalt see if they will say, that these pains seem pleasant to them or no. I for mine own part know that whiles I was a man, it grieved me so much to labour, that as I have told thee) I made myself a fisher, and I would have willingly put myself to any more heinous occupation, so that I mought not have laboured, esteeming it to be an art of oxen, who always labour, and when they can no more, are then knocked on the head with a beetle.  Vli. 
If thou madest thee a fisher because thou wouldst not labour, it should chance to the as it doth to all those that fly pains. Thou thinkest it should roun after thee, for thou tookest an art in hand, wherein not doing it for pleasure, there is more pains then in any other. And besides this, there is infinite troubles of winds, of cold, of heat of the son abidden, and of many other things.  Oist. 
And thou seest well, that I will no more become man again, and I think I have reason, considering besides this that nature hath set little store by you, for besides the bringing forth of you naked, she also hath not made you any house or habitation, of your own, where you mought defend you from th'injuries of the wether as she hath made to us, that which is a plain token, that you are as rebels and banished of this world, having no place here of your own.  Vli. 
What houses hath she made to you?  Ois. 
What houses: Consider mine a little of these two shells, with what great art and commodity she hath built it for me: see how I open and shit easily as I have need to feed me, or to repose me, and to defend me from such as would hurt me. Consider also what she hath done for the Tortoflees, and for the Snails, and how easily they carry their houses with them.  Vli. 
And what houses hath she made to the other beasts, being the more part, and also to the birds?  Oyst. 
For the winter the holes and the dens of the earth, and for the summer, the trees and hill tops.  Vli. 
Oh, fair houses, I think they be there in deed in very great ease.  Oyst. 
If there be not so many commodities there, as are in yours, neither are there so many displeasures and thoughts.  Vli. 
And what displeasures and thoughts have we of ours that make them after our own minds with our own hands?  Oist. 
What displeasures and thoughts: the maintaining of them, the repairing of them, and the defending them from thincommoditiesincommodities that time bringeth with him? besides this, when resteth any of you one hour in them with a quiet mind, being never assured that they fall not on your back, and more than that, the fear of the earthquakes, the which I remember, coming heretofore in our country, the people feared in such sort, that the nights they tarried in the fields, and the days they went togethers on flocks like crane's, praying and crying to the gods, & bearing about certain their old harness, with firebrands a light in their hands, whereby it was plainly known, that fear can do so much in you, that it causeth you very often times to lose your wits.  Vli. 
These are things that chance so seldom, that there is no heed to be taken thereof.  Oist. 
Besides this you can not build you other houses in every place as nature hath done to us, or in such sort that you may carry them after you, as many of us may.  Vli. 
And what hurt is this, when we have one after our own mind? knowest thou not that he that is well should not change?  Oist. 
What hurt: if evil chance be that you have some neighbour who either by his conditions, or by some science that he hath, is by any means, troublesome unto you, & against your mind what infelicity is the not being able to go any other where as we do? So that returning to our first talk, Nature having us in much more estimation, than you, as I have showed thee, & she not able to fail, it followeth that we are better & far more noble than you.  Vli. 
This thy reason is only a little apparent, for although it seem that nature hath given you many more commodities, than she hath to us, she hath done it, for that she knew you were not able of yourselves, to procure them unto you. But here what I shall say unto thee, and thou shalt see which of us is more noble. Tell me I pray thee: whether is the master or the servant more noble?  Oyst. 
The master I think as master.  Vli. 
Thou thinkest well, and so also among all things, the thing is more noble the which is end of others, than those things which are ordained to maintain or to serve it. Whereof it also followeth, that we being as your ends, must be more noble than you. And that we be your ends, and that all you were created by nature, to serve us, experience showeth it plainly, sins we serve ourselves of you whiles you live, to bear our things from one place to another, to labour the earth, and to a thousand other exercises, and after when you are deed, to cloth us of your skins, and to feed us of your flesh. Now see then whether you were made by nature for us or no.  Oist. 
If these reasons were true you should have been also made by her for the earth, for at the last she eateth you al. And so should you also be less noble than the earth, she being your end.  Vli. 
This consequence is nothing worth, and because thou shalt understand it the better, thou shalt note there are two sorts of ends.  Oist. 
Ulysses, I will not that thou trouble thyself any more, for thou beginnest to enter into those disputations with me, that I heretofore have heard in the galleries of Athens of those philosophers, whiles I, (as I told thee before) went about to sell those few fishes that I had taken, to provide me of such other necessaries as I had need of: the which (I think) neither they nor others knew.  
But I feel that the dew beginneth to fall, whereof I feed, opening me as thou seest, wherein I have so great delight, and without any trouble or thought at all, that whilst I was man, I never proved the like. So that marvel no more that I will remain thus. And if thou understandest it otherwise, then be thou so, and trouble me no more, for after that I have fed, I will shut me again, and take some rest, and without any most little thought at all, the which very seldom chanceth to you. And I esteem more this my contentation then all that ever I mought hope to have at thy hands.  Vli. 
Truly I could scarcely have chanced worse: for it should seem, that this fellow was of very little discourse in the world, and the art that he did, declareth it. For all they that attended to fish or to foul, (I speak of them that do it for need, and not for pleasure) are vile persons, and of little knowledge. And mark also how little knowledge he should have of the pleasures of the world, sins he would barter them for a little dew that he now tasteth being thus an Oyster. Well, let me then thus leave him in this his misery, a most just reward of his folly. And let me prove to reason a little with this Moule, that Circe's told me was in yonder Hillock of earth, for I shall perchance happen on a man of more knowledge, I will get me a little near her, and call her. Moule, O Moule.  Mo. 
What wilt thou with me Ulysses? and what moveth the thus to trouble my quietness?  Vli. 
If thou knewest what I had obtained of Circe's (by my request, for thy profit) thou wouldst not say that I were troublesome to thee, if thou have the use of reason like a man.  Mo. 
As though I hard it not even now of thee, whilst thou spakest with this other Grecian, whom she transformed into an Oyster.  Vli. 
And that I may cause thee to return man, and deliver the from this place and to lead thee again with me, into thy country, so that thou be a Grecian as she told me.  Mo. 
A Grecian I was whiles I was man, and of the fairest part of all Etolia.  Vli. 
And desirest not thou to be restored into thy first shape, I mean when thou were a man, and to return unto thine own house.  Mo. 
This is not my desire, for them were I a fool.  Vli 
Is it foolishness then to desire a better state?  Mo. 
No. But to seek to make it worse, as I should do to be come man again. Because now I live with most great pleasure in this state, & in this kind, where as being man, I should not so do, but I should live in continual troubles, and pains importunate, whereof humane nature is most abundant.  Vli. 
And who hath taught thee this so goodly matter? This ignorant fisher with whom I spoke even now?  Mo. 
Even experience, masters of all things, hath taught it me, by the means of the occupation that I had.  Vli. 
And in what sort hath experience showed thee that we are more unhappy, and more miserable than you?  Mo. 
I will tell thee one only experience, the which (as I have told thee) I knew plainly by the means of mine exercise, of the which, thou afterwards mayst of thyself pick out many others, that shallbe of no less weight than this.  Vli. 
And what was the art that thou didst exercise, that made thee to know so false a thing? Tell on.  Mo. 
To till the ground.  Vli. 
I may well say now I am a foot, to get out of the hands of a fisher, and to come into the hands of a ploughman, who if he serve not from his nature, shallbe much less able to understand reason then the other.  Mo. 
Do me none injury Ulysses with words, for every man is a man, and rather take heed to that that I say, for if thou shalt well consider it, thou wilt perchance repent, that Circe's hath not changed the also into some beast, as she hath done us.  Vli. 
Go to then, say on, for truly I desire nothing more.  Mo. 
What beast findest thou in all the world, either of the water or of the earth, the kinds of whom are almost infinite, to whom the earth of itself bringeth not forth for him, wherewith to feed him, except to man? who, if he will that she bring him forth his food, as to others, must labour it, & with great pains sow it with his hands.  Vli. 
This error cometh of himself, who will be nourished with over delicate meats. But if he would live of the fruit that she of herself bringeth forth, as other beasts do, this should not chance unto him.  Mo. 
And what grass, what seed and what fruits, bringeth she of herself forth, not being helped by art, that are meet nourishment and convenient for the conservation of the life of man, & for the maintenance of the temperature of his complexion.  Vli. 
Is it not said that those first auneyente people, of th'age that was called the golden age, did live so?  Mo. 
O Ulysses, thou makest profession of a wise man, and yet believest thou these tales?  Vli. 
Well, when that also that thou sayest were true, yet this labour that man endureth to labour and till the ground, to water and keep the wines, and to plant fruits, doth it not bring there with so great delight and pleasure, that it may be said, that nature hath given it to man, for his pastime, and for that he should not live in Idleness, and after for his wealth and profit? And that this is true, mark what large reward of fruit she giveth after ward for his pains? Whereby it seemeth that nothing is more sweet than husbandry. And besides this she hath done it, for that man should have wherewith to show his wit, and cunning, and how he is worthier than the other beasts are.  Mo. 
Nay rather because she should never take rest, nor never have one good hour. And besides this to trouble him more, the fear of death is joined to him in such sort that when the earth through contrary wethers, bringeth not forth so largely her fruits, one year as she was wont, he all that time liveth in danger and fear, that he be not enforced to die for hunger, and he never eateth morsel without a thousand griefs, the which thing chanceth not to us. For when there wanteth any thing in the place, where we are, we go most happily into an other.  Vli. 
So that we also can not cause things to come out of those countries, where there is abundance, when there is dearth in our own.  Mo. 
But with what labour and danger both by sea and land? And with what unquietness of mind? the which is a far greater matter. Let this suffice thee that your life is nothing else then a continual strife, now with one thing, and now with an other, so that you have good reason to weep as ye do when you are borne (the which none of us doth) considering the infelicity and misery of the state whereunto you come.  Vli. 
We can not weep therefore, for that we know it not, as thou dost.  Mo. 
Although you know not, yet you begin to feel thincommodities of the place, where you come to inhabit, the which (as I have told thee) as it is to all other beasts accommodate, it is to you only, almost contrary, and therefore weeping is given only to you by nature.  Vli. 
How to us only▪ doth not the horse weep also, as I have heard say.  Mo. 
I believe not but I think, that those tears, the which fall at certain times from their eyes, grow by superfluity that ascendeth to the head: for that the horse is a very delicate beast. And if he weep, he doth it for some mischance that is happened unto him, as it mought be, to change a master or to lose the company of some other hor●● whom he, (being very apt to love by nature) had loved: but he doth it not immediately after his birth, as you do, who in deed have reason thereto (as I told thee even now) considering that you must forthwith be bound and be nourished by the hands of others. Neither can you of yourselves do any thing at all, of those things, that belong unto your own nature. So that Ulysses labour no more, for I for my part, am one of those, that will rather die then become man again.  Vli. 
O my Moule, it seemeth thou shouldest also have done, as I said to yonder Oyster, that at one time thou lost the shape of man and reason also. And if thou wilt see that to be true that I tell thee: consider what beasts you are, for if you were perfect in deed, I would say that you had some reason.  Mo. 
Why, what do we lack?  Vli. 
What do you lack? Thoyster the sense of smelling and hearing, and that that is more, the ability to move from one place to another: And thou the fight, the which thou knowest how worthy it is to be had in price, giving knowledge unto us of more differences of things, than any other sense.  Mo. 
We are not therefore unperfit, but we are so called by you, in respect of those that have them all: but we should be imperfect in deed, if we lacked any of those that belongeth unto our kind.  Vli. 
Should it not then be better to have them?  Mo. 
Not the sight to me, as a Moule: neither to Thoister the smelling, or hearing, or ability to go from place to place, as an Oyster. And if thou wilt know the reason thereof, hearken unto me? Tell me I pray thee, why is the power to move from one place to another given unto you, but to go for those things that ye lack?  Vli. 
Nature truly hath not given it us for any other thing: And therefore it is said that every motion groweth of the need.  Mo. 
If you then had that nigh unto you the which you had need of, you would not move?  Vli. 
No: Why should we?  Mo. 
What need then hath that Oyster of the motion from one place to another, if she have by her all that, that she hath need of? And likewise of smelling, nature giving her wherewith to feed, without any need to seek what is good for her, and what is not. And so I, that must abide under the earth, where I find that that contenteth me, what need have I of sight?  Vli. 
Although it be not necessary unto thee, yet thou shouldest desire to have it.  Mo. 
And why so? sins it is not necessary to my nature, it is sufficient to me, to be perfect in mine own kind. desirest thou to have the brightness that a star hath: or the wings that a bird hath?  Vli. 
These are things that appertain not to men.  Mo. 
If other men had them, wouldst thou then desire them?  Vli. 
Ye I think so.  Mo. 
And the like would I do, if other moles saw: but since other see not, I neither think on it, nor yet desire it. So that labour no farther in persuading me to return man, for that I am perfect in this my kind, and live without any thought in the world, I will so remain, because I find herein far fewer displeasures, than I did in the human life. Go then about thy business, for I will get me a little farther under the earth.  Vli. 
I know not well whether I wake, or dream▪ if I wake truly I am no more the same Ulysses that I was wont to be, sins I have been able to cause neither of these twain to believe the truth. And I hear tofore was wont to persuade to my Grecians, what so ever I myself listed. But I think the default to come of them: for I have chanced on two, who are not able to understand reason. And it is also no great marvel, th'one being a fisher & tother a ploughman. But I think it should not so-happen unto me, with every one of the rest, if perchance they be not of one sort all. I will then return to Circe's and show her how I have sped, and pray her that she fail me not of asmuch as she hath promised me, and that she cause me to speak with some other, for I should think it to much injury, though these never knew, neither will know any good, to fail of this benefit to the rest.   

The second Dialogue. Circe's, Ulysses, the Snake.  
WHat say these thy Grecians my dear Ulysses, is there any of them that will become man again?  Vli. 
Not one. It is true that I have spoken only with those two that thou showedst me, of whom th'one was a fisher, and tother a ploughman, whose lives were so miserable and painful, that I nothing marvel they will not prove the state of man again.  Cir. 
Think thou not Ulysses, that I have done this at adventure, for I was willing thou shouldest begin with those to see, that also in these base states, the which have been heretofore so much praised by many of your writers, there are so many incommodities, that the most vile and imperfect beasts that may be sound, are in better case than they: And they have showed thee, the reason thereof.  Vli. 
Ye but then the matter is, whether this come by the small knowledge of them or not? For surely they should be men of most little wit, sins that state wherein they were, seemed evil unto them, & yet they not able to change it.  Cir. 
The wit and wisdom of men is far better known, in being able to accommodate themselves to live quietly, in that state wherein they are, than it is in changing it, as also in the knowledge of players, in playing those games well, that come to them by chance, although they be evil For in th'one, knowledge and wisdom work only, and in tother fortune: unto whose arbitrement wise men always seek the least they may to put themselves.  Vli. 
Thou knowest Circe's that there is no kind of creatures, amongst whom greater differences are found, then among men, among whom if thou consider well thou shalt find some of such knowledge and wit, that they are almost like unto the gods, and some others of so gross wit, and small knowledge, that they seem almost beasts. So that it is often doubted, whether they have reasonable souls or not, the which chanceth not to anya other beast. For if thou look among Lions, and Bears, & amongst what other kind thou wilt, thou shalt see th'one from tother very little different. And these two to whom thou hast caused me to speak, I think are truly of those, who knew very smally, either the good or ill, that was in their own states, and therefore they have done as all other like, who think always other states far better than their own.  Cir. 
If the good and the evils that chance unto a man in that state wherein he liveth, could only be known by wit, and understanding, I would then think thou saidest truth. But they are known by proof: and experience (as thou knowest) causeth each man to know things as they are. But abide, thou shalt speak a little with that Snake that cometh traversing the way towards us, for as I remember me, he whom I changed into her, was a Grecian, and he perchance shall satisfy the far better, than these other have done. And I for this cause do give her power to answer thee, and to speak unto thee.  Vli. 
It should seem that she understandeth that thou talkest of her, for that she standeth so still, steadfastly beholding us.  Cir. 
It may so be, but speak unto her, and I in the mean season will walk among these my nymphs, to pass the time along this sea bank.  Vli. 
I had so much pleasure to speak with those other two beasts, although I could not persuade them, to that that I would, and that that is true, that I am also determined to talk with this snake. Snake. O Snake.  Sna. 
What wilt thou Ulysses? But alas I understand & I speak, whether I be turned again into man, as I was heretofore: God forbid this.  Vli. 
And what is the cause Snake, that thou wouldst not become man again? is the state wherein thou lyvedst perchance the cause?  Sna. 
Not so, but the nature itself of man, the which in very deed is none other thing than a lodging of miseries.  Vli. 
Let me make reckoning, I have even chanced on an other like unto the first twain. Snake hear me a little. It is in my power to make thee return man, for Circe's whom I have prayed, for the love I bear unto you, because we are of one country, hath granted it me. Now may I use this goodly benefit unto thee.  Sna. 
Then do it to some other, for I pray thee to suffer me to end my life after this sort. For truly I should have to great a loss, to change this state with yours.  Vli. 
Why, what is the cause?  Sna. 
Have not they with whom thou hast spoken, told thee?  Vli. 
They were men of so base condition, and of so small knowledge, that I make little account of their words. Sna. Did they not show thee, the reason why they would not become men again?  Vli, 
Thone of them who was a fisher, told me: because he would not take thought where to dwell, the which care other Beasts have not, who abide, some in the hollowness of the earth, some in the woods some on the trees, some in the water, and some in divers other places: and tother, who was a Ploughman, for that he would not till the earth, the which not being tilled, and sown by man, bringeth not food forth for him of herself, as it doth to other beasts.  Sna. 
And I, who, whiles I lived, was a Physician, will show the another, the which is unto you an occasion of far greater misery, than they were. And yet there, no such defence can be made as may be made in th'art of husbandry, & th'art of building, wherein man is so excellent.  Vli 
And what is that? Tell it me I pray thee.  Sna. 
The weakness of the complexion, that nature hath given to you, by the which you are subject to so many kinds of infirmities, that it can never be said, that you are at any time perfectly in health, as we are. And besides this, you are never so lusty, but for every little misrule you do, you fear to be sick.  Vli. 
This (as I said before to them) nature hath done, because we may better do our operations, the which we should not so easily have done, if she had made us of matters, of humours, and of blood, so gross, and strong, as she hath made you.  Sna. 
Nay, rather she hath done it, to make you the most sick and weak creatures that are in the world.  Vli. 
And when this that thou sayest were true, can not we beware of that that hurteth us, with that wisdom that she hath given us?  Sna. 
Ye in some part, but it is so hard, that thou seest how few do it, But wilt thou see that she hath done it, only for that she is your enemy? Seest thou not that she hath given unto you an appetite of feeding so unsatiate, and a desire so immoderate, that you cease not continually to seek new meats? And when you have found such as pleaseth you, you can not then measure yourselves, or very hardly eat as should suffice you, whereby afterwards so many and so grievous sicknesses grow on you.  Vli. 
What are these meats that we use, that were not made by nature, for our maintenance and conservation?  Sna. 
What are these meats? infinite, and particularly all those that you use to make good the others withal, and that are not good of themselves to eat, as is salt, pepper, and such like.  Vly. 
I for my part have wholly believed the contrary: Yea, rather I have heard sayé, that man could not live without salt.  Sna. 
Because of the superfluities, that is engendered through over much eating, and drinking, the which must afterward be dried. But if he were nourished of simple meats, and so much only as needed, superfluous humours should not be engendered, nor they should not need to be dried. But the matter standeth in this point, that man with these sauces (for so are all those called that are not good of themselves, but make others good) maketh his meats so much better, and of more appetite, that provoked by the delight that is therein, he eateth much more than he hath need of. And besides this, he is pricked and stirred by the variety of tastes, to drink much more, than his nature requireth. Whereby grow after in him so many Catarrhs, rheums, swellings, gouts to the ache, that they must after be plucked out, and a thousand other infinite mischiefs, that follow afterward thereof, the which never chance to any of us.  Vli. 
surely in some part thereof thou sayest true.  Sna. 
Then consider us, that because nature hath loved us better, she hath not given unto us this so unruly an appetite, whereby we have desire only to those things that are good for us, and so much as our nature requireth, and we will not one morsel above this, nor we can not vary, or mingle our meats in such sort, that they may enforce our appetite with the pleasing us. But seest thou not also, that because you should fall into these inconveniences, she hath caused you to mingle, of those things with your meats, that were plainly objects of the smelling, because they should please you the better, and the easilier deceive you● as it were to say the musk, which is a rottenness of an impostemation of one of us the which thou wouldst not take for any precious thing: whereas to us she hath not given any other pleasure in smelling then of these things, that are necessary to nourish us, and so much only also as we have need to eat.  Vli. 
She hath done this for that we had need of greater quantity of brain, to the proportion of other bests that which is naturally cold for that the operations of the inner senses must be exercised in the same, to serve the understanding, we may sometimes heat it, with savours the which are naturally all hute: whereof we are bound unto her, because she hath given us this delight, and pleasure, of smelling of good things, the which she hath not done for you: for you have pleasure of none other thing, then of that that your meats have.  Sna. 
I will tell thee true: I cannot well determine with myself, whether your having of this sense more perfit than we, be either to your loss, or gains, the evil smells are so many more that you smell, than the good. And hath not she caused that you yourselves also in gender in your own bodies, so great a quantity of superfluities, that all they almost engender evil savours, the which is not so with us: the which thing is a most manifest sign, of the weakness, and of the unperfectness of the complextion of your nature, subject, and bond (as I have told thee) unto so many and divers sicknesses, the which are not even known by us. Seest thou not that in the eyes only, there be more than fifty kinds of sicknesses?  Vli. 
And when this were so, we have means to remedy it.  Sna. 
And how?  Vli. 
With Physic, in the which art man is most excellent, and thou shouldest know it, if thou were a physician, as thou sayest.  Sna. 
This is the point that I would take: he at, for in this I think men much more unhappy than we.  Vli. 
And why so? tel me thoccasion a little.  Sna. 
Because I think that medicines doth far more hurt in you, then good: and that you in using them, are not in your wits, and I alone am not in this opinion: For thou knowest well, how many cities have been in your Gretia who have prohibited and driven from them, the Physicians.  Vli. 
And why sayest thou this? Wilt thou deny that Physic is not one of the seven liberal arts, most true, & most profitable to man, take heed that this come not out of thy mouth, that thou show not thyself one of those who had therein no great knowledge, and therefore blamest it, observing the custom of many, who when they know not a thing, say it can not be known, and that others know it not.  Sna. 
I will not deny that the same of itself is not an art most true and profitable, and worthy of many praises, nor I will not also deny that I knew very little thereof. even after that sort as others likewise know little therein, but yet ●● such sort as it may be know, I knew so much thereof that I was reputed among the chief Physicians of Gretia, and thou canst bear good witness thereof. For I know thou hast heard infinite times of Agesimus of Lesbos.  Vli. 
Art thou then Agesimus of Lesbos? thou, or to say better, the spirit of him?  Sna. 
I am he in deed, that going to see the world, arrived here by ship, and was thus together with my companions changed into a beast.  Vli. 
I am very glad to speak with thee, for thy fame is yet so great through all Gretia, that I should think to get no small thing, if I might lead the unto them again a man as thou were before.  Sna. 
Of this I tell the true that thou reason no more, for I will never consent thereunto. And because thou mayest see that I do it not without reason, I say unto thee, returning to our former talk, that physic may be two ways considered. first, it may be considered as a science, and in this manner it is most true, and most sure, because it only considereth the things universal, the which for that they are everlasting, and not variable, engender a surety in us. And in this wise knowing things by their occasions, it is called a science and belongeth to contemplation, th'end whereof is only to know the truth. And many after this sort know it, & I also knew my part thereof. Physic may likewise be considered as an art, and arts (as thou knowest) come by experience, and after this sort it is most deceitful: and that this is true physicians themselves confess it: saying that experiences in this art are very deceitful. And thus it appertaineth unto the active, the end whereof is the working and travailing about the particular things, and in this sort I confess unto the that theridamas is most little known thereof and experience daily showeth it.  Vli. 
From whence gottest thou the reputatio that thou hadst, if thou knewest little how to work?  Sna. 
From the foolishness of many, who giving oftentimes small heed to that that men do, suffer themselves to be deceived by that that they say,  Vli. 
Truly men in their own cases, see light a very little way.  Sna. 
And in this above all others, for the desire they have to live. And if thou wilt see it plainly, mark, that of those faults that they punish others, they pay us by weight of gold, the which faults are so many and so grievous, that it were ill for us if the earth hid them not: as one of our wise men of Gretia said heretofore, who one day being asked, what thoccasion was that he never had sickness, answered: because he never had to do with Physicians.  Vli. 
Then that other our worthy man understood it well, when he said: that good Physician never took medicine.  Sna. 
Then thou shouldest have added that other saying also.  Vli. 
Which?  Sna. 
That one good man of law, never striveth with another. But yet there is a worse thing, that to maintain this their deceit in reputation, they give men to understand that they take medicines, causing the pothecaries to ordain them, and to send them to their houses, and they then cast them away. And I have known of those that do it.  Vli. 
Who knoweth not that this your living is a deceit? And that we do none other thing than one beguile an other.  Sna. 
And the greatest deceptes that they do is, where belief playeth the chief part, for herein they practise more than in any other thing.  Vli. 
Thou seest well it is wont to be said, that the belief that a patient hath in the Physician, helpeth him often times, much more than the medicines, and he that can persuade most falsely, getteth most credytte.  Sna. 
I knew it very well, for, for being able to speak well, and to persuade well, and chiefly unto women (to whose minds physicians are most times taken, and not for being able to work well) I became in great credit. But abide Ulysses, wilt thou see that men know not physic perfectly that give a thousand remedies for one disease?  Vli 
How many remedies the more a physician giveth for one sickness, is it not a sign that he knoweth the more of the art?  Sna. 
Clean contrary, for the giving many remedies to one evil, is a token of not knowing his proper remedy. For even as all effects, have only one proper occasion, that cause them, although they may be afterward brought forth accidentally by many other occasions, so every evil hath his proper remedy, and who that know it should heal the same undoubtedly. So that when thou seest one give thee many remedies to one only evil, say that he knoweth not the very proper remedy, and goeth about to seek it. And then it must be (as they say) that God must help you.  Vli. 
Think then if we be not well to chance into your hands.  Sna. 
Mark it, and therefore there are many that say, that it is better to take a lucky Physician than a learned.  Vli. 
What meanest thou by a lucky physician?  Sna. 
one whose pacientes, for the more part that chance into his hands, may be seen healed by him. For he is well called fortunate, the more part of whose business hath good end, and that in things doubtful he ever chanseth to take the best. For as I have told thee, it is so hard a thing in physic, to apply universals, to particulars, that the patient hath need of good chance, or else he is in great hazard.  Vli. 
We should for this thing complain us of men, and of their covetousness, sins they set us to do that, that they know not, only because they would gain.  Sna. 
Ye but much more of nature, who hath not so provided for your health, as she hath for ours. first for that she hath given you a complexion so week, and an appetite so unordinate, and then for that she hath taught you physic after such sort that it is rather to your hurt then profit.  Vli. 
What hath nature done in this better unto you then to us?  Sna. 
She hath first given unto us a complexion so strong, and a desire so well ruled, that it never provoketh us to do any thing that is against our nature, and besides this, for our diseases, far more perfect physic then to you.  Vli. 
Nay I will that thou prove this otherwise then with words only.  Sna. 
Of the goodness and strength of the complexion, because it is a thing of itself most well known, I will not reason with thee, but of the temperature of the appetite. Consider first the manner how we feed, and thou shalt not see that any of us have desire, but of those meats that are convenient to his nature, and to take also of those only that quantity, that is necessary to his nourishment, where as to you it is all contrary: For you have desire of a. M. things that hurt you, and yet can you not moderate yourselves that you eat no more of those things that please you, than your need requireth?  Vli. 
Truly herein you are more happy than we.  Sna. 
What shall I also say of drinking? For we drink only so much as needeth unto our conservation. You suffer yourselves very often to be drawn so much by the delight that you feel in the wine, that you are not only drunk, but also you get thereby a thousand sicknesses.  Vlis. 
I will not that thou speak of this, for nature hath showed in this, to love us far better than you, having given unto us only, so precious a liquor.  Sna. 
Yea, if she had given you therewith an appetite, ruled in such sort, that you drank not thereof more than you needed: but since she hath not done so, it is even to have given a thing that is of no less hurt than help, into the hand of one that hath no judgement, or else will suffer himself to be led up and down by desire.  Vli. 
Thou mightest speak of this thing of wine a thousand years, and yet would I never yield unto thee.  Sna. 
Then in the lusts of the flesh, do not you suffer yourselves to be carried so far therein through pleasure, that you get thereby most oftentimes your death, the which thing never happeneth to us. Rather nature hath made so much account of us herein, that she suffereth us not to come into such de●●ers, but at certain times, and those only are, when we have need to cast forth those superfluities, or when the time is most apt to generation.  Vli. 
What, is there not then found among you of those who are always disposed to the like pleasures.  Sna. 
And who is this? the mare, and like beasts, that practice among you, to serve you at need, who also perchance shallbe by you provoked unto such acts, for your profit. But pass further unto other things that are sought, for the conservation of health. And consider a little as touching the air, the quality whereof is of most great importance, for that we must continually in fetting our breath, fill therewith our inner parts. Whom findest thou amongst us, that is not in the same place and air, that is to most purpose, and most convenient for him, if they be not driven thence by force, and carried some other where? Whereas you, very often both for desire to gain, and also for a thousand other occasions, go, seeking countries, to abide in place, where the air is so contrary unto you, that you procure your own death before the time.  Vli. 
This can ill be denied.  Sna. 
Of the sleep, and of the diet, and of other necessary things for the conservation of the complexion, and of your health, I will not reason, because you yourselves know, that can not use them in due time. And this cometh because you are brought thereunto, either by art, or else by your own fantasies, where we, who use them only, when nature requireth, never err, by the which occasions, we Ulysses are subject unto many fewer infirmities than you are▪ And unto those few, every one of us guided by nature, can find of himself the remedy.  Vli. 
And is this true?  Sna. 
It is most true. And by this thou mayest plainly know how much nature hath loved us above you, sins she hath taught to every kind of us remedies for those evils, to which the same kind is subject. And not only unto the kind, but also unto each one of them severally divided.  Vli. 
truly hereof thou makest me much marvel.  Sna. 
Sins this seemeth so great a matter unto thee, I will not that thou be satisfied with words. But begin a little to consider us Snakes, of whom every one, when the springe of the year cometh, perceiving our skins rough on our back, for that we lay still in winter, and heaped under the earth, goeth to eat of fennel, the which causeth us to cast that our so old skin, And then afterward seeing our sight diminished, we run again to heal us with the same thing. Have not all the little Lyzardes, one certain herb that helpeth them, when they have been bitten by any of us? Run not the hearts when they are wounded unto Dittaunder? And when they perceive themselves bitten by the Phalange (the which is a kind of a venomous spider) can they not, all heal themselves with eating of crabs or cravishes? The swallows when they see the eyes of their young hurt, can not all they help them with celidonye? The Tortoflees help they not our bitings with hemlock? The weasel when she goeth to fight with the rat, doth she not first make herself strong and lusty with eating of rue? helpeth not the Stork her infirmities with organy? And the wild swine with Juie? Doth not the Elephant defend him from the venun of the Camaleont with olive leaves? And bears from the venom of the Mandrake with pyssemearse? The stock Doves, the Geys, the black birds, and the partridges, do not they purge their superfluities, with the leaves of bay? And the tame pigeons, the Turtle, and the hens, with chickewede. The cats and dogs when they feel their belly overcharged, run they not to purge themselves with eating of grass wet with dew? But what needeth that I tell thee any longer story? take what kind of beast thou wilt, and thou shalt find, that for thin firmity, whereunto the same is subject, nature hath taught him the remedy. And not only to the kind alone (as I have told thee) but to every one of them severally divided, whereby it followeth that we have no need to buy labour one of another, neither have we any need to put ourselves under doubtful things. And that that is worse, to pay one who may often times give us our death, as you poor wretches do. And doth it not seem unto you, that how much the more money you give, to your Physicians, so much the better to do? And go you not choosing out the fairest money that you can find?  Vli. 
Herein we do not all after one fashion. But what wilt thou? are there not fools also found among you?  Sna. 
No Ulysses, and print this well in thy heart▪ that there is no beast at all, that lacketh of the knowledge, apperteining unto his kind. Although sometimes one may be found some what more easy to be taught, or some what more aware than an other. But I pray thee tell me a little, if all the fools amongst you, should were a white cap on their heads, should you not seem a fair flock of gese?  Vli. 
But the matter is, whether they that thou callest fools, be wiser than thothers, or not. For I remember that one, who was heeled of that disease, being asked by a woman, what physic he had used, because she would heal a child of hers, said that he would not teach it her, thinking he should do to great an injury to heal one of such a disease, for he thought that he had never a pleasant time then whiles he was taken for a sole.  Sna. 
And whereof thinkest thou that this came? saving that in that time whiles he was void of those thoughts, the which cause man to be evil contented, he knew not the misery of the nature of man.  Vli. 
I will not dispute with thee hereof now but let us return to our former matter where I telthe, although you have less sickness than we, this is because you are of shorter life than we, the which is no small evil, nor no little infelicity.  Sna. 
Ye peradventure unto us that are provided by nature, of all those things that are necessary for us, and that live always in health, without any sorrow or grief at all. (So that to die also is little grief unto us, for we foresee not our death before hand as you do, and besides that we know not so perfectly this to lose the being, to be so great a matter. But this great felicity of yours to live so long is none other thing unto you, than a painful suffering a longer time, with so many troubles and labours to preserve your life. And when you have but a grief in the head, the fear of death tormenteth you so much, that the grief of the mind is far greater unto you then the pain of the body. So that there have been many, that for this occasion have said that your life can not be called a life, but a continual course and thinking of death.  Vli. 
These are but words.  Sna. 
As though that there hath not been among you also of those, who considering your misery hath said it had been better never to have been borne. And of those that are borne, they may only be called happy, that die in their swaddling bands. And how many have there also been, who considering your state, to make themselves free of so many evils have killed themselves with their own hands? A thing so wicked, that it never cometh only in the thought of any of us.  Vli. 
Ye, some weak hearted person, who being afeard for that he knoweth not how to overcome some contrary fortune, or to bear out some evil that is chanced unto him, but for one of these thou shalt find thousands, that would not die.  Sna. 
Ye, but thou knowest not the cause.  Vli. 
Why what is it? tell it me I pray thee.  Sna. 
The fearing to go into a worse state, for the fear that many have put you in, by writing of the kingdom of Pluto, where so many sharp punishments are prepared for such of you as hath passed the mark of reason, a little to satisfy sometime his desires, on the which thing we never think. But if men thought to end their life, and their troubles at one time, thou shouldest see things that would make thee marvel, there are so many more of those among you that painfully suffer, and are in evil case then those that joy and be in good case.  Vli. 
Agesimus, I see thou art so obstinate, that thou wilt never be ●able to perceive reason: wherefore I will dispute no more with thee, and chiefly because I have seen in this last, that thou haste altogether lost thy knowledge, beginning to doubt of religion, things even convenient to a beast as thou art. And truly I am not a little sorry for thee, yet for the love I bear unto thee, for that thou art a Grecian, if thou wilt become man again, I will cause the so to do, for Circe's hath granted me so, and then mayest thou afterwards return with me into thy country.  Sna. 
No not I, for I pray him to keep me from that, that may for ever.  Vli. 
Seest thou not what an unhappy state thine is: and a beast of whom men make little of?  Sna. 
And this is the thing that I dearly love: for the much making of, that men make unto beasts, is all for their own profits, and to be served in their needs by them.  Vli. 
Besides this thou consumest the greater part of thy life unhappily and under the earth without any pleasure.  Sna. 
And you sleep the half of yours, and far more unquietlye than we.  Vli. 
Then what pleasures hast thou? thou eatest nothing but earth, or some foul beast, and thou drinkest nothing but water.  Sna. 
What matter is this if I have no desire of any other thing?  Vli. 
Thou hast thy knowledge also imperfect, and this cometh because thy part imaginative, and fantasy, are confused.  Sna. 
And what knowest thou hereof?  Vli. 
I see it by experience, for all you beasts that slide with the body on the ground, staying the former part of you with your scales, and afterward plucking and drawing after the hinder part, when the way croketh unto you, you go unto an other place. And you return not by the way that you first went. And of whence cometh this, but that you have a confused fantasy, and such a remembrance as the fly also hath, whereby you determine no more unto one place, than unto an other but are guided by chance?  Sna. 
In deed I should have a confused fantasy to become man again: for I should continually be full of humours and of vain thoughts, where as after this sort I live contented, and without any thought at al. And I should also have less remembrance, to be willing to return into a state, full of so many troubles and miseries. So that labour no more Ulysses, for I will none of this thy favour, for it will put me under a thousand infirmities, and I should never be able to enjoy one desire assuredly, but rather for every little surfeit, I should feel a thousand sorrows: And that that is worse, I should have need to keep myself from death, being subject to meyminge me, and to live ever after myshapen and sick. So that go on thy way, for I will go to rub my scales a little on yonder gineper, because I may move it the easilier, where I shall feel so much pleasure, and delight, that perchance I never proved the like being man, for that it shallbe without respect or any displeasure at all, whereas yours are ever mingled with such bitterness, that many of you, speaking thereof have said, a thousand pleasures were not worth one trouble or torment.  Vli. 
In th'end I have to do with beasts. And although Circe's give them power to speak and answer me, yet (as me thinketh) she hath not given them their wits, for they consider only certain of the least things, and not that that importeth. But yet I will not leave so fair an enterprise, for I will return unto Circe's, that she may cause me to speak to the rest that are here, to do good unto those that are better able to perceive. For as the proverb sayeth: evil may be done to one by force, but good never.   

The third Dialogue. Ulysses, Circe's, the Hare.  
IF I knew not how great the love were that thou bearest me most noble Circe's, I should doubt in deed that thou wouldst not grant me the favour that I have asked of thee. And thou not willing to deny it me, hast only caused me to speak with such as thou knowest had there mind so determined, not to become men again, that any man could never persuade them, and so I might leave th'enterprise.  Cir. 
Let never any such thought enter into thy mind of me Ulysses. For this appertaineth neither to the love that I bear thee, nor yet to the mightiness and nobleness of my mind, ever given to most glorious enterprises: for thou know'st well, that he, who can not forbear pleasures, can not also do them.  Vli. 
Thou hast caused me to speak with one, who is more obstinate than those others. And whereas I thought to do him a good torn, in making him return man, & leading him again into his country, his obstinacy blindeth him so much, that he saith he should do far worse to change that state with this.  Cir. 
If thou Ulysses hadst also proved their state, thou wouldst peradventure do the like.  Vli. 
This fellow whiles he was man saith he was a physician who as thou knowest, never see any other thing than hurts, griefs, filthiness, & sicknesses of men, they never here any other thing than lamentations, and weepings, whereof he now remembering himself, (because the evil is ever better kept in mind, than the good) he will not I think become man again.  Cir. 
In all states of men the troubles & miseries are many more, than the contentations, and felicities.  Vli. 
Then had that our wise man done il, if it were so, who among other things, for the which he gave daily thanks unto the gods, thanked them, for that they had made him man, & not a beast.  Cir. 
He did so, because such is th'opinion of the greater part of men, led by those reasonnes, that may be gathered by reasonable discourse. But more credit should be given unto those who having proved the one life and the other, know it by experience, and by the sensitive knowledge, the which passeth not only and exceedeth all others in assuredness, but is also the beginning and foundation of all.  Vli. 
Yea, but the life of beasts should not be compared to ours, for that it is much more imperfect.  Cir. 
I believe not this: for I see many beasts, that have their senses far more perfect than you, and that in operation of them, pass you very far.  Vli. 
Ye truly they pass us in some particular sense, as for example, the Eagle in seeing, the Dog in smelling, and the Goose in hearing: but they are then so far inferior unto us in judgement of sensible things, because they have not the common sense so perfect as we, and that they lack altogether the reasonable discourse, and ableness in comparing one sense with an other, for our sensitive knowledges are far perfecter than theirs. But cause me to speak with some other, for I think not that all have so lost the true knowledge of resonne, as these three have, to whom I have spoken, whom truly thou hast not changed into such an unperfect kind of beasts, without a cause, sins they like men have so imperfect a discourse.  Cir. 
I am contented thou shalt speak with yonder Hare, that thou seest feeding at the shadow of yonder Oak: Go thither and call him, for I have granted him to speak.  Vli. 
Hare (as God give thee that that thou desired) run not away, but tarry me, and withsafe to answer me, for Circe's hath told me, that thou canst so do.  Ha. 
Alas, what meaneth this? I have again the understanding of the signification of the speech of man: Oh my unhappy chance, why hast thou brought me again into such misery?  Vli. 
Callest thou it then misery to understand the speech of man?  Ha. 
Misery, and most great infelicity, if they have not changed their nature, since the time that I was a man.  Vli. 
And what is the occasion Hare?  Ha. 
Alas, whiles I was man, I never heard other then lamenting and sorrowing most bitterly one with another.  Vli. 
Surely, I have avoided one mischief, and am run into another. Tother was a physician, whereby he never practised but the sick, and evil contented persons: and this by as much as I can perceive, should never have practised but with desperates.  Ha. 
These things were often unto me occasion of such sorrow, that I would far rather have abiden in a wood, where I should never have seen the steps of men, and truly I would have done it, if the nature of man could have borne it. But thou knowest that man hath need of so many things, that he can not live alone, but with a thousand incommodities.  Vli. 
And dost thou hear no beast also lament?  Ha. 
It is true: For when those of mine own kind have any grief, I know it straight by the voice: for it is natural to every beast, to show with the variety of the sound of his voice, whether he be merry or sorry. But these such natural voices show me only their grief in general: the which kind of sorrowing, is far easier to be borne, than the sorrowing of man, who, besides the lamenting with sights and melancholy, and sorrowful accents, increaseth with shewing his miseries, and the occasion of his grief, much more the compassion, very oft to them that hear it. Alas, I never heard besides the sights that he naturally casteth, that is melancholy) other thing spoken of, than manslaughters, treason, thefts, robberies, and so cruel wickedness, that one man did to another, that most often times the compassion of others troubled me more, than the pity of myself.  Vli. 
Tell me (if it please thee) what state was thine, whiles thou lyvedest man?  Ha. 
I changed so many, that I can not tell which to tell the. But what moveth thee, so to desire, to know what my state was?  Vli. 
The love that one naturally beareth unto those that are of his Country, and this hath caused me to desire of Circe's, to restore unto all my Grotians, the shape shape of man. And for that I understood by her, that thou were one of them, I would do the this pleasure: because I also am a Grecian, and am called Ulysses.  Ha. 
To me thou shalt not restore it, if I be not enforced thereunto.  Vli. 
Why so? Is it not better to be a man, than a brute beast?  Ha. 
No, for any thing that I know.  Vli. 
And art thou then utterly determined, that thou wilt consume thy life in this body of a beast?  Ha. 
That I am: For living thus a beast, I live contented and quiet in my kind: where as being man, I was never contented in any state.  Vli. 
But the matter is, whether this were through thine own fault, or not, and for that thou were so unsatiable, that thou couldst not content thyself with that that was reasonable?  Ha. 
I should be in doubt hereof, saving for that I never found any man, in what estate so ever it were (and yet I practised enough) that was perfectly contented. But tell me I pray thee: what thing hath man, that should cause him to live contented? For either he is put by fortune in state where he hath to command and to provide for others: or else he is commanded, and ruled by others.  Vli 
In both these states (if he be wise) he may be contented.  Ha. 
Nay rather in none. For if he be a prince, and Lord, and have to govern others, if he do as he ought to do, he never hath one hour of rest, besides the crafts, and deceipts, that he should always fear, because they daily grow, by the envy that is borne him. Knowest thou not that a prince holdeth in his principality, the place that the most high and mighty GOD holdeth in the whole world? Who hath with his wisdom to care for all things: whereby it is commonly said, that all his subjects sleep with the eyes of him. What pleasure wilt thou then that he have?  Vli. 
most great pleasure, seeing them to live civilly, and to love well one another: because hereof he seeth a glory, and honour spring, that maketh him immortal.  Ha. 
Ye, but where are these Subjects. Are they perchance like us beasts, who follow that thing only, whereunto nature inclineth us. Seest thou not, that by this never being contented, that man hath by nature (as I think) so many tumults, so many crafts, and so many ill works springe, that thou canst find no realm at all, where there are not so great hatreds that it should be better to live in a most sharp and abandaned desert, and amongst the most cruel beasts that may be found, them what well governed realm soever it be amongst men.  Vli. 
Say not so, for a good Prince can keep his people under the laws, in such sort, that these troubles that thou speakest of, take little place there.  Ha. 
And how may this be done unto so perverse a nature as man's is, but with most grievous pains, and with so cruel punishments, for the fearing of ill doers, that they give perchance no less grief to the giver of them, then to them that suffer thee? if you be not crueler than we be, who dare not offend one an other of us, being of one kind, nor yet to hurt those of another kind, if we be not constrained thereunto by hunger, or that we do it, for some jealousy, or some fear, or for our own safeguard.  Vli. 
truly it can not be denied, that in the places of highest authority, there are not many more thoughts, and troubles, than pleasures. And chiefly in those who love the safeguard of their subjects in such sort as appertaineth. But let us let this pass, for it chanceth to few to be a Prince, let us speak of a private person, who hath none other to think on, than himself and his household.  Ha. 
Of a private person chanceth the like: for either he is rich, or he is poor: amongst the rich think not to find any contented, for the nature of riches is, to bring so great fear for the keeping them, that the possessors of them, have never one only hour, a quiet mind. And one while they are in fear of wars, or of other misfortunes that time & the world bringeth, now they doubt of their wives, and now of their children, now they fear their servants.  
And finally gold hath so many enemies, that who that hath thereof, standeth ever in doubt. If he be poor I will say nothing to the thereof, sins there is nothing on earth more hard to suffer then poverty,  Vli. 
I will not yet herein believe thee altogether, because I have heard say, that many of our wise men, have praised it and loved it much. And there have been of those who to be the more freely able to plai the philosophers, have despised and cast riches away.  Ha. 
The greater part of them, and perchance all, have done it for ambition, and to th'intent they would be accounted great and rare, among men. And there are also of those, that have cast away an ounce of gold, to get a pound thereof again. For the common people have ever this custom, that when they see one despise a thing, than they give it him willingly.  Vli. 
Then I see thou wilt have thine own words, I tell thee, that I have seen many, that have lived in poverty most contented, and with most great quietness of mind, and chiefly such as were wise.  Ha. 
And I tell thee, that they have feigned it, doing like wise men, because they would not have both fortune and the world, laugh at them at once. ● But rather I will say more unto the hereof, that by how much the more one is of knowledge by so much the more his grief is, to be poor.  Vli. 
And what is the reason hereof?  Ha. 
The considering the wrong that fortune hath done him, in making him poor, and an infinite numbered of fools rich.  Vli. 
Thou causest me now to remember a saying of a friend of mine that said, that goods did most commonly like the rheum, who falleth ever in the wekest place.  Ha. 
The disdain also that they have, tormenteth them continually, seeing, that of that that nature hath made for all men (for she should do against her order, if she brought not sufficiently forth for all men of that, that they needed) there advanceth so much unto one that he maketh havoc thereof, and unto an other there lacketh. And this cometh only, because he who can do most, will take most. Where as amongst us it is not so: because none desireth, or can possess any thing that nature hath made for us, more than an other.  Vli. 
Thou wouldst then make good the opinion of those that say, that it is not ill done to rob, because the goods of this world, hath been so many times stolen, that the true masters thereof, have them no more, but let him that can get them take them.  Ha. 
This only is sufficient for thee Ulysses, that poverty is a thing so sharp and heavy, that men to fly it, abase themselves even to become servants one with an other, the which is a thing so foul, that among us beasts there is none so vile, that would not rather suffer death then to put himself willingly to serve an other of his own kind, to amend his necessaries. But nature hath loved us so much better than she hath done you. For amongst us this infelicity is not known but rather every one of us, hath been made by her of such valour, that he can rule himself.  Vli. 
Yet there must be some other thing than poverty, that causeth men to become servants one with an other, for many that are rich are seen to do that.  Ha. 
Rather they are more poor than thothers, if you well consider it, because they are poor of nobleness of heart, or else of counsel: by the which they can not refrain their unjust desire, whereby they seek to get a name, or authority, or immoderately to satisfy their covetous desires, by making themselves servants to others.  Vli. 
And he that were in a mean state, in the which he mought reasonably content himself.  Ha. 
And where is this state? I for my part never found any man, who said not, that either he lacked something, or that he had to much, Although these were most few, who remembered it, when they saw themselves nigh th'end of their life, lamenting them of the pains that they had suffered in their youth, to get goods, to have afterward moughe at their death.  Vli. 
These are faults that grow, for the man can not refrain, and measure his desires, and not of his own proper nature.  Ha. 
It seemeth to me all one, sins nature hath ordained, that he may desire those things that are after hurtful and troublesome unto him. The which thing for that she loved us better, she hath not done to us. And I remember that in that age, in the which I began to have some knowledge, my father who was a great gentle man of Ethalia, and endued with great riches, putting me under the keeping of a master, who taught me certain things of the mathematicals (after the custom of the Grecians) I began to consider, that man knew nothing, except he were taught it. The which thing in that age seemeth very hard, not so much for the difficulty of things, and for the keeping under of the master, as for the childish desires, that the same time bringeth with it: for I lived very evil contented, and yet I lacked nothing  Vli. 
Of this age there should be little heed taken, because it is most unperfect.  Ha. 
Then following farther, the death of my father chanced, whereby I began to strive with my brethren for the inheritance, always trusting whiles I was in these travails, that when they were ended, I should live contented, & in most quiet rest: but it came all contrary unto me. For as I had my part, whereof part was possessions, and part money, thoughts increased. And being used to be governed, me thought it then most great pains to do the same myself, and others I trusted not. For being enforced for the maintening of my substance, to practise both with husbandmen, and with merchants, I perceived that each of them, stood continually watching, to make that that was mine, his: for to let a farm unto a husbandman, is nothing else then to be partner with a thief. And to put thy goods unto a merchant, to trade with one that thinketh to deceive thee of them. And notwithstanding, I marked that neither of them was contented with his state, and they did never other then lament continually, the one of the earth that yielded not, for the evil disposition of the wether, and of the little estimation they were had in. And the other of evil winds, of ill fortune, of the small safety of the sea, and of the discord of Princes, that letteth the exercise of merchandise.  Vli. 
Every body must have something to trouble him, even you also have some things that trouble you.  Ha. 
Ye but for every one that we have, you have a thousand. But hear the rest a little, in this mean seasonne, both for the necessities that chance to the life of man, and for to defend me that mine own were not taken from me (for all men are thieves, but their means of robbing are diverse) I had to practise with an infinite number of crafts men, of men of law, and proctors, and be thou assured that I never found any one of those craftsmen that lived contented: for all they holding their eyes on the rich, lament that they must get their bread. And among those other advocates, and men of law they complained of the like, for all they lamented daily, that had to strive and contend, to procure them the things that were necessary to the life of man.  Vli. 
Whosoever hath to do with thee, shall soon repent it: but it is little trouble to them, always to strive for other men's goods.  Ha. 
He that troubleth others resteth not in quiet himself.  
Thou considerest not also the hatred they get thereby, and how much they are abhorred, when they are not needed, and in what sort they are taken.  Vli. 
This is very true, that I remember, disputing once in one of our universities of Grecia, it was in question who should go before in the first place, either men of law, or physicians, and it was concluded that the man of law should go before, only by this example, that when execution is commanded to be done, the thief goeth before, and the hangman cometh after.  Ha. 
And when I saw the evil contentation of all these states, and desiring to avoid the same, I thought that if I should find quietness in any state, it should be in the state of our priests, who taking themselves from the world, abide in those their congregations to serve the gods, holding all in common, and suffering themselves to be ruled by one of their own sort. And so sastening myself to this, I determined to leave the world, and to go live in one of those congregations. The which purpose I could not long observe, for even as I began to lean a little unto them, I smelled the savours of their discords, and infelicities, and how every one of them, seeking by all means (although unjust) to be chief, betrayed & hurted thothers. I perceived also the displeasures that they took, for that they had to keep those obediences, to maintain them universally in the estimation of goodness, the which bringeth them wherewith to live: the trouble also and weariness that the shetting in is unto them, the pains they take to persuade men that they are more friends of the gods, than they who served the world, with those laws only that God and nature, have given us. So that I fled so far with my mind from them, that I never remembered them more. Then I thought to live like a gentleman, attending to braveries, and passing the time in hawking and hunting, and in such like pleasures.  Vli. 
If thou sought this state to have found quietness there, I can tell thee, that thou goest far out of the way, and much more also in feats of arms. For in these two lives, the which I myself have proved, I know very well, there is none that liveth contented.  Ha. 
For that I thought I should find no quietness in war, I would not prove it. And besides this, I thought it a foolishness, not fighting for one's country, or for his honesty, or for some other lawful cause to fell his own life for any kind of higher. For sins we have but once to come into this world, me thinketh that asmuch gold as ever nature made, or shall make, could not pay for the life of one man. Then also perseyving that to live like a gentleman, there needed a multitude of servants, who are all our enemies, and daily do things whereby a thousand● displeasures grow unto us, thinking it a most hard thing to find contentation there, I changed my mind from that holy. And finally thinking in serving a Prince, not in handy crafts, but in honourable affairs, to find some contentation of mind, I determined with the little learning I had, to settle me to that practice, where, by and by I found the contrary of that that I thought. For besides the pains that it is to serve a Prince, and the troubles that in such service are suffered, not being able either to sleep or eat in due season, the which are even things that preserve our life, the envy that reigneth in courts, and thunkindness that seemeth to be in princes towards those that serve them, (who think themselves never justly rewarded) without they would give them their hole kingdom, suffered me never to rest my mind, to live one only hour contented. Whereby I was desperate and gave myself to sailing, and so there where I thought not, I found my quietness. For being carried by fortune into this Island, I was changed by Circe's as thou seest, into an hare, the which was as it mought be to you, to be fallen into a most pleasant sleep. For although I know not so much as I know when I was a man, so am I not also in so much fear.  Vli. 
Yea, because thou art a beast that feareth not?  Ha. 
I fear not those of mine own kind, as you do, the which is sufficient for me. Of other things I have no care, thinking that thereunto is no defence, as you also do, of the anger of the gods.  Vli. 
It is very true, that in all these states, these troubles are as thou sayest, and peradventure many more. But then of the pleasures that be there, thou talkest nothing at all.  Ha. 
And what pleasures have men, in what state soever it be, that the grief that they bring at th'end, is not greater than the pleasure? Knowest thou not that our most ancient Greek Poet said: that the pleasure of this world was not the true pleasure, but was sorrow, clothed in pleasures garments?  Vli. 
How showed he this?  Ha. 
He said, that when the vessel that Pandora brought on earth, was opened, whereby all the mischiefs and humane miseries went forth, that then pleasure went forth also. And going abroad in the world, he began by means to draw men unto him, who began to follow him in such sort, that none went any more to heaven. Where▪ self at th'end: For though one win as much money, as he lad lost at another time, yet maketh he not at all times, the like full sum. And thus all they that use it, do ill.  Vli. 
I allow not this opinion: for I have seen many that have nothing, live thereby.  Ha. 
Yea, when they have bestowed thereat, all that they had: For play properly doth as the wie doth, who cleaving fast to a good wall, never resteth until he have brought it to ruin, and then when it is even falling, he holdeth it up. So likewise play, when it fasteneth on one that hath aught, it doth so that it undoth him, and after when he hath no more, it sustaineth him. For practising where there is play, fawning and flattering him that winneth, he picketh out a living most vilely there, the best way he may. But believe me Ulysses: play is one of the greatest infelicities, that is given unto the misfortune of man. And perchance this wicked cursed plague, hath not takenne all the world in such sort, that the greater part of men, setting apart all laudable and honest enterprises, do nothing else but play. And there are some who drown themselves therein, & there lose the light of reason in such wise, that they forget their honesty, their own health, their goods, their wife, their children, their friends, and finally their own selves, and consuming therein the things necessary for their living, bring themselves into so shameful a poverty, that they fly the sight of men, more than we the sight of dogs, and chiefly the sight of those that knew them, when they were in better state: and yet they never cease to imagine, how they may get any little money, to go play it, and rather suffer the want of things that they have need of. Therefore mark Ulysses the pleasures that men have. Seem they not unto the rather to be sorrows?  Vli. 
Hare, all are not of this sort, and man is no more enforced to this thing then to another. And besides this, he may by his wisdom remedy all that, that causeth his displeasure.  Ha. 
Ye but how hardly, since all the world is so corrupt and nought? So that persuade me no more to change this being with yours: for I will not return out of a state wherein I never found any thought at all, to go into an other where I never was contented, and where I shall see that thing that nature hath made common for every body, to be taken from me, by him that may do more than I, whereby I must by force become his servant, and must receive for higher of my service, that thing niggardly, that nature hath freely given me: and where all those delights that I take, must at the end bring me sorrow.  Vli. 
I will not that thou speak so obstinately. Seest thou not how vile a beast thou art? and of so little knowledge, that thou knowest not whether thou be male or female.  Ha. 
Nay you know it not, that think to know all things so well, but we know it well enough.  Vli. 
Thou hast fear of every thing, and hast trust only in running away, and yet art thou afterwards taken by many kinds of beasts.  Ha. 
And what is that to me, if my kind be of that nature?  Vli. 
Thou art of so little life, that every most small hurt, killeth thee.  Ha. 
Alas no more I pray thee, for thou wouldst so do, that A should think it most miserable. Whereas for not knowing so many things as you do, I think it most happy. But go seek to do this benefit to some others, for I for my part will none of it, and following mine own nature without any thought, I will go feed me on yonder fair green grass that thou seest on yonder hill.  Vli. 
My Hare, me thinketh thou dost like him, who being put into prison by certain his creditors, prayed them they would not take him out from thence, saying: that out of prison he had a thousand thoughts, both for himself, and for others, and there being provided for, by such as were wont to provide, he had not one thought in the world: so that he thought it a goodly habitation for him, and this came all of the weakness of his mind. For if he had been a man in deed, he would rather have been a poor man abroad, than a rich man in prison, helping manfully with his wisdom all that he said. So also thou by asmuch as I can perceive by thy words, shouldest be so insatiable a man, and shouldest so much esteem every little trouble, because thou couldst not boldly show thy face against those displeasures that the world and fortune bring, that thou wilt rather remain in that vile state of a beast, then to return man. And knowing thee so, I will even suffer thee so to remain: for in doing otherwise, I should do that that should displease thee, although it were for thy profit, and that should rather bring shame to our kind then honour, as all those other men do that are like to thee.  Ha. 
I would aunsuere this thy dyscoure Ulysses, but like as we can not eat more than our need requireth, being detained from it by our own nature: so are we also enforced when we have need thereof, and have convenient feeding nigh us.  
And therefore sins I have seen the grass yonder on the fair hill against us, and am hungry, I am enforced to leave thee.   

The fourth Dialogue. Ulysses, Circe's, the Goat.  
I Have always thought most noble Circe's, that there was a difference between one man, and an other: as it is daily said by proverb, by the mouths of our Gretyans: but yet not so great difference as I have known sins I spoke with yonder Hare that thou sawest, or to say better with him whom thou haste transformed into a Hare.  Cir. 
And why so? will he peradventure become man again?  Vli. 
Nay rather, much less than thothers, and he hath it in more hatred.  Cir. 
Seest thou then how far thou art deceived to lament thee unto me, that I changed them so into beasts?  Vli. 
And I do yet lament, because I am still of the selfsame opinion, and this is, for that I know plainly, that his ferefulnes and little courage, will not suffer him to know the truth. Seest thou not that he is so week hearted by nature, that he hath so much fere of every little adversity, that he would rather choose to live in every most vile bondage without thoughts, them in any honest degree, with those difficulties that the same bringeth with it.  Cir. 
Who assureth thee hereof?  Vli. 
He himself, who will rather remain so a beast, then return man, for the many troubles, that he thinketh men have. And yet the confesseth, remaining so, to be in such bondage to nature, and led by her by force that he is not master of his own operations. Whereby the desire to eat, coming on him whiles we were reasoning together, and seeing certain grass, that was convenient meat for him, he departed from me with a very ill will, for that he had not yet answered me after his own mind, saying that he could not choose but go feed, for so his nature enforced him to do. So that see what a week hearted man he was, that would rather live in a servitude, and in a like state, because he thought there were somewhat fewer displeasures: then to return man, and to be master of his own passions, though he must somewhat strive with them: as perchance thou hast heard say, how many there have been of our Grecians, who to avoid some bondage, or enforcement, have not only not cared to strive with the world, and with fortune, but also not to pardon even their own lives.  Cir. 
This that thou callest bondage in him, or enforcement, is unto him neither th'one nor tother.  Vli. 
And why so?  Cir. 
Because his nature requireth so. Tell me I pray thee, when a stone falleth down, doth he it by force?  Vli. 
I think not.  Cir. 
Therefore he can do none otherwise.  Vli. 
It is true: but his nature requireth so, and that motion that causeth him to good towards the centre, coming of an inner power, the which is within the same, called nature, must be natural to him, and not violente: because the violente motions are those that come be an outward power. And therefore, although he can do none otherwise: yet it can not be said that he is enforced.  Cir. 
He is yet drawn down by force of his heaviness.  Vli. 
No, not by force, but by nature, being natural unto him to be weighty: for if he were not so weighty, he should not be a stone.  Cir. 
And so it is also with the affection of beasts, when it is led by nature: and therefore it can not be called enforcement, since she doth always the best for them, as she doth in all other things: and that that is need to their conservation and perfection.  Vli. 
And were it not better for them not to be so guided by her, and ●…ble to do there operations more freely?  Cir. 
No, for that they have not the knowledge and the discourse of reason. For they should often err, whereas being guided by her that can not err, they never or very seldom fail.  Vli. 
And what certeyntye haste thou thereof?  Cir. 
Experience that I see daily, being conversant after a certain sort, with all the kinds of them (for of them all, there is some one in this mine Iselande (where I see that none eateth more, than he needeth of, nor of any thing that is not fit for him, neither doth he any other disorder at all: whereby all they, that time that nature hath appointed them to live, although it be less than that that she hath given to man, live in health and lusty, the which is not so with you.  Vli. 
If they do no disorder at all, whereof then cometh it, that they have shorter life than we?  Cir. 
Of the complexion, the which was not given by nature to them, so temperate as to us: and by the moisture, whereof the natural heat is fed, whereby life is maintained: the which moisture was given to them by nature, more waterish, and less ayryshe, than ours, whereby it is more easily corrupt. I speak of the greater part, for there are some that live far longer than man, as the Heart and the Elephante.  Vli. 
Arte thou then of the opinion, that it is better to be a beast then a man?  Cir. 
I will not determine this matter, nor thou shouldst not also think, that I believe it: for than I should have changed myself into a beast. as I have done them. But if I should say as thou sayest, our talk were at an end: it should well suffice thee, that I had granted thee, to turn into men again, all those that would. And though thou have not yet chanced on any that will, be not yet abashed, but seek farther, for thou could well enough find some one that will.  Vli. 
I will even do so: For I should think it to much shame, to have proved this so worthy an enterprise in vain.  Cir. 
Go then and speak with the Goat that thou seest yonder feeding: for he also (as I well remember) was a Grecian.  Vli. 
Goat, O Goat, hearken I pray thee, if thou be a Grecian as Circe's hath told me.  Go. 
A Grecian I was whiles I was man, and my name was Cleomenes of Corinthe: but now am I not, neither yet would I be.  Vli. 
What, art thou perchance ashamed of thy country?  Go. 
Not so: For there is none peradventure more honourable than that, in all the world.  Vli. 
What is that then, that thou wouldst not.  Go. 
Become man again. And of this I have only fear, I live so far better contented thus then I did whiles I was man.  Vli. 
I would even have offered the this benefit, thinking to have done thee no small good turn, to restore thee, the figure of man, and to take the out of this bondage, and to lead thee again to thine own country.  Go. 
I thank the of thy good will towards me: but if this should happen to me, it would follow otherwise then thou thinkest.  Vli. 
Why, what is the cause Cleomenes? I have ever hard say by your wise men of Gretia, that man is the most perfect & most noble creature that is in all the world. Ye, rather he is in certain wise, the end & lord of all others.  Go. 
Truly they did also like wise men to say so: for one should ever praise his own, and say that that a man knoweth.  V 
And therefore what state is thine? and what felicity hast thou, that thou wilt rather live thus a beast, then to return man?  Go. 
If I should reckon the commodities to the that we beasts have, thou wouldest not think them commodities, nor yet ever shouldest thou be able to understand them, even also as you can not comprehend the felicity that you look after in this life, or in tother: for that the wit of man, is to curious and insatiable. But I will tell thee a part of those evils that we avoid, who are such, that if thou taste them all well, thou wouldst bear such envy towards us, as thou thinkest we should bear towards you.  Vli. 
Go to then, and tell me this at the least.  Go. 
There are many miseries and evils, that man is subject unto: and that are occasions that I will thus remain a beast. But it is not possible that I should reason of them all, for time will not serve: for being somewhat fed, by mature, who hath no respect to any other thing then to my conservation, provoketh me to take my rest: and somewhat to sleep under the shadow of some of these trees.  Vli. 
Tell me at the least for the satisfying of my mind. some one of the principal evils.  Go.. 
I am content. Know Ulysses that man among other his infelicities and miseries, hath four, each one of the which only (when I have it in remembrance) causeth me to desire rather to be, what vile beast soever it were, than man.  Vli. 
And what are those goat?  Go. 
The small assurance that he always hath in his mind, of things to come, the suspicion he hath of them of his own kind with whom he is enforced to be continually conversant, and the fear, and respect of the laws.  Vli. 
Thou thinkest on to many things.  Go. 
And the chief thing is, to be able to avoid the not thinking on them. Tell me a little, beginning at the first: what surety hath man at any time, to be able peaceably to enjoy one only hour, the things present? speaking first of the common sort, who are in the hands of fortune: whom every one knoweth, how variable and sliper she is: and afterward under the power of Princes, who have only their will for law: and the will of man (as thou knowest) is most insatiable.  Vli. 
In this thou sayest true: yet he that is wise, doth accommodate himself to the will of th'one, and to the commandment of tother.  Go. 
If we will speak then of that, that is our own: who is he that can promise himself the possession thereof for one only day freely? for that men are waren so covetous, since thine and mine came into the world, that every man continually watcheth, to think in what sort, aswell lawful as unlawful, he may make himself rich, and an other man poor.  Vli. 
Truly men lay many more snares for themselves, than they do for you.  Go. 
Of the continual fear ye have, least princes take them from you, either by wars, or by a thousand other means, I will say no more, but that I have seen men, who have been in such fear, lest the riches they have had, should have been taken from them, that they have not used them: but shewing themselves poor, and living miserably, have ever kept them hidden, whereby they have not had any more commodity by them, having them, than they that had them not: but have rather had this more, the thought to keep them.  Vli. 
I will not that thou speak of covetousness: for this is a vice that causeth men to go so far besides themselves, that they become not only the enemies of others, but also of themselves.  Go. 
I will not reason of the fear then that ye have of thieves, of servants, and of thine own wife, and chiefly if she be younger than thou, it sufficeth that none of these infelicities hath any place amongst us, for we know not fortune, and not having any difference between thine and mine, but possessing every thing in common, one of us seeketh not to rob an other. And we having among us no superiority at all (because all we of one kind are of like power) fear less, that our own be taken from us, by him that hath more strength than we, whereby we should be caused to hide it.  Vli. 
I know that these things, are occasions of many thoughts to men, but he that holdeth his affection under the rule of reason, avoideth the most part of them.  Go. 
And how shall he willingly obey it, that always spurneth again?  Vli. 
Thou knowest that victory is never gotten without travel.  Go. 
Ye as you say, that ever feed yourselves with fair words. Come then to the second: what beast is he, besides man, that feareth of things that are not present?  Vli. 
And what fear hath man thereof?  Go. 
So great, that he always liveth in thoughts. For if he see the wether wax cloudy, he beginneth to fear, least the harvest should be evil. Then if he hear thunder or see lightening, he is in such fear of the thunder stones, that he not only maketh vows to the Gods, but there have also been of those, that have fled into caves under the earth, (because it is said, that they go but five foot under the earth) or that have covered them selves with the skin of a Seal, thinking that this fish only, is never touched with the thunder stone.  Vli. 
And how many are there that have any such fear of like things?  Go. 
They that fear not these, fear other things. How many are there among you, that fear so much to be sick, that it can not be said, they are at any time in health: not using that liberty that health granteth to others in not binding themselves to any law: whereby they never eat of any thing that pleaseth them so much as their appetite requireth, neither dare they do any thing out of that order, that they have of long time used: and if they see the seasonne to change any thing from his wont use, either with heat or with cold, they are so afeard, that they altar their humours in such sort, that afterwards they feal themselves very evil.  Vli. 
These are so fearful men, that every most little thing troubleth them.  Go. 
And they that are bolder, either they live but a while, or else they weaken their nature so much, that as their youth is paste, their appears on them a thousand evils: or at the least remembering the dysorders they have done, they are in continual suspicion.  Vli. 
And doth not this also happen unto you?  Go, 
No: for we always live with one self rule, the which nature hath given us. But then come to the suspicion that you have, to be forsaken when you are sick, and to lack that governance that is necessary for you, because you have need of so many things: or that your substance perish not, whereby after you should live with pains and hardly, when you were recovered. The which things are not among us, never being sick in such sort, but that we can govern ourselves though we have nothing that is in property to any one of us.  Vli. 
And yet there are some of those amongst you beasts, who for the pricking of a thorn, or for some other chances, had need to be helped by us.  Go. 
There are so few of those, that they can make no number. And then, of the fear of death that you have, the which fear we have not, what canst thou say to me?  Vli. 
Have not you also fere of death?  Go. 
No, if it be not present to us, or begin to feel the torment thereof: where as to you, the only thinking on it, or the knowing the determinate time, bring you so much sorrow, that there have been of those, who to be rid from such passion, have killed themselves with their own hands, but let us let this pass and come to the care, and thought, that you have of things to come. Alas what an infelicity is yours? not only to take thought for those things whereof you have need from day to day, but also for those that you shall have need of, a year or two to come, and yet you must provide them, and take after continual heed to them.  Vli. 
So that there is not likewise peradventure among you beasts that do the like?  Go. 
And who are they?  Vli. 
The Pysmare who layeth up in summer, wherewith to live in winter.  Go. 
It is true, but this is not, for that she hath any fear, that she should lack at that time, whereof to feed her, by scarcity, or any other such occasion, as you do when you provide you for the time to come, but because she can not suffer the cold of the winter (for then she never cometh from under the ground) she carrieth her meat thither, where she hath to abide: and she is led to the doing thereof by nature, and not by fear, that she should not always find ready on the earth, all that that she needed. For how wilt thou that we think on that that is to come, who neither know time, nor yet the parts thereof?  Vli. 
know not ye the time, and there are so many of you, who every year, when the spring time cometh, or the fall of the leaf, change countries as the swalewes, and: and that hide them under the earth, as the snakes and badgers, and so many others?  Go. 
This is not for knowing the time, but by feeling before, the differences thereof: rather I will say further to thee, that we not only know the time, but also not the moving of the heaven, which is his subject, but we only feel the differences of the seasons, that it causeth on earth, sometime bringing heat, & sometime cold, sometime wind, and sometime rain, and such natural varieties. And these we know so much before, & better than you, that you take often occasions by us, to pronosticat: and knowest thou how this knowledge cometh to us? because we not having our fantasy full of a thousand toys, as you always have, feel every little change of time, the which is not so with you.  Vli. 
But callest thou the knowing of time infelicity?  Go. 
Most great infelicity, because he (or to say better) the moving whereupon he is founded, is the occasion of every change, and finally that that is worse, the occasion of your corruption: whereby you that know it, see death always before you, and you reckon the ours, one by one, and you are ever thinking, on that, that from time to time you shall have need of: the which is not so to us, who live by the benefit of nature: but what wilt thou more? your folly is so great, that you take thought also for that that must follow after your death.  Vli. 
This is done to leave all things ordained in such sort, that our children, who are part of us, may after lead their life the more quietly.  Go. 
Of these things that are of weight, it should be a pleasure: but you think also of those that are of no weight.  Vli. 
And what are those?  Go. 
Even of your grave, and as though the earth were not the universal mother of all men and that every man had not his part thereof, you buy it of your priests, & he among you that had no money, should be left in pray to us beasts.  Vli. 
I will not that we reason of this matter, for these things are ordained to the benefit of some one of us, and they belong not in general to the kind.  Go. 
Go to, let us pass to the other, the which is, the fear that ye have one of an other, the which thing is not among us. For thou seest no beast of one kind, that is naturally enemy to the other of the same kind, but by some chance, as by love, hunger, gelosye, and such like, and yet this very seldom.  Vli. 
Neither are we enemies naturally one to the other.  Go. 
No, but the unsacietie of your desires, hath turned it into nature.  
For that quantity sufficing none of you, wherewith nature would be contented, the one of you seeketh to take from the other that that he hath. And hereby so many wars grow among you, so many desolations of cities, so many robbings of countries, so many slaughters of people, so many treasons, so many thefts, and even to poisoning the one the other of you, a thing that never any of us was seen do.  Vli. 
He that will, may well remedy all these things.  Go. 
And after what sort?  Vli. 
By contenting himself with little, and to live of himself, separate from others.  Go. 
The first you may perchance do, but not the other, without your most great trouble. For you have need of so many things, that there is none, who of himself can provide all things for himself, wherefore you must of necessity dwell together with others. For the which thing cities were invented by you, where you, dwelling comn●odiously together, might provide the one for the others need: and because you might bring this to the better end, one not having always need, of those things that an other hath, who hath need of his, you also invented money, truly a most goodly means, and very convenient for the commutation of things. But because he bringeth so many commodities to your living, you love it so far out of order, that it is no less occasion of evil than it is of good, for by your continual seeking th'one to take it from tother. so many mischiefs grow among you, that you can never practise one hour together safely, or without some suspicion.  Vli 
I will not deny, that this making difference between thine, and mine, is not the occasion of many evils, and of much hatred, the which can not happen to you, who have all things in common. Notwithstanding, we against this have friendship among us, whereof there can be nothing found in the world, either more profitable, or more pleasant: by means whereof we make common, not only outward things, but also the thoughts, the griefs, the felicities, and every other thing.  Go. 
Is there not also friendship among us, & not only amongst those of one like kind, but also amongst those of divers kinds, as the turtle doves and the popinjay, the peacocks, and the pigeon, the red dear & the fallow, and many others?  Vli. 
No: for true friendship cometh of the good, and the honest: and you know neither th'one nor tother. And therefore the friendships that are among ill persons, ordained to some naughty pur pose, or that grow by profit, or beauty, rather are called practices, and co●…rations, than friendships. So that yours are rather natural inclinations. And besides this, friendship should be voluntary, and by election, the which thing you can not do.  Go. 
And yet if true friendship be not amongs us, neither is there flattery, as there is amongst you: the which perchance hurteth no less than friendship helpeth.  Vli. 
But we can know that, by the means of the discourse of reason.  Go. 
And by what means, sins the flatterer is so like to the friend: and besides this, flattery pleasing you so much, that it will not suffer you to perceive the truth?  Vli. 
truly, both for the pleasure that it is to be praised, and for the self nature of the thing it is no small difficulty to know who are flatterers, and who are true friends, being as well the duty of a true friend to please, as of a flatterer: saving yet that all flatterers in adversity, forsake thee by and by, and friends not (but it is a great matter to know only that one is thy friend, when thou hast need of him: notwithstanding, be that considereth well, shall easily know him.  Go. 
And which way, tell me I pray thee?  Vli. 
There are many things, whereby a friend may be known from a flatterer, but these are the principal. The flatterer doth always accommodate himself, to the conditions of him that he flattereth: doing as he doth, and changing also as he changeth, and saying that, that is the very right way to live: where as the friend always followeth his own purpose, & doth not accommodate himself to any other thing then to the good. Wherefore the flatterer is likenned to a shadow, the which all? ways followeth the body, ever doing as he doth: and a friend in the light that shineth above all things, always without spotting itself. Besides this also, the flatterer praiseth all that ever thou dost: and the friend only that that is good. The flatterer in all doings that are, or seem good, doth give the chief place and excuseth thee in vice, and bur●eneth himself: and finally, he never seeketh any other thing, then to content others, as well in ill, as in good: the which a friend never doth, who would not please thee, but in as much as honesty requireth.  Go. 
Well, when all that thou sayest were true, yet there is one other thing, that doth cause me, that I will not in any wise return man, and that is this: the fear of the laws, and of the punishments ordained by them.  Vli. 
Then dost thou think, that to have laws, is an evil thing to man?  Go. 
No, but to have need of them is evil: for hereby the imperfection and weakness of your nature is seen. Seest thou not that you have so many immoderate desires, and against your own wealth and profit, and you are so much led by them, that the light of reason is not sufficient to teach you to avoid them: but you are enforced to make an infinite multitude of laws, to draw you from them by punishment, and by fear?  Vli. 
Ye, this is to the ill sort, but the good, doing that that is convenient for them, for virtues sake, have not only no fear of the laws, but also also they know them not.  Go. 
And how many are there of these? could they be reckoned without often repeating the beginning of the number? And if you were all so, what an unquietness breed in your mind, the continual care and wareness, that you must have in holding the bridle of reason to your senses, that they carry you not out of the right path of the same.  Vli 
This is made a custom: and of accustomed things, (as thou knowest) there grow no passions at all.  Go 
And what pains must you suffer, before you have made it, sins you have always by nature, greatest desire of that that is most forbidden you? Where as to us it happeneth not so, who having no desire inconvenient to our nature, can avoid them all, where and when it pleaseth us, without respect, or any fear, not only of punishment, but also of shame, the which is among you a burden of no small weight.  Vli. 
Ye host you then much hereof, for in very deed it is a thing worthy praise, not only to have no fear of the laws, but also not to fear shame.  Go. 
And what fault have we of this, sins we know it not? So that let us not talk of those things that come not under our knowledge. Let this finally suffice thee, that the liberty that I einoye in this state, is so pleasant to me (in respect of the multitude of bondages that you have, of the greater part whereof, your folly, and ambition, are th'occasions, that have bound your hands to many things whereunto nature had set them at liberty) that not only I will not return man, but also I will not practise among them. Knowing that you bind not yourselves only to these your laws, but also all those beasts, of whom you are served, and that live familiarly with you: for you have ordained that they be kept, to satisfy with their own bodies, those hurts that they should do to any other, blaming● them even for their going to feed them in other men's fields: for the which thing you yourselves ought to be punished, for that you have made those things particular, by the means of thine and mine, that nature had given to you in common. The which thing hath caused that you can not company safe togethers, as we do. And you are continually afeard, to lose that that you have, or to run into some after mischief. So that enjoy thou this your state so unhappily, and full of so many miseries, for I will spend that little life that advanceth me, in this state, without fear of death, or of any other thing.  
(⸫)   

The fift Dialogue. Ulysses, Circe's, the Hind.  
ALthough truth (as the proverb is) most dear Circe's, seem often times to breed some hatred in the minds of those to whom it is spoken: yet I know that it so much displeaseth a noble heart, to have one thing in the mouth, and an other in the breast, that I will take courage to speak freely, although I should perchance in some part doubt, to offend thee.  Cir. 
Speak on freely, all that thou wilt, most worthy Ulysses, for there is nothing more friend to gentle minds, than the truth.  Vli. 
I doubt, that thou hast not restored to them with whom I have spoken, the power holy to discourse, as thou hast done the speech, according as thou promisedst me, I have found them so far distant from the truth: and if this were so, I should think thou hadst much deceived me. For there is none of the that judgeth it not better, to be a beast then a man, the which I would never believe they would say, if they could use reason truly.  Cir. 
truly thou shouldest have reason to think I had deceived thee, if I had so done. For those things should never be promised, that one either would not, or could not do: For th'one cometh of noughtincs, and the other of foolishness. And therefore know thou Ulysses, that whiles thou spakest with them, they had the self same knowledge, that they had whiles they were men.  Vli. 
And how do they then not know so manifest an error, and chiefly sins I have so told them the truth?  Cir. 
They have found perchance so many commodities, and so many pleasures in that life, not known by us: that it is no marvel. But go and follow thine enterprise, for peradventure all shall not be of this sort, fear no kind of beast that thou metest: for every one of them have been men, so that none of them would hurt thee.  Vli. 
Our wise men of Gretia are wont to say, that they, who can be counseled by themselves, to live well and honestly, are put in the first degree of virtue. And they that can not of themselves, but believe the counsel of those who are wiser than they, are put in the second degree: but he that can not of himself, nor yet will take counsel of others, is thought by them not worthy to be numbered among men. And of this sort are they with whom I have spoken: So that it is no marvel, though they will not become men again, but I, that have more knowledge than they, knowing that it is the very duty of man to help others, should not yet herefore cease to seek to do this good, to those that are worthy thereof. Yonder is a fair herd of dear I will see, if there be any Grecian among them. Tell me dear, as the heavens give you that that you most desire, is there any Grecian here among you?  Hi. 
O thanked be the gods, that I understand the voice of man: and can speak as I was wont.  Vli. 
I have perchance happened on one that hath not lost the understanding, as thothers had, with whom I have reasoned, sins he thus thanketh the goods to understand the words of man: and to be able to speak as we can.  Hyn. 
Art thou a Grecian that dost ask us this?  Vli. 
Ye I am, and my name is Ulysses.  Hyn. 
And I likewise was of Gretia, but I was a woman, before I was thus changed by Circe's into an hind.  Vli. 
O▪ if I have to do with women, who as it is wont to be said, take always the worse part, I shallbe even all at one point. Notwithstanding I shallbe far the better satisfied to have spoken with each kind.  Hi. 
But what is thoccasion Ulysses, that thou goest thus seeking, if here be any Grecian? and tell me also if thou canst (as the goods always help thee) how it chanceth that I understand thee, and can reason with thee, the which sins I was an hind, never chanced to me with any other.  Vli. 
Acknowledge thanks to me for this, for I, by my request, have obtained of Circe's, for the love I dear to my Grecians, licence to speak with you all, and besides this, to make all those that will, to return into their former state, and to lead them with me to their own country, and thou art one to whom I will do this benefit, if thou wilt it. So that tell me thy mind freely: but hearest thou? See thou answer me quickly: for you women, when you bethink you over much on things, you drown yourselves therein, by the means of the little discourse and small understanding that you have, whereby those answers are only praised in you, that you make quickly.  Hyn. 
No: lo there is a quick answer.  Vli. 
But this shallbe none of the praised answers, though it be quick.  Hin. 
And why so?  Vli. 
Because it is all out of reason.  Hin. 
I will not that thou say so Ulysses, for I have very good reason to say no.  Vlis. 
Then tell me why, or else I should not think myself satisfied.  Hin. 
thinkest thou not that I have reason, that I will not be restored into my former being, who (as I have told thee) was a woman?  Vli. 
No, for yet thou shouldest be a reasonable creature: whose state I see thou much esteemest, and thinkest better than the state of any beast, sins thou thankedst so much the Gods, for that thou hadst power to speak again, the which is only appropriate to man.  Hyn. 
Alas the being a reasonable creature is not the cause that I will not return into my former state: but that I must become a woman again, as I have told thee, for that women be so much despised by you, that there have been of those wise men among you, that have been bold to affirm, that we are not of your kind, and others have said, that the female is a male occasioned: the which meaneth nothing else, than a thing made by nature, contrary to her purpose, either for imperfection of the seed or for default of the matter. The which thing how far it is contrary to the very order of nature, may well be manifest to every man, for that we also are as necessary to your generation, as yourselves: and afterward that thing, that is borne of us▪ is able to engender the like to itself: the which they that are borne of two divorce kinds can not do: as may be seen by experience in Mules, who are borne of an horse and an Ass.  Vli. 
Hast thou so much philosophy?  Hy. 
Marvel not thereat Ulysses, for my husband was an excellent philosopher, whereby I also was enforced, keeping conversation with him, to learn somewhat thereof and besides this thou knowest, that philosophy is to man almost natural.  Vli. 
And yet hast thou not known how to remedy one of the principal defects, that the being a woman bringeth with it?  Hy. 
Why what is that?  Vli. 
The desire to chatter, that can do so much in thee, that thou desirest not to return into a woman, but only to have the talking again, thanking, as thou didst even now, the Gods, for that thou hadst the power a gain to speak.  Hi. 
And thinkest thou not that I have reason thereof, sins you keep women for slaves, and for servants and not for companions (as right requireth) a thing so wicked and so far against the order of nature, that none other be asked but you, dare do it? Seek a little among what kind of beasts thou wilt, and thou shalt find among none but that the female is a companion & no servant to the male, aswell in pleasures as in pains, except in the kind of man: who will be called Lord over all, whereas he is a most evil and an unjust tyrant, to handle his companion in such sort, only for that he seeth she was made by nature somewhat of less strength and courage than he was.  Vli. 
And what do we to you, that you have so great cause to complain.  Hy. 
Hearest thou it not? first you keep us for your bond servants.  Vli. 
Oh, say not so, for thou dost us wrong: but say for companions, and thou shalt say well.  Hy. 
Is she called a companion, where the one is always bound, and the other a master: and peradventure (the which is worse) we must not buy this bondage by weight of gold? sins you have found this goodly law that when one of us will company with you, (to say after your own minds) she must give you money.  Vli. 
We invented this only for your profit.  Hy. 
Judge it thou, whether to pay them that command us, be for our profit, where others pay them that obey them. But tell me after what sort this custom was brought in by you for our profit?  Vli. 
Because knowing that through your little spirit and small wisdom, you could not keep your substance, it was thought that the same part of riches, that your fathers or brothers give you, should be given by you to your husbands, not because they be masters thereof, but as your takers heed thereof, they keep it for you, because you at any time remaining sole, may have wherewith to live. And mark how after their deaths, you may always ask it: the which is clean contrary to that that thou layest, for it is all to the hurt of your husbands, and of their substance. And it should be rather used, and so right would, that the husband when he marrieth a wife, should on tother part bring as much money with him, as the wife giveth her for his jointer, and after they should both spend in common, as long as it lasted, and then every one provide for himself. For in deed it is not very good for us, that we attend always to get abroad, and you to consume at home. And then at our death, destruction and spoil to be made only of our goods  Hi. 
Our gains in the house are far greater Ulysses, then yours abroad: and to prove this true, thou shalt never see any gather together great quantity of riches, if he have not a woman in the house, that keepeth and seeth well to that, that he hath gathered together.  Vli. 
I believe this, and in this I think well that you are much better than we. For by your small heart, you are by nature much more household servants than we: but than if you must take care only, of that that we gather, than it belongeth more to you to obey then to command. For in as much as your wit is occupied, and vigilaunt about small things, in so much is it unmeet to govern great things. And therefore it is said, that women never deserve so much to be praised for any thing, as for obedience.  Hi. 
This is a thing that you say, because it is good for your purpose: but ask of us a little, and if this suffice you not, ask experience, and you shall see whether we be meet to govern great things or not. Mark the kingdom of the Amasones, how long time it was governed by women, and consider if they have been able to enlarge it without your wit and strength? Of the kingdom of Babilonia, so much enlarged by Semiramis: and of the deminion of Seithia by Tomiris, I will speak nothing at all, for that your own stories be full thereof.  Vli. 
And how many shall they be, that are able to like things? could they be reckoned with the singers of one only hand?  Hi. 
Thanks be to you, who give them none occasion thereof: but always you keep them fast shut within the walls of your houses, occupied in the most vile businesses, that are necessary to the servants charge: using to say, that that woman only deserveth to be praised, whose deeds and praises, go not forth of the walls of her house. notwithstanding, if you mark well, you shall know also of them, in these so base and servile business, such extreme diligence, that those houses where women dwell not, & that are not governed by women, seem in respect of the others, like hog sties, and not a paradise, as some of you heretofore have had heart to say. I will say nothing at all of the government of your bodies, because the appearance itself, the apparel, and many other things, cause those men to be manifestly known, who are governed by women, from thothers.  Vli. 
Truly in these things you can do very well.  Hi. 
We shall also do even as well in greater things, if you would suffer us to put our hands thereto.  Vli. 
Well, go no further, least it chance to you, as it did to a certain shoemaker, who finding fault with an image for having the buckle of his shoe amiss, and being praised therefore, took courage to dispraise him in certain other places: whereby it was said to him: hold thy peace, for this belongeth not to thee.  Hi. 
And yet at the least, with all this, I would we might please you. But you never do any other thing then lament you of us, nor yet can we never have good word of you.  Vli. 
I will not that thou say thus: for we always honour you much more than our own selves.  Hi. 
Not with giving us any rule or authority at all, either in the house, or abroad: but with setting us at the highest place of the takle, or with some loving word, and this only in the flower of our age, by the occasion of our beauty, that draweth your desires to please us: but when the beauty is paste, God knoweth how we are handled at your hands, both with words and deeds.  Vli. 
Ah, lay not so: for this should be to great unkindness.  Hi. 
I will not speak of deeds, for not publishing of that that every man knoweth not so well. But how can you excuse yourselves of words, sins you have made for a proverb, that a husband hath only two good days of his wife, that is, the day that she cometh to his house, and tother is, when she goeth out thereof, borne to her grave?  Vli. 
Those are things that men sometimes speak merely one to an other, and to pass over the troubles of the world, but they think not so in deed. And that this is true: see how the most part, or rather all men, take wines and I will say further to thee, that they that take none, are always taken for strange men, and of a life of small praise.  Hi. 
And what, use you not also to say, that he who hath had a wife, deserveth a crown of patience, but he that hath had twain; deserveth a crown of folly.  Vli. 
This was not said without some occasion. For the second marriages, and chiefly to them that have children, are for the more part, greater occasions of evil, then of good. And they seldom time have that knot of love, that the first have. And also in keeping you company, patience is very necessary, for you are all by nature somewhat ungracious, so that one of our wise men was wont to say, that when a woman went to her husband, she carried one of her hands before, and therein a little fire brand a light, meaning thereby that she put fire into the house wherein she entered.  Hi. 
Nay, be not ashamed to say the rest also, how he said that she carried in the hand behind a hook, to rob the house, whereof she went out.  Vli. 
I will not deny that some of these things have not been said by some of those, whom we have called wise men, and the froward nature of some of you, hath been thoccasion thereof: nor I will not also deny the strangeness that some of us sometimes useth towards you, they I say that are nought and of little knowledge: for they know not how profitable you are unto us, and with how many incommodities, and troubles, we should lead our life without your help: But I will even confess unto thee, that we are without you a thing imperfect: wherefore we ought always to make much of you, and have the same estimation of you, that we have of ourselves. And he that doth otherwise, deserveth not to be called a man. And although it appear unto us, that nature hath made you of less valour than us, we should yet consider that she hath done it for our benefit. For it you were of that valour, and of that wit that we are, you would not take pains, in those things that you do, in serving us whereof the profit cometh to be ours, of the which we are no less bound unto you than unto nature, for giving us the being. So that let it not grieve you, if some one have spoken unadvisedly of you, that that thou sayest, for they are many more, that have praised you, and worthily. For there hath been no lack of those, that have said, that we should live so miserably without you, that it should be better to die, and that you are our crown: As that most wise king of Egypt did, who willing to show his riches, to an other king, at the last for the most noble thing he had, he showed him his wife, saying that there could not be found by any man, a more precious jewel, than a wise woman.  Hi. 
And if it be so how chanceth it then, that we be so evil handled by you?  Vli. 
And what would you in th'end that we should do?  Hi. 
Have I not told thee already, that you should keep us for companions, and not for servants? Tell me I pray thee what right is this, that you have taken for a custom, that it is lawful for you, to do as you list, and not for us, bridling us with the danger of our honesties? why do not you aswell also dishonest a family, when you give place so loosely to your appetites, as you say that we do, who are much more provoked thereto than you are, not so much by that most burning desire, that the forbidding us a thing causeth, as by your insatiable and cursed importunity? And then if you have taken once our honesties from us, do you not think us worthy of all blame?  Vli. 
Why do ye not keep it then more diligently than you do?  Hi. 
How should it be possible for us to keep it, when every one of you hath a key thereof? So that blame yourselves and lay the fault one yourselves, when you see any of us lose our honesty. And by so much the more, as you say you are of greater brain and more wisdom than we,  Vli. 
If thou didst well consider, the cause that moveth us to do this, thou wouldest say it were reasonably done. But thou measurest your being with ours, and hereby groweth the error. Tell me a little, dost thou think it reasonable that a man should leave those goods, and those honours that he hath gotten, with his travail, and his wisdom, to one that is not his child?  Hy. 
No truly.  Vli. 
And how should he be by any means assured that the child were his, if it were lawful for you to do your desires? the which thing maketh no matter at all to you beasts, who make only so much account of them, as is necessary for them. And when they are brought to that pass, that they live of themselves, you know them no more.  Hin. 
And in this thing of children also, what company is yours, and what right, or what equity is there among you, that whiles they are little, and of most great trouble (for thou knowest how great a pain it is to bring up a man) you leave them holy under our charge, and you will hear of no trouble at all: the which thing is given to none other beast, then to you?  Vli. 
And you peradventure can not give them to nurse to avoid yourselves of them, whereby they are very little bound to you, none other creature but you using the same?  Hi. 
And who is the cause thereof but you, that will not only sometimes not hear them cry, but also will not take with them any most little trouble? And after when they are big, both you and they together agree to make none account of us at all, and not only in deeds but also in words, sins they are called only your children, and of you they take their name, their family, and all that ever they have without making any mention of us at all.  Vli. 
This is not done without most great consideration.  Hi. 
And what is the cause, but your authority, as in all other things, that for being more able than we, you make your reason as yourselves list.  Vli. 
The cause is for that they have the sensitive substance, and the being man, only of us.  Hi. 
And serve we there then for nothing?  Vli. 
No not in this, because thou must perceive, that the female, of herself can not give two things, that are engendered by her, but the vegetative substance the which is that the tres have: nor can bring them to any greater perfection, without the male. And therefore nature that doth nothing in vain, made not the male and female among plants. But if she did make in any, as for example in the Cornwoll, (the which beareth berries like a haw) the female only beareth fruit, and the male is barren, & it needeth not that they join together, sins that that is engendered by them, shall not have, but the vegetative substance, the which the female alone may give. And that this is true, mark it in hens, who of themselves make the egg, the which hath the vegetative substance, after that he waxeth to a certain determinate quantetye: but the beast can not be made by them, the which hath the sentitive substance if they couple not with the cock, that he may give it them. And also you women sometimes engender of yourselves, in the mattress, a piece of flesh, called by Physicians, Mola, the which for that it hath the vegetative substance, groweth to a certain point, but it perceiveth not for that it hath not the sensitive substance for this (as I have told thee) the male giveth. Then if our children have their animate being of the sensitive substance, and finally the being men, only by us, they are worthily called ours: and for this only cause, you are permitted to leave them when you list, and we cannot.  Hi. 
And what reward shall we have for our painful bringing them up?  Vli. 
That that women continually have, that is, to be always honoured, and maintained by them, if you forsake them not: for almost all children do this: and who that doth it not, is unworthy to be called a man. But nature, because they should not fail hereof, hath put into them a certain inclination of love, towards the mothers, that it seemeth that the greater part, love them more tenderly than they do the fathers.  Hi. 
As though we loved not out of measure, both them, and also our husbands: ye rather there have been of those among us, who hearing of the death of their children, have died suddenly, and others who seeing their husbands die, have killed themselves with their own hands: judging that it was unto them, neither lawful to live without a man, nor honest to accompany themselves with more than one.  Vli. 
These are things, that although they seem at the first sight to deserve some praise for that they seem to proceed of love, or by stoutness of mind: come rather even of foolishness, or of weakness of heart, by doubting not to be able to live alone: for if nature, who ever doth the best in all things, had known, that it had been best, that the wife and the husband should die at one time, she should have caused that it should have been so. But let us let these so long discourses go: wilt thou return into thy former being, and come with me into Gretia?  Hi. 
No I say, for I will not become a woman again in no case? for thou mightest well have perceived, whether the occasions that I have told were reasonable or not.  Vli. 
And because they seem not so unto me, I ask thee it again.  Hi. 
Thou mayst talk of it at pleasure, for it toucheth the nothing at all: I am thus an Hind, of as much authority at the least as the male, & I go abroad as he doth: Neither yet have I so many sorrows in the deliverance of my young, nor so many troubles in bringing of them up, as I should have of my children, being a woman.  Vli. 
Very well said: as though you also have no troubles and griefs at your deliverances: and have you not need also to purge you as our women have?  Hi. 
Ye, but nature hath given us such strength, that we can do it of ourselves: and so much knowledge, that we eat of a certain herb called Ara, the which restoreth us to health at the first.  Vli. 
And have not you also troubles in bringing up of your young, aswell as we have in bringing up of ours?  Hi. 
Most few in comparison of you: for they having need of far fewer things than yours, must needs give us less troubles, and those few being provoked by a certain natural instinction, that gideth us in all our doings, seem to us nothing hard at all: whereas to you, who are not guided so continually by nature, they seem more grievous. So that labour no more Ulysses in comforting me to become a woman again for I live far better contented, and more freely thus a Hind, than I did whiles I was a woman. But I say unto thee, that if I should change my state, I would more willingly become a humane creature again, then change me into any other beast. And of this thou mayest be sure, for when I must faun, I i'll more the paths made by beasts, than the ways beaten by men's feet. Go then thy ways on thy viage, and I likewise will go to consume the rest of my life, among these woods: for now sins I have had power to speak again, without returning unto a woman, I bear not only no envy to the Gods, but also not unto men.  Vli. 
I will not Hind that thou stand so much in this thine opinion, but that thou consider, that men understand more than you, and that I give thee this counsel only for thine own profit, and for the love that I bear thee, for that thou art of my Gretia, and for no profit of mine at all.  Hy. 
You say always thus whiles we have conversation with you, and yet notwithstanding you keep us always under.  Vli. 
Besides this thou shalt understand, that Circe's hath given thee power to speak, only because thou mayest say thy mind: for she will not that I cause any to take their former shape again, saving they only that will. So that if thou wilt remain thus in an Hind thou shalt have no power to speak any more, the which thing, as thou didst show, thou very much estemedst.  Hi. 
If I believed that this were true, I can not well tell what I would do.  Vli. 
Oh shouldest thou doubt hereof, and knowest that Dear speak not?  Hi. 
But what matter is that: sins I also must be conversant only with Dear, and we have other means to show our necessities one to an other, the which are so few, and so rare, that they trouble us little. So that seek some other Vlysses for I for my part will remain in this state.   

The sixth Dialogue. Ulysses, the lion.  
I Know not what the cause may be, that nature (who men say can not err) hath made the female so far different from the male, only in the humane kind. If I look among fowls, the one is of as much valour as the other, or else of so little less, that it is almost not known: and all men may see, that the female in covering the eggs, or in bringing up of the young, will not take any moor pains at all, than the male. As it is also among the beasts of the earth, and in those that live in the waters: for that the female (as I said) is of as great virtue, and of as much force as the male. But in the human kind, the woman is of so much less valour, and of so much less strength, than the man, that those virtues that are in him, either they are not in her, or else they are so imperfect there, that they are scarcely perceived to be in her. Let them then complain of nature, that hath made them so, and let them not complain of us, if it seem to them rather to be our servants, than our companions: for this cometh neither by our force, nor by tyranny, but of their little valour, and spirit. Whereby, fearing that they could not know, or be able to live without us, they bring themselves under our obedience, remaining willingly under that yoke: where as if they were of like nobleness of mind, or of like strength as we are, we should never be able to keep them by force. Therefore it is not to be marveled at, if she with whom I spoke, will not from an Hind, return to an humane creature, since she must become a woman again: Because, that where thus an Hind, she liveth in liberty, a thing so pleasant, as none other thing is more, she should being a woman, become a servant: none other things in all the world more grievous to him, who is a man in deed. Let me then seek, if I can do this benefit, to such as it may do good, since it should do hurt to her. And peradventure there may be some one amongst these Liones that I see come towards me. But what do I? Who knoweth, troubling them, whether they will hurt me, or not: the which they would not do, if I disturb them not, if they be not provoked thereunto by hunger? And although Circe's hath told me, that I should have no fear of any beast, that is within this her Island: I can not yet but have some fear of these, their countenance is so horrible, and fearful. Notwithstanding knowing the love that she beareth me, I will trust to her words, and go boldly towards them. Lions (as nature keep you without any trouble, in this your kind, or he that can change you into that that you most desire) tell me is here any of you, who, whiles he was man, was a Grecian? let him tell it me gently. For if he desire (as he should do,) to become man again, and to return into his country, he hath this day (thanked be love) chanced on one, that may do for him both the one and the other.  Li. 
I was a Grecian, as thou also shouldest be, if the speech that thou speakest be natural to thee.  Vli. 
Yea, I am also a Grecian, and my name is Ulysses, if thou ever heard thereof whiles thou were a man.  Li. 
Yea, very often: and not only whiles I was in Grecia, but afterwards also in many other places as I sailed. But tell me, hast thou left the art of war, by the which I think thy name be spread not only thorough Gretia, but thorough all the world, that thou art so here arrived? either else hath fortune driven thee hither, as she did me?  Vli. 
Not fortune, but desire to see the world. For our Gretia having overcome all those people, who were enemies thereunto, and I, not knowing what thing more to do, to get me honour, gave myself to sailing.  Li. 
And liveth yet thy Penelope, whose honesty was an example of all our Gretia?  Vli. 
She liveth, and the desire that I have to see her again, together with desire to see my friends, and my country, stirreth me so much, that I have asked licence of Circe's, (of whom I am peradventure no less beloved then of her) to return into my country: and for the love that I bear to my Grecians, to make all those to return men, that will, and to carry them with me. And this is the occasion that I asked if there were any Grecian amongst you: and I am glad that I have found thee, to give thee so fair a gift.  Li. 
Although sometimes it chance, that one desiring to do thee a pleasure, do offend thee, yet shouldest thou think thyself not a little bound unto him, having respect to the goodness of his mind, and not to his little knowledge: for of the one the will should be praised, and of the other nature blamed. And so do I to the Ulysses, thanking thee of the good mind that thou hast towards me, but the gift I will not accept: for where thou thinkest it should be profitable and dear unto me, it should be noisome and to my great displeasure.  ¶ Vli. 
And why so? is it then better to be a beast then a man?  Li. 
Ye truly: and that this is true, ask of that our wise Grecian, who was commonly wont to say: that if man mought be seen well within, it should easily be known, that he were even a vessel, and a store house, made by nature, to lay up therein all his evils.  Vli. 
He ought herefore to blame himself, much more than nature: for oftentimes, by overmuch following his appetite, he destroyeth his complexion in such sort, that he himself is the cause of all his hurts.  Li. 
I speak not of evils of the body Ulysses, I speak of them of the mind, who are far more weighty and more dangerous.  Vli. 
Nay I will not that thou say this, so resolutely.  
For this our body being none other thing, than a wagan that carrieth our soul, if he be feeble and weak: the soul can not do perfectly her operations, or else with very great difficulty.  Li. 
I will not deny, that the unapt dispositions of the body let not the operations of the mind: But I say verily, that the infirmities of the mind, do much more hurt to man, than those of the body do: and that there come many more evils, and dangers of the one then of tother. But why labour I in this? who shall he be that can say, that they are not far worse and more grievous, being in the best part, and most noble of man?  Vli. 
I know well that the mind is more noble than the body, notwithstanding, not being able to work without the body, even so hurteth the evil of the one, as of the other.  Li. 
Wilt thou see Ulysses, that the evils of the body are far less dangerous than those of the mind? for man either by the ill colour of the face, or by thinordinate moving of the pulses, or by weakness, or by a thousand other means knoweth than all, and seeketh straight to be helped thereof: where as those of the mind, deceive us very often times, so much, that not only we seek not to be free thereof, but we account them good, whereby afterward groweth our misery, and continual unquietness: and often times the loss of our country, of our friends and children, of goods, and honesty, and a thousand other mischiefs. Where as by them of the body the worst that can come thereof is death, the which must come in any wise. But what needeth any more? if among the evils of the body, you reckon those the worse that take from the patiented the sense and knowledge, as the letharge the franzie, the fawlling sickness, and such like: And if those of the mind do in such sort, that he who hath them, knoweth them not: are not they then to be accounted most grievous?  Vli. 
Truly this saying is most true.  Li. 
Thou knowest that to be sick sometimes, is granted by the Physicians to be no great evil, for that nature so requireth. But yet not so much, that man know not, that he is not in health, and hath not need to be helped: for the knowing to have need of remedy, is a very good sign in the patient, that he shall recover his health. And this can not be done in the evils of the mind: for he who by them is grieved, can make no right judgement of himself, the evil being in that part, to the which the judgement thereof appertaineth. And for this cause, foolishness is the greatest evil that can chance to man. For asmuch as he that hath it, never knoweth it: and knowing it not, never seeketh also if he may find any remedy to unburden himself thereof.  Vli. 
This self same thing chanceth properly to drunkards, who till those fumes of the wine be settled, that let the places where thinner senses must work their operations, knoing not their drunkenness, whereby they thinking to do well, do a thousand things worthy blame.  Li. 
Drunkenness is none other thing then a kind of folly: But where as in this, those organs, where the knowledge is made, are marred for a time, by the means of the wine, in that other they are most commonly marred for ever. But what more greater sign wilt thou, that the evils of the mind are more grievous, than those of the body, then that thou shalt never find any, speaking of these of the body, call an ague health, nor the having the tissick, good soundness, nor the gout, good disposition of the wintes: and in those of the mind, thou shalt find many, that call anger stoutness, wanton love, friendship: envy, emulation: and ferefulnes, diligence? Whereby it cometh, that those seek and love the Physician, and these fly and hate the rebuker.  Vli. 
Of how much evil is this covering of vices with the cloak of virtue, thoccasion in this world? and with a name worthy of honour, to do those things, that deserve none other thing then blame and dispraise.  Li. 
And put also to this, that he who is troubled with any infirmity of the body, goeth most commonly to bed, where he findeth, whiles he governeth himself, some rest, and also some time, to avoid the grief of the evil: if he toss about in the bed, or move to much, he hath about him that covereth him again, & ceseth not to bid him lie as still as he may: But he that is sick in the mind, never findeth quiet, or any rest at all, but rather he liveth in a continual trouble, and hath none that giveth him any contentation or help: whereby even as to them that sail, that tempest that suffereth them not to take the haven is far worse, then that that letteth the sailing: So also the evils of the mind, never permitting him to take the haven of reason, and to anchor in the same, that is troubled with them, are much worse. Finally if thou wilt plainly know, how far they of the mind are worse, consider that he, who is subject to those of the body, suffereth only the evil: but he that is subject to those of the mind, suffereth not only the evil, but he doth it also.  Vli. 
How can this be seen, sins all they commonly that do evil, take heed the men know it not.  Li. 
Seek the occasion of all the variances, and calamities that chance in the world, and thou shalt see it. For thou shalt know that they come of none other thing, then of ambition, envy, avarice, anger, or of like infirmities of the mind of man, the which besides the taking the use of reason from him, trouble him continually so much, that he never suffereth either himself, or others in quiet, and one of this sort only is sufficient to trouble a whole city, and chiefly if he be of any degree or authority at all.  Vli. 
Are not these diseases of the mind, the which thou sayest are so much more grievous and more dangerous than those of the body, found also among you?  Li. 
No.  Vli. 
Take heed yet that thou be not so much deceived by them, that thou know them not: for me thinketh, that reason will, that they be far worse in you, then in us, for that you have not the use of reason, where with you might rule them.  Li. 
If we have not the reason as you have, wherewith you could perchance reframe them: though not all together, yet at the lest in some part: we have not also an appetite so immoderate, and so insatiable, as you have, for that we know not of many things that you know. Tell me, what ambition wilt thou that there be amongst us, for that all we be equal, whereby the one of us never despiseth the other: nor any superiority, or degree of honour is amongst us, that should stir our minds to obtain it, by any kind of unjust means, as you do, who are so far blinded by this desire, that you are wont to say, that if one should violate justice, he should do it only to reign? Envy can never be amongst those of one self kind, they all being equal, and less among those of an other kind, we having no judgement, or knowledge at all of their felicity. Covetousness for that we have not thine, divided from mine, hath no place also amongst us: and so likewise many other vices, that cause your life to be most unhappy: whereby there have been amongst our wise Grecians, which have said: that man among all other creatures, held the principality only of miseries and evils.  Vli. 
Well, admit that it be true, that we have many evils that you have not: we have also many good things that are not among you.  Li. 
And what are those?  Vli. 
Virtues.  Li. 
And I say further to she Ulysses, that there is no virtue at all in you that is not far greater and more perfect in us.  Vli. 
I would gladly that thou shouldest show me this.  Li. 
And I desire nothing else, and I will begin with Fortitude: whereof thou takest so much vain glory, that thou causest thyself to be called a taker of cities, and a tamer of people: and not caring in thine enterprises, to win with crafts and deceipts, so that thou win: thou coverest under the name of sagacity, & wareness that that is in thee a most evil vice.  Vli. 
Oh, do me none injury I pray thee.  Li. 
I say not so, to speak of thee alone, wherefore pardon me if thou think that I offend thee: for I know well that all you esteem winning to be a laudable thing, be it in what sort soever it be, the which is not so amongst us: whereby thou ma●●se the all those wars that we make, aswell amongst ourselves, as against you, are made without any guile or deceit of our part at all: and how every one of us trusting in his own strength, seeketh to revenge those injuries that are done unto him, not being under any law at all, that enforceth him to do it, nor fearing any punishment, or dishonesty for the not doing them.  Vli. 
And who doth show me that this is not anger rather than fortitude?  Li. 
The manner that we use in fight, where every one of us, never suffering himself to be overcome by the enemy, making resistance with all his force, even to the uttermost, without any abashment, or fear, either of punishment or of death, seeketh rather to die fighting then to be taken, and never yielding to the enemy, if with none other thing, at the least with the mind: the which thing showeth plainly that we pray not, or put forth any petition towards him at the least with signs, or merciful or pitiful gestures: and after yet when we lose, (for it is not always given to each part to win) we suffer ourselves most commonly to die: go then further, and thou shalt not find that the Lion serveth the Lion, or the Heart the Heart, as one man doth an other, without caring to be reputed fearful and vile. And whereof cometh this, but of our invincible and mighty mind? The which is far more manifestly seen, when you take us, who abide patiently hunger and thirst: yea many of us suffer ourselves to die, then to remain with you: willingly preferring death before bondage.  
Wherefore you are enforced, when you will make any of us tame, to take of our little younglings, who not knowing what they do, suffering you to feed them familiarly by your vain enticements, lose at one time, with their liberty, the same strength of mind, and sustines of body (craftily so taken from them by you) that appertain unto their kind. But wilt thou see that nature hath given more strength of heart to us then to you? for she hath made us more patient to bear pains, and incommodities, than she hath done you: and not only the males, but also the females, making them no less apt than the male to desende wherein trust should be put: and therefore you become bold to run into every kind of danger, without any consideration, or else you sear lytte that, that should be feared: whereby you become timorous, being afeard of every thing: and secondarily, because you have not the discourse of reason, whereby you might either know the good or the honest, and by occasion thereof, only you put yourselves in dangers: but you do it either for profit or for pleasure, or to revenge some injury. And this is not fortitude: for he who putteth himself to great dangers by anger, by delight, or by ignorance, is bestial and foolish, and not fortiall. The which thing chanceth chiefly to you, for that you know not which those things are, that should reasonably be feared, and less those, in the which trust should justly be put,  Li. 
Thou makest us of very little knowledge, if thou believe that we know not, that the ill is that that should be feared.  Vli. 
It is true that there are evils, of the which a fortiall man should be afeard (but yet therefore not of all.) For there are of those, that he, who would have no fear of them, should be a fool, and should deserve blame: as for example, infamy, poverty, and such like. Besides this yet, one should fear nothing (how horrible or evil so ever it appeared to be) for cause of the good, and the honest. And therefore he is called most fortiall that feareth not death, the which is most horrible of all, for that it is th'end of life. notwithstanding, this maketh not, that every kind of death must not be feared. Nor the having fear of the natural death, or of that that chanceth by fortune in the sea, or by other like occasions, maketh not that man can not be fortiall. Then shall he be fortiall, that shall not fear such death, as shall be most honourable: as that is that chanceth in the wars, for honest occasion, or for defence of the country: the which death is so fair, that the people have ordained particular honours to all those, that die by like death.  Li. 
Who have less fear of death than we? and this may every man see, that considereth well our wars, and how mightily we defend us, even as long as ever we can, without fear of any thing.  Vli. 
Though it seem not that you have fere of death, when you fight, yet you do it not for occasion of the honest, or of the good, but to repress the injuries that are done unto you, or for the conservation of yourselves, or of your younglings, or of such other things, whereby you deserve not for this, to be called fortiall, as it also chanceth among us, to them that put themselves to suffer it, either for love, or to avoid poverty, or somelike thing: the which cometh not of us by our fault: but rather these such are to be called fearful. For to avoid things painful, or to choose death to fly some misery, or some evil, and not for being an honest thing, cometh of lack of heart, and courage, and not of fortitude.  Li. 
What, fear not we peradventure also, horrible and fearful things but a little? For we know not in our fighting, and in our other doings, any danger at all.  Vli. 
And therefore you are bold and not fortiall. For among horrible things, there are also of those that he who feareth them, can not be said for this that he is not fortiall, as all those things are that pass the might of man: as for example, the earth quakes, the thunder belt, and such like: the which are yet suffered also by the mighty, with a more steadfast mind, than the others commonly do. But even as the fear of every thing when there is no need, is a vice called fearfulness, so also the not having fear of any thing, when, and as it behoveth, the which is tother extremity, is a vice called rash boldness: in the mids of the which two extremes (for vices are none other than extremes, that offend either in to little ●, or to much) fortitude is put by reason, and therefore thou shalt see that fortiall men will never put themselves in any danger, without some reason: for it should be to great a folly to venture the life, the which is the dearest thing that man hath, but for some honest enterprise: and they ought much more to do it, that are most wise, as those that are most worthy to line, for that they are most apt to help others. Wherefore this name of fortitude is not also given among us, to them that put their lives in dangers of war for money, but only to him that doth it, either to defend his country, or for his own honesty, or for like honest enterprises: neither are they also called fortiall, but lecherous, and covetous, who either for unmoderate desire of pleasures, or of love, or to possess riches, esteem no danger. So also they that do it for anger, or for ignorance, are called by us ireful and rash. finally he is only fortiall that feareth not death, either for winning of honesty, or for the avoiding of soon dishonest thing: the which thing can not be in you, for that you have not reason (as I told thee before) that may give right judgement thereof.  Li. 
Call not you also those fortiall, who constrained by the laws, to get some honour in their city, put themselves to many dangers?  Vli. 
Ye, but they are not fortiall in deed, though they seem very like. For the man that is fortiall in deed, doth the deeds of fortitude, first and principally for the love of virtue, and let it after follow as it will: and these do it either to get glory, or profit.  Li. 
And they that are very expert and valiant in wars, do you not also call the fortiall?  Vli. 
Ye, but this yet is a fortitude somewhat unaptly named, & much worse than those others, for it cometh of art and of experience, the which teacheth thee to hurt others, and to defend thyself, and not of election guided with reason as the true fortitude. The which also thou must note, that although it be exercised both about surety, and fear, yet it consisteth more about terrible and fearful things: for he that in this, governeth himself in such sort as is convenient, deserveth more to be called fortiall, than he that doth it about those things, in the which man should trust, being much more easy to abstain from pleasures, then to bear griefs. And although   

The seventh Dialogue. Cirres, Ulysses, the Horse.  
WHat dost thou here thus alone Ulysses? & what thinkest thou on, that thou standest thus musing?  Vli. 
The beauty of the place, & the pleasantness of these shadows, were the things that provoked me first to rest in this place: and then afterward I stayed here, thinking how few those men are, that know themselves perfectly, or that seek to know, which part of them is the most noble and best part. The which thing is even so necessary to him, that desireth to obtain the true end (the which every one naturally desireth) that without the same, it is impossible to arrive unto it. For the which cause there hath been written by our wise men in many honourable places of our Gretia, this good lesson: Know thyself.  Cir. 
And whereby gatherest thou, that there are few that know themselves?  Vli. 
By their works: for (as thou knowest) man is made of two natures, the one corporal and earthy, and the other heavenly and divine: with the one of the which he is like to brute beasts, and with the other to those immaterial substances that turn the heavens. This last should be much more set by, by him then the other, being the better part: notwithstanding, all men almost forgetting it, attend to the other, which is the body, and they make none account but of that only, and that they seek to deck, and to make most happy, and most eternal that they can.  Cir. 
I have yet heard thee say, that in thy Gretia there are many wise men, the which seek only sciences and virtues, to make this part perfect, that thou sayest is in them the best part.  Vli. 
It is true, but in respect of those that attend to the wealth, and to the pleasures of the body, they are most few: and of these also, the most part, seek virtue for the benefits sake of the body, hoping to be able afterwards therewith, to procure unto them more commodities, and pleasures, and these truly deserve not to be called virtuous, not seeking virtue for itself and because it is good, but to get thereby some gain, for the principal desire of our soul, is the knowing the truth: and the occasion of things, to quiet itself therein, as in his end, and not to get out thereof commodities to the body, as they do, who knowing nothing but that in them only, never think on other thing, then of the benefits of the same: whereby afterward all the miseries, and all the humane infelicities grow.  Cir. 
Ulysses I thought that this little time, that thou wilt remain with me, thou wouldst have bestowed in those pleasures whereof this my so fair and pleasant Island aboundeth: provoked if by none other thing, yet by the continual spring, the which is ever in this place, and by that surety, and by those delights, that thou seest so many diverse beasts take the one with the other, that go all the day without any suspicion, a sporting by these my fair and green little woods, after the sort of those first times, so much celebrate by your poets, in the which, discord, and hatred were not yet comen into the world: and thou standest all the day musing, now under the shadow of some tree, on a stone, now by the waves of the Sea, with thy mind so far drowned in imaginations, that thou seemest unto me almost a body without a soul: and whereas I would think that thou shouldest be always merry, both for the quality of the place that requireth it, & for the love that I bear to thee, thou makest me often doubt, that thou hast some sorrow within the that continually vexeth thee.  Vli. 
See also how thou Circe's thinkest of nothing but of the body, and of pleasures, and delights of the same, neither haste thou any knowledge of the pleasure that is gotten in beholding the secrets of most wise nature, keeping ever hard to the earth, with the bands of the body, that part that should be lift up even unto heaven: where as beholding those divine substances, he should feel other pleasures, than these earthly pleasures are, that thou esteemest so much, for those pleasures of the mind, are far greater, than those of the body: and mark what I say, if I could obtain to cause to return men, four of these Grecians, that have been by the transformed into beasts, and to lead them again with me, I would think to have so much glory, and honour therefore, with my wise men of Gretia (the which thing although be slippery and mortal, is put among the wealths of the mind) that I should have more pleasure thereof, and more contentation, then of all the pleasures of the body that ever I could find, either here or in any other place.  Cir. 
If these thy wise men of Gretia, be so few as thou sayst, in respect of thothers this thy glory should be very small, and not to be much esteemed: for that others should not know the glorious deeds that thou shouldest do, because they know not how much man is more noble than beasts.  Vli. 
Rather clean contrary: for it is far better to be praised by one only, who also is praised himself by many, then of an hundred others, of whom even the name only is not known.  Cir. 
And whereof cometh it then that thou obteinest not thy desire? hast thou found none yet that will become man again?  Vli. 
No: for all they with whom I have hitherto spoken, are of those who whiles they were men, never knew themselves, nor never knew their own valour, but they attended only to the body, and to the benefits of the same: and because thus beasts they think to find more commodities, and benefits, appertaining to the conservation and good being of the body: thinking nothing at all of the divine and celestial part, they rather remain thus beasts.  Cir. 
If those be so few in number that know this divinity, that thou sayest you have within you, it is no marvel that thou hast not chanced on any: but if this desire strain thee so much, forsake not thy enterprise, for it can not be, that thou find not some one of those, that is of thine opinion: for thou knowest how diverse the wits of man are, and I in this mean time (for that I take no delight in these thy speculations) will go passing the time in these valleys, according to my wont custom.  Vli. 
And I will not fail to follow that that I most mind: For if I find but one of those that knoweth the nobleness of man (for the which thing he deserveth to be put in the number of the wise, the knowing himself, being the first fruit of wisdom) and that I may restore him to the perfect being, I shall not think to have spent my time in vain: since one benefit that is done to a wise man, is far better placed, than all those are, that ever may be done to a thousand fools. See yonder coming towards me a very fair Horse: oh what a fair beast it is: truly nature besides man, hath put all her knowledge in this: the beholding him hath taken me in such sort, that I would desire that he, who was changed into him, had been a Grecian, that I might do him this benefit: Wherefore I will ask him. Horse, tell me I pray thee, what countryman were thou, before thou were thus made by Circe's?  Ho. 
I was it Grecian while I was a man: but why dost thou ask me this?  Vli. 
To make thee return man, if thou be therewith contented: for Circe's hath granted me power to do it, and after to take thee out of this bondage, giving the liberty, either to return into thy country, or to go whither thou list best.  Ho. 
This will I not that thou do: For, so much as I loved the being man, and not a beast, whiles I was a man: so much it would grieve me, now that I have proved this other life, to return from a horse to a man.  Vli. 
And for what cause? tell it me I may thee, if it please thee: for this is far contrary to that that humane reason giveth.  Ho. 
Because I find in this state many fewer things that might let me to live quietly, and to obtain that perfection, and that end, that appertaineth unto my kind, and to my nature: the which I did not whiles I was man, in that that belonged unto man.  Vli. 
I know well that thou art a beast, that cannest do very well without the governance and nor flieth those to much that bring it sorrow. And so having these passions more moderate in us, we must do far more easilyer that that appertaineth unto our nature, than you do that that belongeth to yours.  ¶ Vli. 
I would say in deed that thou were fine, if thou couldst prove unto me, that these were more perfect in you, then in us.  Ho 
I will not travail at all in talking of fortitude: For it is so manifest a thing, that your writers (I speak not of poets, to whom it is lawful because of delectation, to say sometimes that that is not, but the historiographers, whose duty is only to say the truth) when they will say that some man is most strong, they liken him unto a Lion, or to a bull, or to some like beast: and when they will speak of our strength, they never liken it to that of a man. And from whence cometh this? but because that they know that we are far more strong than you are.  Vli. 
This is lustiness of body & not fortitude itself. O I see well this fellow is also one of those, who knoweth nothing, but the benefits of the body.  Ho. 
And from whence cometh the strength of the body, but from that of the mind?  Vli. 
Ye, unto him who hath a mind that can perceive it.  Ho. 
And we are of those who have minds most apt to perceive it: For that we have it much less troubled, by having fewer passions than you have.  Vli. 
And what are those passions, that you have not as we have?  Ho. 
first all those things that grow of things past, or of things to come. Because we know not that that is present to us, nor foresee that that is to come.  Vli 
What passions grow also of these to us?  Ho. 
What passions? dost not thou know it? fear and hope: fear of those things that displease thee, and hope of those that please thee, and as also gladness, and sorrow, do by those things that are present unto thee, and that delight thee, or by those that are against thy mind. And these very often keep your mind unquiet and thoughtful, in such sort that they suffer you not to do that that appertaineth to a fortiall man: and from these four spring after, as from one head, all the others. But let us pass over further, unto that that taketh away the reason requireth, blustering abroad to others their shameful desires, either in prose or in rhyme, or finally that have by this occasiou run into some foul death: it sufficeth that you persuade yourselves that beauty is a divine thing, & that love being a desire thereof, is a thing laudable, hiding with that spiritual beauty, that is thought to be in God, that little grace, the which the well proportioned bodies have: and covered with well made colours, and with the name of the desire of that, the which is one of the first perfections of your soul, you hide this your humane passion. I say humane, because in us, it never falleth so imbridledly and so continually, but far more moderate, and in those times only that nature hath ordained for the maintenance of the kind.  Vli. 
So that we see not you also do a thousand follies, by the like occasion?  Ho. 
And what see you us do? but th'one of us to become sometime somewhat enemy to tother: the which cometh of gelosye, that is a common passion that groweth always together, with this desire. But I would not reason hereof, fearing lest thou shouldest disdain thereat, the things are so wicked and abominable that sometimes it leadeth to do. Reed the histories a little, and thou shalt see, how many deceits, how much hatred, how many treasons, and how many deaths, aswell of sword, as also of poison (the which is a more foul thing) have grown in the world by this. So that I will lay it a side, and pass ever to those pleasures that grow by eating, and by drinking. Where thou shalt find that what beast soever thou wilt, aswell wild, as tame, is far more moderate than you. For thou shalt not find any, that at any time eateth or drinketh more than he needeth, nor that seeketh for other meats, than those that were ordained for him by nature: some seed, some grass, some flesh, and some fruit. Whereas you not contented with one only, eat of all, and more over you cause diverse things to be brought from every part of the world to eat. And not contented herewith, you also seek with art, that they may untemperate, that taketh great pleasure of things that appertain to the sight, as pictures, images, and like things are: and much less he that taketh delight of those things that belong to the hearing, as voices and sounds are: and so also he that delighteth of savours, if it be not for respect of food, as it chanceth to you beasts, as the dog for an example doth, that taketh only delight of the smell of the Hare, for that he hopeth to eat her. Then resteth that this virtue be only exercised about the delectations of the taste, and of the feeling: and also I will say, further unto thee, that the pleasure of the touching is only his object, for that the taste is a kind of touching, and that this is true, see how he, to whom wine was so pleasant, required the Gods that they would make him a long neck like the crane's: for that the pleasure that the wine gave him by touching, through a longer space, might endure the more, and be greater.  Ho. 
And to what end sayest thou this?  Vli. 
hearken a little if it please thee, thou must also mark that man hath the instrument of this sense more perfect than any other beast.  Ho. 
And how provest thou this?  Vli. 
Mark: All the organs, and members, wherein the sensations are made, must be clcane void, and naked of all their objects, forasmuch as nothing can take again, that that it hath: and therefore it behoveth that the eye have no colour in himself at all, nor the taste likewise savour: otherwise th'one should see every thing of that colour he had in himself, (as it is to him, who looketh through a glass of some colour) and tother should feel every thing of that savour whereof he had altered the taste, as he doth who hath made that place bitter, where the taste is made, by some choleric ague, unto whom every thing seemeth bitter.  Ho. 
This is most true, but I see not yet to what end thou sayest it.  Vli. 
I say it, because the instruments, in the which the touching is made, whether they be sinews, flesh, or skin, it can not come so to pass, because their objects, are chiefly the first qualities: that is to say, heat, dryth, cold, and moisture: & they being made of four elements, can not be altogether voyde of them.  Ho. 
How do they then to perceive them, receiving them again into them, if they have them?  Vli. 
They feel but only the excess, or the lack of them, that is to say, only those things, that are more or less, hot, cold, dry, or moist, than they: and therefore he that hath the flesh and the skin most temperate, shall have his sense best, for he shall feel the more every most little difference: and these we men are, (who as it is most sure) have more temperate complexion than any other beast: whereby it followeth that we have this scent more perfect, and that we feel greater delight in the operations of the same, than you do. So that it should be no maxuaile, we feeling greater pleasure, if we also were less temperate: but I grant thee not this.  Ho. 
What? wilt thou deny me, that we suffer not ourselves to be less drawn by these pleasures than you, seeing experience contrary at all times?  Vli. 
I will grant thee that you abstain more from pleasures, and trouble yourselves less by sorrows, than we do, & far more easily: but not yet that it cometh of temperance.  Ho. 
And why?  Vli. 
Because (as I have told thee) temperance is an elective habit, made with a right discourse of reason: how can you then have this virtue in you? first not having reason, by the which you should determine what this habit is, and what that mean is, by the which you should not exceed in sorrowing, or in taking delight of those things, without the which the kind should not be maintained: for the which cause so great delectations have been put by nature, in those things that maintain the indevision, as is the eating and the drinking, and in those that▪ maintain the kind, as the things of Venus are, you can not afterward also chose freely, because you be guided in all your operations by nature, and not of so much liberty as we are.  ¶ Ho. 
Then from whence come these effects of temperance in us, that are such as thou canst not deny them, if we have them not?  Vli. 
From an instinction that nature hath grew you: who knowing that you are not of so perfect knowledge, that you of yourselves can choose that, that is best for your conservation, hath caused that you can neither eat, nor drink, more than your need requireth: nor also, so to use superfluously any thing, whereby your hurt or corruption should grow. And this is not temperance, whereunto belongeth freely, neither to be to sorrowful for those things that are not convenient, nor to take to much delight of those things that are convenient, and to do all things with measure, and when time is.  Ho. 
If we do all those self things that you say, whether it be by nature, or it be by temperance, it is sufficient for us.  Vli. 
If this were true, it should also follow, that the being led by force, to some end, should be better, than the going freely and willingly thereunto. Ah, these are servile, and of vile minds: return then, return man, and into the state that thou were before, and come with me into thy country.  Ho. 
I will not grant thee this: for although I can not defend my reason as thou dost, yet it maketh not that I know not, that this being is so much better than yours, that I will not remain thus a beast.  Vli. 
If thou be then fully thus determined, remain thou so a beast still: for truly thou deservest none other being then this, since thou sufferest thyself to be so much guided by the sense, that thou remember'st no more the light of reason.   

The eight Dialogue. Ulysses, the Dog.  
IF nature (as our wise men of Gretia say) desire that every thing should come to his end and perfection: from whence then cometh it, that she hath given so great power, to these our senses, that they draw continually unto the earth, this our mind? and keep it almost always occupied in these earthly things (as it is with this▪ fellow that was changed into an horse, with whom I spoke even now) so that we are little different from brute beasts: who, for that they have their end in the earth, were all made by nature, with their face turned towards the same, and man only with the face turned towards heaven, to give him to understand, that he should continually life up himself thereunto: and beholding the operations of those divine substances, to obtain a felicity that maketh him more than a man. But what would this Dog, that cometh thus towards me? and being by little and little comen nigh me, standeth then so still? Truly he should have done it willingly, following his nature, the which is very friendly to man, and for that he should see them very seldom in this place. I believe, yea rather I know it for a surety, because experience hath taught it me, that nature hath given us these senses, that are not necessary to the maintenance of our life, only for our better being, and to make our knowledge more perfect: & thereby it cometh, that they so incline to the earth, where they have their objects this our better part: the which (if they were not) would by her own nature life up herself continually to heaven. Alaslee how this Dog taketh pleasure in beholding me, and mark if it seem not, by the gestures that he maketh, whiles I reason thus with myself, that he understandeth all that idle, as the more part do, until such time as one day arriving here, I was transformed by Circe's, as thou seest, into a Dog, of the which being I content myself far better, than I did of that of man.  Vli. 
But I look after, or rather most earnestly desire thee, that thou tell me, for what cause thou judgest, that your being is better than ours?  Do. 
I am contented Ulysses, and I will begin with the virtues, of the which you never cease to glory yourselves, even as though you passed all other beasts: as of Justice, of fortitude, of temperance, and of all other virtues. But I will first that thou answer me to this. Which ground deserveth to be most praised, either that, inhabited by the Circlopes, the which is said to bring forth of all kind of corn, and fruit by her own natural goodness, without being sown, laboured, or lylled by any means by men: or that ground of our barren and hilly Itaca, scarcely apt to feed goats: the which though it be tilled with most diligence is so barren, that it never yieldeth other than a most poor harvest: nor it never giveth to those that labour it, just reward of their pains? But see that herein thou set apart the love of thy country.  Vli. 
How can I say that that land of the Ciclopes is not to be praised more, being so fertile, (although I guided by nature love mine own country better) if I will not say untruly▪  Do. 
And the same thou shouldest confess to me of the soul, who in this is like to the earth: praising those soul's most, who without any study or labour, bring forth of themselves, the good and perpecte operations.  Vli. 
And this also I confess to be true.  Do. 
Then thou grantest me that the souls of beasts, who of themselves, without any labour or study, bring forth virtues, are far better, and more noble than yours.  Vli. 
Why, what virtues are these that beasts of their own nature are endued with.  Do. 
Far greater than those, of the which man is decked with art. And if thou wilt seek this diligently, let us begin with that that is the first and principal of them all.  Vli. 
And which is that?  Do. 
Wisdom, without the which there can be no virtue at all. For virtue being none other thing then a mean between two extremities, determined with just reason, it followeth thereby that there can be no virtue without wisdom.  
For that mean that is a virtue, is not like the arithmetical mids, that consisteth of like farnes from his extremes, as is (for an example) in the continual quantity, the centrie of the circle: from the which centre as many lines as thou wilt, drawn to the circumference are all equal: or as the six, is between two and ten in separate quantity, the which is as far distant from the one as from the other. But it is like the geometrical mids, the which is distant from his extremes by a similitude, or else a reasonable proportion, as for example: the six is between nine and four, where it containeth once & a half the four, and is contained once and a half likewise by the nine: Whereby it is said to be a mids between th'one & tother, by proportion of reason: so also the mids, in the which virtue consisteth, not being put between his extremes by equal distance, after the similitude of the arithmetical mids, it behoveth that a virtue determine it, according to a reasonable proportion of extremes, to the similitude of the geometrical mids: and this virtue to whom it belongeth to determine it, is wisdom. Then there can be no virtue without wisdom, and therefore it is reasonably taken, for the rule and foundation of all: and this (as I have told thee) is found far more among us, then among you.  Vli. 
And who showeth me that this is true?  Do. 
Reason: tell me I pray thee, dost thou not grant me, that the habits are known by the means of the operations?  Vli. 
Ye that I do, for it is true.  Do. 
Then shalt thou also grant me, that we are more wise than you, sins we do our operations, far more wisely, than you do yours. And that this is true, thou shalt prove it, by thine own self: considering diligently the operation of every one of our kinds, beginning at the lesser beasts: where first thou shalt see the ant to be so wise, that he layeth up in summer, all that that he needeth in winter: and the spiders lay their snares with very great consideration, to take certain little beasts to feed them on: and the Wasps, and many other like, to hide themselves under the earth, at those times that are hurtful to them, I will say nothing to thee, of the most wise governance of the bees, for that there are so many among you, who have consumed their best years in describing their life, and the manor how they govern themselves. Then go to the birds, and thou shalt see them all to change their place time by time, as it is fit for their nature: thou shalt see of those, who knowing themselves unapt to bring up their young, cause them to be covered and nourished by an other, as the Cockow, thou shalt see of those, who doubting that the young the which they have bred, should be none of theirs, have with most great wisdom found the means to be assured thereof, as the Eagle, who turneth their eyes to the rays of the son. I will also pass over with silence, the wisdom of the Cranes, that rule themselves so ordinately under the principality of the one of them, and how when the others take their rest, he only standeth with his head aloft, to take heed to the others, holding a stone with the one of his feet, for that he would not sleep, and hearing any thing, he showeth them straight thereof. The Partridges, what wisdom use they in defending their young from the fowlers? the old set themselves before, till the other have time to escape. The Swallows, when they can find no dirt to fasten together those little splintars of wood, or of straw, whereof they make their nests, (for they wale them in such sort as you do your houses) have not they so much wisdom that they wash them in water, and tumbling them afterward in the dust, they make it even as you make mortar: then in bringing up of their young, how great wisdom do they use, in causing that every one may have his part of the meat, and in getting forth of all the filth of the nest for that they should lie clean: nor how they can govern themselves, and defend them from such as would take them, in troubling the water with their phines or with casting certain black water like ink, and some by one means, and some by an other: it sufficeth me that you have learned of them, the making of ships, and the art of sailing, the which bring so many commodities to the humane kind, making the oars after the fashion of some of their feet, and the sails in likeness of certain wings that some fishes have, who coming to the top of the water, and spreading them forth, are by the help of the wind, carried by them: So that finally, if thou shalt well consider the operations of all beasts, thou shalt be enforced to confess that we have more wisdom than you, and consequently, that our being is far better than yours: for that we have had all these benefits freely of nature: even as thou hast also confessed, that the ground of the Cicsopes, the which bringeth forth her fruit by her own proper nature, is better than our Itaca, the which would bring for the nothing at all, if it were not labered, and tilled by you.  Vli. 
Truly Cleantoes, when thou begannest to talk of wisdom, I believed that whiles thou were man, thou hadst studied moral things: but thou didst proceed very little further, that I perceived it to be nothing so: since thou art not able to tell what wisdom properly is, and besides this, confounding it often times with art.  Do. 
Wilt thou deny unto me, that wisdom is the knowing to govern her operations well? and to dispose them well about those things that are good for us?  Vli. 
No, but this sufficeth not: for he is not called wise, who provideth, and ordaineth well one thing only: as he (for example) should be, that could govern himself well about the health of the body, or in the exercising himself in the wars, but he that doth this about all those things that appertain to good and quiet living: and this can not you do, and therefore wisdom can not be in you: and that this is true, hearken to me and I will prove it. Wisdom is a virtue that to a diche, wherein he hath heretofore fallen, will not (as it is said for a proverb) pass. And this cometh of nothing else, but for that the imaginative representeth unto him only the falling into that dyche indistinctly, and without any time: wherefore, he not being able to discuss, whether such a thing hath been in the time passed, or it be in the time present, or it hath to be in the time to come, the which are parts of the time, he flieth, and will not pass it. It is very true, that those kinds, who have this power of the imaginative, a little moor perfect, whereby they know things somewhat more distinctly, seem to have the memory: among the which kinds, thine hath the chief place. And therefore it seemeth that you remember things more, and know them better, and particularly the master, than any other beast doth. And those other kinds, who have it more imperfect, seem to remember less (as the flies, who driven from a place, forget it by and by, and return thither again. See then how man only, for that he knoweth the time, is he that hath memory, whereby he only, amongst all other beasts, may be called wise. For he that hath not knowledge of the time, can not judge, when it is good to do a thing, and when it is not, the which properly appertaineth to wisdom.  Do. 
If we have not wisdom, what is that that leadeth us so, to do only that, that belongeth to our nature?  Vli. 
An instinction, and a propriety, that nature hath given you for your benefit, that directeth you to your end. Wherefore, if thou (for example) shouldest ask those ants that were bred the spring tide passed, for what cause they lay up in their nests, whereof to eat, who having no knowledge of the winter paste, can not do it by wisdom, as thou sayest: it is sure that they would answer, either for that we see those which begat us do so, or by an inclination that nature hath given us, the which causeth us so to do.  Do. 
Is not this the self same in us, that you call wisdom in you?  Vli. 
No: rather th'one thing is very far thing in vain, hath given you neither th'one nor tother, since you having not to govern any others than yourselves, (except your young, for the small time that they could not live without you) the which chanceth not to us, to whom the governance of a household, and of public matters belongeth: in the which, wisdom perchance is far more necessary, then in those of our own causes (and you having no need of any thing, besides of that, that nature of herself bringeth forth unto you, have no need to supply with art.  Do. 
Ulysses thine eloquence is such, and hath so great force, that he who should hear thee, and know not somewhat beyond, would believe that all that thou hast said, were true: notwithstanding as thou beganst to speak, thou didst fail (as it is said for a proverb) at the gates.  Vli. 
And I pray the tell me, what error have I made?  Do. 
Thou didst not number among the knowing habits of your under standing, the opinion, when thou didst reckon them, and yet thou knowest that by the means thereof you know many things.  Vli. 
Nay, thou thyself hast failed: for thou perceyvedst not, that I would not speak thereof, when I said, speaking of things chancing, that I would reason only of those things that depend of us, about the which, wisdom is exercised: and I would let those pass, that depend on nature, about the knowledge of the which the opinion is exercised: whereby it is no marvel if it be sometimes deceived, the things that nature bringeth forth, being so many and so diverse.  Do. 
And what was the occasion that moved thee to do this?  Vli. 
Because that is not worthy to be numbered amongst these virtues, or intellectual habits, for as much as that bringeth no perfection at all to the understanding, as these do. For man is never called wise for having opinion of a thing, as he is for knowing it. And besides this, the opinion may be deceived, and none of the rest of them can.  Do. 
What none? Can not the other habits also be deceived?  Vli. 
Not these first three that are in the speculative understanding, for that their objects are unuature. The which if it be more rightly guided thereby in us, than it is in you, it is a sign that it is better, and that we be more perfect than you. So that giving now an end to our commoning, enjoy thou the kind that thou thinkest better: for I thinking this better wherein I am, will so remain.  
(⸫)   

The ninth Dialogue. Ulysses, the Calf.  
IWill now say verily, that the proverb is true, which saith, that there is nothing in this world that hath been by nature more justly divided than the brain: sins it seemeth even to every one of these beasts, with whom I have spoken, to have so much thereof in that state wherein they are, that there is not one of them that will give place to the reason of man, who yet discorseth and worketh with reason: esteeming their chance far better, then ours, the which yet I can never think that they had heart to say whiles they were men: but this also may rise of the great love, that each thing beareth to his being, of the which it is so jealous, that there is none that altogether would change it, with any kind of other, for fear at that change to be put in danger of loss thereby, and these perchance happen more also to man, then to any other thing. I speak of the substaunciall being, and not of the accidental: for I know very well, that an old man would change his age, with the age of a young man, and one sick, his disposition with that of a hole, and every poor man his state with that of a rich. But to change themselves substantially, and to become an other, there are few that will do it: for that there is none, or most few, that believe that an other is better than theirs. So that it is no marvel, if none of these beasts would be persuaded by me to become man again. But alas see what a fair Calf this is that cometh so safely feeding towards me: O, what fierceness showeth this beast in his forehead? and notwithstanding how gentle yet he is, and how he suffereth man to handle him: surely we are not little bound to nature, that she hath made this beast, for it is plainly seen, that she hath made him for that he should take from man a great part of his pains, he being of such strength, and therewith so easy to be handled. I will see, if he, who was changed into him, was by chance a Grecian, the which should happily be: for sins he hath drawn so nigh me, that he might hear me reason, he hath stand still to hearken unto me, even as though he understood me. Calf, tell me, (as he who may do it, give thee that thou most● desirest) who were thou, and of what place, before thou hadst this shape?  Cal. 
Even of the self same country that thou also art, if that that thou speakest be thine own proper language.  Vli. 
Then thou shouldest desire also to return to see Gretia thy country again, aswell as I do,  Cal. 
No truly. For where one is well there is his country: but this cometh of the being that I now have, that though I might well, I would in no wise become man again, and having to remain thus as I am, this is so fruitful and would destroy his being: but it might well be possible that in one only man, all virtues might be found, if he had so long life, that he might get them, having an apt wit to do all things.  Ca 
And how so?  Vli. 
Because vices being contrary the one to the other, as for example, fear is unto boldness, and covetousness to prodigality, they can not stand togethers: where as unto virtues, not being contrary, but the one rather helper of the other, it followeth not so.  Ca 
And are there not virtues also among us?  Vli. 
Not so perfect as in man: and when it were even as thou sayest, one, or few more only for a kind, where (as I have told thee) man only may have them all.  Ca 
Yea, so say you, but we are of a contrary opinion: Rather I say to thee, that there are many more virtues among us, then among you.  Vli. 
And who shall be judge hereof?  Ca 
Thou thyself: for if thou hearken unto me, I will prove it so plainly, that thou shalt give sentence against thyself. Tell me a little: Say not your wise men, that Justice is an assemble of all virtues, and that she containeth them all in her, giving to every thing the rightness, and rule, with the which they should use themselves? For what other is there but she, that commandeth the fortiall that he fear not, and that he fly not those dangers, that bring him renown: and to the temperate, that he give not himself overmuch unto pleasures, or that he do not any thing inconueniente, to avoid displeasures: and unto the meek, that he do none injury unto others? Who is there besides this, but Justice, that ordaineth all the doings of man, measuring, and reducing into a convenient means all their doings: as well those that they do willingly and freely, as to sell, to lend, to gauge, and like things: as also those that they do, as enforced, either by disdain, or by their evil custom, or secretly, as theft, killing by treason, poisons, treasons, and false witness bearing are, or openly, or without any respect at all, as are villainies, stripes, meyming of the members, and manslaughters, and other such like outrages.  Vli. 
Truly, this that thou sayest is true: and for this cause there are some, that call justice the hole virtue: adding besides this, that she is more perfect than any other. For as much, as the others make him good, that possesseth them only, as touching themselves: and she governeth man, not only as touching herself, but as touching others: and weigheth not only the particular benefit, but the universal.  Ca 
Then that that I say being true, if I shall prove unto thee, that among you there is no Justice, or most little, and not justice truly: it shall be proved by consequence, that among you there is no virtue at all, or most little and not virtue truly. Also if I shall prove unto thee afterward, that there is more justice among us, then among you, it shallbe likewise proved by consequence, that we have many more virtues than you, and that our being is far better than yours.  Vli. 
Thy conclution is most true: but the difficulty is in proving it.  Ca 
Shall it not always be proved, when the propositions are proved that bring it in?  ¶ Vli. 
Knowest thou so much logic?  Ca 
Why, what miracle is that, I being a Grecian? For thou knowest that all we labour therein, whiles we be children.  Vli. 
Go to, follow then.  Ca 
The greater of the two propositions, the which is, where there is no justice, there is no virtue at all, I have already proved to thee, since thou haste granted me, that she contained all virtues in her: for the which cause she hath been called, as thou saidest, the hole virtue.  Vli. 
Go to, I am content: now to the lesser.  Ca 
And this also is most evident, if that so famous a proposition of your wise men be true, saying: that every thing is known by his operations. And I will have hereof none other witness then thine: for I think myself most sure, that if thou shalt diligently consider the operations of men, thou shalt say as I say.  Vli. 
Ye, peradventure if they did all after one fort.  Ca 
It sufficeth that thou shalt see the more part do unjustly, by whom the occasion should always be taken, to make judgement of things. But tell me I pray thee: if there were justice among you naturally, as there is amongst us: or if you lived according to that law that is written by nature in the heart of each of you, what need should you have of so many laws, as you have made? although as it is used to be said for a proverb: they are like spider's webs, for the great beasts break them, and the flies remain there.  Vli. 
It is true, that if each one would do unto others, as he would be done unto, as the law of nature willeth, there should then need none other laws: notwithstanding the greater part of them, are made by the declaration of the natural law, and if they should serve from that, they should not be accounted just. For as thou shouldest know, like as in speculative things, there are some as principles that are known to every man by their own nature, and by the light of the understanding: wherefore they need not be proved, as it should be for an example, that one only thing can be, and can not be in one time. And some other▪ things as conclusions that proceed from those first points, and are grounded in them: So are there also in active things certain lights, and natural principles, known by a common notice, and by the proper nature to everyman, as for example it should be, not to do that unto others, that thou wouldst not should be done unto thee. And then by these principles, come these laws written, and are grounded on them.  Ca 
It seemeth to me, that they are made, for that you may be able to interpret this natural reason after your own fashion, and to pluck it this way and that way, as it pleaseth you, showing that very often to be just with words, that is most unjust in deeds: and if thou take good heed to that that I have said unto thee, with experience thou shalt see, that he who can best wrest a law unto his desire, is taken for the best doctor.  Vli. 
Speak to me of the laws as touching themselves, and led by Princes, as those, that are governed by the chief men, or by the public governance, and thou shalt see what place the evil have there: and how little the good are esteemed, by the only fault of the proper inordinate love of those, to whom the distribution both of rewards and punishments belongeth: who very often suffer themselves to be so much corrupted by profit, or by pleasure, or by some other unreasonable passion, that it is sometimes seen, for one like virtuous operation, one to be rewarded, and no estimation at all to be made of an other. And likewise also for one like offence, to punish one grievously, & one other not only not to be punished, but to be rewarded and set in some degree.  Vli. 
And when that that thou sayst were true, that there is no distributive justice among us: how is it then found among you? for thou haste told me that you are far more just than we.  Ca 
Even asmuch as is required for our state and nature. And if thou observe our operations, thou shalt know it of thyself, and particularly when th'one of us, fighteth with an other: where thou shalt see all us rejoice and make mirth to him that is the winner. And that they that are unprofitable are by us continually despised.  Vli. 
These you should know of your own selves whether it be true or not. Nor I will dispute no more with thee thereof. But what wilt thou say to me of the comutative part, how much is that among you?  Ca 
Even as much as is amongst you, who have not one most little part thereof: but this difference there is, that among us it is not found, for we have no need thereof, having every thing in common: and among you, for having separate thine from mine you cannot live freely without it, for that covetousness, & that your wicked hunger of riches, hath driven it away, whereby you never do any other thing than th'one to think, to possess thee, that is the others, without having any respect at all unto the good and the right in your bargains and commutations of things that the one of you maketh with tother: but rather he is accounted amongst you the most valiant, who in his travailing can make the that carry burdens for hire, or to the beauty of harlots, that give themselves for every vile thing.  Vli. 
Go no farther in numbering the wrongs, that are in human operations: for I also know well that there are many men, who drawn by their proper love, do very often, not only that that they should not do: but that that after when they are not appassioned, would they had never done. But this maketh not that there is no justice amongst us: for there are many, aswell in the distributive, as also in the commutative, who would never do any thing against the law thereof. The examples of whom, for not to be tedious unto thee, and for that books are full thereof, I will not show the. And those your operations that thou hast reckoned unto me, show also that there is less justice among you, though they seem ordained, or disposed after the order of justice.  Cal. 
And why so, sins every thing is known by his operations?  Vli. 
Because in you they are customs and properties, that you have had by nature who knowing that you have not the knowledge, nor can guide you of your selves, in the path that is best for you, hath so directed you for your best commodity. But tell me, canst thou show me properly what thing justice is?  Cal. 
It is a constant and perpetual will, the which giveth ●● every one that that is his, and that that belongeth to him, as I have hard say of your wise men of Gretia: and so I think it is: what sayest thou, am I deceived?  Vli. 
No, if for the will, thou understand therein an habit caused by frequented acts: for he is not just, who once or twice worketh justly, but he that always, or at the least most commonly, worketh according to the same.  Cal. 
I also understand it so, for I know well that those powers that never come to effect, are vain things and impossible.  Vli. 
Then if it so be, what justice wilt thou that there be in you, since you have not the will, the which is the subject, on the which justice is first grounded? For that this as thou knowest, is a reasonable power. And none but reasonable creatures can have it.  Ca 
And why can it not be in the sensitive appetite, the which we also have aswell as you?  Vli. 
Because justice ordaineth and ruleth that part called appetite, the which followeth the knowledge: and this is the will, the which followeth the understanding, who knoweth not only the things (as it might be said) that the sense also doth, but also knoweth the proportion that is between them: whereby it may judge that that belongeth both to the one, and to the other, the which thing the sense can not do.  Ca 
If we have not justice, what is that then that bridleth our appetite, and that maketh it just towards others? for as I have told thee before, we live far more justly the one with the other than you do.  Vli. 
Have I not told it thee? it is a law put therein by nature for your benefit: by the means of the which law, you work necessarily according to the same: and for those operations that come by nature, there is neither praise nor dispraise at all deserved. As a stone for falling down is neither praised nor dispraised, nor the fire for going upward. And when thou wouldst say to me that you work freely, (for I think it seemeth unto you that you have a free appetite) I would answer thee, that when this also were so, you know not perfectly and distinctly that that you do: whereby it followeth, that your operations can not be truly called good. For, to will that an act be virtuous and perfect, it chiefly behoveth that he, who worketh, work knowingly and wittingly.  Ca 
These are subtleties, and crafts, that you of yourselves find, to be accounted superiors of others: but he that shall well note your operations, shall say, that if Justice be found among you, it is only in words. The which thing is not so with us, for we neither know, nor can by any means, give notice contrary to that that we have within us, as you do.  Vli. 
Let us go over somewhat more distinctly the operations that proceed from justice: according that definition that thou haste given me of her, the which in very deed is true towards them, who know them not, saving so long as you have need to remain under their custody.  Ca 
Are there not also among us of those that use that pit? Consider the storcke a little who when he seeth his father and mother not being able to fly any more, for age to remain in the nest, nourisheth, and sustaineth them even with his own blood: and seeing them to lack feathers, plucketh himself, and covereth them, for that they should not be hurt either with cold, or with the air.  Vli. 
And what matter is this, finding it in one kind only? for thou shalt find none other but the Storcke that doth this: of the which it may be also said, that he doth it more for his own commodity, then to restore his father and mother: for he being very cold by nature, after that he hath gotten his food, remaineth also together in the nest with them, to warm himself. Go then further to those duties that should be given to the superiors, or unto those, who by some virtue deserve to be more honoured than the others, called by us obedience, or reverence, what step or token of them is there found among you?  Ca 
This needeth not to us, we being all equal: though yet among those kinds, who have need of a guide, as the crane's, or the bees, thou shalt see a most great obedience, and reverence to their superiors.  Vli. 
Call it rather a natural inclination, and thou shalt say true. Go then to that that should be yielded to such as do thee a benefit, called by us thankfulness, or kindness, what part thereof shalt thou find among you?  Ca 
Is there not many of us seen, not only to be kind one towards an other, but to serve man, for that he giveth them whereof to eat, or some other necessary thing for them?  Vli. 
Yea, as long as yourselves list: but it is afterward seen, as the toy cometh in your head, you flying at us with your heels, and do us a thousand other outrages, forgetting all the benefits that you have received of us. I will not speak of friendship, for that it can not be among you: I speak of that friendship that hath virtue for a foundation: by the which the free election of the mind is after moved, and not of the natural friendship: for in this there consisteth no part of justice at all. And so likewise the care and discretion that should be had of those that are our inferiors. All the which things having the discourse of reason for a foundation, can not be found among you. So that speak no more so foolishly, that your state, because there are many more virtues among you, then amongst us, should be better than ours: For thou art deceived by thy little knowledge.  Ca 
I will dispute it no moor with thee. For, although thou shouldest, have the better hand of me with words, I not being able to make thee answer, for being much less exercised in this art than thou; this opinion would always rest in my mind, as most true, because the same groweth in me by experience, and by the sensitive knowledge, the which (as I think) passeth in certentye all others. And therefore thanking thee of thy good will towards me, I will take my leave at thee, for I will live thus. ()   

The tenth Dialogue. Ulysses, the Elephant.  
Truly it is a marvelous thing, that among so many Grecians as I have spoken with, transformed by Circe's into divers beasts, there hath been none that would become man again. And if the proverb, the which is common through our Gretia, saying: that it is impossible, that that, the which many say, can be altogether false, were true in all things, I might make by this judgement, that the being of beasts, who are void of reason, were far better than ours. But it should only be true, in things that appertain to the active life of man: for when one speaketh of the knowledge of our understanding, about the truth and the nature of things: I have heard most commonly one other proverb used, clean contrary to this: the which saith, that one should know as the fewest. And besides this I have always heard our wile men give many Epithets to the common people of erring, of unstableness, of wavering, and of many other qualities, all the which betaken, little knowledge and imperfect judgement, where by we can not maintain them both to be true (and yet the nature of proverbs is, by long experience to be true) except we understand the one for things practical, and thother for speculative. Then since the knowledge of the nobleness of the humane nature, and how much the same knowledge passeth in perfection, the knowledge of other beasts, who lack of the understanding, and of the ableness to discourse with reason, appertaineth to the contemplative part, whose office is the seeking the truth, it is no marvel though the most part err: it shall then be best since Circe's hath already restored my companions and ships, and they tarry only for me, that I return home, and lose no more time, where I can not see that I might do any profit at all. For I will not therefore that their little knowledge hurt me, as it doth them: because remaining here, among them beasts, though I be a man, I should live after the imagination, and the memory, as they do: where as among men I should live according to art, and reason: by whose means, drawing near continually to my perfection, ye rather getting from day to day part thereof, I shall come to live with a more quiet, and better contented mind. Let us then go towards the ships, and let us not take more care for others, than for ourselves, for this should be a most great folly. But what beast do I see of such unmeasurable greatness walking on the se strand? it is an Elephant, if I through the far distance, that is between us, be not deceived. O how great is the variety of nature, in the production of beasts: and how glad I would be, that he who was turned into him, had been a Grecian, his countenance hath caused me to love him so much by beholding him: I will therefore ask him it: for if I could find but even one only who would by my means become man again, I should not think to have spent these my travails in vain. Tell me Elephaunt, if thou were a man, (as I think thou were) before thou hadst this shape, what thou were.  Ele. 
I was a Grecian, & of the most famous city of Athenes, where I studied philolophye a very long time, and my name was Aglafemos. But tell me now why thou askest me this? for thou know'st that Philosophers seek none other thing then to know the occasion of all things, to quiet and satisfy that desire of knowing, that every one hath by nature.  Vli. 
Oh thanked be the gods infinitely, that at the last I have found one lover of the truth: and one that may truly call himself man: Know thou Aglafemos, that Circe's hath granted me, through her gentleness, that I may restore the humane shape to all those Grecians, that I find in this her I stand, who have been by her transformed into beasts in so an Elephante, of the which being I am not yet fully resolved, whether it be better than yours or not. And therefore I will not believe the thus at the first: but following the custom of true philosophers, who although they believe nothing without the reason thereof, neither do they set any thing at nought, that is said unto them, though they understand it not: if it be not so far contrary to the order of nature that it appear manifestly false of itself. For he, who thought not that there were any thing, but that that he understood, should be counted a fool: I will therefore hearken by what reason thou thoughtest to do me a most great benefit in restoring me the humane being: and if it shall be such as may prove unto me, that your being is better than ours, (as it seemeth that thou thinkest them,) this nature lest, and I becomen man again, I will gladly return with thee into my country.  Vli. 
And I on the other part promise thee, if thou shalt prove unto me, that your being is better than ours, that then I will pray Circe's, she will transform me also into one of these beasts, yea and I will live afterward here with thee: thy speech hath pleased me so much, and thy so modest proceeding, such as in deed belongeth to a right Philosopher.  Ele. 
I will not bind myself hereunto, for though it seem that I much care not to become man again, I felt so great an alteration and travail in my transmutation, (an occasion that I now agree not so easily to change this state again) I find not yet in deed in this state so many commodities, that I may judge it better than yours. But what reason hast thou, that judging your being so much better than ours, dost comfort me so earnestly to become man again?  Vli. 
I will tell thee it, and because thou art a Philosopher, I will proceed with thee philosophically. Thou knowest that though there be in this world almost an infinite number, of kinds of creatures, that yet there can none be found who hath not some proper and particular operation, the which groweth in the same kind by that form, that giveth it that being that it hath, whereby till it lacketh of the being, it can not also lack of the working.  Ele. 
Yea and if it were otherwise, nature should have made them in vain, the which is impossible.  Vli. 
Thou knowest also that the nature, and the being of things, is known, by their operations. And they say that we have most noble, and best being, the which have best, and most noble operations: for man is not able to know the causes, but by their effects.  Ele. 
Yea, for the knowing the causes of themselves, and then by the mean of the knowledge of them to know their effects, appertaineth only to the first cause, the which is occasion of all.  Vli. 
And by these two foundations, thou mayst manifestly perceive, that the being of man is far more perfect, than the being of beasts. For what is the proper operations of beasts?  Ele. 
The perceiving, I think: for the nourishing, growing, and the engendering, they have in common together with the plants: but for having the sense only, they are beasts animate.  Vli 
And what meanest thou by the perceiving?  Ele. 
To know the nature of things, by the means of the senses.  Vli. 
And what is the operation of man?  Ele. 
The same I think, though the knowledge of man be called intellective: and that of beasts sensitive. For this your understanding, can know nothing at all, without the senses,  Vli. 
Nay, say not that they be one thing, for so thou shouldest err: neither say thou also, that the intelligence of man, can understand nothing without the senses: for it may form and bring forth within itself, many intelligible things, and many conceits, ingenderinge one thing by the other, without the help of the senses. But it is very true that the beginning of them, have preceded from the senses: for there can be no thing at all understood, that the first beginning thereof hath not sprounge from the sensitive knowledge: and in this sort, this proposition should be understood.  ¶ Eel 
Those are inventions, and vain fantasies, the which not being necessary to the conservation of the being, seem rather to unquiet, and keep some thoughtefull, then to any thing else. It sufficeth us, to be able to know the nature of things, that are profitable for us, or necessary or delectable, with our sensitive knowledge: the which I think to be no less inferior than this your intellective, that you so call.  Vli. 
say not so, of that that thou knowest not: for thou knowest that it appertaineth not to the blind, to give judgement of colours.  Ele. 
I will prove it thee. Tell me a little: how much the more a knowledge is certain, is it not so much the more perfect?  Vli. 
Yea.  Ele. 
And that of the sense is most sure above all others.  Vli. 
And who assureth thee of this?  Ele. 
Who? I myself: Do not I see that the leaves of yonder bay tree, the which is over against us, are green? and I am sure thereof, in such sort, that if all the world would agree to say the contrary, I would never believe it.  Vli. 
And what assurance shouldest thou have that thou were not deceived, and that they said not true?  Ele. 
Of what other assurance should I have need, if I see it?  Vli. 
To know that thine eye were not deceived: and this thou mightest have, having the understanding, whereby thou shouldest be more certain than thou art, having only the sense: and that this is true, hearken unto me, and I will make the most sure thereof. Tell me: secst thou the son yonder? thinkest thou that he goeth, or not?  Ele. 
It seemeth to me that he standeth still.  Vli. 
And how big thinkest thou that he is, and of what colour?  Ele. 
I think him about thy greatness, if thou were one round body as he is: and he seemeth unto me of the colour of these oranges.  Vli. 
See how much thou deceivest thyself to say, that the sensitive knowledge, is most true of itself, and without the light of the understanding: For of three things that thou sayest, two are most false, and yet thou thinkest to see the truth thereof.  Eel 
And what are they.  Vli. 
That the Son moveth not, and that he is of so small bigness: for he moveth so swiftly, that he hath no comparison at all, either with shaft, or with any other thing of the world, having every day once (being drawn by the first moving) to compass the earth, so far distant from him, whereby be must make a far greater circumference, then that of the earthen globe, the which they say is more than twenty and two thousand miles in compass. And besides this, it is greater than the earth about a hundred threescore and five times, as thou mightest plainly know, if thou were practised in mathematical things. The which are no less sure to our understanding, than it is to thee to know that the colour of the leaves of yonder bay tree are green, whereof thou deceivest not thyself: but thou hast not the surety thereof, as thou shouldest have, if thou hadst the understanding.  Ele. 
And why so?  Vli. 
Because thou shouldest be able to discern, which are the proper sensibles, of one sense, and which are the common, and are known by more senses: and thou shouldest know, how no sense can be deceived in the knowledge of his proper sensibles: a due distance being between the one and the other, and the mids proportionate: and certain other conditions necessary to like operations. And thou shouldest know also, how it might be easily deceived by the common sensibles: whereby thou shouldest see, that thou couldst not be deceived in judging that those leaves are green, the due distance being between thine eye and them, and the air lightsome, and the colour, being the proper object of the eye: as thou art deceived of the moving, and of the greatness of the son, both the one and tother being common sensibles. So that praise no more so much the knowledge of the senses, the which is the weakest of all, if it be not helpen by the understanding.  El. 
And what are the other?  Vli. 
There are three powers, or knowing virtues: the first of the which, are the understandings of those separated substances that continually turn the heavens, the object of to consider it, and so thou canst not have of it any sureness, or certainty of any judgement. Where our understanding withdrawing the things from the matter, and considering their proper being, and dividing there being in his parts, or composing their predicates, substantialles and accidentalles, with their subjects, hath most certain knowledge of their nature.  Ele. 
What perfect knowledge can he have (for example) of man, if he consider him without matter: for that there is no man, but he is of flesh and bones?  Vli. 
The matter of things is of two sorts: th'one of the which is called common, and the other particular. The common matter of man is the flesh, the bones, the sinoes and other things: and the particular matter is this flesh, these bones, and these synoes. And this particular is that, that going continually unto breaking, always varieth. And without this the understanding considereth it: but not yet without the flesh and bones: whereby consider man as a reasonable creature of bones, and flesh, and mortal: and in this sort universally, and without particular matter, he cometh to be unvariable: and assured knowledge may be had of him.  Ele. 
Have not we also the fantasy that doth the self same? for it receiveth the Images of things by the senses immateriallye, and besides this divideth and maketh all that it listeth, and at all times when it will.  Vli. 
It is true that the fantasy is a power so noble, that some heretofore have doubted, that it is the self same thing in us, that the understanding is. And they that have not thought thus, have said that the understanding at the least, could not work without the fantasy, the which is most true. But this maketh not yet that it is not far more inferior than the understanding: and that this is true, the fantasy is a minister of the understanding, and serveth it continually in his operations, and those powers that are made by nature for the service of others, are less perfect, than the others: as thou mayst manifestly see in thyself, that the outer senses, as are the sight, the hearing and others, for that they serve to our common sense (the which hath not for object one only sensible, as they have, but all) are less noble than he. And he than that serveth unto the estimative, or fantasy, is also far less noble than that. But if thou wilt be more sure hereof, consider the operations of your fantasy, and those of our understanding, and thou shalt see how far the fantasy is inferior unto the understanding. For though your fantasy take the semblances, and representations of things immateriallye, it can not yet take them, without the properties of the matter that are, the being in quantity, the being in place, and in time, and such like: whereby you can never imagine any thing at all without these conditions. The which happeneth not unto our understanding that can perceive the nature of things, without considering quantity, or place, time, or variety, and such like appertaining to the matter: it is true that he getteth these his knoledges, from the images that are in the fantasy, immaterially: for he could not get them of the things itself, for being so spiritual. Besides this, although your fantasy, can make also, and divide as it should be, to make of a horse, & a man, a centaur: and to feign a man without feet & without hands, it can not yet divide the matter from the form●, nor the accidents from the substance: or make them together as our understanding doth. And this is, for that the fantasy comprehendeth both th'one and tother, with one only sensation, and in one only subject. Besides this it can never imagine any thing, that it hath not seen tofore: and if not altogether, yet at the least his parts.  Ele. 
Nay I will not grant the this yet. For we also do cogitate and think of many things that we never saw. Tell me a little, the sheep when he flieth the wolf, doth he fly him for that his colour displeaseth him, or because he hateth his shape?  Vli. 
No.  Ele. 
Why doth he then fly him?  Vli. 
Because he thinketh him to be his enemy.  Ele. 
And yet notwithstanding he never saw, what thing hatred was: see then, how we can think on things that we never saw.  Vli. 
It is true that you have hunger, fiercely running, conferring all these things together, he will judge he cometh to hurt him: wherefore he will choose to run away. So that thou mayest see how much all these powers are more perfect in us then in you.  Ele. 
I understand some of those things that thou showest me, and some I understand not.  Vli. 
This cometh of thy nature, the which can clyme no higher: wherefore become man again, who is the most noble of all creatures, and thou shalt understand all together.  Ele. 
And what is the principal cause of his nobleness?  Vli. 
Two powers that he properly hath, the which none other beast hath, that make him most excellent of all others. The one of the which is called understanding, and the other is called will.  Ele. 
And what operations grow of these powers, that make him superior to us?  Vli. 
From the understanding the knowledge of things, and from the will, the willing and not willing.  Ele. 
Do not the sense and appetite the self same thing in us?  Vli. 
Yea, but so much as is only necessary unto your life, and far more imperfectly: for they work not only in man, for the conservation of the being, but of the good and happy being. For the understanding (beginning with him, for that a thing is first understood before it is willed or refused) perceiveth not only the singular things, as the sense doth (for this is the most base operation, because, as I told the before, for that they vary continually, one can not get of them any true certainty of any thing at all) but understandeth the universals, forming in himself a knowledge representative of more indivisibles, of one only kind, in the which more particulars do equally agree, the which knowledge he maketh in this manner. The fantasy representeth a semblance unto the understanding, and the kind of one only man: with those conditions, that make him to be one only indivisible, that is to say, that he is in one particular place, and that he is now, and of such shape, and such: and for that such one is not found as hath these such conditions, other than that indivisible only: the understanding in this knowledge, knoweth none other thing than that particular man. But if he turn after into that resemblance, and upon that kind, and begin to despoil him of those particular conditions, taking all that away that is particular, in that indivisible: and beholding only the humane nature, the which is in him, formeth in himself an intellective kind, bringing forth this universal knowledge: the which is, that humane nature is a corporal substance, mortal, and able to perceive reason: and that in this, all men equally agree.  Ele. 
And what more perfection in itself hath this universal knowledge of this your understanding, than the particular knowledge of our sense hath?  Vli. 
A greater surety of knowing, then that, that thou knowest is so, and none otherwise: and that thou canst not be deceived: the which thing the sensitive knowledge can never have. For he that seeth this man, and that other man, reasonable, knoweth not yet herefore assuredly that every man is reasonable. And so he that seeth that a Dog perceiveth, and a Horse perceiveth, he shall not know by this that all Dogs, and all Horses perceive. But he who knoweth that man is none other thing, than a reasonable creature, knoweth that every man is reasonable: and he who knoweth that a beast is none other than a corporal substance, animate of a sensitive soul: knoweth that every Dog, and every Horse being a beast perceiveth. And besides this he is sure, that that, that he knoweth, is so: and he can not be deceived: for he knoweth it by his proper cause, forasmuch as the being man is cause, that this and the other particular man understandeth: and the being a beast is occasion that this Dog and that Horse perceiveth.  Ele. 
surely I begin to know, that this your intellective knowledge, is far more noble, for the certainty thereof, than our sensitive knowledge is.  Vli. 
Our understanding can also perceive, things not only holy and set all togethes, as your sense doth: but can consider seperatelye, all the intentions, and all the properties that are in them particularly: whereby for an example, when he seeth a white thing, he can of himself understand what thing whiteness is, and how it is a colour seperative of the saying vertu ●● and what body that is, in whose superfyciall it is grounded, where as your sense can not know white, but in knowing a white thing, and comprehending with one like knowledge, the subject, with the form and accidents. For the seeing virtue can not take the colour of himself, but the thing coloured. And that this is true, mark how you never make judgement of colours, but only of things coloured: as also all those men do, who follow only the knowledge of the sense.  Ele. 
Truly this way of knowing, is very plain and distinct.  Vli. 
Our understanding can also, by knowing perfectly the nature of things, affirming and denying, set them together, and likewise divide them: the which the sense can not do. For knowing that the substance receiveth and ●● staineth the accidents, and that the bodies sustain the colours, the which are accidents he putteth these two natures togethers● saying affirmativelye, the body is a substance: and so knowing that the substance is governed of itself, and that the colour can not be but in others, he will divide, and separate these two natures, with denying the one not to be the other, saying the colour is no substance. And besides this, he can with many of these affirmations, and of these negations, bring forth many diverse conclusions, that the sense could never have known: the which thing you can not do. For though you fly some thing that is noisome unto you, you do it not affirming, or denying by way of discourse, for this operation passeth your power: but guided by the appetite that draweth you, without any thought at all so to do.  Ele. 
And this also I understand very well.  Vli. 
Our understanding climbeth yet higher: for he looking on the semblances, and upon the images of those things that the senses have reposed in the fantasy, draweth out of them that knowledge of many more things, than those that the senses have known, aswell the inner senses, as outer. For by the means of them he knoweth the universal natures, and the forms separate from the matter, and the intelligences that move the heavens. And finally, the first cause of all things, unto the which knowledge, neither the fantasy, nor the estimative, nor any other of your powers can arrive.  Ele. 
And after what sort can he arrive unto the knowledge of the first causes?  Vli. 
Not only by negation, as many have said: but ymagininge a first cause, and then after denying all the predicates of the same, the which have in them any imperfection at all, as all the material conditions are, the which we see to be in these corporal creatures, saying: that this first cause can not be engendered, is incorruptible, and not variable, by accident, or by any alteration, not taken from any place, not made, not subject to any point of continuance, and such other things: nor also only by that other means of passing excellency, as certain others say, affirming that it passeth in goodness, in beauty, in amiableness, and in all other perfections, all good things, fair, loving, and perfect, that we see in this universal world. But he can know it looking in himself. For he considering the nobility of his nature, the which consisteth only in this, that understanding all things, as well such as are inferior unto him, as those that are above him, can after a certain sort make himself like unto them all, and become all. And considering afterward that imperfection, the which he findeth in himself, that is so say: that he is in power unto all things, but not yet in act, and therefore understandeth not always, but sometime ye, & sometime no: he can form within himself a kind of an understanding more high, and more perfect than himself, the which may be always in act, and may always understand all things, and hath so understood them from the beginning, and can not be in power to receive any intelligence again, having the kinds in himself of all things that have been, or ever shallbe. And this is the first cause, who having governed, and always goveror as signifying of some common passion, as joy, sorrow, fear and such like are, as you do: but we also understand the signification thereof, by the means of the words determined by us, to declare our meanings, in such sort as we best list: whereby it is that man only among all other creatures, is able to take learning. By reason whereof they who know little, may be made better learned and more wise by them that know more: and although the master can not form in the scholar, an intelligible kind of that that he teacheth him, he notwithstanding ministereth to him the way and means, that he may of himself form it. Certain most wise Egyptians being heretofore moved by this so great virtue and/ property of the understanding, called man, earthly god, divine, and celestial creature: messenger of the gods, Lord of the inferior things, and familiar of the superior: and finally a miracle of nature.  Ele. 
Truly this understanding maketh him so excellent, and so noble, that it is no marvel, that they have called him by so worthy and honourable names.  Vli. 
The will also maketh him no less excellent, then that his other particular power that he hath: by the mean of the which he will or will not freely, that that he judgeth good or ill, with the understanding: as you also follow, or fly, that you judge convenient, or inconvenient with the sense.  Ele. 
Can not the appetite do the self same office, without joining other power in man?  Vli. 
No: for following the appetite, the sense covereth or hateth only those things, that the sense knoweth: and notwithstanding we see that man loveth many virtues, & hateth many vices, the which chance not under the sensitive knowledge. And this power (as I have told thee) maketh man very noble: for it maketh him free, and master of all his operations. And this is for that the will is free, and hath not been determined by nature, more unto one contrary, then unto an other. For although the good be her object, she is not therefore determined more unto that, then unto the contrary. Wherefore it is not with it as with the natural elements, who being near their objects and having due distance between them, can not chose but work: as it is manifestly seen in the fire, the which having a matter by it apt to burn, can not stay to not burn it. But our will, having a good thing set before it, and though it be somewhat inclined by nature to follow it, is not yet constrained by any necessity to love it: whereby she may love it and not love it. Then all the other powers that man hath as a creature, are subject unto this power, not always in such sort that they can not be moved by their objects, without the commandment of the same will, but for that they are dispoled and ordained, to move at all times that it pleaseth her. Where by all though the sight, when a visible object is presented unto it, is moved naturally by that: the will may command it that it turn it unto an other object, and so may she do to all the other sensitive powers. And there is no object, nor force at all, either of earthly, or celestial things, that can command her that she will, but that that she list: the which is not so with your sensitive appetite, For an object offered unto it, that it desireth, moveth of necessity the beast to follow it naturally, and without any election, as every body may well know, who will diligently observe your operations.  Ele. 
And what worthiness giveth unto man this his free will?  Vli. 
A worthiness so marvelous, that those chief wise men of Egipte (as I have told thee) called him for this only, the great miracle of nature.  Ele. 
For what cause?  Vli. 
For that all other creatures, have had a certain law, by the which they can come to none other end, then that the which was ordained unto them by nature, nor can in no wise go forth of those bonds that she hath appointed unto them. And man, by having this will free, may obtain a more worthy, or less worthy end, at his pleasure: either in binding himself towards those things, that are inferior unto him, or turning himself towards those that are superior unto him. For if he will give himself wholly unto the belly: holding his countenance, and face continually fixed on the earth, he shall become as one that perceiveth nothing, and like to the plants: and if he shall drown himself to much in the sensitive pleasure, he shall become like the brute beasts: but if he lifting his face towards heaven, playing the philosopher, shall consider the beauty of the heavens, and the marvelous order of nature, he shall change himself from an earthly beast, unto an heavenly creature: and if he, despising all the impediments of the body, shall attend to behold the divine things, he shall make himself almost a god. Who shall there then be that marveleth not at this man? who is not only most noble and lord of all other beasts, but he hath also this particular condition, given by nature, that he can do, all that he will  Ele. 
And what is then the cause, that this his will having the good for an object, and working freely, you most commonly choosing that that is not good: follow vices, and leave virtue apart?  Vli. 
For that the will is so marvelously united and knit unto the senses, and that our understanding must take (unto the knowledge of the which understanding, the election of the will followeth) all his knowledges by the sense: who most commonly showeth unto him, in change of the true good, a good disguised. Whereby the will being drawn and set lose by the knowledge of that, and by the enticements of the senses, though she chose not that that is not good, at the least she flieth it not: and she doth not severely the office, that she should, to command the sensitive appetite: and so all our errors, depend finally, by those parts of nature: that we have without reason, together and in common with you: and not by those by the which we are men.  Ele. 
No more, no more Ulysses, cause me now to leave this beastyshe nature, and to become man again, for my loss was to great, to have been so long time converted by Gyrces into an Elephante.  Vli. 
And I grant it thee by the authority  
And of that, that the waters sweet, doth sprinkle on her face.  
To nourish all that mortal is, and of the same also,  
That hath so many sundry kinds, of creatures high and low,  
Made for the service all of man: and of that, that to him  
Hath given an understanding clear, to th'end that he should climme.  
And have thereby the knowledge true, of that first cause of might,  
And then a will in him well set, to love the same aright.  
O ye my powers every one, praise ye that cause with me,  
And let the gladness of my spirit, thereto with you agre.  
O all ye gifts then of my soul, with me see that ye sing,  
Of thuniversal and first cause, of all and every thing.  
Of mine understanding thou light, and freedom of my will,  
Agree in one of that same cause, the heavens with praise to fill.  
O everlasting mover great, that no beginning had,  
Nor shall have end, thy creature man, that thereto is most glad,  
Is he that sings this day thy praise, and prayeth with all his powers,  
That honour high, and glory great, to thee be years and hours.  Vli. 
Thou hadst not this knowledge of the first cause of this hole world, whiles thou livedst in that body of a beast.  Agla. 
No: but as soon as I was become man again I felt it spring in my mind, almost as my natural property: or rather to say better, I felt it return into me again. For before I was transformed by Circe's into an Elephante, I remember that I had it (but now I have this more, that having much more perfectly known the nobleness of man, than I did before, I begin to think that this first cause having loved him, above all other things, as the making him more noble than any other beast doth plainly declare, that his end, shall not be like unto th'end of other beasts▪ who not having the understanding