MANZINIE HIS MOST EXQUISITE ACADEMICAL DISCOURSES UPON Several Choice SUBJECTS. Turned into French by that famous Wit MONSIEUR de SCUDERY, Governor of NOTRE DAME. AND Englished by an Honourable Lady. LONDON, Printed for Humphrey Moseley, and are to be sold at his Shop in S. Paul's Churchyard at the Sign of the Prince's Arms, 165●. To the Reader. IF, to divert myself, and prevent the ordinary idle humour of Melancholy, I had taken the boldness to present you with some abortive issue of mine own brain, I might, certainly, have expected a punishment from your severity, and (reasonably) despaired of ever procuring your pardon for my presumption; but since I offer nothing but the acquaint conceptions of one of the most eminent Wits of his time, and Nation (for which I must refer you to the judgement of Scudery, a Person so notorious (by his Writings) for ingenuity, and from whom I do but borrow these Pieces of Manzinie at second hand) I will not so much as suspect your Mercy, whereof, though upon occasion of greater Crimes, a little hath ever been thought due, and a larger proportion usually afforded to the weaknese of our Sex from generous Persons. I dare promise, your Clemency is not likely to encourage me so far, as to make me appear ungrateful by giving you any further trouble of this nature: But, if to your pardon for my attempt you shall please to add the favour of a kind acceptance, as it aught to be beyond my expectation, so shall it ever be (with thankfulness) acknowledged to be far above my desert, who confess myself ashamed of my work by not daring to own it with my Name. The Titles of the several Subjects. 1. HOratio Suppliant. Pag. 1 2. Horatio Opposed. Pag. 8 3. Coriolanus Appeased. Pag. 16 4. Cato Generous. Pag. 25 5. Cleopatra Humble. Pag. 33 6. Sentiments Paternal. Pag. 40 7. Paris in Love. Pag. 48 8. Paris Opposed. Pag. 57 9 The Magnanimous Rivals. Pag. 64 10. The three Rivals. Pag. 73 11. Love without Faith. Pag. 81 12. Hunger hath not Law. Pag. 87 13. The Sports of the Carnival. Pag. 96 14. Stesicrates the Rash. Pag. 106 15. Appelles' Revengeful. Pag. 112 16. The Apology for Marriage. Pag. 115 17. The Philosophy of Love. Pag. 120 18. The Pusillanimity of Seleucus. Pag. 127 19 The Funerals of Beauty. Pag. 137 HORACE his ORATION. The Argument. Although Horace were happy in his Victory, and profitable to the Commonwealth, and that Tullus was obliged to the Valour of the Conqueror, yet he could not be exempted from the punishment of his fratricide; the rigour of the Law must pass upon it, notwithstanding his Victory was so generally advantageous, that every one was inclined to mercy. Horace in so doubtful an Estate, could neither rejoice in his Triumph, nor complain of his danger; his good Fortune had blinded him, and his ill had brought him to the Precipice; in this fatal conjuncture Manzine supposeth that this illustrious Criminal used these words to defend his cause. IF I had a heart, O People of Rome, that knew as well to complain as to conquer, it may be the tenderness of my Tears would obtain that compassion from you, which is denied to the remembrance of my Victories: See at your feet, O my Judges, an unfortunate man, to whom without boast, you are indebted for all your felicity; behold me suppliant, but without tears, they were all shed in Tuscany upon the bodies of my two Brothers, not believing than, that he who had saved his Country, should ever have need of weeping: O household gods defended by me! you tutelary ones, whom I have preserved, if I have deserved any recompense, teach me only what Divinity I aught to implore, to save my life, since you will not do it; O deceitful hopes, unprofitable labours! O prodigy to be admired! Horace is suppliant, and not suppliant to any offended Deity, but to that Republic which holds from his Victory, that power which it now exerciseth upon him. O you gods who looked with a eye upon the labour I underwent, to preserve your Temples, and your Altars, suffer not that I make my vows any more to you in vain; let me obtain attention and pity in those hearts, which sleep when they should remember good turns, and who so slightly esteem their Wives, their Country, their liberties, than lives, their Empire; nay, their gods themselves, which I have preserved to them, in exposing my life to danger; I would not for an hundred lives, O my Judges, that you should believe me so affrighted at death, that it were absolutely necessary for me to beg life at your hands. Father's conscript, I am a Roman born of that House, in which the Republic hath found three men, whom it judged worthy to defend it. I have a soul resolute enough to meet a greater danger than that I am in, and if the fact which I have committed (which aught to be styled a zeal for my Country) might not also be named a fratricide, I should slight that death, which I desired in the field, when my dear Brothers fell; I have a heart which loves life, when it may do service to my Country, and which would not fly death, when it is necessary to confirm the generosity of life: when is it that death could be lesle frightful, or more willingly embraced than now, when I have given life to the people of Rome? Death cannot come too swift to him who hath attained to honour and glory, neither can it be ill for a good man: I do not refuse to offer my head to the block, yet I confess I have some repugnancy, to see myself ready to be deprived of life by the ingrateful sword of the Romans, and be confident, I have more grief to find my high services at so low an esteem, that I should need to ask life, than I shall have to loose it: I return triumphant, O my Judges, from a field, where (by this sword) I have interred the fortune of Hetruria, and from a field which I have besprinkled with my own, and my Brother's blood, and from a field consecrated to the victory of the Romans, all our Country, and all our Empire was nothing but Palms and Laurels, the Earth, the Army, the Heavens, and the gods applauded our Triumph, when a Woman presented herself before me, afflicted at my Victory, sad at the greatness of the Empire, upbraiding and cursing the valour of my Arm and your Fortune, invoking the vengeance of the Heavens, and the gods, wishing a general desolation of our Country, striving to draw upon us, by her imprecations, the ill influence of the stars, and the fury of Hell: My sword, accustomed to shed the blood of them, who looked with grief upon the happiness of my dear Country was, in this, but the just revenger of so base and black a crime: I sheathed my Poniard in the heart of her, who could know how to grieve at the advantages of her Country; I believed I had made a just sacrifice of that infamous one, who when she died wept at the victory of the Republic. This is the Fact, for which those that envy my happy success, have made me guilty, that they might utterly deface that little virtue which they cannot equal: they resolve I shall suffer because I have destroyed a fierce Enemy, and such a one, that even among the Tuscan Troops, there is not to be found a person who bewailed their misfortunes with so great a passion: But if to destroy the Enemies of our Country, be a crime meriting death, why did I not suffer it in that day wherein I returned Conqueror of the three brave Curiacii? what? should that unfortunate Wretch have been exempted from the punishment she deserved, because she was born within those Walls, which she wished to see buried in their own Ruins? It was that which was not reasonable, and that which I could not suffer; for I believed, it was a spectacle too sad, for the eyes of a Roman to see any one weep in the midst of the victories of their Country; why did you (O Romans) lay all the care of the Commonwealth upon my shoulders, when it was tottering and ready to fall; if you believed me so feeble that I could endure to see any body shed tears, as condemning my actions? I put all my confidence in this, that those who are to be the Judges of my Cause, are the same persons for whose sake I committed the crime, and that those who pronounce my death shall be forced to confess, that it is from me alone they hold their liberties, their lives, their Authority, their Victory, and the Republic; and that from the fact for which you pretend I aught to make excuses, I say, I aught to reap advantages: I was so zealous for the honour of my Country, that I did not forbear to revenge it on my own sister, when she wept and declared herself an enemy: Those which love their Country lesle than I, might perhaps have pardoned its greatest enemies; but I could not forgive my own sister, because I loved my Country more than my sister, more than my Father, yea, more than myself: I believed I should have had more need to have implored your mercy for sparing, rather than for killing a sister that had so lost her piety; but what said I? a sister? no, she is no sister of Horace's who bewails the death of the Curiaces, and who with grief beholds the Victory of her Country, and their Gods preserved; what? will it be possible to find out a heart that bears so little affection to the Commonwealth, and so little gratitude to me, that it will not know that design in killing that detestable person, was to extinguish a dangerous Crime, and not the life of a sister? neither was she a sister when she was an enemy of my Country, nor was I her brother when I thrust my poniard into her heart, I was the Arm of Victorious Rome, which destroyed the Enemy of the Republic, and its supporters: Let my Accusers show you by what degrees of wickedness I have proceeded; can it be believed that these hands yet never stained with blood, but in a just cause, should of the sudden arrive to the highest pitch of impiety and fratricide? let them upbraid me with crime, if ever this Sword hath given death to any, but to save the life of my Country; I tender thanks to Fortune, O Rome (dear to my heart) that she hath given me so notable a way to show the love I bear and own thee, in the field I have fought against thine Enemies, and in the City against them of Nature, and I was not more conquered by the affection I had for my sister, than by the valour of the Tuscans: Well than it is thought just that so great a favour as I have received from Fortune, should cost me no less than my life, nor would I refuse to give it upon this occasion, if I had not resolved to loose it, O Rome, to add to thy glory; what than shall I be in a more dangerous condition that am victorious, than my Brothers (which were not? they found the end of their miseries in their destruction, and I the beginning of my calamity in my Victory: Ought this to be the cause of my tears? or to say better fatal to me the love of the Commonwealth? the memory of my virtue? the glorious remembrance of my Victory, and triumph? I confess I pity that part of my blood which I spilt in destroying that unfortunate Woman; yet after all, I cannot think it spilt, seeing it was sacrificed to the victory of the Commonwealth; and truly I had deserved she should have wept for my achievements, if I had not had generosity enough to conquer the tenderness of Nature, and that my heart had wanted resolution to take her life, that would else have drowned herself in envious tears, for the liberty purchased by my blood, of her Country; by this action alone, our enemies from henceforward, can have no hope to reap any fruit of all their practices, when they shall see that it is permitted to sacrifice our own sisters that look malignly upon the advantages of our swords; but my fault (justifiable if committed upon another) seems only monstrous, because she was a person so near me in blood, as if when we were to punish the malignants of our Country, we aught to take counsel of the inclinations of Nature: Consider with a fatherly eye, O Senators, if it were not impossible for me to know that guilty one; for how could I take notice of her, as of a sister, hearing her complain for the victory of her Brother? or how could I remember her to be a Roman, when she spoke the sense of the Tuscans? I believed her to be a relic of the Curiacii, and I thought I should do an Act of piety to my Country, in rending up by the root, a Tree that might bring fruit to support our enemy's power and if this action be of a strain so black and shameful, that it cannot be expiated but upon a Scaffold, with the blood of this unfortunate man, who hath added one Nail to the Wheel of the Roman Fortune, than you think the death of her that bewailed your Victory, more incompatible with your government, than the life of him that gave it you: Perhaps it displeases you, that I should take away from the Tuscans her that might have increased the Curiaces; but believe me, if I had suffered a Woman, of the House of the Horacii, to have been long fruitful in Tuscany, it may be the Romans could not have kept their Empire, nor would the Tuscans (at lest quietly) have permitted them. What? was the life of this Traitress so precious, that there must be sacrificed to it, that life which was the soul of the greatness, and Fortune of the Latins? But what voice, or what rumour is that I hear, which interupting my discourse, hinders me from further declaring my innocence? Who are they that deny me the favour of pleading for that life, which hath preserved the life and liberty of the Commonwealth? But behold a deadly spectacle, and worthy of tears; see, O my Judges, see my Father, who never failed of his duty to the Republic, but when he begat this Daughter; see, O see an unfortunate Father, who hath newly lost two sons, to assure to you those powerful seats you now possess, look how he fears to be deprived of the third and last, who surely (if there be any gods) shall not die without vengeance; hear how he complains, that he, a Roman, and chief of the Horatij should be thought so base, that with his own hands he would not have torn out my very bowels, if he did not know that his Daughter was justly shine; O Heavens! shall I be so unfortunate to die, for taking out of the world a Woman who was thought unworthy to continued in it by her own Father? Can you suppose that those Troops which I have returned to you victorious, will ever endure to see him dragged to death that gave them life, and victory? What! shall Rome's Enemies see him punished, that the Commonwealth thought only worthy to defend its honour? Can the Tuscans desire more mischief to him that rendered them miserable? I am not so little acquainted with human frailty, that I repined at my mortality, at my death, but I grieve for not being thought innocent, and to see that my Country will be guilty; things are reduced to such terms, that as long as the Commonwealth remains, it will be stained with ingratitude; I am forced to detest my own honour, O strange estate that you have placed me in! since it is just to wish, that my death had gone before my victory, and the establishment of your Empire. What! shall my fortune be worse in the Capitol than in Hetruria? Can that be, O Romans? I swear by the souls of my two Brothers, who were so voluntarily sacrificed to your Greatness, that I have more shame of the Roman people, than grief for being so cruelly deprived of my life and triumph, which I have so well deserved; but so long as I carry with me to my Tomb the glorious Spoils of the Curiacii, the Scaffold will be as honourable to me as the Capitol; I desire nothing of you, O my Judges, but that you will be always yourselves, and that before you pronounce the sentence of my death, you will be pleased to remember, that while I was arming myself to the fight, you offered up Prayers and Vows to the gods for my life; stay! O stay you thunders, O you Powers that harken to us, and tell how many times the people cried me up to be the Preserver and Father of my Country; and if it be true that I was so, will you punish Fratricide with Parricide, and in stead of employing your gratefulness in adorning me with a Statue, will you take away my life in an ignominious manner? But if knowledge of the cause which made me commit the Fact? if the tears of my Father? if the merit of my Brothers? (who died for your service) if my victorious Arm, consecrated to the Altar of your fortune, hath not power and eloquence enough to make me obtain life? Why, O Senators, do you defer my death so long? all that I look upon speaks punishments, and there is nothing in my soul but mortal Chimaeras; that I may not dye so many times, I am forced to ask my death as a favour from you, kill me than quickly I pray you; what dost thou stay for, O Lictor? come tie these hands which were heretofore the hands of the Republic; these hands which have made the Roman Eagles fly upon the Laurels of Hetruria, and present the infamy of a Gallows to him who hath advanced Palms upon the Capitol: which of you calls my unhappy and dear Father, that he may come, alas, that he may come and comfort my heart, by his last offices of kindness, and fortify it against the rigour of my destiny? that he may come with his last kisses, and sustain my feeble and languishing spirits? that he may come, even that unfortunate man may come, and close those eyes in death, to which he gave occasion of seeing? Comfort him, O Senators, and tell him, that it is true I die honourably, tell him that the Gallows (if ever upbraided in the House of the Horacii) is not shameful; tell him that I did not mount the Scaffold, but in descending from the Chariot of Triumph; make him remember, that if there be Fathers that have had Children more happy, there is none that hath had a Son more generous; assure him, that you will always remember the blood of his Sons, lost for the Commonwealth; swear to him, that you will not forget, that I have shed my blood for your safeties; tell him, that you confess, that it is from me you hold your plenty, and all your enjoyments, the embraces of your Wives, the Caresses of your young children, the honour of your dignities, the safety of your Lives, the Liberty, the Greatness, and the Fortune of the Roman Empire: and to conclude, it is from my blood and sweat, that you have authority to condemn me to the Gallows; this unfortunate man; who hath ennobled his death by the memorial of the generous actions of his life: And you my Companions, carry, I pray you, these Arms to those miserable Orphans, my desolate Children; bid them remember that they were Horace's; and tell them, if they use them one day with an Arm equal to mine, they will produce their ordinary effects for the good of the Commonwealth. Enjoy in all peace, ye Nobleses and people of Rome, our Country in the happy estate I leave it, and may it be eternally glorious, and full of Heroes; thou great Republic, these are my wishes in spite of my misfortunes: Country, sweet Country, dear Country, to which Horace owes all, enjoy happiness, O Citizens of Rome, Plenty, Richeses, Peace, and Power: and seeing the Heavens would not permit me to be a sharer with you, I rejoice that I was at lest an instrument by whom you are not left unfortunate: And provided I may die assured that the memory of Horace may sometimes live in your hearts, of that Horace who never refused his blood, to the sword of the Enemy, to assure you your Goods, your Lives, your Country, and your Empire; I die the happiest man that ever lived. But it is time, O Senators, that I hold my peace, and that I yield to violence. I have permitted myself to be transported by resentments too tender, for though my misfortune hath made me drop a tear, yet my life passed will not permit me to be seen in such a posture, neither do any of my actions deserve sighs; nor can I esteem of a soul so effeminate that will ease its miseries by tears: we must die as we have lived: in a word, it is for you to do as you will, & for me to do as I aught. I have said. The Effect of this Oration. THe merits of Horatio in this great service abated nothing of the justice of the Senate, but according to the Law provided against murder, he was condemned to be whipped within and without and Walls of the City, and than to be hung upon that Tree which in Livy is called fatal; which exact and severe sentence gave Manzine cause to believe, that it was occasioned by some sharp speech of one of the Senate, which he fancied in the Oration following. Horace Opposed. The Argument. After Horatio's Speech, one of the Senators, in discharge of his duty, gave this Answer. Which of you, O Fathers, Senators, and Roman Knights, is for my sake so far touched with compassion, at the ungrateful Office I am to perform, as to help to cover this face afflicted for the public shame? and whither shall I turn mine eyes, which had rather still continued fixed upon the earth, than behold these walls, which have been the Scene of Fratricide? what tears can I afford to the common miseries, when I feel a particular grief in myself, that makes me weep whether I will or not? and invites me to lament my own misfortune, which hath not only made me so unhappy to see the Commonwealth dishonoured by a Citizen of Rome, but placed me in such a condition, that I am forced to publish our shame, and pled for punishment against those that aught to triumph? I vow to you, O Suitors, I could wish myself without either heart or tongue, upon this occasion; I never looked upon a Victory more favourably than this, gotten by an unfortunate person; I rejoiced at his honour with a resentment that was affectionate, grateful and sensible of my Country's good; do but imagine how hearty he did it, you that know what pleasure a Victory may afford to those who have saved by it their Goods, their Lives, their Children, their Country, and their gods; truly I know not how my soul, which did cherish this criminal person so tenderly, can be so far provoked against him, to desire and endeavour to procure him punishment: Alas! I loved him with more than ordinary affection, both upon mine own and the public account; as often as I have seen my dear children playing about me, so often have I blest, and given thankss (with tears) to that virtue by which they were preserved; I said with myself these hands were not free, but by thy strength, and perhaps (Horatio) without thee I had never kissed my Children, but in bondage in Tuscany, I am infinitely obliged to the unlimited courage the gods have given thee; I own all I am worth to thy good fortune, and I found the whole safety of the Commonwealth hanged upon the edge of thy sword, I have not a heart so insensible, to be ignorant of what I own thee; these eyes that wept for the danger thou wert in, can hardly behold Horatio unfortunate; this tongue accustomed to traverse in the field of thy praises, will think it wanders astray when it hath lost that way; and I believe the gods, when they see my prayers altered, will either believe them irreligious or feigned: what shall I do than unfortunate man that I am? I whose duty bounds my gratitude, and my gratitude opposeth my duty? But what shall I say (O Senators) these are but effeminate fancies? shall than future ages know, that in a Roman heart any tenderness was sufficient to make Fratricide supportable? shall there be found any hearts so much at enmity with their Country, as not to fear the evils which such a precedent may bring forth, if this should pass unpunished? and what fortifications can secure us from the violence of his sword that hath been once victorious, if this wickedness shall escape like the sword of justice? aught I to fear the fury of a people obliged by the fury of this guilty person, as if I made so little account of the wisdom and justice of the Romans, that I did not think them capable of judging betwixt good and evil, and to punish crimes with rigour, as well as recompense generous actions with Bays and glory? 'tis fit for the honour of the Senate to make it appear to such as merit Triumphs, that they aught not to be so confident in the people's favour (which is uncertain as the wind) as from thence to assume so much boldness and insolence as to think by their swords to stay the course of justice: well, well! I am here to pled against an unfortunate wicked creature, who hath done us more dishonour with his sword, than we can gain advantage by his victory; and why should I be afraid to be the Instrument of cutting him of from the Commonwealth, who is the first in it that stained it with the murder of a sister? This day is not lesle sad and unfortunate, than yesterday was glorious, when lessening the Tuscan, pride advanced the greatness of Rome; of that Rome, which being derived from the gods, is obliged to actions suitable to the divinity of its original: Never was there a more horrid and execrable crime that came under the punishment of the Law, or the eyes of man kind, than is now before you; pardon me Fathers, if in this so venerable and sacred place, I am forced to mention the name of Fratricide; let your own inclination (O most just judges) provoke you to wipe of this blemish from the same of the Latins, and waken the ancient generosity to vindicate the honour of justice which so much insolency hath slighted, and trodden under foot: expect not I should use any Art to incline you to my opinion; the Age we live in were too unfortunate, if we should need to beg the aid of Art to describe a Common wealth necessitated, to preserve one Citizen from another, a Brother from a Brother, and the Country itself from those that have deserved Triumphs; and what wickedness will hereafter be unattempted, if a man may be pardoned for killing his own sister? whosoever desires to see his children secured from each others swords, who desires to have the gods propitious to our innocence, and would be contented to see his Country not lesle admired for justice, than it is for valour, let him for ever rejoice at this opportunity to make his own virtue eminent, to be an honour to his Tribunal, and to justify the actions of the Senate against the slander of their enemies, who accuse them of injustice and covetousness, and say they never punish any person, though never so guilty, unless he be poor? Shall than those that love justice be afraid that the ingenuous consciences, and entire judgements of so many such Senators, can be so merciful to one particular person, as to become cruel to the public? to provoke you to punish, I will only tell you the crime; excuse me if I plainly show you one of the members of your own famous body in the true condition wherein it now stands, for I am forced to show you the malignity of the wound, which can now admit of no other cure but a sword; I am again pricked to the heart to put you in mind of so cruel a speetacle, but I know not otherwise to appease her injured Ghost, if I do not show her with how many tears the Roman People beheld her accursed murder, and how severely they intent to revenge the same; this glorious woman-killer returned from a field, where he got himself more shame by his flight, than he did his Country advantage by his victory; when being met by his sister weeping (whether for joy of her Brother's triumph, or for grief of her Husband's loss, without any respect to his Father afflicted with the memory of his slain Sons, so much the more to be lamented, because they died honourably,) this Tiger lifts his bloody arm, and sheathed his sword in the bowels of his sister: O horrid spectacle! O poisonous heart! O incomparable mischief! what tears were ever more just than those that were dropped for the death of two Brothers and a Husband? Forget ye Doves! forget your hollow groans and sobs, silence ye Turtle Doves your amorous sighs, since this new Reformer of Nature thinks them unreasonable: I will proceed not farther, O ye Judges, to represent the miseries of this unfortunate dying woman, because I would not provoke you to tears, though to say truth the subject is not at all too light, seeing it is no lesle than the death of one of our own Countrywomen: alas! poor unfortunate creature, who wert born to tears, and diedst for weeping; hadst thou been seen to loose either thy Husband, or thy Brother, thy lamentation for either would have seemed a crime as to the Cause. Oh! the unhappy age we live in, that we are not allowed so much as to complain: can there be a greater occasion to shed tears, than to see one's self reduced to such a condition as not to dare to weep! This Murderer thinks perhaps to excuse himself by saying, he killed his sister for grieving at the Victories of her Country; why he killed her we know not, but we are sure she is dead; what! did the Roman Tribunal want a sword of justice to cut of a corrupted member from the body of the Commonwealth? who gave thee commission to employ thine upon this occasion? who knows but that he killed his sister jest she should discover some cause for her tears in fit to be known? but put case she did grieve at the prosperity of the Commonwealth; thence consider what stock this man is sprung from whose sisters lament for the prosperities of their own native Country: nay, the unfortunate Wretch wept not for the loss of her Hushand nor was troubled at the triumphs of the Commonwealth, but was ashamed at this man's glories: she was not sorry she had lost a Tuscan Husband, but grieved she had a Brother that fought like an Arabian, not a Roman. Well, declare nevertheless (if you think fit) this glorious Murderer to be innocent, one that hath deserved well of his Country, triumphant and fit to be honoured, whose victories are so generous that his own sisters have been ashamed to rejoice at; and though he may perhaps upbraid me as envious of his glory, because I promote the chastisement of his crime, I shall not for all this desist from my undertake; I am so zealous for the honour of the Commonwealth, that I desire as earnestly to see it just as to reverence it triumphant: Unhappy Man! and who should I envy? can I envy thee that in thy victory waste a runaway, and in thy triumph a fratricide? but why do I name fratricide? a crime of all others the more shameful, by how much it is the more unjust, so much the more scandalous to the Commonwealth, by how much it is the more public; so much the more detestable as it hath been committed by a person more interested; and so much the more hatfull to the gods as it was perpetrated in a time of gratitude, and justice. Think with yourselves, O Judges, with what insolence he, but now, bragged before you of a victory obtained only by the Roman fortune; and who will not confess that the gods will disdain that the Republic should seem to acknowledge their power and their glory from any thing else but their own benignity? since (to get themselves the Palms from amongst the vilest persons) they chose the veriest Runaway, to the end that we might acknowledge that to be the mere gift of their favour, when we look upon the weakness of our own force: you might perceive with what outrageous desires he would have outrun victory with death (as if we could not among all this warlike people) have found out one man that knew how to overcome without flying; 'tis like this earth, only made fit to bear Palms, should want victories, and those not fit to be blushed at, not gotten by running away: what kind of Heavens? what gods will this man call to for succour to his innocence? perhaps some that he believes not in; do you think that he believes there are any to whom he can pray to for their help in case of a sister's murder? and what obligation can you have to him for this victory in which he hath exercised his sword, making it a Master in the Art of killing, to no other purpose but to be able readily to employ it against the bowels of his sister, and of his Country? if we aught to be torn in pieces, and to have our throats cut here within our own walls, in the arms of our household gods? I should think he deserved rather the name of a Preserver, of a Redeemer of his Country, who, restoring us to the swords of our Enemies, prevented the danger at lest by the hands of our own Soldiers, by the hands of Roman Soldiers: and how can you ever trust yourselves with this man who had not been above an hour in Tuscany, and yet hath learned to turn his sword against us? But what! I know I wrong the Tuscan piety in comparing them with this Villain, who being a Conqueror could not pardon his own sister, whilst they, being yet enemies, compassionating themselves and us, submitted to this generous Duel, whereby having drawn them to out obedience, they are become associates of our fortunes: perhaps the tears of this poor old man his Father may move your compassion; why! without doubt he weeps rather for his son's crime, than his danger. I confess I am tenderly sensible of the prayers of so just a man, he hath lost his daughter, and so wounded by his grief in his affection, by his son in his blood, and yet pardons the offence, and makes vows for his safety who hath brought to him all this desolation; O too easy old man! and ye who can choose but sympathise in thy grief? I should wonder if the gods should not crown all the sons of so good a Father with constant victory; he is one (O Fathers) that deserves that you should revenge his quarrel, though he ask it not, though he desires it not at your hands: shall he than who hath bloodily offended him escape unpunished, because the old man is just, pious, and magnanimous? none than but Fathers that are cruel and impious shall have the injuries they receive from their children revenged by your justice: it may perchance serve this man's turn to alloy your just anger, to tell you, he gained a glorious conquest for the Commonwealth, and who knows not that he came to it by the honour of election, and when he was in, he fought for fear of death? but what do I say, fought? I would it had pleased the gods he had fought half so well, as he fled swiftly from it, 'twas no better Fathers, 'twas not better; I will stand not longer upon calling our shames to remembrance: if he fought he did but his duty; 'tis not to be called a good deed not to be wicked; and if he overcame, 'twas for that Country, by which he himself had been so often preserved by so many victorious Armies, he pretends not to thanks as for a gift, that doth but pay a debt, those toils that are undergone by the son for the Father, or by the Father for the son, are but duties, not obligations. He hath already received as much honour and applause, as would make up a triumph, and is as fully rewarded as any man could pretend to merit, who had justly deserved to be carried in a triumphant Chariot; and if his generous actions have been crowned, I know no reason why his crimes should not be requited upon the Gallows: to what purpose was it to defend the Country from the Enemy, which he might depopulate when he pleased with his sword or (which is worse) by his example? and who is so simple as to think 'twill be any shame to us, if our Enemies shall reproach us, and say, that the Commonwealth had no stronger an arm to defend it, than a Murderers? when we shall be able to retort, that the guiltiest person we have, the veriest run-wayes were sufficient to suppress and overcome them; they will rejoice that they are to live under the shadow of such a government, which will not in the lest measure pardon crimes, though in the Chariot of triumph, when victory shall be stained with injustice, than to grieve they are fallen under so great severity, which doth but teach them piety towards their Country and Kindred. Hold thy prace awhile thou insolent creature, thou that boasts of victory, and callest that Country ungrateful to which thou art obliged for thy birth, thy food, thy education, for justice, yea, and thine own honour; discover the series of those generous Acts which rendered thee a person worthy, of whom the Commonwealth amongst so many Armies, so often triumphant should alone make choice, and to whose sword they would entrust their Estates, their Lives, their Liberties, and their Empire, and if thou canst find no other reason, but the mere favour of the Citizens of Rome, and of thine own Country, with what face canst thou call her ungrateful for a benefit which thou thyself hast received, not given? we have (O Senators) actions of ingratitude, as well as the murder of a Sister; nay, more! did you not perceive even now, how being affrighted at his crimes, which threatening punishments are but praeludiums to the pain of execution; did not you yourselves perceive how invoking the Army, which he called as it were newly born again by the virtue of his sword, he endeavoured to surprise the authority and justice of the Commonwealth, by stirring up your Armies against it, enchanted by the Artifice of his subtle speeches? did you not observe with what cunning he upbraided you with his Victories? so proud he is and so insolent, that whilst he was begging his life of you, he deserved death; behold him here ungrateful to his Country, guilty of treason against the Commonwealth, of fratricide against his sister: what needs any further delay, O Senators, the lest of his faults is the murder of a sister: secure yourselves and me, O Judges, I beseech you, from the rage of this wicked wretch; do you not see with what a bloody countenance he already designs destruction? look to it, that fratricide upon a sister prove not patricide upon his Country: Can you believe that he who could not pardon a sister, guilty of nothing but a few Crystal tears, will ever forgive those who have made him guilty of so grievous a crime, and forced him into so eminent danger of his life? You may fear perhaps, jest after ages should blame you for not rewardding a Victory; and would you not blush to be justly upbraided, for not knowing justice, or rather for trampling her under your feet? as long as I have any rigour left in my breast, I will never cease to call it to mind; I will ever be a witness to the justice of his cause, who is willing for their crimes to make examples even of such as are triumphant; if every little effect of valour, or rather of fortune, is able to secure a man from the force and justice of the Commonwealth; what valour, what fortune, what justice is that of Rome? if we can be not safer from the sword of a Brother, 'twill quickly be thought necessary to prevent our Brother's sword with our own: Consider seriously, O ye Senators, the grievousness of this offence, consider it to the prejudice of any absolution in this horrid heinous fact: this example may do more mischief than this offender can do good; if not I what hath he to say for himself but excuses and a small victory, rather stolen than fought for? he can find no other Advocate, but only that he can say, I have defended my Country: harken! O people, to all the glories of our person triumphant, he was in a Battle, and there was content not to be killed: hear the Encomium's due to Horatio the great, it being in his power to save his Country, he graciously vouchsafed to do it; what will future Ages say, when they shall see a Roman Senate pacified with a few tears for the murder of a sister? how hearty will all the Provinces round about us endeavour to avoid coming under our power, where even our own sisters are not secure? what kind of sacrifices will those be, wherein the Victimes must fall by swords accustomed to the bowels of sisters? what answers will the gods give to our prayers when their ears are continually dulled & importuned by their ghosts ever howling and calling for justice and vengeance? Up, up! ye Senators, and prevent Jove's thunder bolts by exercising your Gallows; the Heavens will not long have patience to see fratricide unpunnished: let not the gods by their chastisements rob you of the occasion of doing your justice: be ye solicitous, O ye Executioners, that the People may not accustom their eyes to fratricide: but alas! what am I doing? whilst I go about to persuade you to punish this Offender, I seem to question the justice of the Senate; pardon (Fathers) this boldness, I have rather done it in pursuance of my duty, than out of any thought of teaching justice to Justice itself: the excess of this crime hath made me exceed in my desires to have it punished. I beg pardon of the gods, and of the soul of this poor wretch, who was unjustly cheated of her life, if out of a desire to see her revenged, I have taken up the time due to her revenge; let the sword of justice now fall, which hath been held up, and tied by the knot of my discourse; I will retire to give you time to execute the desire which I perceive in you (O Fathers) to purge the Commonwealth from this blemish, and to revenge it for the contempts and outrages it hath suffered by this offence; I should be accessary to his fault, should I retard the execution of this magnanimous affection that is in you to vindicate justice: let future ages learn, who shall see that it is not possible for any thing (that is not God) to withdraw itself from the justice of the Senate of Rome: there is no greatness of birth, no degree, no fortune which can secure a Citizen of Rome from the rigour of the sword of justice, if he shall departed from the Rules of honesty, and duty. I have said. The Effect of this Oration. Such or the like were the words that moved the Senate to sentence Horace to death, who without reply heard it, when one of his friends advised him to appeal to the people, whose counsel he followed, and his old Father flowing in tears, adjoining himself with him, they prevailed, and the people delivered the son to the prayers of the father, ordaining him nevertheless that he should pass under the Gallows, as having received a just condemnation. Coriolanus Appeased. The Argument. Coriolanus, being banished by the People of Rome, went to the Volsques, the unreconcilable Enemies of his Country, and being a person of high Reputation, and one that had often put them to the worst, he was received very honourably: not long after he returned at the head of a great Army, and laid siege to Rome, which he reduced to such extremity, that it could not long hold out; whereupon they repenting their former severity towards him, endeavoured to appease his wrath by Ambassadors, declaring their sorrow; but their Embassy proved unprofitable, they could obtain nothing of this great enraged spirit: the People of Rome in despair at this ill success, sent again all their Priests, in their Robes Pontifical, followed by young Virgins, and Children, who all cast themselves at his feet, to implore his mercy, but the remembrance of his injuries, made him shut his eyes and ears against so pitiful a spectacle, insomuch that this second Troop obtained no more than the first; in this general desperate condition, Volumnia his Mother went out to him, and spoke thus, if we may believe Livy, or Manzini after him. I Have cause to fear, that after you have forgot the love of your Country, the interest of your own honour, and the reverence which you own to the gods, that you will harken with contempt, to the prayers of a Mother, to the sighs of a Wife, to the complaints of your children; but these being the only Arms we have to protect us from the fury of yours, I am forced to make use of them, and to employ that little breath which grief hath left me, to soften your hard heart, yet it is not without great reluctancy, that I have obtained from my despair, spirit and heart enough, to come and embrace in one person both my son and mine Enemy, for I have found it hard for me to resolve to come myself and present you with our tears, and prayers to spare our bloods, and to put you in mind how much more honourable it is to have the title of the Deliverer of your Country, than the Destroyer of Rome; yes, I confess my weakness, I have hardly been brought to see Coriolanus armed against himself, and to kiss the hand, which it may be within few days will set fire to our houses, massacre our Citizens, throw down our Altars, and destroy our Temples, and I assure you that the sentiments of nature and those of reason have had so strong a Combat in my soul, that, if they have not overcome one another, I may say, I have been conquered by both; for it is true, my son, that I abhor your actions, and have tenderness for your person. I consider not your present error, without remembering your past innocence, and I may affirm, that the most sharp grief which I feel, is, that I cannot offer up my prayers for your safety without wishing destruction to my Country, nor pray for the prosperity of my Country, without desiring your ruin; and I am reduced to such a sad necessity, that I dare not implore the assistance of the gods, neither for you, nor for myself, victory will be equally sad to me, for on which side soever she declares herself, I am sure to reap neither profit nor honour; in this conjuncture of things, I must either see you led in triumph by our Citizens, or see you triumph over your Country; my disasters are come to so sad a period of extremity, that I cannot cease to be unfortunate, but in ceasing to live; the anger of the gods is now grown so visible to me, that I know not more to doubt of it: it is true that the sacrifices I have offered have obtained your return, but it is as true, that your return makes me more miserable, it is by you that our City is besieged, our Citizens murdered, and that all our Country sighs, and that the gods are provoked; what remains to be added to my misfortune? my Husband is dead, and my Son is turned mine Enemy; Ah my Coriolanus! this is the only thing that could have increased my unhappiness what more bitter smart can my soul feel, than to be obliged to love mine Enemy? and to fear the sight of a man, to whom I have given life, and who now makes use of that life to trouble the repose of mine? The common Laws of Nature ordain, that the care which Mothers take in the education of their Children should be recompensed not only by obedience, but by all their actions; to the end that the praises which they deserve, should be attributed to her who was the cause of their being; and who, through tender affection, hath contributed all her industry and power to advance them in the way of virtue: Judge after this how much you own me, my Son, seeing instead of the public acclamations, which I aught to expect for the reward of my pains, I hear nothing all day but upbraid and reproaches; the people look upon me as the cause of their calamity, and they all say with one voice, that I am the Mother of the Persecutor of Rome: I know very well that the war you have undertaken is not without pretence of Reason; revenge is sweet to enraged spirits, but withal I know it to be more generous to pardon those who offend us, when they are in our power to punish, than to follow our own inclinations, which often furiously hurry us to destroy them; the conquest of ourselves is much more honourable, than a victory over another, and if you'd suffer yourself to be softened by my tears, and by the submission of a people so haughty, to humble themselves to you, if you were not a Roman, I dare promise' you the love of your Country, the immortality of your Name, and the protection of the gods. Is it not enough that we have seen our fields desert? the Cabins of our Shepherds (where innocence used to reside) serve for Courts of Guard to your Soldiers? their Fockes for Victuals to your Camp? our Villages on fire? and to sum up all, murder and ruin where ever your Army hath marched? have you yet cruelty left, to sack a City wherein you had your birth? can you consent to the destruction of so great and glorious palaces, who express the magnificence and splendour of that age, wherein they were erected to be inhabited by tru● Romans, who made it their business to shed their blood for the preservation of those walls, which you seek to lay level with the earth? can that high and generous heart which you have from me. can it permit you in following the custom of war, to take your share in the detestable plunder of the City, wherein you took your first breath? you, who have so many times returned home loaden with the spoils of foreign Enemies? can you be so inhuman to expose the beauty and chastity of our young Wives and Virgins to the lust and rape of your insolent Soldiers, and the feebleness of old age to the fury of an Army? and the innocence of Babes to the tyranny of a strange people? can you behold the Virgins dishonoured in the arms of their Mothers? and their kindred drowned in their own blood? and their young men loaden with chains? me thinks the cries of so many unfortunate wretches should have power to move you to compunction, if the gods permit, for the punishment of your crimes and ours, that your revenge must be satiated, doth not this horrid Table which I present to your imagination, appear frightful to you? will your patiently permit me to finish it? and shall I show you in Rome Rivers of blood, mountains of dead bodies, our Temples demolished, and for the accomplishment of all mischief, Coriolanus setting fire to our City, and making the place of his birth, a bloody shambleses? I know not whether this Picture touch you or not, but I am sure it aught to do; the very imagination of it you see makes your Mother shed abundance of tears, and in their torrent hurry me to a resolution to end my days, and to finish my misfortunes, that I may not see my son wash his hands in the blood of his Family; you must Coriolanus, you must upon necessity, either give peace to your Country, or death to your Mother; for if you shut your ears against my cries and prayers, and that you are resolved to loose yourself, in destroying us, and draw upon your head the hatred of Mankind, and the anger of the gods, you shall see infallibly, that when your Rams and other Engines have broken down our Rampires, and when you come to scale and enter us, that I will be the first that your fury shall kill upon the breach, and you shall be constrained to tread upon my body when you ascend to the Capitol; it shall be thus, thus, that Rome shall be ruined, for the mischief that I have brought upon her in bringing you into the world, the cruelest of her Enemies; and believe me, that this generosity is not particular, for I do assure you, that your Wife and Children have resolved rather to die gloriously, than to live in that infamy which you have prepared for them: for what life can be reserved for us but to be the prey of our enemies, or which is more to be abhorred, the prey and spoil of their Father and Husband: Ah Coriolanus! what cruelty soever there is in Fortune, it is inferior to yours, and we aught not to complain of the rigour of destiny, since it leaves us liberty to die; it is you alone of whom we aught to complain, that will not permit us to die with that liberty we have lived in, and your inhumanity is grown so great, that you had rather have no Mother, nor Wife, nor Child, nor Country, nor household gods, if they may not be your prey, and you their Tyrant: What shall we say to you after all? we can call you not more our Coriolanus, seeing you have given yourself to the Volsques, you are come to steal us, even from your own self; it is in vain Virgilia for thee to think that thy tears and complaints can altar our destinies, it must be tears of blood, that must have power to touch his cruelty; the preservation of our lives will be now an act of injuctice, and we are obliged for our own honours to prevent our misfortunes, since we cannot divert the miseries of our Country; and indeed what have we more to do here in this place? shall we take care of our persons, and preserve them to adorn the triumph of the Volsques? or shall we nourish victim for our Enemies? or breed up the Children of Coriolanus, for his tyranny? Not, not, let us rather stifle this cursed race of his, who would stifle the liberty of his Country, and if we must be deprived of hearing the sweet name of Mother, from the mouth of our Children, at lest let us by this generous action gain it from the people; O Coriolanus, your rigour destroys in us all the resentments of Nature, and you have reduced us to such sad terms, that to do an act of mercy and courage, we must take those out of the world which are derived from us, but if in the midst of all the fury and blood, which possesseth your soul, there yet remains any place for innocence and justice, make it appear to us, that our tears may give place to our hopes, and let gentleness succeed your cruelty; but if it be true that all your inclinations to virtue be corrupted, and that on the sudden your sweetest delights be in horror and blood, and that your greatest crimes are your greatest pleasures, employ all your rage to destroy me, it is by this murder alone, that you can complete your Barbarism, and violate at one blow all the Laws of Nature and of Reason, your inhumanity shall be satisfied, together with the desire I have to finish my days, the repose you give me this way will establish yours, and you will have nothing but your own conscience to upbraid your crime, but be sure of that domestic enemy that will follow you to your grave, and however victorious you are, a continual horror shall triumph over all your joys; this Corasive will ever devil in your soul to see always our innocence devil in your crimes, than shall you wish for that death you have given me; O how long a time was it before I could be brought to believe, that your Revenge had carried you to this engagement! we are slow to give credit to those things which are to afflict us; I did not think it possible that such an exalted soul, which seemed to be inspired with the Roman honour, should ever descend from its own greatness, to humble, and mingle itself with a barbarous People, the most remote, the Volsques, and with them become the Destroyer of his Country, to be their Captain, or to speak truer, the slave of his Enemies; but we are not to think it strange, since it pleaseth you to destroy your own Race, your Country, together with the household gods of Rome, which are the only things they hate, or rather which they fear; what have I to dread from the rigour of my destiny? I might be at peace without enemies, if I were without Children, my barrenness would be abundance to my Country, as on the contrary, my fruitfulness hath changed the glory of Cities into a Desert; to what more deplorable estate can I be subjected? what malediction of fortune, or indignation of the gods can be more severe than that which hath constrained Virtue to be the Mother of Vice; and which causeth the innocent to give birth to the guilty? the little consolation which is left me in my misfortunes, is to see, that both gods and men are accessary to my faults. Ah Coriolanus! if you have not renounced Reason and humanity, I know your complaints will follow mine, and that Repentance will succeed yours; consider I beseech you, that your crimes are of so transcendent a nature, that the gods (I dare not say) are guilty of them; but lesle that they are innocent: Ah my dear son! if you were acquainted with the inclinations that your Children have to honour, certainly it would change yours, they are so zealous for the interest of their Country, that they make it their entertainment to weep, and complain, insomuch that the tenderness of their tears astonish all beholders; for it seems almost a prodigy that any who bear the name of Coriolanus should be virtuous, and that being yours, they should be capable of shedding tears for your slaughters; it is by their complaints and tears that I conjure you to attention: O that their sighs and sobs might gain peace to Rome! I know that from any other hand but yours we have deserved war, but I would have you grant to your Children that which they ask, which is to say, that which is to be expected from a generosity without example: Come than, my son, and teach them in their tender age to sow Palms in the Capitol, quit those Arms which affright them, and come and embrace them; if they obtain grace from you, give them the title of Fathers of their Country, in an age that others are scarce known to be sons of their own Fathers, and than I can assure you, that you will advance them immediately from a Cradle to a Chariot of triumph; can you refuse this honour? or, to speak plainer, can you hope for a greater? the way to conquer Rome is to pardon it. Do you not esteem a victory, without you obtain it by fire and sword? is it possible you should be so unreasonable, rather to force your way, than to be joyfully received through an Arch-triumphall? no, not, I will not think your determinations so ill weighed, I rather hope that your desire of honour will over balance those of Revenge, and give you a sudden resolution to pardon your desolate Country, to dry up your Mother's tears, to restore your wife's life, and add honour to your Children; the execution of this design is not hard, since it is certain that the Volsques will with joy embrace the alliance of a man whose sole valour hath conquered their Enemies, enlarged their Territories, and given reputation to their Arms; and to sum up all, whose courage alone hath made Rome tremble, they cannot refuse their friendship to our Citizens, since it is by one of them, that their forces equal ours, and they will consider, that by this union we shall overcome all our Enemies, and make a settled peace through the whole world, being certain that there will be none to resist us. But if the unsatiable desire of rule makes them promise' to themselves an easy Victory, let them remember how dangerous that valour is that is forced, let them consider the instability of all human affairs, let them learn of me, that the Roman people can never be conquered, without being utterly rooted out; they know how to cell their bloods, and not give it, and that they never ask for peace, when they have reason to despair to have it granted, let fortune fail us, our hearts never shall: But it may be, that your ambition persuades you, that the way to preserve your greatness, and power over so great an Army as you now command, is to conquer us, and that you cannot reign, unless we be your Tributaries; if you be a Coriolanus, have you forgot that those for whom you fight, are your natural Enemies, and that they have sucked in with their milk, the design of your destruction, they do not embrace you, but for your ruin, it is their need of your valour that makes them flatter you for a time, but as soon as you have conquered, you shall become subject to those you have made Kings, than you will find, that they protected you to gain those Kingdoms they never meant you should enjoy; if their pride could suffer them to be commanded by a Roman, they would never have disputed with the Romans for their Empire; believe me, my dear son, you are not their Master, but to keep them from being our slaves, and that as soon as ever you have put the power into their hands, you will be the first that shall feel its rigour, and be forced to groan under the yoke you have imposed upon us; I know that your generosity will rather make choice of a voluntary banishment; but what say I? good gods, you will not have power to banish yourself, you have given them an example in your Country, which will tender them cruel to you, they have learned, to our cost, how dangerous it is to leave you your life and liberty, and that Repentance quickly follows the lest injuries that are done you: in fine, you manure a field, whose flowers and fruits are not designed for you, and in establishing the felicities of others, you destroy your own, you will than find yourself the only unfortunate person of your party; it may be you will tell me, that fortune favoureth all your designs, and that you need fear nothing; but if you place your confidence's in her you will be deceived, her inconstancy is so great, that there is but one way to protect you from it, which is to tempt her seldom; take heed that in going about to try her, you do not drive her from you, and that in raising yourself too high, you take not the greater fall. How many times have we seen a Vessel swallowed up by the deeps, in the very same place which a little before served for a Haven of safety? suffer yourself than rather to be conducted by Reason than Fortune; or, to speak more properly, be kind to yourself in sparing us: but if your obdurate heart do yet carry you on to vengeance, for the injuries you have received, and that contemning my discourse, it inspire you to our conqust; think a little what advantage you can reap by a Victory obtained by falsehood, ingratitude, & cruelty; imagine that the foundation of Rome were reversed, & your Country totally destroyed, do you not believe after all is done, that Hell hath flames horrible enough to burn to ashes those unjust and shameful Palms which you have sprinkled with our bloods? can you esteem that Victory glorious which you cannot rejoice in, but with impiety? and do you think it will be for your honour, when the whole world shall know, that being able to conquer all that resists you, you have been overcome by your own passions? since that the remembrance of the injuries of some that were envious of your virtue, hath had more power in your soul, than Virtue itself, or the desire of true honour; this is to yield to them to make such use of your Victory, and to endeavour rather to outstrip them in Villainy than courage. Behave yourself so, my dear son, that the Romans may know the worth of him, they have offended, and if they have been ungrateful, be not you inhuman; be revenged of their malice, in making them confess to all the world, how great a fault they have committed, in banishing a man that knows how to use a godlike Virtue, Mercy to his Enemies; it had been better you had been for ever deprived of the sight of Rome, than to have seen it for its destruction; your banishment was the guil● of others, but your return in this way, is your own; you are yet in a condition to take away this stain from your life, and to let posterity know, that you are not contented to keep yourself within the strict limits of a son, but that you have the noble ambition to be styled the Father of your Country; if I should beg of you, in preserving us, the ruin of the Volsques, I confess it were hard for you to grant, for it is not more just to betray those that trust us, than to destroy our Country; the peace that I demand is equally profitable for both Nations, only so much more honourable for the Volsques as that when it may be probably supposed, that they have certain Victory in their hands, they seem freely to grant to us two sovereign blessings, Peace and Friendship, though they are alike partakers of the benefit with us: if you yield to my just request, you will have the reputation of giving felicity, in this age, to Rome; but if you deny me, all the guilt of ill consequence will be imputed to you, as well by the Volsques as by the Romans, for though the fortune of war is always very uncertain; yet this I am sure of, that if you be victorious, Story shall mark you out to posterity, as the plague and ruin of your Country; whereas if you be conquered, they will say, that for revenge of private injuries, you have ruined those who gave you protection in your exile: if you consider well, my Coriolanus, there is none more obliged to return benefits, than yourself, seeing you so eagerly pursue ingratitude; submit yourself than to Reason, and yield to the demand which it makes to you by me, and give the Romans cause to rejoice in that safety which they hold by your generosity, and the Volsques will also hereby bless themselves, that they have had for their General a man, whose Statue shall be placed in the Capitol, to which hereafter there will be Temples and Altars erected, and who shall have no other Title than the Restorer of his Country, and the Defender of our gods. Cast away those Arms which dazzle mine eyes, and which make me tremble only to think, they are so near us, your fury hath already been too great, since it hath brought your violence before my face; give, my dear Coriolanus, give something to the supplications of a Mother, who gave birth to your generosity, and that loves you yet so tenderly, though you are turned an Enemies; do not deny your Children to be Witnesses, as well as Imitators of your noble actions, which are to come; come teach them by your example, to sacrifice all their interest to the honour of their Country, and testify to the Commonwealth, that you came not against it, but to instruct it to do its duty, and that it was rather for the honour of your Country, than for your own, that you took up Arms; but I will not that the force of my Reasons, and the fervency of my Prayers take from you the honour of granting quickly, that which you cannot deny without injustice; on the contrary, I desire to obtain that from you, which I may expect in justice, under the name of mercy only: Prepare than, O People, to tender thanks to your Deliverer; come and admire this noble soul, which is conquered by nothing but Pity! come see this Coriolanus whose absence hath cost so many sighs, and whose return hath preserved the Commonwealth of Rome; come my dear Virgilia, come, and kiss that hand which comes to untie our chains, and to give liberty to his Country; wipe away those tears which blind you, and come and enjoy the sight of a man, that will be ravished at yours: come, O generous Children, and kiss your victorious Father's hands, follow his Chariot of triumph. I would, O Coriolanus, say more, if my motherly affection would give me leave to speak, but since you have been so long absent from me, it is fit I leave entertaining you this way, and join myself in near embraces to you. The Effect of this Oration. ALL the indignation of Coriolanus was not proof against this discourse; all in tears he cast away his Arms, and told his Mother (giving her his hand) that she had gained a very happy Victory for her Country, but an unfortunate and deadly one for her son: in effect, these words were Prophetic, for having raised his siege, and returned with the Volsques into their Country, that barbarous Nation in dislike of this honourable action, murdered him in full Senate. Cato Generous. The Argument. Cato of Utica seeing the Liberty of Rome oppressed by Caesar, was resolved not to survive it; his Son, perceiving his design, endeavoured to hinder him: Cato answered thus. IF I were, my son, of the number of those men, who, given over to their own appetites, judge of all things according to their passions, thy tears would not only altar my mind, but they would be powerful enough to afflict my soul, to see him weep so tenderly, who, being so near a part of myself, testifies so much more his affections to me, as he finds my death intolerable to him: but the life which I have led until this day (never weighing weariness, nor dreading danger, when the service of my Country was concerned) will speak for me, that it is not fear, but strict necessity that takes me out of the world, and I hope I shall not die without the pleasure of leaving thee capable of some consolation, it being not possible to believe, but that Reason is the most powerful consideration in the House of Cato; I rejoice to find thee sensible of my death, not but that I am angry that thou dost not know that I aught to tend to my Centre, and that, in making haste to a better life, I make haste to my felicity; but because it is a sign that I have a Son who is pleased with my fatherly kindness, and a Son that in desiring my presence, doth by consequence approve the actions of my life; they are those tears which, contrary to their nature, inflame me more to die, because they assure me I shall leave a Cato behind me: But if thou didst rightly consider, what that death is of which thou complainest, thou wouldst find, that both Fortune and the Heavens have rendered it so necessary, that neither my House nor my Country can sustain damage by it: So long as the Commonwealth was capable of my service, I never left it; but now that the particular fortune of Caesar hath overcome the public, why wouldst thou wish Cato to live, to be affronted by the multitude, who follow his wicked party? if in opposing the Conqueror's Army, I might ease the public Calamities, I would not desire death at my own hands; but what shall I do? Caesar hath conquered, and cannot be subdued, but by his own fortune: all the Commonwealth runs with emulation to his service, and I cannot deliver my Country from any other milchief, but from seeing Cato in bondage: in fine, the Roman liberty can never die more honourably, than with Cato, neither can Cato die more gloriously than with the liberty of the Republic; if I should expect death from the feeble hand of old Age, I should be seen to live unprofitably, or, which is more shameful, to survive the liberty of my Country: if I would go to search for death in the war, where should I find it? seeing all strange Nations are subdued as well as ours hath been overcome, and if it appear to thee, that in dying I seem to envy Caesar's glory, and that I take from him the honour of pardoning Cato, remember thyself that Cato is not an object for mercy? it would be a sacrilege to guilty fortune if Caesar should pardon Cato, for what fault can he be guilty of? he whose whole life was never employed, but for the honour of his Country, and the gods? No! not, the providence of Heaven is such, that it hath ordained the destiny, not only of particulars, but even the general order of all things hath informed Cato of the necessity of dying; all men may, but all men aught not to yield to the fortune of the Conqueror. Thou hast perceived, my Son, that I have been so active for Liberty, that if for the preservation of my life, I could endure servitude, I should never possibly be assured of that life which is held in slavery; he will be always jealous of my fidelity, and to assure his Empire, be enforced to cruelty; I will as much as is possible hinder the crimes of the Prince of our Country, and carry it so, that Caesar at lest, be thought innocent of my death, so shall the Commonwealth rejoice to see arrived in the Haven of safety, that little which is left unconquered: in a word, seeing I see nothing free but dying, it would be very unjust, that death itself should not be granted me at the last, but with some kind of servitude, and since I know not how to finish so many miseries, by more generous hands than mine own I am resolved: is it possible that thou hadst rather see thy Father die by the hands of the Hangman, than by those of Cato? No! not, it belongs only to the Cato's, as to know how to live, so to die, when they please; and it is no small honour in Caesar's time to be master of Cato's life. Admit Time hath ordained me for many years, thou seest my Son, how many are already past, and if I should refer the few that are left to the pleasure of Fortune, consider what life can be more shameful, than that which depends upon the will of an Enemy, to prolong Cato's days, thou must not desire him to die lesle honourable; I will not be the first that hath brought servitude into the House of Cato, how canst thou desire him to live unprofitably and undervalved, that hath been the foundation of our liberty, and the fundamental pillar of the Commonwealth? and how is it possible thou shouldst be so averse to behold Cato free, and Cato immortal? what is it troubles thee? is it only the imagination of what thy Father is to undergo? is it any other thing than the same death so much scorned by one of my Slaves? who, to avoid my fury, for a fault he had committed, cast himself headlong from a Rock? is it any other thing than, but the same death affronted by a Girl? who impatient at the absence of her Lover, abandoned her life, and used for her instrument a halter; the evil aught to be deemed very mean, which is encountered upon such slender grounds; what than? shall the thoughts of fear and pusillanimity, prevail over those of Virtue? Not, not, my Son, if thou hast a mind by thy tears to show me the Sentiments of a true Son, show me a soul full of the Sentiments of Cato; thou oughtest to consider, that the day of death is not the last of life, but the last of mortality: if the soul survives the body, what day is more happy than that wherein a man gins to live free, and independent? and if it doth not survive, what man is more fortunate than he who hath finished the miseries of life? if it proceed from the gods, death cannot be ill, because the gods ordain nothing but: what is good, especially to the just; and if there be no gods, or if they take no care of human affairs, how can it displease a wise man to part from a world without Deities, and without Providence? Death to divers hath been the end, and to others the remedy of their sufferings, and there have been men who have desired it, and others who have procured it, but none (besides the wicked) ever thought it ill, and those esteem it so, because their guilty consciences will not permit them to hope for a better place; those are slaves unto, and not Masters of life, who, being deprived of all happiness, had rather live in languishments, than leave to live: Nature hath ordained us to live as long as life is to us content and ease, but to abandon it when it grows a burden; why should we be exposed to the malice of Fortune? to the frowns of the angry Heaven? love life my Son, whilst life is to us happiness, but not when it is worse than death: The gods have put my soul into my body, but not chained it in, and if it had been their intention it should have been a Prisoner, they would have made the means to free it, more difficult; but on the contrary, all things may be ravished from us by Fortune, except death alone, which always depends upon our free wills; he that is much a Lover of life, is much the subject of giddy fortune; there is nothing without vexation to him, because there is nothing without hazard. I do not deny, but that Nature hath created man with an inclination to love and preserve the body, but it is an inclination which the Beasts have in common with us, and which it may be Nature doth not give, but to keep us from detesting that life, which experience shows us to be the object of all miseries imaginable: The Earth is a natural, but a painful abode, it is a residence which the wise aught not to slight, so long as they may exercise the best affects of their Reason, but when Fortune and Reason have reduced them to such terms, that they cannot make use of Virtue without being scorned by the wicked, what life is it than? it would be an Argument of a mean soul, if I should fear either danger or change in my virtue: so long as there was hope to conquer my misfortunes by constancy, I preserved my life (expecting better times for the Common wealth and for myself,) but who now seethe not that the public affairs are desperate, and that liberty is overthrown, and that I cannot aid my Country any other way, but in sending Cato to Heaven? it is my grief that thou hast not yet served thy Country so much as thou oughtest, who art borne my son, for if thou hadst, I would persuade thee also to stop by thy death the instability of Fortune, and to prevent an unhappy life, by which thou mayest know, if thou considerest rightly, whether he aught to be deplored that is delivered from so miserable an agitation: for me, I tender thanks to the gods, with all the zeal that my soul is capable of, that they have taught me this truth, and indeed I cannot find that I have any other obligation to life, than that it hath made me know the value of death, and I rejoice that I have found an occasion to die so honourably; to what purpose should we so long be bandied between so many miseries, and so many mischiefs? whosoever hath a mind to be enslaved to all the tyrannies of Fortune, let him cherish life: in a word, if life be profitable, let us live; but if it be the contrary, the gods have not placed us in the world to keep us there miserable, we may go out of ourselves, for sleep and death are natural, and we find little difference between the one and the other; why than are we not as ready to die as to sleep? and why do we think a profitable death lesle lovely, than a languishing one? what reason is there why that death should seem more horrid, which cuts of our lives in a moment, and almost without pain, than that which vexeth us miserably, almost a whole age together? if thou dost believe that kind of death not to be so cruel as the violent, which overthrows us at one blow, let us examine a little what this thing called life, is; it is subject to a thousand misadventures, and every minute exposed to the our-rages of all, even the lest things; in its infancy it is helpless, and lesle reasonable than the beasts, and if by chance it attain to old age, what creature is than more feeble or fuller of infirmity? or more worthy of compassion? it is born in tears, it is bred and nourished in dolour and pain, preserved with many fears and dangers; there is nothing more poor, nothing more impotent in the beginning, and nothing more furious, more avaricious, more proud, nor more vain in the continuance; the world is a Hell to it: didst thou ever pass from one season to another, without feeling the excess of heat, or the extremity of cold? and what thing can the tormented souls of the damned imagine more cruel than these ordinary changes? men themselves are enemies to themselves, and when they are in league one with another, they think of nothing more than whom they may oppress, and whom they may ruin; to what end are there so many Armies, and so many Victories, if not for the destruction of one another? and who is he that hath not gone with impetuous haste to the Capitol to tender thanks to the gods for the slaughter of numberless numbers of men such as himself? Covetous wretches have digged up the entrails of their common Mother, the Earth, to tear thence Gold where with they purchase our lives; it's the Hemlock wherewith they poison, and the sword wherewith they kill: what soldier is there that doth not learn to handle his weapon to kill, even with Art? we are subjected to a condition that we do not only suffer death, but study it: Behold I how many men are afflicted which way soever they turn themselves? they compound, with their laborious sweat, the cause of our misfortunes; to what use serve these Lances, and Arrows pointed with steel, to which man's bloody invention hath given wings, to sand death flying where a remorseless hand destinies it, who complains himself of being mortal, whilst his heart and his hand are not employed but for death? O unfortunate state of life I of which even those are enemies who live: certainly, if thou wouldst consider what this life is, thou wouldst find, that such are worthy of being envied, who in the beginning of their days, have found the end of their miseries, in making a Sepulchre of their Cradles; there is no kind of life that hath not his pangs, and his disquiets; if a man be a fool, he is worse than a beast; if wise, it is hard for him to find an equal; if wicked, he is a living Hell, Pride rendereth him subject to hatred. Envy gnaws him, Avarice torments him, and debauchery consumes him; if he be just he is persecuted by Antipathy, if he beretired from the world, he leads a life solitary, unprofitable, and more suitable to a wild beast than a man; if he be employed in the public, he hath to do with a body composed of wicked members; public affairs are mingled with deadly dangers, particular are not worthy to take up the heart of a man of courage; Poverty causeth anxiety; Richeses puff up and disorder; servitude dejecteth, and is a continual misery; Command is not without peril: single life is a kind of solitude, yet hath its thorns; a Wife is a sweet companion, but afflicting; the luxury of the age is great, the mind of woman is fluctuating, & in short, the domestic disquiets, the petulancies, giddiness, and weakness of Wives are insupportable; often we are not Fathers, and often we are so to the perturbation of our souls. I must needs confess it is a great pleasure to have children, but it is that which sits uneasy upon the soul of Man, to have them as Hostages in the hands of Fortune: and it is an unspeakable agitation of the mind to have occasions so obliging and pressing, as are so far from permitting us to live with freedom, that they will not allow us to die with it. Behold an example in Cato, in this Cato, so miserable, that even his own children endeavour by their tears, to hinder his liberty: finally, I am forced to conclude, that this life is nothing else but a Sea subject to tempests, wherein a thousand things may raise a storm to drown us: See now if this condition be worthy to be desired; I now live under the yoke of servitude, and remain under the power of an Usurper, that hath abolished the liberty of his Country, and vilely placed the dignities Consular, and Priestly amongst the offices of his slave, and subjected the Capital to the necessity of applauding his guilty and criminal Triumph, and approving the slavery of the Romans: what! shall this life be deemed worthy to be continued? shall I add to the number of the enslaved of my Country, and omit an opportunity so remarkable of showing to the world, that it is high time for those to die who have lead the life of Cato? what! shall my eyes (accustomed to behold the glorious Statua's of my Ancestors, who have counted in their lives more Victories than days,) shall they (I say) see the Roman Fortune bound in fetters? what! the Fasces of the Consular dignity, must they serve to make a Faggot to set the Commonwealth on fire, and Cato be yet alive? what! this Cato, that did not vouchsafe to give his Niece to Pompey the great, shall he prolong his ills to do homage to him that hath ruined that liberty, which with so much sweat and peril was founded by Cato? the gods preserve me from an adventure so shameful: why dost thou not rather exhort me, O my son, to serve myself of that privilege which Nature hath given us of being able to deliver ourselves from so many evils by one death? wouldst thou not blush to see thy Father numbered amongst Caesar's conquests; govern, O govern better thy too tender thoughts, and do not desire that thy tears should be more powerful than all these most important necessities; it will be most agreeable that I, who have given so many blows for the liberty of the Commonwealth, should give one for my own. I was made so independing both by Heaven and Nature, that I should blush to be found alive in Caesar's time, as well as under his Empire: if it troubles thee that thy Country shall loose Cato, let him survive in thy actions; as often as thou shalt recount my life in thy memory, thou shalt have me living in my Examples, and my Precepts; all love is vicious which is not grounded upon Reason; if thou lovest me, imitate my Virtue, for when thou shalt love me by imitation, thou wilt see that the Commonwealth hath not lost Cato, who shall certainly see him, both living, and glorious in the virtue of his Son. The effect of this Oration. Young Cato not knowing what to answer to his Father, retired all covered with tears; after which, this great man employed one part of the night in reading a Discourse of the immortality of the soul, and slept the other, with as much tranquillity as if he had not had a design against his own life: At last be awoke, and sent to the Ports, to see if his Friends were departed, according to his order, and being answered, that they were all gone, he feigned as if he would yet sleep a little longer; but as soon as the Company was retired, he took his sword from under his bed's head, and violently thrust it into his bowels; at the noise of his fall, his friends came into his Chamber, and finding that he was not yet dead, they dressed and bound up his wounds, but within a little time, he got opportunity to pull of the bands with which they were bound up, and with his own hands tore out his entrails, for fear he should be enforced to live: Thus died this great Man, to whom they give the glorious Title of the first of Men, and the last of the Romans. Cleopatra Humble. The Argument. Cleopatra not to be comforted after the death of Mark Anthony, and the loss of her Kingdom, and Liberty, receiving a Visit from Augustus (a rumour being spread abroad that he had designed to carry her to Rome to add to his triumph) to altar his intention, spoke this following. AT the last I have seen that which I thought had never been possible. Cleopatra obliged by a Mortal; here it is (O Caesar) that thou first triumphest over Egypt; when thou hast conquered the Kingdom by thy Fortune, that Fortune hath brought thee to visit Cleopatra, not to comfort her in her great disasters, but to teach the world they aught to submit, as well to thy Virtue, as to avoid thy sword: what object can thine eyes desire to see more pleasing? or what Music can sound more sweet in thine ears, than to hear Cleopatra speak humbly? and that the Queen of Egypt should have need to offer Vows and Prayers? O Caesar, thy Virtue hath raised thee to so supreme a pitch of greatness, that thy mere visits have power to make Queens happy; this is the first time since my reign, that favours are done me upon Earth, I never received any that I esteemed so, but from Heaven alone, from Heaven said I? alas, it's benign influences are changed into malign, and inauspitious; it hath left me no hope, unless it be that my Conqueror hath as well the generosity, as the high courage of a Roman. I have had heretofore so large experience, and interest in the gallantry of Romans, your Peers, that I should deem myself ungrateful, if I had not an entire assurance in the Virtue of a Caesar, there doth now arise a large subject for hope to this captive Queen, seeing that the mercy of her Conqueror invites him thus early to do her this honour: and I confess myself to be more overcome, by the gentleness of this Visit, than I was by the power of thy Troops: Force and violence overcame there, here nothing but thy Virtue subdues. I give thee thankss (O most noble Conqueror) and if I do it not as I aught, it is but an effect of my disastrous fortune, the memory of my past felicities disorders me in this new learning of giving thanks: how transitory the favour of Fortune is, Cleopatra's condition furnisheth a great example. Behold (O Caesar) to what she hath reduced Cleopatra, who hath received no less incense from Kings than from Kingdoms, that Cleopatra, for whom the Caesars have fought, the Pompey's have traveled through dangers, and Anthony hath lost his life: I speak of that Anthony whose person, and whose actions were the lively image of Hercules, his Predecessor: I speak of that Anthony, who, whilst he was in the world, passed for bounty itself, for the soul of Arms, and for the delight of Greece, whosoever demands of all Asia, who was the Tutelary god, doubtless the answer will be, it was the great Anthony. Unfortunate Cleopatra, to what extremity art thou reduced? if I would oblige thee (O Caesar) it is necessary that I praise thee, and if I praise thee worthily, I can find no nobler way, than by recounting the glory of that great Anthony whom Fortune made chief of all men, to show to thee, that the chief of all men was lesle than thy Virtue, lesle than thy valour, and lesle than thy Fortune. I am indebted to the Destinies (always mine Enemies) for no other Favour, but that my infelicity hath ministered matter to oblige thy generosity, to exercise thy high Virtue: There runs for all that a confused rumour, that thou intendest to carry me hence Captive, and to make me follow thy Chariot in thy triumph; but be pleased to believe Cleopatra is not capable of suffering such contempt; death cannot seem to come too hastily to her who hath already seen the death of her Reign, and Liberty. I am forced (being terrified by so unpleasing a noise) to supplicate thee (O merciful Conqueror) not to think of a thing so contrary to my quality, and I am the rather a Suitor unto thee, because thou should do things suitable to the favour of this Visit, than for any need I have to obtain that of thee which I can always command from myself; I swear to thee, I had already conducted my interests to an assured Port, by this hand, if I were not obliged to acknowledge thy civilities, for I will not that thou reproach me, as thy Divine Father did Cato, that I envied thee the glory of pardoning me. Be content with this, that I am become a Suppliant; it is no small triumph to see Cleopatra petitioning, and humble: I assure thee that a heart less than thine should never be entreated by Cleopatra, for that soul accustomed to receive respects from the Caesars themselves, would disdain to humble itself before man; If I did not know thy Virtue worthy to receive the same honours which we tender to the gods. If thou wouldst know the value of this triumph which aught to make thee proud? demand of Heaven, if ever Cleopatra offered vows to any but to the gods, and Caesar; I know thou remember'st the Time, the Affection, the Treasures, and the Men, I have employed in the service of Anthony: But I also know (O noble Enemy) that thou art not ignorant of the price of that faith which aught to be inviolable, from the instant in which it is given. Alas, unfortunate Cleopatra! of what crime art thou detected, if not for being faithful? if I had betrayed my Party, as others have done, I should be still the so much adored, Cleopatra: but because my faith was unshaken, aught I to be drawn as a vile slave after thy triumphant Chariot, by that which I have done for Anthony? consider (O Caesar) what I may do for thee, if thou shalt be favourable unto me: Can I be so base to break my faith with the conquered, and embrace his fortune that is victorious, I should be secured from the peril which now threateneth me; but thou canst have no assurance (O Caesar) that I will not betray thee, as well as another, if the relics of the Triumvirate should produce any new matter of war. I have served (I confess) and loved as much as I aught the noble and unfortunate Anthony, and I dare swear (so certain am I) that Caesar himself would have served him, if he had been in Cleopatra's place, since the effects of Virtue never change, although their residence be in several hearts! alas unfortunate Anthony! that the memory of a Name so sweet, should be this day so bitter to me; pardon me Caesar, if thou art as merciful as victorious? pardon me, I say, if my indiscreet tenderness makes me lament before thy face, the death of thine Enemy: I sigh for mine own misfortunes, not for the establishment of thy unparalleled greatness; that thought is too sensible, when I call to mind a man who never did any thing without having for his object my william. There is but one thing alone, that gives me cause to complain of Anthony, which is, that I have heard him swear a thousand times, (which I now deem flattery) that my beauty was divine, and all powerful, and that it might soften Rocks; thou deceivedst me Anthony, and thou deceivedst thyself, seeing it cannot 'cause one sentiment of pity in his heart, whose courtesy is greater than his fortune, although his fortune be greater than his Empire of the world. In fine, O Caesar, the sum of my petition is, that I may increase thy reputation, in being content to obtain of thy virtue, that which I can always obtain of my own; I entreat thee to consent that I may live without shame, for otherwise in teaching Cleopatra, that thou intendest to triumph over her, is but to teach Cleopatra that it is time for her to triumph over herself; for she is absolutely resolved to follow no other Chariot, than that of thy mercy; if thou intendest by thy Victory to draw that base humiliation from my misfortunes, thou mayst well see Cleopatra amongst thy Triumphs of death, but never amongst the Triumphs of Caesar; in being industrious to hinder my death, to the end, to preserve me to increase the number of the Trophies and Spoils which thou destinest to the Capitol, is not out of a desire I should live, but that I should survive my reputation; which is not magnanimous, which is not like Caesar. If the malignity of any fatal star had rendered thee to the condition that I am in, wouldst thou submissively resolve to follow a Chariot? No! not, life is not precious enough to be purchased so dearly; and what honour can it be to him to triumph over a Queen, endued with no more generosity than to be capable of living to be carried in triumph? Remember (noble Enemy) that the most feeble and vulgar power may deprive me of life, and use me ill, but the conservation of my first Majesty is an action of an Arm not lesle powerful than Princely: Caesar I ask pardon for telling thee that the inclination to take revenge is as much below Caesar, as Caesar is above the power of being offended; chastisements that proceed from such as you, if they have not for their end, the design of making the Offender an Example, are fury, and not correction. My miseries as they now appear, may serve for instruction of all those that hereafter, like Cleopatra, would engage their affections for an Anthony; thou hast attained to such a degree of greatness, that for expiation of crimes committed against thee, that aught to suffice which appeaseth the gods, which is to say, I confess I have done amiss and ask pardon. To conclude, even the common Animals, at lest those that are generous, always treat them favourably whom they find humble; if to exalt thy Victory it were necessary that Cleopatra should follow thy Chariot, I would enchain myself to increase thy glory; a thousand consolations, drawn from past examples, attend my misfortunes, as that to be conquered by a Caesar, though it be a misfortune, it is one of those which are honourable; that I have not wanted the courage of a Conqueror, though I have wanted the fortune; that Queens are not lesle mortal than Kings, and that all things in the world have an end. It is thus that I comfort myself, and thus that I resolve to honour the Triumph of my Conqueror, if the Triumph of my Conqueror may be honoured by my miseries; but to appear Conqueror of Egypt, it is more proper for thee to carry the Crown, than the head of Cleopatra; neither shalt thou ever see Cleopatra humble herself to suffer such an indignity, for if she hath not strength to revenge the injuries done her, she shall have at lest strength enough to deliver her self from the violence of those that offend her; thus thou mayest see, O Caesar, that there is not any thing to be gained of Cleopatra, by any other way, than by generosity. Thou wilt appear incomparably more great, by thy mercy, and by thy mercy exercised towards an Enemy that reputes, than for having been the cause of the death of a miserable Queen, for the short and vain pleasure of this Ambition; but if the hate which thou hast for Anthony, incline thee to be cruel to me, to the end that thou leavest not unpunished any one thing relating to Anthony, to what purpose is all this? Alas Caesar! consider how ill it becomes a man of honour to be cruel to the dead, the Victory of the generous aught to be bloody rather in, than after the Battle: but if for the compleatment of thy Victory, thou wouldst finish the Conquest of Anthony, let the world than see, that thy Victories proceed from thy Virtue alone, and not at all from thy fortune, and what greater punishment can be afflicted upon a noble soul, than to make it sensible what a generous, what a merciful, and what a noble Conqueror it hath transgressed against? But since Fortune hath been so cruel to deprive us of the body of Anthony, save his Soul, O merciful Enemy, for even that was Cleopatra's: but alas! what say I in my grief? what? could the soul of Anthony survive Anthony, and humble itself before Caesar? Ah poor Anthony! thou wouldst never have permitted Cleopatra to have entreated so long in vain, but if the rigour of my destiny will tender me so concerned in the inclinations of another, as that the love of Anthony should endanger me, why may I not as well hope for advantage from the respective affection wherewith Caesar heretofore honoured me? that Caesar which thou reckonest amongst thy Fathers, is reckoned amongst my Husbands; if thou dost drag me after thy Chariot of Triumph, wilt thou not blush to think thou dost not triumph without parricide? Caesar! the reputation of thy clemency is so great, that in denying thy mercy to me alone, thou wilt declare upon the Theatre of the world, me to be the most unworthy to receive it that ever was, which is to do injury to the judgement of thy divine Father, who much loved me; cruel Fortune! to what hast thou reduced me? the war is finished, yet I have not finished my losses; poor Cleopatra! the Heavens are turned brass to thee, aswell as the heart of him that holds thee captive. Pardon me, Caesar, if I do not bewail my misfortunes as I aught, it is not an effect of my pride, it is of my despair; Tears cannot enough express my miseries for those which give us leave to complain, are common, neither do I think it civil to shed Tears before Caesar, whose virtue would be offended, if I believed it capable of a feeble and base pity, for pity is a virtue of a low and vulgar soul: I call upon Caesar to make use of his magnanimity, not his compassion. And to conclude, it would be a great addition to my misfortunes, if I found in my Conqueror a popular courage; but it is time that I hold my peace, not that I want words, for the Destinies have left me nothing else; neither do I fear that thou wilt harken to me favourably, for I know how agreeable the Discourses of those who have generous designs are unto noble souls; but it is that, in the present condition of things, I dare not abuse the Patience of an Emperor, whose hours are all precious; I will only tell thee, that if rigour to Cleopatra, be not to be accounted cruelty, the noble Treatment of her cannot fail to be esteemed, at lest, an effect of a noble soul; for in fine the opportunities for great hearts to exercise their Virtue, are favours which they receive, and they beg from Heaven. I insist upon this to show thee, how happy he is whose felicity is such, that his very Triumphs themselves afford new matter of Triumph, but I will not be indebted to the force of my Reasons, because I do not desire to have them esteemed powerful and great, but to have found thee so; for my part I have no doubt of thy virtue, but I mistrust my own Fortune, and I fear the Heavens (enemies to my peace) should take from thee so remarkable an occasion to gain honour, and ravish from me the opportunity of being obliged to thy magnificence. Consider (O Caesar) to what height of power thou art ascended; as to my interest thou art above the stars, upon thy will depends my Fate, and whatsoever thou wilt, shall be my condition, and if thou in thy mercy grant me that which is fit for me to ask, and that which I aught to obtain, thou shalt be deified by thy Valour, and adored by the subjected Cleopatra, thou shalt be the Disposer of liberty, the Conserver of life, the Master of Destiny, and the Protector of Kings, properties not inferior to the gods themselves. But if the implacable anger of Heaven, together with the unalterable decree of Fortune be such, that it hath deafened thee to my requests, that I cannot hope to find Caesar in Caesar, behold this bosom (O great Conqueror) oppressed with all calamities, for its last refuge to rest, eagerly implores to receive from thy famous sword, as an effect of pity, that death which otherwise I shall search by the most horrid ways that can force a soul from a body; if it be forbidden thee by any higher power to oblige me by thy mercy, it is not forbidden thee to favour me by thy sword; my adventures shall be glorious, if I fall under that sword which hath conquered all the East, and which in delivering me from the infamy of servitude, shall permit me to die free, and a Queen to whom the apprehension only of the Capitol, and the consideration of attending a Chariot tender this life insupportable. Go on than, noble Conqueror, pierce this miserable bosom, and deliver me from the many misfortunes that overwhelm me: what! dost thou fear to oblige me, that thou art so slow? thou shalt receive a thousand praises for an action, which perchance thou believest to be too severe; strike, O favourable Enemy, strike, for since I must loose both my Crown and Liberty, it is the only mercy thou canst do me: But why art thou silent? is it possible, that thou shouldest deny me so poor a relief? thou who art descended from a Race, which hath presented me with Kingdoms; believe me cruel man, that this heart could never have been so much beloved of Caesar, if it had not something in it like Caesar; I have been bred, crowned, and instructed by the Caesars, judge after this, if I can be capable of servitude. But to what end serve these my Complaints, since they are addressed to a Rock? I will not that my unprofitable prayers betray me to the baseness of Triumph and servitude: I have done, O Caesar, cruel Caesar, if thou wilt not suffer me to enjoy this Kingdom left me, by my Ancestors, at the worst thou canst not hinder me from dying, and practising those Virtues which I learned from their School, all things may be denied me but death, and no Virtue is more vigorous than that which is desperate. The effect of this Oration. EVery one knows that Augustus treated this fair unfortunate Queen with much civility; yet in the midst of his courtesy, she perceived his resolution was to make her attend his Triumph to Rome, but to prevent the shame she so much dreaded, she killed herself with an Asp, which was brought to her amongst flowers; so, by the generosity of her death, she wiped away the blemishes of her life. Sentiments Paternal. The Argument. The Grecians were assembled in Aulide, to consult upon the just revenge they meant to take for the Rape of Helena: Agamemnon, Brother of Menelaus, and General of the Army, to recreate himself, went to hunt, and killed a Hind in a Wood, which unknown to him was consecrated to Diana; things being in readiness for their departure, the Heavens and Seas opposed it by impetuous and terrible tempests: They had recourse to the Oracle, the Priest declared that Diana enraged for the death of that Animal would not be appeased, but with the head of the eldest Daughter of that sacrilegious and unfortunate person, Agamemnon, being advertised of his fault, and frighted with the tumult of the Army, spoke to them thus in favour of the Princess his Daughter. What god (favourable to the Trojans, our Enemies) hath sowed in our Camp this furious sedition? harken to me, O Soldiers! if your military obedience do yet tender you such; I would call you Companions, if the quality of a King might suffer an equal: what tumult is this? what! I that within these few days was proclaimed King of Kings, not to have power to preserve mine own blood? Alas! I am ashamed to speak of the madness of my Army, I refuse not the head of my Iphigenia, to be offered for the public safety, but I refuse it to particular Envy, if you judge it a thing requisite for the honour of our Troops, not only to sprinkle the Altars, but to drown our fields with the blood of my Children; it shall be I myself who will conduct the Victim to the Altar, and will rejoice more to have bred them for the good of my Country, than for the repose of my Age; for what blood can be more happily poured forth, than that which serves to appease the angry gods, and tender happiness to our Country? Certainly, if ye believe I had a soul capable of meaner thoughts than these, it would be an injury both to your judgements and honours in making choice of me to command so many brave men, otherwise the most vile Members of this great Body might have been made the chief: Not, no! whilst Agamemnon lives, the head of Iphigenia shall not want a Sacrificer; but it seems very reasonable to me, that Pity in these generous Troops, who to recover an Adulteress, slight their Country, their Kindred, their Goods, their Wives and Children, and all things dear to them, either in this world or in that to come; it seems (I say) very reasonable, that they consider first, if the staining their hands in the blood of a Virgin, be an Act proper to tender the gods propitious to our designs; for how can a sacrifice offered with so much precipitation please the gods? believe, O valiant People! O believe that when you offer a sacrifice in fury, you satisfy no god but that of Envy alone; it is a thing which to me seems very strange, that for regaining of an Adultress, it should be thought fit to loose a Virgin, and that to recover the daughter of another, it should not only be thought convenient, but necessary, that I this day loose mine own; if innocency shall be exposed to loss, you will force your Daughters to that adultery, which finds more safety and protection than Virginity itself; if we may begin our enterprise no other way, but by the death of my poor Daughter, who will not confess that this war is ominous to me, before there is any violation of peace to begin the hopes of our Victories with the blood of our Daughters; alas! it is to begin them with our own losses, if we are out of hope, that the gods will not be favourable to our designs, unless we imbraw the Earth and Sea in the blood of our own bowels; truly it will be a very criminous atonement. Those achievements are too dear bought, that cost us a Victim, for the preservation whereof, no Victim should be thought too precious: I have seen a war begun for the defence of Virgins, but never saw the murder of a Maid inaugurate the happy success of a war; that may be called losing of the battle without fight, and to fill our houses with murder before they be taken, and without looking one Trojan in the face, we shall bewail the death of our Children: God forbidden, that our undertake should be so inauspitious; reserve! reserve the fury of your swords to destroy the Daughters of your Enemies. Those of Ilium shall not be more swift to shut their Ports for their preservation, than we will be to fly to the immolation of the most illustrious Virgins of Troy, there we will assuage our angers, and revenge our indignities without sparing a Maid that breathes in the air of our Enemies, from the rigour of our swords: But what new astonishment is that I read in your faces? you seem to have in horror the thoughts only of a spectacle so bloody, I was confident in representing to you the massacre of young Virgins, I had chosen an entertainment agreeable to your inclinations: Poor Iphigenia! under what malignant star wert thou borne, that, that rigour which would be cruel, barbarous, and detestable, if it were afflicted upon the Daughters of our Enemies, is believed honest, pious, and desirable, when it is addressed to our own? what? shall the sisters of Paris than fear the Grecians less than the Daughters of Agamemnon? who taught us that Religion which makes us merciful to others, and cruel to ourselves? To begin the war by an act so inhuman is to better the condition of our Enemies, because we oblige the Heavens to defend those that are most innocent, for who can deny that a Ravisher sins lesle than a Homicide, and that it is a less fault to have loved a Wanton, than to murder a Virgin? Paris opposed, and wrestled with his lusts, as appeared by the fears of his flight, and those of his conscience, to show to the world, that at lest he knew his guilt, and dreaded punishment as well from the gods, as men; but how shall we excuse our crime, the wickedness of which renders us impious and cruel towards both gods and men? We style the profanation of the Altars an Act of Piety, and as a sacrifice celebrated a detestable murder, who can excuse those crimes committed, not only before the eyes, but even upon the very Altars of the gods? I am not ignorant that the wickedness of those who proposed this sacrifice, will say that the divine Decrees aught to be obeyed, and not disputed; but I answer that the Athenians, to appear falsely devout, were not ashamed to picture their gods cruel Homicides, those very sacred Intelligences which devil above, for the preservation of Mortals, do revenge, not desire the death of Innocents'. What? have the Gods rendered the Heaven's serene, and the Sea calm, to favour the flight of an incontinent, and after do they show them in prodigious storms, thirsting for the blood of a Virgin, who perchance is preparing Hecatombs for them, whiles they are decreeing her ruin? Not, no! it would be a Hell upon Earth, if the Heavens should oblige us to shed the precious blood of Innocents'; how is it possible that Jupiter should resolve to reign over a world desert and wicked? and who is there abject enough to continued amongst those Deities, whose number is not composed, but of more vile than ourselves? but what god is it hath brought cruelty into Heaven, as if human kind were to be made the object of fury instead of love and mercy? all sacred forbidden, O Jupiter! that we should believe the gods to be more cruel to us than our enemies themselves; what? the Trojans love our Daughters, and the gods massacre them? it is not likely; produce the Priests, and name the Temples where this Oracle hath been heard and received, that we may not rashly precipitate any thing against the innocent, which hath always been known by all to be the prime object of love to the infinite powers; let us be careful that that piety which endeavours to remove the clouds from the neck of Juno, take not away by violence the thunder bolts from the hand of Jupiter. But if you tell me, that Calcas the Interpreter of the gods (to deliver our Fleet, which the Sea holds as besieged, and which, it seemeth, conspireth for the defence of our Enemies) hath pronounced this, which is rather to be called a sacrilege, than a sacrifice to appease the gods of the woods incensed by my hand for the death of a Hind? I answer, that certainly any other but Calcas a Magician, a Sorcerer and Conjurer, accustomed all his life time to the formidable way of Hell, by incantation with certain verses which he muttereth more horrid than his own conscience, would never endeavour to acquire the reputation of Interpreter to the gods, by such a detestable invention, as to engage us to the necessity of shedding innocent blood. But it is time, that I discover to you the tumour of this wound, that you may know how poisonous the steel is that made it; it is hence that Oracles are obtained by the gold of mine Enemies, and not the voice of the Thunderer, that pronounces the fatal Ordinances of the all-powerfull Deities; it is he who envies me, my Sceptre, and labours my deprivation, that he to whom Calc●● hath sold his loyalty may usurp it, and that you by a fancied piety should become not religious, but superstitious; for certainly if I had not been chosen General of the Army, Cynthia would never have desired that her Altars should be adorned with my calamities; that Envy which darts Thunderbolts upon the most supreme and exalted things hath (foreseeing that our Troops desire of me a sacrifice not only abominable, but impossible for a Father's affection) engaged me to the necessity of abandoning you, to avoid that crime, or yourselves to deposing me, from that dignity to which others pretend; but consider I pray you noble Soldiers, if it can be possible for that Goddess, the great Patroness of Chastity, to design the throat of a Nymph, of her own train, to be cut in revenge, for the death of a Beast. If the Hind was consecrated to Diana, to whom was dedicated the virginity of Iphigenia? and what Deities are they, who express more tenderness for Beasts than men? I know already they will say, it is a punishment which Agamemnon deserves, for daring to enter into a Wood consecrated to Diana, and more for killing her Hind, but what correction can he deserve, who hath committed a faulty Act, with an innocent heart? and how can he be guilty of irreverence that knew not the sanctity of the place which he hath profaned? In fine, I have not killed a she Priest in a Temple, but a Beast in a Wood, and shall this heart, which hath always reverenced Diana, be implacably condemned for a light fault, and a fault not of will, but of ignorance? but if the sin be mortal, and the punishment inevitable, was it ever seen that the gods condemned an innocent head, for the error of a guilty hand? what? shall a spotless Virgin fall under a sword, piercing her bosom? and I who committed the sacrilege survive in glory, and command an Army which is to be always victorious? if it be thus, what shall become of justice? Ah! if Diana wisheth for the head of Iphigenia, she wanteth not means to accomplish her desires, without employing the aid of your swords: Demand of Actaeon, if she ever had recourse to the assistance of men, to revenge the injuries she receives in the Woods and Forests? return! return into yourselves, O valiant Warriors, and appease those Furies which it may be have been provoked, as well as the Sea for our misfortunes by a hand, which hath drawn the fury of Hell upon us; appease those hearts and those spirits, who desire unjustly, that the Sea should be calm, when their reason is overcast with Clouds and Tempests: Not, no! Diana cannot hinder the revenging of a crime, wherein her Deity is more interessed than ourselves, for who is there that hath so little judgement, as not to know how much the action of Paris hath outraged the pudicity, of which that Goddess makes profession? and who seethe not that this Ravisher by his incontinence is as much an Enemy to Diana, as an injurer of Menelaus? But if those Reasons seem too remote, do but consider whose Daughter this Helen is, for whose sake all Greece is in Arms? If you answer me, she had for her Father the Almighty Jupiter, whom Diana reverenceth as her own, what reason is there to oblige a Goddess to hinder the punishing of a man who hath dishonoured her sister? and what sense is it, that one of the number of those who are infinitely just, should be agitated with a thousand furies, to hurry her to vengeance for a yellow Beast? and that she should be so implacable as to desire the death of her Niece? for if there be none that doubts, but that Helena is the sister of Diana, is there any to be found that will question whether Iphigenia be her Niece or no? it may be there is, for I aught to apprehended all things from my misfortunes, and believe all that is ill of mine Enemies. What say they now, after I have demolished all the stratagems raised by Envy; will they yet return and inculcate that the Heavens threaten us, that the Air is full of Tempests, and that the Sea is ploughed up into billows? But what! is it so extraordinary a Prodigy to see the Heavens troubled, the Winds boisterous, and the Sea tumultuous? how is it that this Dreamer of Oracles (as well impious towards the gods as cruel to men) how is it (I say) that he dares impute the impetuosity of the Tempest, to the severity of that goddess? by what new division of the Universe, hath Neptune yielded the Empire of the Sea to Diana? Alas! would it had pleased the Destinies, that the most chaste of all Goddesses had power over the Waves, they had not been crossed over with so little peril by that Adulterer, by that fugitive, that Trojan Ravisher. We are very ill Interpreters of the favours of the Heavens, it may be their goodness not only permits, but raises these tumultuous billows to dissipate the fury of the Tempest, which spent at last with its own violence and impetuosity, will afterwards permit us a Calm and prosperous passage; if in the change of things, a Tempest succeeds a Calm, and a Calm a Tempest? we must confess that the gods who keep us now in the Port, are more favourable to us, than the Ocean, in making us expect the opportunity of a calm, and serene passage; but peradventure to maintain their great prerogative, the gods detain us here, being unwilling that any other force, but their Thunderbolts, should undertake the punishment of so detestable an Adultery, or peradventure being pleased with our piety, that we, banishing ourselves from our native soil, should endure the fury of the Winds, the danger of the Sea, and the inconstancy of the Heavens, leaving our Houses desolate, and abandoning our Wives, to precipitate ourselves into the miseries of a painful war, whose success is uncertain, and often depends lesle on Council, than upon that blind Goddess Fortune, who ordinarily favours guilt more than innocence. But the Heavens defend us from a presage so unlucky, we are to hope the best, and we aught not to distrust the justice of a cause, which if it proceed from the gods, shall not be without protection, the Heavens are on our side already, and I hope we shall also, at the last have the Sea: I must for all that confess, that fear and horror invades my spirits as often as I represent the unusual new manner of piety, where with this wicked man pretends to appease the Heavens and facilitate our Voyage, for if anger makes this opinion, (I mean the anger of Cynthia, for only the death of a Hind which was hers) hath disturbed all the Elements, what will become of us miserable Wretches, when we have mutthered a Virgin so dear to the Goddess, for her Virginity, and so near for her consanguinity? return! alas, return (I say again) to yourselves, O valiant men, and believe that my own interests touch me lesle than the public: Alas I if now, when we are yet innocent, the Sea is unquiet, and the Heavens are darting Thunder bolts, what will they do than, when they behold us cruel Homicides? Not, no! let our Daughters live safe from the violence both of men and gods; the ground of our piety, intended to be employed for punishing injustice, deserves not that the gods should make us tremble, and that they should tender their very Altars terrible to us; suffer than this innocent Victim to live, that they may know what we have done a far of in revenge of injured virtue. The simplicity of my prayers with which I strive to preserve my Daughter from the hands of Envy and oppression, shows clearly the confidence I have in the justice of the Arrive Troops, your hearts have no need to be softened into mercy by my tenderness; yet I would entreat with more importunity, if it became the quality of Agamemnon to be a Suitor, and if the Grecians had souls, capable of so much baseness, to follow and obey a suppliant, I do not desire that my afflictions should remember you that I am a Father, if that which I demand be not just, which if it were not, I should blush with shame for entreating you, though it be for the preservation of a Daughter. The magnanimous; the Soldier, and even Kings themselves, are subject to fatherly affection; but if in what I have said, affection appears more than justice, I desire it may avail nothing, as if I had never spoken: I have not put you in mind of the merits of the unfortunate Maid, nor of mine own, because I desire to own the happy success of my prayers to the justice of my cause, rather than to the eloquence of my language; I have dedicated to Justice all the actions of my life, and for the liberty and happiness of my native Country. I have esteemed, as fortunate, all the occasions which have so many times made me shed my blood for the common prosperity of all Greece: but I do not pretend that that shall assist me at all to preserve my child, if justice and innocence did not tender her inviolable, I would not save her, for I am a Father, but a Father not further than the Altars, I have endeavoured only to open your eyes, that Envy and wickedness triumph not under the veil of piety, after this Iphigenia and Agamemnon both shall go as very happy Victims, if it be proper and requisite for the public affairs. The Effect of this Oration. NEither the Eloquence, the Reasons, nor the Tears of Agamemnon could prevail, the Ordinance of the Oracle must be obeyed, but the fable (which under the figure of an afflicted Father, yet obedient) demonstrates to us the entire resignation that men aught to have to the will of the gods, and withal it evidenceth that almost always the gods are contented with obedience, for it feigns that at the very instant that Caleas lifted up the sacring knife to strike that innocent Victim, Diana conveyed her away in a Cloud, and put a Hind in the place, in such manner, that under this pleasing fiction, Poesy entertains and instructs at once. Paris in Love. The Argument. The Enterprise of the Argonauts, besides the ruin of Ilium which was half destroyed by them, having cost the Trojans, together with the death of Laomedon, and his sons the Captivity of Hesione; Antenor crossed the Sea to ransom her, but returned with contempt: The Trojans incensed for the injury, resolved Vengeance; whereupon Paris, who ever since the judgement on Mount Idae, had always entertained high hopes, was dispatched for that purpose, and quickly returned; the issue of his Voyage was the Rape of Helena, which so much enraged the Greeks', that they breathed nothing but War and Revenge, and Cassandra presaged nothing but misfortunes; the Trojans knew not what to resolve, when Paris, fearing to be abandoned, spoke thus to the King his Father, and to the Prince his Brother, which he assembled for that intent. I Can never believe I should live to see fear reign in the House of Priam, but the more high and noble thoughts I had of the valour of the Trojans, the more unjustly I see myself reduced to the necessity of fearing the instability of that fortune, which hath so happily raised me to so supreme felicity, a soul infinitely captivated with love can never fear enough: The womanish weakness of Cassandra makes so much noise, that I fear Fortune herself envies my prosperity, but the more she shall strive to trouble my repose, the more vigorously I shall endeavour to oppose her malice, and I tender thanks to Helena, who gives me occasion to show the strength of my resolution, as my election of her hath been the Argument of my judgement. I am not ignorant (O my Father, and you my generous Brothers) how inconsiderable a woman's fears are, compared with the nobility of your courages; but the justice of my cause, the inclinations of my school, the reputation of the King, and the safety of the Kingdom, are treasures so precious, that we cannot be too watchful to guard them: I know to make you draw your swords it is sufficient to remember you, that the Valiant ever carry their Reasons in their hands, and to excite you bravely to a war, it is enough to say it frights none but women. It is absolutely necessary, that the war must please Hector, since it displeaseth Cassandra, the souls of Heroes and those of Women, are too distant to have the same thoughts, and he that consults the affairs of war with his Daughters, hath no great mind to fight: but I will not that Mars should overcome Justice; if you do not by solid Reasons judge the war profitable, honest, and necessary to the reputation of the Trojan greatness; the hatred betwixt the Graecian people and us hath already lasted so many years, that it being now as a natural inclination, I see no likelihood of a peace, and in my opinion that is no small advantage to justify the war. You hear by this, whether you aught to harken to the clamours of Cassandra, and if the generous Sentiments of Paris deserve assistance of your Arms in a war so necessary, that it aught rather to be finished, than disputed, to be consulted on: let us sacrifice (O my Brothers) let us sacrifice to that Fortune, that even upon necessity conducteth us to honour and triumph. I might strive by my sad accents, to soften your hearts, and to prepare your ears favourable to my requests; but I do not yet believe myself to be so deserted, as to fear that I shall find my Brothers wanting in humanity to me, I will not esteem my life, if it deserve not to be cherished, at lest by the Sentiments of Nature, and if I cannot hope that you will harken favourably to an innocent Brother, whom she enjoins you to defend, though he were guilty. But if the stars which reigned at my nativity were so fatal to have it otherwise, I should feel a joy in my soul, to see a life torn from me, which my Fathers and Brothers themselves have thought unworthy their Protection; for in fine, Paris pretends to no other honour, but to deserve some reputation among the Priam's and Hector's: I parted from this River with order to treat about the ransom of Hesione, as an Ambassador, or to declare war as an Enemy. My Voyage was fortunate under the conduct of the Divinity of the Sea, who foresaw I went to be the Nephew of * Helena was his Niece. Neptune, but finding things so little favourable for us amongst the Greeks, I had no hope to make my Negotiation happier than that of Antenor's, and certainly I might have despaired, if my confidence had not been in that * Venus. Goddess, who was engaged to second my designs. I had recourse to Menelans, who (though mine Enemy) was rendered favourable by her, according to what she promised me at Mount Idae; yet I was not sooner arrived at his house, but to evade the importunity of my requests, he absented himself upon the false pretence of some affairs, which discovered to me, that I had been brought into his house rather by the force of Destiny, than by his courtesy, all his whole Palace (even out of their innate hatred to our Nation) comported themselves towards me, as if I had been their particular Enemy, there was none save only this Royal Princess Helena, in whom I could discover common humanity, she knew at first the equity of my demands, and I found her as favourable as the justice of my Cause deserved, or any moderate heart could desire: it is true, that my observation of it had not sooner encountered those fair eyes, (for comparison of whom, it is too much to name the Divinity, and infinitely too little to think of any thing we see upon Earth) but I presently apprehended a way in her to balance the unjust detension of her I came for; the fallen nature of our Enemies took from me all hope of remedy to the loss of Hesione. It was thence I laid my design in favour of your Empire; but my heart had scarcely received the image of that glorious object presented to mine eyes, but I resolved to mingle my particular inclinations with the public interest, so that having for my object a face too fair for expression, the Idea was no sooner received into my breast, but Helen was enthroned in my heart, not only amongst my affections, but divinities, for to know the glory and greatness of her beauty, you may but consider it was I that made choice of it, I, that came from seeing that of Venus. The tumultuous imbtoylment that her taking away raised through all Greece, may teach you (O my Brothers) to know the value of the person, and how much she deserves, whose absence alone hath put so many Provinces into Arms to recover her; I know not better how to boast to you the perfections of this excellent Lady, than in remembering you that she is the very recompense promised me by the Goddess Venus; and how can we more severely revenge so many outrages, received from the injurious hands of the Grecians, than in depriving them of a Treasure which dazzled the eyes of a man newly come from beholding without astonishment, the wonders of the prime beauties of Heaven; what shall stay us lazy, vile, feeble, (and that which I esteem yet more shameful to our great souls) insensible men, to devil under such indignities without vengeance? Shall we suffer the Greeks to regain Helena, and retain Hesione? The death of Laomadon, and the murder of his Son, the ruin of Ilium, and the injuries of Antenor, are they all fled your memory? Not, no! the prize I have taken cannot be retained at a less rate than the hazard of a Kingdom; the greatness of the hazard will set the greater reputation upon our honour, rather than to be a subject of fear, or terror to generous souls; the more dangerous and difficult things are, the more virtuous actions are ennobled by being versed in them, and when I consider well the estate of this affair, my soul is vexed that neither by the condition of our matters, as they are, nor by the will of the gods, the war that the Greeks threaten us withal, cannot be of danger great enough to tender us worthy detainers of that sovereign piece of excellence, beyond which there is nothing to be desired, by those who have eyes, of souls able to judge; what aught we to fear? it may be you will say the Forces of falling Achaya, or those of miserable Sparta; Not, no! my Brothers, either Mars must be a Trojan, or Venus will show to us, that ingratitude reigns even in Heaven, but (my Brothers) those aught not to fear the fury of Mars who have Venus for their Protectress; the poverty of the Graecian Kingdoms permits no one of their Kings to assault us alone, and if divers Princes compose the number of our Enemies, it cannot be but very happy for us. Divers are the Grecian Princes, and all of them have without doubt more vanity than valour; who will there be amongst them that will yield the Empire of himself to one that he believes not his superior; nothing is more hard to reconcile, than the opinions of a multitude, and how much harder will it be, when the question shall arise about the command of an Army wherein the danger of all parties is concerned: some will prove unwilling, some unable; the former loathe to engage themselves in a war, the other not in a capacity to undertake it; there is no man so happy in his misfortunes, that all men should bear a part in his disasters; Menelaus hath his Enemies in Greece as well as we, those who are unwilling to see him prosperous, will divert his forces, hinder his relief, and prove rather serviceable than Enemies to our success. But what is at length become of the usual gallantry, and ancient reputation of the Trojan Monarchy, dreaded to that extreme part of our world, where the Land ends, so much reverenced through the whole Universe? and though not only Greece alone, but all Africa should join with her, and take up Arms against us, must Asia therefore run away beyond the known limits of the World, where are so many tributary Kingdoms allied and united aswell by the bonds of Nature as Interest? There is not one of these Neighbour Princes, but will fear the prosperity of the Greeks, nor one that will nor remember the Favours that he hath received from the Trojans; where shall be that Jupiter, which never found the pleasure of Love, but in the Trojan beauties? where shall be that Venus, which holds not her Sceptre, and reign over beauty, but from my judgement? it was she which promised me Helen for the Companion of my life, and herself to be my Protectress, let those alone distrust the justice of my cause, who believe not the oaths of the gods. The Greeks, as yet, have not assembled their Troops, nor so much as sent forth their Commissions to form their Army▪ nor Victualled any Navy for their transportment, nor passed over so many Seas, which separate our Territories from theirs, wherein they will have need of the conduct of their best stars, to perform so long a Voyage, without great dangers, at lest impediments; we shall have famine, and sickness, winds, and Seas, Heavens, and seasons, disorder, and discordance fight for us. But if all the powers of Heaven and Earth should be against us, and that we should be utterly without Forces capable to defend us, what aught we to do? aught we to let succeeding ages find in Story that the Kings of Troy so long evil treated, injured, and (which is yet more shameful) scorned by the Greeks, not only to leave so many outrages unrevenged, but to tremble at the very threats of the Enemy? and after having by the favour of heaven, in this one action of mine, repaired all our losses, to yield back timerously, without fight, such an inestimable booty? we own! (O my Brothers) we own higher resentments to the greatness of our births; for my part, I will not be affrighted with this vain woman's Predictions, and I abhor the only thought that the heart of Paris should be daunted, being only informed from the fears of a young Girl, that the Enemy threatened to be revenged. But on the contrary, because our Enemies threaten I fear a great deal the less, we aught to fear those, whose words are actions, not those, whose actions are words; whosoever endeavours to abase me with lower thoughts, let him first take from my memory, that I am the son of a Priam, for the nobleness of my extraction, and the meanness of such thoughts are not compatible: Not, no! I shall never be capable of so degenerate an ingratitude to her, who hath so nobly expressed her affection to me, my Country, and its injuries. What may all the world say, if Paris for a few threats should return her back again to Greece, who turned Fugitive for his love, and is recalled rather, for punishment, than for consolation with her Husband? what? aught I to betray, and abandon her, who, was the only person in all Greece, that would have afforded justice to the Trojans? she who scorning her * Jupiter. Father's anger, and the fury of her Husband, left those unjust people, and came with me upon my word? what god would leave, so many oaths violated, after the faith that I engaged, unpunished? I blush with shame to think that I have suffered great Helena to entreat for the safety of that Person, who hath saved the honour of the Trojan Empire. Which of you (O my generous Brothers) would not esteem vilely of me, if I should shamefuly consent that Jupiter should see his Daughter betrayed by us, and betrayed, at a time, when she rather is to be adored, than abandoned? than shall we be less afraid of the vengeance of the gods, than of the Princes of Argos? shall the Graecian faith, hitherto so infamous, corrupt ours, and mark our Names with a Character so black, that future Ages will make a proverb of the abomination of our infidelity? thus than we may behold the Grecians to triumph over Troy, before they have drawn their swords; Not, no! (my Brothers) we aught not to put shame, and life into the same Balance together, we aught to resolve to loose the one nobly, rather than preserve the other with such ignominy. But admit my sentiments were not governed by Justice, how is it possible (O my Brothers) that Paris should be so little considered by you, he who would sacrifice his life with so much alacrity, for the establishment of your felicity, he I say, that must without doubt die, if he see ravished from him, the only thing, next his noble Brothers, which makes him desire life? Helena is a Beauty created by the gods, as a Master piece to express their power, all hearts, that are not ravished with so divine an object, are too near insensibility; our Daughters desire not her absence, but our of envy to her perfections, their eyes cannot suffer the fairness of her complexion, which in whiteness surpasseth the feathers of that beautiful * The Swan. Bird, whose form Jupiter assumed, when he solaced himself with her * Leda. Mother; Oh! how, by the malicous spirit of Cassandra, is the dream of Hecuba misinterpreted, that a flame kindled by the hand of Paris, was to consume to ashes the Empire of Priam? which rightly interpreted intends nothing but the bright beams of Hellena's beauty, which we cannot behold, but the whole Empire must be inflamed by her. I might fear jest my passion, or to say better, my tenderness doth tender me too sensible for that royal person, if I did not remember, that even by gratitude, and acknowledgement of her high merit, I own this return to that Helena, whose eyes, full of love, and pity, regarded the justness of my cause, and alone considered the danger to which I was exposed, and favoured the design of my Voyage; Helena! who borne our Enemy, was not sooner entreated to lend her assistance for the protection of the Trojan greatness, but she had compassion on our sufferings, and my honour; on the contrary, Cassandra (my sister) not sooner saw my return, but she envied my success, and endeavoured to engage all the world to leave me in danger. What action, if not this, can be thought dishonest if I should fail in my faith to her, who though (at that time) an Enemy, hath expressed more tenderness of my honour than mine own sister, who is thereunto by the bond of Nature obliged? I say again I might fear that my passion blinded me, and made me love her person wantonly, if I knew not that I am obliged to love her, more, by the generosity of my soul, than by the charms of her incomparable beauty; I love not alone in her those attractions, which will be effaced by time, but I love to be the son in Law of Jupiter; I love to have my Children on both sides of the blood of the gods: In fine, either the election of Paris is good, or the great majesty of the gods signify nothing. I might have an ill opinion of my flame, if I did not know it to be kindled by the ordinance of the Destinies, and that its original is from heaven; when Venus obtained by my judgement the prize to which she pretended, she made me read her thankfulness written in Characters indelible; Paris (said she) thou shalt love, and thou shalt love that Helena so worthy of thy flames, whom Menelaus keeps for thy Nuptials; who than shall deprive me of a Legacy, which the Heavens not only bequeathed me, but assured that Helena was borne for Paris? and to know her value, consider she is chosen by a Goddess, as the most precious reward to gratify a man, that had served her in an affair of such importance, that it troubled the tranquillity of the gods. This in my opinion is enough for my justification; but if the infatuation of Cassandra suggests it a great crime, to seduce a Beauty from the House of her Husband, and that she reproaches me with violating the sacred Laws of Hospitality, and citys Jupiter incensed for that, and the rape of his Daughter? consider, I beseech you, that the Destinies, not Menelaus, made entertainment for me in Argos, and that in committing an act of affection, I have performed one of obedience; Helen hath been waited on by me, not ravished, she is not ravished who consents, nor is she a Beauty to be rendered back if she had been stolen, this would be an injury to Venus, if I should go about to mend her election, and neglect her decree; I deny not but such a Beauty deserves to be a thousand times ravished; I appeal to Theseus, that Theseus, who, after he had been preserved from the sulphur of Hell, could not behold, without passion, the face of this Helen, who to show her birth carrieth her lightning in her Eyes, as her Father doth his thunder in his hands. Helena was returned back by Theseus, that she might ever be retained by Paris; or rather she was returned bacl, because his eyes accustomed to the obscurity of Hell, could not endure the brightness of hers; for my part I know no Reason why Jupiter should be less willing to see his Daughter married to Paris, than to Menelaus: How is it possible (I say) that Jupiter shall be offended with me, who hath so much valued his Race, that I have deemed it worthy, even with so much peril, of being ravished? how shall it not please him to see his Daughter beloved and married into a Family, that hath produced Children worthy of the love and rape of Jupiter himself? Thou didst ravish from us (O great god) our Ginimede, and by thy example, I have ravished thy Helena; who can doubt that my theft is not approved by the gods, since I did it not but to imitate them? why think you (O Trojans) that Jupiter declared me the most sufficient of all men to be the Judge between the three Goddesses? it was to justify his amorous Thefts, before the world, for in declaring me to be the wisest of all mankind, he justified his Thefts, since they are imitated by the justest of all Judges: Alas! all eyes have not optics strong enough, to gaze against such a Beauty, and all Eagles cannot stare upon the Sun. If the gods had been angry with me, they would not have permitted my return to have been so happy, nor have calmed the Seas in favour of my Navigation; so that if you have no stronger motives to induce you to fear, it may be called as unjust as feeble; be victorious (O my Brothers) for if you shall dispute whether it be necessary to return Helena, there is no person that will ever believe, that any thing but fear makes you leave a Brother, and tender back a Jewel, which is of value sufficient to recompense all your losses, and restore your honours; for my part, I apprehended not how, in the family of * The son of Tios' their Ancestor. Assarac, there should be souls so low, as to have need to be excited by prayers to lead them on to honour; great actions require great constancy, those succeed best that are undertaken with most resolution; either we must not do them, or done, maintain them nobly. The most part of those Actions that valour renders so glorious, would have little reason of their sides, if they were scinned by the Rules of exact Justice, all the ill in the rape of Helena is blotted out by Time, we must justify it by Arms, not by a poor repentance; if we rashly restore her, we shall discover to the Greeks, that we can be forced, and that we may be punished. Believe me (O noble Brothers) I am not blinded by affection, the surest way (I confess) hath somewhat of danger, the sword must now justify our cause, or we shall become the Fable and scorn of the generations to come; the honour of the public, and my particular concern dictates this to me, and if I could believe that without danger to the Kingdom, and dishonour to the Crown, the return of her would not puff up the Enemy to a belief that they do so surmount us in courage, as to make us afraid when they please, I should regulate my desires, and rather than trouble the public peace, I would undergo, with patience, whatsoever Fortune should lay upon me, yes, to procure your repose, I would suffer not only my heart to be torn out of my bosom, but even my Wife from mine Arms. But what do I say? (unfortunate wretch that I am?) it seems I make a distinction between my heart and my Helena; Not not I (my Brothers) I can as well live without my heart as without my Helena; or to say better, they are but one same thing. It is here I will terminate my discourse; it is here, I assure you, that you cannot take her away, without you take away my life also; it is you that are to consider, if one, or t'other be necessary for your safeties, that I may prepare myself: O my Father! behold my Helena, and behold also your Paris, we are both at your feet to demand the favour of permitting us to be always together in the same Palace, or at lest in the same Sepulchre. The effect of this Oration. THe beauty of Helena, not being less persuasive, than the Eloquence of Paris, did not weakly fortify his Reasons, the Eyes of the one finished, what the Mouth of the other had begun, and all ears to come were weak in comparison of one fair Face, and one fair Discourse, they mocked at the Dream of Hecuba, and slighted the Predictions of Cassandra, all the World was moved with compassion, and hardly would they hear the Discourse which followeth. Paris opposed. The Argument. After Paris had made an end of speaking, as in the preceding Oration you have read; Troilus his Brother taking up the Argument, answered, and thus opposed Paris. I Take it for no small misfortune, to find myself enforced to be of a contrary opinion to any of you (O my Father, and generous Brothers) and I am reduced to hard terms, that I, who have ever looked upon Paris, as an Object worthy admiration, as an Example of Prudence, and as the delight of my soul, should be constrained, upon necessity, to condemn his actions, oppose his desires, and incense his angers, and to accounted that the greatest of my good fortunes to see him by me made unhappy, in the most sensible, most tender, and most delightful of all his passions; but since all Asia is in Arms for his do, I must, in discharge of my duty, speak freely, and I must contradict Paris, because I love Paris, I should injure his honour, if I believed he would not willingly harken to truth, and I should wrong the merit, and justice of Paris, whose praises have been celebrated by Jupiter himself, if I thought Passion would wilfully triumph over Reason in him, whom the gods thought worthy to be their Judge. The violence of so many united Provinces, which are confederated together, for our Ruins, is the least evil, which can come, to disturb the felicity of this Kingdom; Cassandra weeps in vain to make me afraid, the Greeks make a noise, and the Heavens themselves threaten; I have a heart as great as yours, and cannot fear death, I can be as jealous of honour as any other, if the Sentiments of Paris endangered nothing but life, happy that life, which should be lost for the felicity of Paris, whom we all love; but what will succeeding Ages say, when they know that we have embroiled the whole Universe, to maintain the passion of one, most unreasonable, who could love nothing but an Enemy? What will all the Earth say of our injustice, when they shall see us defend a man that could not love without ravishing, and could not ravish without violating his faith, and who could not violate his faith without engaging his Country to a precipice, and that could not engage his Country, his Family, himself, his Kingdom, for a more illustrious occasion than the love of a Woman, and which is yet worse, an Adultress, a Fugitive, and a Enemy? O unfortunate Vessel in which Helen's shame was conducted to our shores! it shall not be imputed to Troilus, if Paris do not acknowledge Continence to be the most amiable virtue that can beautify and become with better Reason grow in amoured with her, than he is now of his Helen. Thou wert chosen to negotiate for the return of Hesione, a Trojan, home to us from Greece, and thou hast not only failed of that trust, but Paris himself is become a Graecian: consider, I pray thee, that thou hast not only failed in declaring to the Greeks their injustice, but thou hast dishonoured the just pretence the Trojans had to make war upon them; to whom of all the gods aught we any more to have recourse, to implore relief against the Greeks that have ravished our Daughters? shall it be to Jupiter, whose Daughter hath been ravished, and whose Son in Law ingratefully betrayed? why! he is obliged to arm his all powerful hand with vengeance against us; judge than (O Paris) of the justness of thy Cause, and of thy disobligements to us, and our Nations, thou hast deprived thy Country of the assistance of the gods, and thou knowest none can be more accursed than those who in extreme calamities, cannot at lest presume to have recourse to the immortal Powers; even this is also ravished from us by thee; and yet thou wouldst have us approve, and comply with thy actions, the thought of which is abominable. Hesione, being compelled to marry a Graecian, is bewailed and wept for by us, as for a principal limb lopped of from our body, and shall we not only rejoice, but become Idolaters and slaves to a Graecian, the high way to ruin? God forbidden: the Trojan Troops should ever fight ingloriously under strange Ensigns; Troilus had rather see the Kingdom of Laonudon amongst the Spoils of Mars, than amongst the Trophies of a Graecian, he will never endure to behold the Empire of Troy envassaled by the sparkling eyes of a charming Fugitive, to bear dishonourable chains, and to fall, for the love of them into the formidable displeasure of an incensed Fate. If these evils (O Paris) are not supportable which are believed least shameful, we should offer vows to Fortune, that our Country rather perish, by the flame of our Enemies, than by those of thine incontinency, but if the injustice of thy action, the fear of the gods, the danger of our Country, and the honour of out persons are not sufficient to bring thee to reason, at lest, consider the occasion, that involves thee in so many mischiefs, whereby Asia, that spacicus, and fair part of the world, may be most deplorably reduced to ashes, without any nobler cause to consume it, than the Eyes of a Woman; O strange infamy! I blush to see a Council of Kings assembled to debate the question, whether the peace and happiness of so many Kingdoms aught to be preferred before one Woman, who also is our Enemy, certainly so dead-killing a Thunderbolt could never fall, but from a very incensed Heaven, nor could these disoders ever proceed, but from woman, who is the mistake of guilty Nature. What? upon the arbitration, or rather the tyranny of one woman, aught the fate of so many Provinces to depend, and be reduced to sigh out their calamities? O victim too noble for so unworthy an * Ladies, I would not have translated this, but that the prime Author means this only of the Italian women, he could never intent it to the English. Idol! O Sex dangerous in all times, in all places! who cannot be beloved without repentance, and cannot love without Tyranny; consider Paris how vile the cause is, which produceth such sad effects, that the Histories of all Ages, and of all Nations, shall bewail our miseries, whosoever will learn that woman, that kill Monster, was created for nothing else but to punish the world, let them consider the strange condition of Asia, at this day. A chaste Woman is a Rock, an unchaste one a Quicksand; a course Woman is nauscious, a fair one, an Inchantress; if thou lov'st her, she is vanity itself; if thou slightest her, she is a fury; all her inclinations are madness, she loves not without self ends, she speaks not without feigning, and under her smiles lurks deceit, ingratitude reigns in her heart, and if inconstancy be a corporeal substance, Woman is inconstancy itself, and certainly there was never knowing man, that ever loved Woman, that would expect to find faith in that Sex; her heart is as deceitful, as her face: Vipers, venomous Serpents, and Asps are Monsters I confess, but Monsters which deceive not, they, in only showing themselves, premonish thee to fly, but Woman allures thee as a Goddess, & poisons thee as a Basilisk, she is, I say, the Error of Nature, a chastisement to the World, an infascination to the Eye; she hath no qualities that are not wicked and dangerous, her seeming Excellencies are adulterate, and in burying themselves under so much Ceruse and Vermilion, do they not seem to confess, that they are indeed what they are ashamed to appear? Behold Paris! from whom thou expects faith, it is even from those whose very faces are counterfeit, and deceitful, and whose complexion composed of sublimate, can have nothing but poison in her beauty: have they one hair that Nature hath placed as we see it? no, not, Paris! all is artificial in them, I pray than judge what kind of creature Woman must needs be, that is never contented with herself, but when she is nothing of herself, to what end serve so many Jewels, which women's luxury hath made precious? these magnificent creatures could not be covered, if they did not reverse the mountains, trouble the Seas, because they would rather load their bodies, than not adorn them; how is it possible, that for a beauty so sergeant, so false, and so dangerous, a generous man should so far loose his Reason, and the Empire of himself, as not to live commanding, and to die triumphing? How is it possible (I say) that Woman the most weak, the most false, the most cruel, and the most inconstant of all other animals, should 'cause at this day the ruin of Asia? What? shall the state and life of Priam; and the illustrious destiny of Troy, hung upon those hairs, which it may be are borrowed from those which make Perukes? Return! return into thyself, O noble Brother, and let not future Ages know, that thou didst prefer in thy soul, the love of a Fugitive, before the affection thou owest to thy Country; thou hast but too much already subjected thy judgement to thine Eyes, although no other thing but Reason aught to command him, who is borne to command; if thou lovest war, thou hast a Enemy within thee, whom to subdue will be thine eternal honour; passion by growing old, will be enfeebled, and yield to time, as well as all other things; if this be true, as certainly it is, were it not better that the honour of this Victory be thine, than that thou shouldst own it to Time? Consider that this beauty is the beauty of an Adultress, who was likewise herself, begot in the same crime, a beauty unfaithful to her own Husband, and the beauty of an Enemy even to thyself; the more fair she is, the more shamefully she hath darkened, by her incontinency, the lustre of so divine a donative; she is fair I confess, but fair more for the ruin, than for the delight of those that behold her, Theseus', that rendered her back, knew how she was to be valued, and we may say, she is a Sun, which who can gaze on, but he must distil tears? so wilt thou my Brother, I fear considering the imbroylment she hath involved a many of Nations in; she is fair thou sayest, and it is because she is fair, that I think we aught to return her; why shouldst thou nourish a Serpent in thy bosom, whose venom is inevitable? aught we to believe, that that beauty will live more honourably in the House of an Adulterer, than in that of her Husband? her Father hath seen her follow Theseus, her Husband seethe her follow Paris, and undoubtedly Paris will see her follow some other. What? can we hope to see Helen chaste? the impunity of her sinning hath taught her that she may sin without punishment; if we leave her to her own liberty, she will not only reign over us, but she will establish her tyranny to overwhelm us, to our dishonours; if we should restrain her, we should force her to commit those stolen 'scapes, to which liberty will carry her more openly; for my part, I confess, I should doubt jest she had brought with her the Graecian perfidy, feigning to be an Enemy to her Country, to the end that she might ruin ours, if I did not see our Country is already turned Greece, since our Kings are under the obedience of a Graecian Woman, and at this rate she would but betray herself by betraying Ilium. But in fine, whether these walls fall by her treason, or whether they fall by the force of the Enemies, it is certain they are menaced with a fall so much more dreadful as we have deserved it, by the injustice of his Action, and by our supine stupidity, having been premonished of the malignance of our Destinies by the Predictions of Cassandra, and by the portentous signs observed in Heaven, which threaten us every day; I know very well, that, according to the inclinations of thy seduced heart, all these ominous things are held vain, for Love is a Fury, and the furious, or men intoxicated, favour neither of reason nor Religion, they fear not the menaces of the gods, whereupon, I conclude, that we aught not to follow thy errors, and that is most fit to use thee as a man frantic, to tie thy hands for thy safety. Alas! with how little Reason dost thou believe thyself engaged to be grateful to the friendship of this Helena, who hath only ensnared, not obliged thee? Helena was inclined to love, not by a sentiment of compassion to thy flames, but to qualify her own hot appetite, she was excited by her inate Vice, not moved by any tenderness to Paris; if thou art afraid of being ingrateful in Vice? thou hast here found the means to be vicious under the pretext of Virtue, and 'tis rather to outstrip Helen in inconstancy than gratitude. Love is not a benefit, he lays an obligation that takes pains for another, but the Lover acts simply for himself: The particular pleasure from the party beloved reflects back upon the Lover, is that which love proposeth for its end. If she love thee, it was to enjoy thee, she considered thee, as a good for conversation, or as a remedy to those lose desires, which govern in her wand'ring thoughts, and what obligation can we have to a Woman, who to alloy her heat, woos the embraces of her very Enemy? but (O my Pa●is) who assures thee that it was love that gave her to thee for a prize, and for a Companion? why might it not as well be out of hare to her Country, or to her Husband? it is no incongruous thing to judge that we hate them, from whom we fly; but admit that this were certainly the truth of this affair, this were yet the lest evil, for who knows whether this Artificial Woman, left her Country for nothing but to evade punishment for some like Crime which thou art ignorant of, searing the return of her Husband? excuse me Paris if I speak too home, and too plain, and think it not strange that I name that woman unchaste, seeing thou haste made her so thyself, we can never sufficiently doubt the faith of a woman, who hath betrayed her Husband, to follow his Enemy. I should ask thee, if thou canst remember the occasion which carried thee into Greece? but if thou answerest me, it was for nothing else, but to use the best endeavours to hinder the marriage of Hesione to Telamonius, I shall than say unto thee, that we who would not endure a lawful conjunction between a Trojan and a Greek, shall with very ill will undertake so long, and dangerous a war as this is likely to prove, to patronise, and protect the adultery of a Trojan, with a Graecian woman. Troilus could not endure without blushing to see his Nephews (though they were legitimate) not only borne of a Fugitive, of a Wanton, but merely to be born of a Graecian Mother, would be cause enough of regrete; this is not to chastise the Graecian thefts, it is to imitate, or rather to authorize them; this is not to wash out our shames by vengeance, but to draw the thunder of Heaven upon our own heads by our crimes; and I wonder not that a Graecian Lady was capable of pleasing him, who so little valued his own honour and the reputation of his Country. Return! return into yourself, O generous Brother, and be thou thyself the first to solicit us to tender her back, whom we cannot keep but unjustly; it is only by this way that we may justify the actions of the Trojans, Paris shall not have deceived Menelaus, but he shall have revenged Hesione, if he retains Helena for no other end, but to 'cause them to tender back Hesione, and if Helena hath been ravished for that Reason? happy the house of Assarac, who by a privilege particular make their very thefts glorious: but I see by the change of thy countenance, that so noble a motive never induced thee to steal that prey, and that this my discourse displeaseth thee. Pardon me! I am about to hold my peace, pardon me (I say) if my Reason opposes thy passion with some violence; I love thee as thou art a man, as a Trojan, as a Brother, and as myself; but I am no less a Lover, and a Lover jealous of the justice, and honour of the King, and Kingdom: But what do I say? I am about to hold my peace! there is more need that I were beginning to speak a new, it is not just to leave the Reins of the Empire in the hands of a Madman, the gods forbidden that the affairs of the House of Troy, should be so very desperate; it is to you that I address myself (O my Father,) and to you, my noble Brothers, to you magnanimous Princes, who are borne to hold the Sceptre of this Kingdom, whose safety depends on your resolutions, it is you, wise Heroes, who are to consider, and to establish that which is just. Paris hath lost both his Judgement and his Will, and is sick of a disease which requires contraries, he counsels what his malady would, not what he aught; it is for you to oppose, to his violence, the wisdom of your Counsels, and to the blindness of his passions, the just reasons of State, and to the love he hath for an Enemy, the love you have for you Country; in short, it is for you, to save, whether he will or not, both your own honours and his. The Effect of this Oration. THat which the Fates ordain, is unchangeable; they had decreed the ruin of Troy, and it came to pass; Paris was heard with a more favourable Ear than Troilus, and the wisdom of Priam was led by the f●lly of Paris, which, as an evil guide, conducted him to a Precipice: In fine, none are ignorant, that the imprudence of that Youngman, lost his Father, all his Family, and himself, and that the Lascive amour of Paris did contribute as much as the Armour of the Grecians to the destruction of Troy. The Magnanimous Rivals. The Argument. Manzine makes this discourse in Rome, in the Academy of the humourists; the Argument whereof is nothing but the generosity of two souls, the one knowing how to give a City, the other to refuse it: This passage is written in the life, and amongst the Triumphs of that Alexander, who was and always shallbe the highest honour of human kind. Virtue is a chain by which a good man is tied to honesty, it is form of a hundred Links, which are the peculiars of its Essence, as Prudence, Fortitude, Justice, Temperance, and many other excellent qualities; this here is one, which to have the means being different, seems to have different ends, by which it hath a kind of appearance, of contrariety: as for Example, Humility, and Magnanimity, Clemency, and Justice; but it is not so indeed, as it will be evident, for if one Virtue were opposite to another; this inconvenience would follow, that there would be an Antipathy between the Members of the same Body, which Nature herself will not admit, I will endeavour by an illustrious example, to establish the thing in question. Alexander, the Mirror of the first Times, the Favourite of Fortune, and the fortune of all the gallant men of that Age, beheld the distress of a poor Philosopher, who spoke his wants; Alexander was moved to compassion, and assisted him like a King of Kings; he gave him a City which the other refused, as a gift too high for his condition: Who seethe not, that the Temperance of the one, and the Bounty of the other seems here to dispute which shall have the better? Yet there are none but those who are accustomed to the exercise of Virtue, who do not judge their thoughts very contrary, however both pursuing honour, they tend to the same Centre. Now that I may acquit myself of the charge you impose on me (O noble Auditors) I shall endeavour to sever the one Virtue, from the other, upon condition that your patience will recompense, by attention, the readiness of my obedience, and support with favourable arms, the feebleness of my spirit. That Alexander who was generated amongst Victories; who, was the builder up of the Macedonian glory, and who tracing the steps of Hercules, went also beyond him, who proved himself the son of Jupiter, more by his Heroic actions than by the mouth of the Priests, so with courage, that the Sibyls named him invincible, so liberal, that he made more than a thousand Alexanders of a magnanimity so expansed, that he was not satisfied with one world; that Alexander (I say) hearing a Philosopher ask an Alms, forthwith gave him a City, he to whom the Hannibals, though not without envy, yet without shame, yielded the pre-eminence; is not this an act of a liberal soul to think of giving a City upon such an occasion? The Philosopher dazzled with the splendour of so stupendious a munificence modestly refused it, excusing himself, that he neither desired nor needed so much. I am demanded which of these two actions set the most lively gloss upon the rays of that Virtue, which made them thus scorn, deserve, and give Principalities; it is for you (O Courteous Auditors) to weigh them, that you may know their value; for my part, I will be the Advocate to allege Reasons on both sides, and I will leave the censure of them to persons against whom Alexander may not make exception, and from whose judgement the Philosopher need not appeal; those who are evil look always with an eye of Envy upon great things, they say that it was too much to give a City, and that it was (if I may so speak) like money, out of a Palsy hand, rather falling than given, but that which we give to a good man is never too much; he who deserves all, can never receive enough, and if a City may not be given to a Philosopher who knew how to govern it, to whom should it be given? it is not a gift saith he, which agreeth with my quality; ingrateful man! thy quality is, that Alexander judgeth thee worthy; the favour of the King carrieth with it thy fortune; dost thou not see how the Virtue, of this great Captain, shines in all things? knowest thou not that the generous considereth all as nothing? another might have obliged thee by the quality of the gift, this brave man obligeth thee by his opinion in esteeming thee worthy; so that it is not because the gift is too great, but it is because thou art a thing too little; for, the favour of the Prince supplies thy want of merit, if the gift agreeth not with thy condition, make thy gratitude agreed with it; we aught not to tender as vain the actions of Princes, especially when they tend to his honour, which is so much more dear to him as he pursues it more ardently: a noble Prince is a good star, whose every influence is a Treasure; Alexander wanted nothing in this concurrence, but another Alexander; there were no Eyes upon Earth worthy so glorious an object; for a City to be given with as good a will, as others receive it, is a thing which was never seen but once. All the Captains in the Army of Alexander might know how to take a City, but never any but Alexander knew how to give one: I have heard this Philosopher commended for so little esteeming a gift so magnificent, as a City; and why do they not celebrated the praises of that Alexander, who knew how to despoil himself of Kingdoms, to reward the virtue of such as could likewise scorn even Sceptres? Virtue they say, was the cause why that good man had no need of a City, and the like Virtue made Alexander have need to give it to such a one as this man appeared to be; shall I speak as I think? it was not Alexander that was vainglorious in giving a Principality, but the other in refusing it; that subtle man would not only show his poverty, but he would do it with vanity, and why did he call that necessity which he made his treasure? he shown not his poverty, but his vainglory, he begged but to have the opportunity to refuse; why did he make this use of his present fortune? it seems his indigence was his wealth, not his want: he may well purchase nakedness a● a thousand talents, who placeth his wealth in the show of poverty. There was no want here, but of Virtue▪ and this Vice was so much the greater, that could find out a place for pride and vainglory, even in straw and hunger: It was not Philosophy which slighted that City, but Ambition; Philosophy would have taught him to accept it rather, than to have been ungrateful to the bounty of his King; he had not wanted means to have been delivered from the burden of it, if it had been too weighty for him; he might have employed it in redeeming the afflicted out of captivity, in easing thousands of persons, he might have obliged his friends; indeed, what might he not have done? It is more likely that he, who nobly gives away his goods, doth as he aught, than he who refuseth them, after he hath asked an Alms; who knows but that he refused out of a doubt that he was mocked, or out of a fear, that it was only to tempt him? who knows but that feeble soul might be dazzled with the brightness of so great a generosity? we cannot make Images of all sorts of Wood, and all souls are not capable of so high a fortune; it may be he accepted it not for fear he should be obliged to quit his poverty, in which he had found so much tranquillity, and for fear of being forced to serve the public with more inconvenience; and shall he than that doth nothing but for his own ends and ease be compared to Alexander? poor and unfortunate Alexander! methinks I hear him say these very words, I hold myself more dishonoured by this comparison, than if I had lost the Battle against Darius; and shall I who have exercised Philosophy, be compared to him who hath but merely learned it? I! who taught the Hyrcanians to marry, the Aracossians to exercise Husbandry, who made the Sogdians to quit their parricide, and who have hindered sons from marrying their Mothers; I, who have dispersed humanity beyond the known world, who hath extended Greece through the whole Universe, and I who in conjoining souls to bodies, have made one Province of all the Earth? I! I say who am such a person, to be put in balance with one good for nothing, but himself, who refused this Mass of Treasure only for fear of being thought to depend upon another, and who avoided not the command of a City, but to serve himself with another sort of ambition? these are the tears I should shed, if I had the honour to be Alexander. I know they will tell me, that Alexander gave thus lightly a City, because he valued it little, and that it cost him nothing; but this opinion is false, considering his illustrious Conquests cost him so many men, so much labour, and so much blood; Anaxercus ask him an hundred Talents, his Treasurer told him, it was too much; give him an hundred more, said Alexander: he had reason to demand so much, knowing he had a Friend that both could and would give much; he gave fifty Talents to Zenoerates, and fifty to P●rillus, to enable them to give portions with their Daughters in marriage: He gave Bagoa to Parmenio, which was worth more than a thousand Talents yearly. All those that served him, were made so great by him, the very soles of their Boots and shoes were of massy gold; and others when they went to take their recreations in hunting, pitched a hundred Pavilions of no worse stuff, than cloth of Tissue: In fine, Alexander was of so immense a bounty, that those that served him, were greater than we can imagine Alexander: Neither was it new in Alexander to give away a City on this manner, he had formerly shown large instances of that Virtue. On a day when he gave to his Favourites money, gorgeous clothing, Pavilions, Palaces, Cities, and all the Royal Treasure, Parm●nio asked him, what he would leave for the King? he answered, Hope. O inclination truly royal! I will now cease to wonder why he desired to search for new Worlds, but the wonder is, how he could chance upon a soul so mean, as to judge that the gift of a City, was excessive, coming from a King who found the world too little (though he conquered it) to give away. Whosoever accuseth Alexander of Prodigality, knoweth not the largeness of his soul; the lest Alms that could enter into his thoughts to give to such a person was a City: Those who upbraid him of being profuse, are unacquainted either with his Virtue, or Fortune; the bounds of his Empire were the bounds of the Earth; that part of Nature which would not be subject to Alexander, was retired (if I may so say) beyond the Seas. To sum up all, Alexander was greater for the World, than the World was for Alexander; so that a vulgar liberality, had not suited with a soul so Princely: if his Majesty, Wisdom, Fortitude, and his many other royal endowments aught to surpass private actions, why not his munificence? Royal gifts aught to carry with them the majesty of the King which gives them. Alexander would never let any man implore his bounty in vain, he met their demands with the same cheerfulness, that others do favours; his liberality never troubled him, but when he wanted a subject to express it on: In a word (O illustrious Auditors) would you know the true degree of his magnificence, he gave away more than could be received? neither do I see that the bounty of Heaven expresseth itself in such a degree as Envy would seem to reproach Alexander withal: the Sun makes no such distinction of persons, but gives light equally to all. But I know how it comes to pass, that they murmur so at that liberality; they are vexed for not being borne in that Age, and believe it too great because it is without Example, and remember not that the magnimity of Alexander is without Example; behold a reproach well grounded that they speak ill of that, they could not share in; O false understanding of things I he gave more than can be parralleld, we are in no very ill condition, since our acception only is abundance. But it is time I make an end of speaking for Alexander; I should injure his Virtue, if I believed that his praises could be contained in this Discourse, that Virtue is little considerable which can be expressed by praises; those of Alexander's were no such: one asked him an Alms, and he gave him a City; think with yourselves, O noble Auditors, who could have a heart more royal, than his whose very Alms are whole Cities? But who shall speak in favour of that poor Philosopher to whom it was no small advantage, that Fortune had raised Alexander to so supreme a height, as to be able to give away Cities, to give him opportunity to express his Virtue by a refusal? let him defend himself, for I will not be accused of a rash undertaking; yet if a Philosopher hath need of defence, who will not be ready to take his part, though he himself is better able to defend himself? That man asked an Alms of Alexander, Alexander gave him a City, the Philosopher refused it, as a thing not suitable to his condition, with a grace so full of majesty, that he appeared rather a King, than a miserable Beggar: Fortune was not unkind in depressing a man, who was able to tread her under his foot. Me thinks I hear him say, I thank you, but I have not a soul ambitious of command, I have implored the charity, not the magnificence of the King; if thou hadst enabled me only to buy me a Cloak, thou hadst plentifully satisfied my hopes, I will not quit my poverty, it sufficeth me to have my soul enriched with Virtue; in that, and not in the goods of Fortune consists my felicity: I esteem it not a charity in them, that would deprive me of my Peace; a City is too much for him, who is contented with himself, I would not have my Estate more valuable, than myself, it being a thing preposterous, for a Master to be in worse condition than his Slave, so miserable is he, whose patrimony is nobler than his soul; I ask peace in my necessity, not trouble to my repose, I have not need of Kingdoms, I have enough to do to reign over myself, or rather I enjoy an Empire, which is not subject to the injuries of Fortune. Indeed my Estate is small, but withal secure; what happiness is it to me to have a large and sumptuous bed, if I cannot sleep? or what's the difference to be shipwrecked in a great and guilded ship, or a petty Pinck? why than should my life be more dear in a royal palace than in my present condition? Not, no! if I am just, I shall not be poor, and if I am not just, what should I do with a City? I shall be but a Viper in a Vessel of gold, who, for all that, will not be less dangerous, less venomous. Alexander, thou hast used me like Polierates, but I will not use thee like Anacreon, when I shall not be able to sleep without thinking of rendering thy City back unto thee, in doing whereof thou wilt esteem me either little generous in my command, or very inconsiderate, in accepting such a gift. Now when I got to sleep with Diogenes in the Porch of the Temple of Jupiter, it is with an assurance that either within doors or without, I find myself lodged with the gods, so that when I shall have accepted of this thy magnificent offer, I know not how either to better my hosts or my lodging: In fine, I am contented with myself, I will have no other Empire, than to reign over my passions, that shall be my Principality, it is in such a condition, that I fear nothing, and so full of satisfaction, that I desire nothing. I am not rich in that men traffic for me into every provioce, but I am rich, because although they do not traffic at all, I shall live; a few Olives and a handful of Figs suffice me; if I have bread it serves to accompany them, if none, they serve me for bread, and when I am thirsty, I have recourse to Nature, who me thinks made the fountains for nothing more specially than to quench it, to defend myself from the rigour of the several seasons, I am as well under the Rocks of my Country, as under foreign marble, and I am not less defended from the rain under a tree, than under a guided fretwork. He that hath need of Tyrian purple, or of Phrygian embroidery to keep him from the cold, we may say it is rather in his soul than in his body, that he feels the sharpness of Winter▪ a Tree, or a Fountain (both common things) are sufficient for every body's hunger, or thirst; it is not necessity, but luxury that covers the rest: I should not refuse that Sceptre, if I had need of a Kingdom to make me a good man; but because I ask thee a Cloak, dost thou judge me to be poor, for what natural cause have I been incited to ask thee? it may be answered to save me from the cold, why shines the Sun so hot, if not as well to warm us, as to give us light? and why hath Nature placed me above the Animals, the Trees and Herbs, if not to make use of the wool, the leaves, and the bark. If I did not equally fear to offend the modesty of a Philosopher, and the Majesty of a King, I might tell thee I ask thee not to obtain, but to see with what a grace thou knowest how to give: I have tempted thy generosity, not thy prodigality; consider what little need he hath of a Kingdom. that knows how to speak thus to a King: yet you who command may brag of one thing above the rest, that no other height equal to thine would permit me to speak to a Prince that were not Alexander, and this honour is so much the greater, because it is particularly your own. Alexander, I am in such an Estate that Fortune shall never hear me a Suppliant, I am content with what sufficeth Nature, and I will not put myself in a posture to loose it; in the place where I am necessity never finds me: in the same instant that I accept of thy bounty, I shall have need of slaves, of Horses and Dogs, of Treasures, Soldiers and Arm●s, for my devertisement, for my honour in peace, and to defend me in war, thus than I shall accept of a thing to trouble my repose, a thing that presupposes war, and will reduce me to such condition, that I shall have need even of Beasts; I must not only loose the tranquillity of my living, but my Reason. Not not, Alexander! if repose accompanied with all other things, greatness and power, I am poor and thou art rich; if otherwise, I am rich and thou art poor, for by a chain so weak as a City I will not be drawn in the triumph of thy Virtue, not that I envy thy glory, but I will be tender of my own reputation; thou hast performed an act of great munificence in offering, it behoves me to express one of modesty in refusing; thy liberality shall not be concealed for all this, but I will not to advance that, that any murmur at my Avarice, if I should hereby be a means to serve to thine honour, why should it be thought reasonable, for that to be built upon the ruin of my Virtue? Thus is mine opinion he might discourse, who possessed in himself both a King and a Kingdom: Behold how deplorable human Nature is, and what discord it carries within itself: Alexander lavished away a thousand lives to win a City, which a poor Philosopher was ashamed to receive by way of gift; Alexander thought to surmount that man by an Act, as of a Master of the World, but that man confounded Alexander by an Act, as of one Master of himself. Ogallant stratagems of Virtue! this is not to ask an Alms, but a Triumph▪ any man that commands an hundred Kingdoms, may know how to give a City, but none can know how to scorn it, but he who commands Fortune: Alexander is Lord of the World, and this man Lord of himself; but behold with how much inequality it is, that which one scorns, is more than the other can give, considering the poverty of the one and the power of the other; who will not say that this miserable poor one was above that King, who was above all the Earth? But why call I him miserable, whose condition is so high, that he scorns Cities? those are rather miserable who believe a man, can be poor, that is free from all care, and who esteem him only happy, that proudly groans under the weight of gold and purple, formely the cover of poor animals: we are not to consider men by exterior ornaments, the best are not always the best clad. Aristotle, who merited the name of Just, being questioned what Justice was? answered, not to cover the goods of another, but our Philosopher hath exceeded that moderation he hath scorned them; if Alexander would supply his wants, a City was too much, and if he would try his Virtue, his Empire was too little, but however it was, we have seen two souls dispute so generously, that the lest is greater than a Kingdom; the fortune and virtue of the one raised him so high, as he might scorn triumphs, Palms grew under his feet; he marched not, but amongst Victories, his sword was the Sceptre of the World, glory conducted his Chariot, and wheresoever he went he found nothing but new matter to enlarge his glory. But when I turn towards the other, I find him so wise, that there is little likelihood, that that man who hath refused a Crown of gold, should accept one of Laurel; on every side I meet with danger, I will not launch into so vast Seas, he knows not how great a merit there is in despising a City, who hath not mastered his passions, and embraced the means of being happy without one: nor can he judge what honour it is to give a City, that is ignorant with what hazard of life, honour and Arms it is acquired; the one gave, the other refused, and both of them deserved it. I might proceed, if the faculties of my soul would give me leave, but when a soul is possessed with astonishment, it is a sign, that it is lesle than its object, and that for want of apprehension, it is forced to express its weakness by reverence: so do I now, not knowing which of these two Heroes is the more magnanimous: Judge you than, O illustrious Auditors, for, for my part in either condemning the one or the other; I can have nothing for either the one, or the other of these noble Combatants, but respect, and wonder; these are the Victims which suit best with the Altars of Virtue, and the most worthy Trophies we can raise to her, which aught to be the more adored, the less she hath left us ability to define her. I have said. The Effect of this Oration. ALL the Academy, upon this occasion was divided, the Philosopher had as many Voices as the King, and as Temperance did not triumph over Liberality, so was not Liberality subjected to Temperance; and this illustrious debate rested undecided in such a manner, that opinions being equal, it is in the Reader to turn the Scale, according to the Balance of his judgement, if he be bold enough to judge of Kings and Philosophers, or able to decide a Question upon which so many excellent men dare not pronounce sentence. The three Rivals. The Argument. Three Lovers of one fair Lady, coming at the same time to a place where she was, saw a prodigious Murderer strike a Poniard into her bosom, who in the very instant fled, at which fearful Object, the first of the three, transported with a just rage, with his sword in his hand, ran after that Monster to revenge his Mistress, and to punish the accursed fact: the second, pressed by his compassion, flew to relieve her, and endeavoured to staunch the blood which issued abundantly from her wound, and to lend her all assistance possible in so sad a condition: the third, having 〈◊〉 compassion too tender for the sight of so horrid a spectacle, fell in a swound at the feet of the fair dying Lady, whom he adored: the question is put, which of the three expressed most affection in that occasion; and this is the subject of our Author Manzines examination in the Discourse following. BY the sword of an infernal Fury (for illustrious Auditors, no other but a Fury, would ever have had the cruelty to shed the blood of a fair Lady,) by the sword I say, of a Monster come from Hell, 3 unfortunate Lovers saw their Mistress wounded, which fell at the feet of that Barbarian: the first moved by generosity and love, drew his sword, and ran after that base assassinate that ran away, to sacrifice him to his anger, and to revenge her whom he adored: the second flew to her relief: but the third, out of a sense of tenderness, and grief, fell in a swound, and verified that ancient position, which assures, that the soul subsists more, where it loves, than where it animates. I am under your command to examine, which of these resentments aught to be preferred, though I am unable, yet I obey willingly, for who would not willingly obey the commands of those, who have the goodness to be satisfied with obedience only? I am proud of this command, though I know, I undergo it not, but with the hazard of that reputation, you vouchsafe me; for speaking in so high a place, I aught to fear a Precipice, but the dangers to which we are exposed by knowledge, are so noble, and so glorious, that we never aught to eschew them. I would to Heaven, and my good Stars, that I were able to perform it as I aught, I shall cheerfully do the best I can; I am too much obliged to the courtesy of a City, whose lest honour and glory, is to have filled all Europe with the wealth of Peru, by the illustrious and fortunately bold enterprise, of one of their own Citizens; a City, whose treasures are much more precious, than all the Richeses of the new world▪ since if persons be considered according to the Majesty of their merit, & not what outwardly they only are, we may boldly say, it hath given birth to more Kings, than all the Earth hath Kingdoms. I was never very willing to acknowledge my weakness, but upon this subject, the more I attempt above my strength, the more my obedience, and the desire I have to serve you, is to be esteemed; but whither doth my gratitude carry me? rather than I will loose the opportunity of giving thanks, I am like to loose that of obeying you, behold me than prepared for this problem. The cruel Homicide having given the fatal blow, flies, and truly his flying agreed well with the nature of such a Tiger, which certainly was very cruel, seeing he had the heart to besprinkle with gore, a breast which intranc'd with delight all that beheld it, a breast that could not receive a wound without putting more souls, than one, in danger of forsaking their bodies; this Barbarian flies, I would say as a cruel Scythian, if it were reasonable to compare him to a man, Alas! why was not I commanded instead of opening anew the wounds of these Lovers to express my anger against that Caitiff wretch, whose rage assaulted that tender beauty? Beauty! it is to be adored in what face soever one meets it, I partake so sensibly in the griefs of these poor afflicted, that I should be aswell pleased to revenge their infortunities, as I shall think myself happy, if I have ability to distinguish the merit of their resentments, but since that is not allowed me; harken noble Academics by what reason he pretends to be preferred, who had already his sword in his hand, and who so swiftly pursued the cruel and detestable Butcher, to ease his griefs, by the death of that inhuman Murderer, who destroyed and set a period to all the felicity he had set all his affections upon; let us die, said that generous Lover, or let us make it appear to her, whom we adore, that our souls are all on fire, with rage, to undertake her revenge, by that I would have her know the fervency of my love, and that this Age from thence may learn she was my Goddess, and that none, but these, that can defend themselves from a Thunderbolt, shall dare to profane her, whom I adore, and that I am not capable of permitting to be ravished from me, without vengeance, the life of all my hopes, the object of all my desires, and the only felicity of my soul; how shall my Mistress know that I am worthy the honour to be beloved by her, if instead of flying to her revenge, I should stay to manifest my affection by effeminate and feeble tears? Not, no! to the intent that all the world may see Mars is never far from Venus, I will pursue the Monster; she will love valour in me, since it is the effect of her fair Eyes, and my passion; I will demonstrate, by wounds worthy of my hand, what the wound was I received from those piercing Eyes. I never assault any, but those that offend me, and none can offend me, but in depriving me of my Treasure, and if you would know what that Treasure is, inquire of this Evil which is unsufferable, inexpressible? hitherto Fortune hath been so little favourable to me, that I had never occasion to express my love, but by unprofitable sighs; but it is unseasonable to show either love, or grief, in the midst of vengeance, since I never had the honour to serve her, but after I had lost her; let us run and sacrifice this Monster to the Divinity that he hath profaned, we shall have time enough afterwards to sigh, and complain; those who slay to lament when they should revenge, deserve to lament eternally. O God what do I do? I stay too long to give the blow, whose sole honour consists in being given quickly; let us not walk, let us not run, but fly, if it be possible, to repair our negligence; what? can any heart dispute the vindication of the divinity it adores? delay, alone, will efface the merit of my service, whosoever loves truly, cannot leave one moment unpunished, that cruel and bloody minded Monster, than, if it be true that we love as we aught, let us fly to our vengeance. It is thus (O noble Auditors) me thinks that this generous afflicted would speak to justify the cause of his fury, and the violence of his proceed; but whither runnest thou? whither runnest thou, crieth that other judicious Lover, consider that it is more proper first, to remedy misfortunes, before we prosecute revenge; whither runnest thou? whither runnest thou, inconsiderate Revenger? if this fair unfortunate cannot be revenged, without being abandoned? leave her revenge to those that desire her death; stay! I prithee, stay, this is no testimony of thy love, it is of thy fury, this is not the way to repair our losses, it is to multiply them, the more our rage inclines us to vegeance, the more we shall merit in depriving ourselves of a sweetness, which, though it gives consolation for the present to our souls, hindereth not her destruction, and our future loss of her for ever. Relieve so well (if it be possible) this dying fair one, that she may live, for to let her dye, to revenge her, is to finish, not punish the impiety of him that killed her: if thou abandon her whom thou hast sworn to be the Mistress of thy soul when half dead, and languishing, she so needfully implores thine aid to sustain, and help her; I will never say thou hast revenged her death, but thou hast let her dye, that thou mightest be revenged. O propensity too bloody, unprofitable, arrogant, and cruel honour! if thou hast left as a prey to death, her, whose pale, and languishing countenance so eloquently challenges, that for the last proof of thy fidelity, thou wouldst give her some assistance; if (I say) thou leavest her in this extremity, for whose sake wilt thou prosecute revenge? if thou dost it to follow thine own inclinations, thy love aught not to pretend to the honour of it, for not being able to suffer so excessive a grief, thou hopest, vengeance will give thee some ease in so great a misfortune, whence it plainly appears thou lovest little, seeing thou searchest for consolations, when she (whom thou namest thy soul, lies wounded, and assaulted with the mortal agonies of departing pangs) sighs the last disfavours of her fortune, and can I speak it and my heart not break?) peradventure sobs out her last breath. For my part, I had rather pardon that inhuman (who shall punish himself abundantly by the conscience of his own crime) than fail in performing those offices of tenderness, and affection, which shall, it may be, have the power to draw not only from the grave, but from danger, the only Beauty I adore; let our Enemy be safe, rather than our Mistress perish; I will that all my desires tend to her preservation, love hath so ordered me, that I have nothing in particular, all my wishes, and all my thoughts depend absolutely on her, if she be lost nothing can sufficiently repair me, for the evils of another cure not mine, and if Heaven, and Destiny preserve her, I have no need of Remedies; all my wounds will be cured with hers, I have for my only object the weal of her I love; my passion will not give me leave to think of mine own Interests, so pure is my regard of her, that I wish she might yet once more know the quality of my love, whose sole aim is, that she may live, to the end only, that she may live, rather than for any other satisfaction to myself; it is not that which inclines me to desire, or assist the preservation of her life, and that she would please to give me leave, to stop that pure blood which issues so fast, without the guilty thought of obliging her, but of doing my duty. I melt (O noble Auditors) at the laments of this afflicted Lover, that to show to his Mrs. how ardently he desired her life,- would have continued his complaints, if he had not been hindered by the care of applying all his thoughts and art to her wounds, and by the need that the fair fainting Lady had of repose, which required his silence. But who speaks for the poor miserable man in a swound through his excessive grief, and being sensible of his own loss, appears to love himself more than that beauty which he hinders not to dye without either relief or revenge? I! I my Lords am most propense to it, it shall be I, who will take into my protection a grief which we do not understand, if we do not infinitely compassionate, and if we do not think most worthy of our pity. O God behold at thy feet barbarously wounded, and all embrued in blood that bosom of snow, which was created for the wonder and delight of our Eyes, that bosom, the chief workmanship of Nature, the object of the soul, and the cause of all thy flame, and the glory of its Age, that divine person, as much lovely, as much beloved; what? canst thou see her wounded, languish, and dye, without letting thine Eyes lament? thy soul, thy heart, and thy life? how cam'st thou turned to such a Rock, to endure that spectacle without dissolving wholly into tears, and without dying with her? O gods! behold at my feet those radiant Eyes, whose splendour ravished my soul, whose glances consolated my heart, and whose regard occasioned all my felicity, those Eyes whose light gave light to my affections, subsistence to my hopes, and from whence proceeded all my delights, those inlivening Eyes, those inlivening I say, eclipsed, and they themselves almost lost for want of light, languishing, and dying at my feet; canst thou consider her in this Estate, insensible man, and not dye thyself? (but if this poor Lover's trance astonisheth you (noble Auditors) you aught to wonder more, that I who have so perfect a sympathy with his passion, sink not as well as he; that I did not help her (said he) is indeed rather a mark of my feebleness than of my love; yet I grieve not that I fainted, but I grieve that I ever revived, since my sad Fate reserves me to behold so killing a Spectacle; let the Mistress of my thoughts see, if she please, that she is the soul which makes me live, seeing she could not receive a wound without my dying first; what marvel is it, that I fell in a swound with a stroke that wounded only her? I received it in my soul, she in her bosom: canst thou deny (O my life) thyself to be the life of my life, seeing I live by thy life, and die by thy death? canst thou deny that thou art my soul, when I am constrained to dye, by the lest wound thou receivest? have pity on me, and comfort me, O you Lovers, who know the torments of Love! comfort me, I say, for my body deprived of his soul, hath only love for the soul; I love with all my heart, and withal my soul her, who is the heart, and soul of my heart, and soul. I loved her only for herself, I loved her not because my soul desired she should have been my Love, nor because from her love might proceed all my felicity; if it be not to love well to love thus, teach me in what fashion I should love; but if none of you can teach me otherwise, why do you condemn the feebleness of a man, who hath no heart, but as it hath relation to that fair one who was its soul, and with whom it is inseparable? O life, of my life! soul of my soul! if I relieved thee not after thy wound, it was because thy wound left me in no condition to relieve thee; the others loved thee by the consideration of the future, which they hoped would be favourable to their passions, and I loved thee by the present estate of things; I neither feared thy rigour, nor hoped to see thee merciful; thou art what thou art, and I loved thee, for nothing, but because I love thee still; my heart neither hopeth, nor feareth, nor reasoneth, but it loveth in such a manner, that not living but in thee, by thee, and for thee; it is no wonder if it die with thee, or if it revive with thee, and as it is not reasonable to oblige the dead to assist thee, it is not just to punish the living, for the impotency of the dead. Such in my opinion were the reasons of that Lover, if it were p●ssible for him to reason, who lay buried in the immense gulf of Love, and who lived for nothing else, but to testify the wonders of that powerful passion; let those incredulous ones, who take for hyperboles, the discourses of those Lovers, who vow to their Mistresses, that they are their souls and hearts: consider this poor Lover in a swound, and if, searching for the wound which caused it, they find none, but in the bosom of the person beloved, let them conclude in confessing themselves conquered, that the divine mysteries of love, are incomprehensible; and that the knowledge of those inscrutable secrets, cannot be attained to, but in Heaven. Behold (illustrious Auditors) all that my weakness is able to say, touching the ardent affection of these three passionate Rivals, their loves fly too high a pitch, for my dull eyes to follow, & my soul astonished, at their several apprehensions, is more capable of bewailing, than judging their impressions: Excuse me (Noble Signiors) I pray, and be favourable to the affection, and readiness I had to obey you; and in consideration of the injury which I have offered to my modesty, in presuming to undertake a thing so beyond my ability; Excuse me I say from the necessity of attributing the pretensions to supremacy to either of these Lovers: I am in so profound an admiration of the quality of every one of them, that I know not how to give the crown to either of the three, without derogating from the merit of the other two, and without giving them cause to complain against the weakness or partiality of my judgement. The Theatre, whereon I am brought to judge them, is too high, not to be dangerous; the one swooned, the other assisted the wounded Lady, and complained, the third fled threatening vengeance on the assassinate; these are spectacles more capable to take away the faculties of the soul, than of enlightening it; and how can a heart, without experience, know the grief of those who saw before their eyes, the object of their passions murdered? it is a grief which cannot be judged without comprehending, and cannot be comprehended without dying: there are none but those in Hell can judge what Torment it is to loose beatitude: without being in love, we cannot judge of love, and being in love, we cannot judge at all; for judgement, and election have no place to reign where there is so much Tyranny. I have said. The effect of this Oration. THe Academy was as irresolute, as Manzine; the Generous would have the Valiant preferred, the Charitable desired that he who assisted his Mistress, should have the advantage, and the pitiful pretended, to make the feebleness of him that fell in a swound, to triumph: the first was called courageous, by some, and by others furious: the second passed for provident, but insensible: and the third was esteemed a perfect Lover, but cowardly: each of them had their opposers and partakers; but after a long, and earnest contestation, they agreed that all three merited equally, and that the inclination of the Lady should alone turn the balance; but a second dispute destroyed this Agreement; for one said, that the Lady, being as much obliged to the one, as to the other, could not follow her inclination without injustice, to one or tother, and that there was no reason to suffer passion to prefer one, and neglect the virtue and merit of another; for the one having a desire to revenge, the other having relieved her, and the last being almost dead for her; a Lady truly noble in that equality of obligation, could never make either happy, without making the others miserable: that opinion revived their first voices, and the Academy conceiving her to be just, and of sound judgement she alone, upon whom the Problem was founded, aught to decide the question. Love without faith. The Argument. The Assyrians having besieged the City of Samaria, and reduced it to extreme necessity: Two Mothers oppressed with famine, resolved to eat their own Children, having no other thing left to sustain life; the one killed hers, which was devoured by them both, but when the time came that the other should be killed, the Mother preferring her son's life before her own, cast herself at the feet of king Joram, to implore his power for protection of her pious infidelity. BEhold the King! O behold the King! my oppessed heart gins a little to revive, since the Heavens permit me to behold the King; great Prince, give me leave to cast myself at thy feet, to seek refuge there, in my extreme necessity; alas! the remembrance of the danger I am in, takes away my breath, behold the Prince! it is he, who is to defend his subjects; behold the Lieutenant of the Almighty, to whom appertains the protection of innocents'! behold an afflicted King, who grants to our miseries the same relief he implores from Heaven for his own! and that favourable God; that sends it him, be eternally praised. Sir, in the universal famine, which causeth the death of all thy people, feeling myself not only to want milk to sustain my child, but spirits to maintain my own life. I prepated some days before, all things that were needful for my grave, when being overwhelmed with my sad thoughts, I went to the house of one of my friends, that we might comfort one another, to the end that the apprehension of our ensuing death, might be the lesle bitter to us; in the weakness I was in, I imagined no pain was like that of going down my stairs, but by that time I had ascended hers, I found the contrary, all my Muscles were loosened, and all my Nerves without strength, I let my languishing body fall upon the Earth, in which there appeared not to be any life, but by the feeble beating of my heart, to whom Nature gives the privilege to be the last to dye: farewell, said I, dear friend, (I made haste to salute her, for fear death should prevent me) farewell dear friend. I thought fit to come with my child to visit you, to the intent that she, whose like and miseries should be prolonged for some moments, may think of the Sepulture of the other; this woman mingled, I know not what of cruel in her Compliments, she raised herself upright before me, with a motion more violent, than belonged to her deplorable estate, and under the pretence of easing me of my burden, she took my dear child into her arms, and begin to praise it, that it was still so fat, she made me shed tears, and quickly repent my bringing it to her house; thou art (said she) a thousand times welcome, and without so much as regarding me, she continued praising, touching, and I dare say, weighing the poor Innocent, which she took sometimes into her bosom, sometimes between her arms, and sometimes between her thighs. O gods! said I to myself, what have I done? and than I re-assumed my lovely, and dear burden, whom danger made me think more light than it was before, I was too weak to go from her, and she too resolute to permit me, in this distraction I recommended myself to Providence, to sand me relief, proportionable to the danger I feared. To what purpose are these Orisons, these tears, and unprofitable weaknesses of ours? this Inhuman began to say, we are lost! but Despair is a great searcher, and Necessity a knowing Mistress, the last thing we aught to do is to dye, we must think of all before we loose all; what do we do? aught we to dye with famine, our own children by our sides? to what end serves our timidity? can it preserve them, what shall we do? let them dye, let them die, since they can not longer live, and let them help to nourish their Mothers, who have noutished them whilst they were able; of our evils it is the lest, since they must dye however. To extreme maladies, ordinary remedies signify nothing, and if thou thinkest it good, it cannot be ill, being necessary, let us resolve, to begin with mine, I am content, upon condition thine may have the same fate, I am so far from deceiving thee, that I will be the first that shall undergo this loss. This last Discourse stayed my soul, which full of horror and fear was upon the wing, I was ready to offer mine own flesh to that Barbatian, upon condition she would preserve my child, when she herself ran to the relief of my irresolution, with the pitiful cruelty of her prodigious offer. O gods! how was I revived? I felt myself new borne, but in the mean time what should I do? I thought with myself, if I refuse to consent to the death of her son, I hasten that of my own, it is not best to undertake the opposition of her brutish design, without power to hinder it, she appears too resolved to this horrible action, to be diverted by my words, and seeing I can gain nothing else, let me gain time, this is a danger which cannot be avoided, but in going out to meet it. Thus I consented to the death of my child, that she might begin with hers first, which would give me opportunity to come, and east myself at at the feet of my King; my design hath happily succeeded: I am here Sir: look upon this innocent, whose life is in question, and if thou thinkest me obliged to perform conditions, present it thyself to this Tygress; behold how she stands grinding her teeth, and rolling her eyes, look upon her as having prepared the knife in her hand, and ready to dismember, and devour it; on than, do thou pronounce, and determine, what shall be done with thy subject; see here, and judge, if it be proper to cut in pieces an innocent, to sustain a wicked person, who deserves a Thunderbolt; if thou dost not join with me in opposing this Fury, we may say, that the City is already taken, since our Enemies devour our Children. But what do I say? is it possible, there can be any Enemies so barbarous to eat our Infants? shall I be so unfortunate to fear, thou wilt consider me lesle, than this bloodthirsty creature, who is more our Enemy, than our Enemies themselves? and I (who had rather see mine own child dye for thy service, than for the preservation of mine own life,) aught I to fear I shall not have protection from mine own Prince, whose subjects this unnatural woman hath begun already to devour? I, I say believe that the life of the King himself is not assured, since her own flesh, and blood was not. The fierce and barbarous resolution of this Tygress admonisheth us that we have cause to fear all things, for what will she devour next, now she hath no more children to eat? who can assure us, that incited by her hunger, she will not cell her Country for meat? and, to obtain it of our Enemies, attempt to take away the life of the King himself? if the famine continued and parricide escape without punishment: I know she will accuse me of ingratitude, and call me perfidious, for complaining of a crime which hath nourished me, but for what reason doth she think she hath obliged? is it for prolonging my life? Alas! I am so far from thinking that an obligation, that for but only seeing such a wickedness, I shall sigh eternally, and be eternally without comfort; it doth not content▪ he, O detestable one, to have been wicked, unless thou enjoy the vanity to brag of it, and boast that thou hast also made an unfortunate Woman, as wicked as thyself; there is but one thing can fall out, to make me think the saving my life a favour, which is (Sir) that I may be so happy, to see the punishment of her sin, before I die. I confess I consented to her enormous crime, but how could I avoid it? if I had not resolved to take part in the tragic banquet of the body of her child, my feebleness had subdued me, to the necessity of seeing her devour mine; but there is nothing in the world but the preservation of the life of a Son, could ever have induced me, to have participated in that cruelty, which this Tygress calls a favour; the same action which was her crime, hath been my punishment; was it not thou thyself that with thine own hands, tore in pieces thy innocent Babe? did not I turn away mine eyes? had not I horror in eating it? did not I mingle my tears with its blood? yet that, which I could scarcely endure to do with thy child, thou wouldst have me suffer with mine own. Oh! neither the justice of the King of Heaven, nor Earth will allow this; I should deserve that my child should be devoured, if I had a soul so much an Enemy to my Country, to give consent, even with mine own blood, to the nourishment of a Fury who hath eaten her own child; I have sinned, if I may say so without sin, because I sinned without election, for the soul sins not without the will, but I am not excusable by the same reason, which she believes capable to excuse a Parricide; I have a thousand Reasons besides, to justify my innocency. Imagine Sir, (if your piety will give you leave to harken to me) you saw her with a knife in her hand, with a Savage, and bloody look, snatching unmercifully the weeping innocent (whose destiny was that his very tears hastened his death) and giving him twenty stabs with a poniard, and than to cut his throat, and afterwards tearing out his bowels, breathing, and panting, and at last cutting them in pieces, and all this with such dexterity, and quickness, that it astonished me more, than the parricide itself, and made me think she had served an apprenticeship in practising upon other children, the barbarism she now exercised upon her own: but alas! how shall I make an end? she spitted it, she blew the fire, and basted the little body, she complained of nothing, but that the fire was too slow to roast her son: O Tygress! O Fury! O wicked Demon! But Sir, I perceive this horrible Relation doth so much astonish you, that it takes away your power, not only of judging, but of hearing me, and indeed who would not have the same resentment? Now Sir, if you tremble, without having seen this cruel spectacle, but in my description, you that are a Man, a Soldier, and a King, you that are out of danger, judge than of my condition in the midst of that horror? I who am a Woman, weakened with famine, and danger of my child between life, and death; in this ecstasy, I had nor time, nor means, nor strength to know what I did, I eat I know not what, for my soul wholly intentive, to save my own Infant, had no leisure to think of that of another's. Behold that she Cannibal, who devours the subjects of her Prince, the Soldiers of the Kingdom, and the Defenders of our Country; punish, O punish this ravenous devourer of our Citizens, who hath taught to others, that the flesh of her own is nourishing, and who hath incensed the Heavens when they have most need of appeasing: it troubleth me, there should be no other way to punish her but by that death that I should have thought a happiness before she made me sin, if I could have been assured her rage would have spared my child; I say well in saying her rage, for I should lie, if I should say; it was only her hunger, for, a woman, who had strength to fright a Mother, and to engage her to the necessity, of defending the life of her child, was not reduced to the last extremity of hunger, she was too quick, too fierce, and too menacing; for a woman, whom famine had extremely enfeebled, and if she deny her fury and her force, the great blows she gave to her own son will evidence it, they could not proceed from an arm decayed, from an arm of a Woman, and from an arm of a Mother enfeebled by long famine. Chastise this malefactor, stifle this pernicious example, revenge the injury done to the Hebrew name, in punishing her crime, that we may show to after Ages, we abhorred it: our Nation will be more detested for her parricide, than it was glorious for the victories of Samson, and David, nothing, but she alone, shall darken the honour of so memorable a Siege, and so nobly maintained. On than brave Prince! on than Father! on than Sir, cut of this corrupted member, for fear it corrupts the whole body; tear up, by the roots, this contagious branch, whose very shadow is dangerous: what do you stay for? you already know her inclinations, her own son being devoured, she intends to devour those of others; and that she is yet more dangerous, she pretends to do it by justice, so ill an opinion hath she of the equity of her Judge; it is against thy interest (O great King) to permit this poor Innocent to the rage of this insatiable Wolf, it will be quickly devoured, it is too little to last long, and she too ravenous to make more, than one meal of it; with what shall we assuage the hunger of this monster accustomed to eat the flesh of children? as for those that have none, they are not concerned in my interest, but they that have, let them consider that the enemy threatneth to make them slaves, and she to devour them, if the justice of him, who is above justice, doth not protect them; let us go and offer our Children to the sword of our Enemies, I say our Children, because the Children, of our Enemies, please not this impious wretch, will you than expect another proof than this very instance of her wickedness, if necessity constrain her, aught she not rather to eat the Enemy's Children than ours? do not your valiant swords kill enough by so many brave sallies to satisfy the hunger of this ravenous devourer of flesh? Go on than merciful Prince! go on than Protector of Innocents'! preserve thy Kingdom from the greatest infection it can have, besides the wrath of the Almighty, for canst thou believe that God will deliver from so dangerous a siege, a City, wherein Parricide passeth unpunished? I would speak more, but I dare not for fear jest in the mean time the absolute, and last necessities of hunger seizing upon this unnatural, it should not lie in the power of the King to save my Child from her ravenous fury; and besides I feel already feebleness oppress me, which is an infallible sign of my innocence, I have eaten so little of the Child of another, that my weakness constrains me so suddenly to leave the defence of mine own, from whence you may judge whether I did it by force, or inclination: but I die, and yet there is left too much to say; the death of this unfortunate is not the cause of my tears; for it brought mortality with it into the world, the War, Fortune and Famine have reduced me to such a degree of calamity, that I weep it rather as dead, than about to die, neither are these agitations new to me, I grieve that my son, my soul, my bowels should be forced to serve for nourishment to a Monster, who hath dishonoured my Country, and would make it desolate. Grief stifles me, and takes away my voice, I can say not more, I die, behold this miserable poor unfortunate Babe! what crime hath it committed? Behold Sir, this innocent which knows not the danger that threatneth it; if the unjust conditions she pleads, be far more powerful than the King, offer it thyself, to this hunger slarved Creature, offer it thyself if thou hast the heart, for it is thine, it was borne for thy service, and if it die, devoured by this Samaritan Tygress, it dies in serving thee, I will not be against his honour. On the contrary, I shall esteem him happy, for who aught to be more contented to dye, than he who dies in the service of so just a Prince, that the lest of his glorious titles is the Protector of Orphans? but on the other side, in exposing this Infant to the fangs of this wild beast, who foams at mouth with greediness to tear it in pieces, it is to tender me the most deplorable creature that ever was. Alas! Father of thy people, Protector of the distressed, be concerned, rouse up compassion towards this little one, who never deserved this miserable fate: Sir, save thy slave, it is an act suitable to thy honour, and the quality of thy charge; it is a favour which his poor Mother deserves, who would not save the life of her son, for any other end, but that he may dye in serving his King, his Benefactor, and his Preserver. The Effect of this Oration. IT is easy to know by the words of Scripture, that this Oration, which Manzine hath much enlarged, touched very sensibly a King, who was not absolutely unjust; but my Author supposeth, that an impartial judge, aught to hear both parties, before he give sentence, do you suspend your judgement until you have read the next following Oration. Hunger hath not Law. The Argument. If motherly love were eloquent, self love was not silent; the first of these women spoke for the life of her son, the second for her own; the one would reserve herself, the other her child, and both destroy one another. Love pretends to the Empire over all wheresoever he is, hunger disputes this power; you have heard the reasons of the one, harken to those of the other. SIR, It is a Woman which speaks, it may be it seems strange that I tell thee I am a Woman, for by the state of body, in which I appear, I may fear thou believest me a shadow, and I know they have described me to thee, as a wild Beast, but I give thanks to Heaven, which hath brought me before a King, whose profound Judgement cannot be deceived; behold than here a Woman so miserable that she hath been forced, even to the eating of her own Children, and yet so persecuted, that she is accused of monsirous impiety; when she comes to demand justice, she whose life I have preserved with mine own bowels, strives to procure my death, I found myself accused by one, from whom I expected not only thanks, but recompense. The necessity which hath forced me to eat mine own Child, gins to be the lest of my evils; Alas! who will pity me? or rather who will not pity me? I demand Justice (pardon me great Sir, if I am not upon my knees, weakness, and not irreverence is the cause, I shall fall if I stoop) and since I aught not endeavour, by a feigned humility, to surprise a Judge, whose wise, and apprehensive soul cannot be deluded by outward semblances; you will therefore pardon the omission of Ceremony. Unhappy I! if amongst my other infelicities, I had met with a Judge of a common capacity, or a Prince of a vulgar soul, one that would have been captivated, and charmed with flattery, and one that the very appearance of crime is able to discompose, unhappy were I! I say, if I had met with such a one, an ordinary apprehension had at the very name of Parricide, condemned this unfortunate, without considering the quality of the fact, or the cause that compelled me to commit it; but those are slight, shallow, or effeminate men, without bottom, without courage, and not only unworthy to command Kingdoms, and pretend to triumphs; but of souls so undiscerning, that the bore names, without circumstances of crimes, fright them: we aught to consider realities, and not appearances. And now to have met with a Prince, of so magnanimous courage, who with only one City, and that hunger-starved, dares yet promise' himself the Victory over a great Kingdom, that bandies itself against him; is not this, is not this a blessing overbalancing all my other infelicities? but I esteem my cause such, that I believe it needs no other eloquence, than its own equity; expect not Sir, that I dress up my distresses, nor that I aggravate my sufferings, I invoke not the Heavens, I envy not against my accuser, innocent causes have no need of such gild artifice; for my part, in recounting to thee nakedly my business by the testimony of my very Enemy, I will make it evident to thee, that I am so innocent, that she herself shall confess that all, that she had patched up together, when she complained against me, amounted to nothing, because she hath proved nothing, and because an equal Judge takes impression of nothing, but the fact only, when he perceives that the passion and interest of those whose subtlety would disguise truth, and seduce his judgement by deceitful inductions, which often hurry Judges into a precipice of error, and unjust sentence. And thou my fierce, and ingrateful Enemy, who accusest me with so much injustice, art thou contented to appeal to thyself? for though thy consent be not material, and thou being accustomed so little, to observe actions done by thyself, wilt thou that thy own depositions shall be valid? I feel myself so cast down with hunger, that if they permit thee to reply, and that they oblige me to tedious formalities, it is certain that the sentence will be on thy side, if the judge will not, Famine will cast me into my grave, before the end of this sad process. What? dost thou desire that I confess my fault? if that be it, thou hast said nothing that I am not ready to affirm: in fine, what dost thou resolve? she is silent, that is to say, without speaking, she acknowledgeth her fault, and is undoubtedly ready to discharge her conscience, and it may be my unhappy child (dead as it is) in the bosom of this cruel woman, fights in favour of his Mother. Sir, she saith, that constrained by hunger she ascended my stairs with her Infant: she saith, that I received her with I know not what of horrible in my countenance, and with a motion too strong for the weakness I was in, and that praising the good plight of her child, I gave her cause to tremble at the unsafety of that innocent, is it not true Sir? I subscribe to all she hath said; in fine, God protects innocence? our Enemies themselves witness in favour of mine: See Sir, what I was! I was so hunger-starved, that the extremity of Famine, had transformed me, to be as a wild beast; I was become so horrible, that I was even such to my friend, she here found me in such a condition, that she believed me capable of eating her child, and yet, in this dreadful estate I stayed at home, and expected peaceably my death every moment. Dear Auditors, are you not touched with pity? I received her with a motion too precipitate, ungrate and barbarous as she is! in this condition which was so horrible. I lost not courtesy for this Wretch, yet she hath lost humanity for me, even when I saved her life with my own bowels; if I praised the good plight of her child, you may imagine to what extremity I was reduced by Famine, that I was forced with envy to behold the flesh upon the bones of the living; I took her child out of her arms: here you see, though I was half dead, I eased her of her burden, she grew jealous, and took it from me; but if she assures you, she took it from me by force, she injures the pretended justice of her cause, for if she were not brought to the extremity of feebleness by hunger, how could she resolve to eat a man child? In that she will lie, you aught not to marvel if she waver in her words, and if she say I rendered it unto her willingly, my innocence appears, seeing in my last extremity, I was just in returning back a thing more valuable to me, than all the treasure of the Universe, since it might have saved my life; but amongst these disputes violences, and fears, my soul, agitated with a thousand various passions began to feel evils yet more horrid, and my hunger was so strongly augmented by that object, that to give back a child, and a child which was none of mine own, and a child in so good plight, was to hasten my death, and yet I did it; but Nature having lost the remembrance of all other obligations, save that of preserving itself, began to suggest the means as strange, as profitable; let them eat what they may, said I, since necessity hinders from eating what they aught. What do we do? in vain we offer vows to Fortune, to sand us Rats or Dogs, for of all Victual heretofore horrible (but now worthy of Envy) there is no more in my house unless in my digested; I do not say in my flesh, for if I had found one ounce in any part of my body & God he knows whether I sought with care, or not, my heart had never been capable of giving consent to that paricidall thought, of feeding upon the flesh of my child, that is to say, my heart, my life, and my soul, not not in this point, where necessity is pronounced invincible, and all things are permitted but delay, if I had found but one morsel of my own flesh left, I had never thought (I say) of feeding upon my own child. What shall I do? (said I) and, being desperate, I turned towards this woman, and spoke to her thus; but great Prince recall into your memory the words that she hath uttered to you, which are these, for I would not, in speaking in my defence, altar, sweeten, or forget the lest thing: be you yourself therefore pleased to repeat the words of my accuser, the last thing we are to do is to die, we are to think of all before we loose all, thus Nature hath taught us, reason hath dictated, and our Predecessors have learned us by their examples, what aught we to do? or what can we do my friend? for, although I was forced to be led by necessity, I would take her counsel for fear of failing; aught we to die at the feet of our children without doing them any good? will they escape their death by ours? even in killing them, I thought of doing good, seeing they cannot save their own lives, let them save their Mothers, and save their Mothers, not for themselves, but for their Country; and what think you Sir, did than this merciful, this tender hearted, virtuous Mother, to whom my crime hath been so horrid? she hath told you herself, therefore you may believe it, she alone, even without a pause, she consented, she came without all question, not only to consent to the fact, but to invite me to commit it, for if she had come for any other intent, she wanted not the means to hinder me, when I made the proffer, why did she not refuse it? why did she not cry out? but excuse her if you will, by saying she durst not, she was in an affright, she swooned, but why did she ever revive? I know that she will say, that whatever her crime is, she never intended the death of her child, but being resolved to deceive me, and only conspiring against the life of mine, she pretends her affrightment for her excuse, and perceives not that little policy, which yet absolves her not from parricide, adds the crime to her, of being deceitful to her friend, and impious to Heaven; for in agreeing to our conditions, she invoked the name of God, which, in this case as it is conspicuous before you, must needs be judged a crying sin, barely to mingle the sacred name of the most high. Yet had she the boldness to call, to countenance her wicked deceit, that Almighty power which she invoked without either believing in him, or trembling to offend him, if it be true she believes in God? Consider by the truth of her intention, you here present who have heard what her faith was; if this woman who was not enforced by the extremity of her hunger, to the necessity of such an action, had opposed me, and represented unto me the horror of the fact, I should undoubtedly have abstained, and after the knowledge of it, should have died a thousand times, rather than have killed a son; indeed why should I have asked counsel if I had not feared the necessities of the body, might have extinguished the light of the understanding? If the only design of nourishing me, had carried me to that resolution, what need had I of her? had not I a child as well as she? and in what have I bettered my condition in dividing with her? did she not receive the same thing from me, which I was afterwards to have from her; and in that fatal participation no advantage could accrue to me, but that hazard to which I am now exposed, that this disloyal doth not observe conditions, after the death of my child, might be my lot; it may be, out of a just fear I should have urged her to begin with hers, you have heard her, herself repeat my words. Let us begin (said I) with mine, I am content, provided thine may have the same fate, for I would not have it enter into thy thoughts, that I have any intention to deceive thee: Behold my Lords! that to save the life of a child, I would not deceive, and that I knew how to be just even in killing; I should never have thought of so horrible a sustenance, whilst I had strength or hope to find any relief any other way, but when necessity, which is always invincible, had reduced me to the last extremity, and that the constraint of so long a siege had left nothing for man, but man, and that the famine having overcome all other things, had at last overcome Nature, and constancy, it was absolutely unavoidable for me to resolve, yet I did it not without consulting of the thing, and finding it inevitable, to what should I have addressed me? it may be you will say rather to the children of others; not Sir, I addressed me to mine own. But tell me in pity Sir, in an exigent so important, in mine own house, and having in mine arms the fat child of another, was not I very just, in that I began not with the death of hers? O God is there a heart so hard, not to have compassion on mine affliction? that being enforced to eat a child, or famish, when I had in my arms the child of another, I began with mine own; all Fathers are obliged to this Example for the lives of theirs. Ah! If there be a heart to be found capable of wishing me ill, it deserves to feel a grief suitable to mine, that to stain Nature, they be constrained to act against Nature: I know that this frightful name of parricide, dazzles weak souls, and raises me many Enemies, but I know withal, that this weakness is not a weakness of Kings, but of vulgar, and unknowing men; those Laws which have permitted Fathers to kill their children, for punishment, would they forbidden them to kill them for necessity, to which all things submit? If I had killed my son for some unnatural outrage, done against his Mother, they would have esteemed me innocent, now having killed him by constraint, they believe me guilty; but great Prince, who was he at the beginning of the Siege, made us pull down, and burn so many magnificent Palaces, contiguous to the very walls of our City, and such Palaces as were worth half a Kingdom, and took up little less room? was it not thou mighty Prince? and why that cruelty, common Father of the Country, to thy subjects, and to thy children? what could they fear worse from the Enemy? me thinks I hear every one answer me, that it was to assure the City, and to prevent harbourage to the Enemy, he was compelled to perpetrate this merciless cruelty; it is than true, that the design and end proposed, is that which justifies, or condemns the action; how many Provinces, and how many Armies by the command of their Kings, and of their Generals have willingly exposed themselves to extreme losses, to prevent eminent evils? than if it be a remedy ancient, and approved, that in extreme necessities, men devour men? what star, or what fatal destiny excludes me from the common privileges of human kind? peradventure it may be for that I am a woman, my resolution did not suit with my sex; it may be, because I am a Mother: why? is the desire of living lesle natural to the Mother, than to the Son? We never condemn that instinct, which, for the necessity of life, makes the Infant draw every day the most pure blood from the bosom of his Mother; and may not the poor Mother, incited for preservation of her life, and by compulsion of Nature lawfully by the right she hath over her Child, make use of her own blood, and of her own bowels? I know as well as another, that there is none so cruel, but hath compassion for the murder of a young Infant, whose innocence is so capable of pity, but who might be killed with so little loss to the Commonwealth as this young child? and by what other Reason should a Mother that hath lost her Son, have been ever comforted, if there had not remained that feeble consolation of seeing it die at the lest innocent? me thinks all here present say, that she who accuseth me would have endeavoured to have had a child of the Enemies, O abominable wickedness! O execrable thought! God deliver me from an attaint so impious, not not to redeem myself from my grave, I could not go, and search for the Infants of others, unless I had had a design to eat children, before I was constrained by the extreme necessity of the siege; O God deliver me from purposes so impious, such as could never be hatched in the thoughts of her who is so human, that she never thought of eating human flesh, before she found it absolutely impossible, to defer one moment the eating of her own son! Thus from the very same things of which thou accusest me; I pretend to derive my honour; expect not great Prince, that I should entreat thee, or conjure thee to exterminate this ungrateful Creature, who instead of observing religiously conditions with her that preserved her life at so dear a rate, endeavouts by an impudence without example, to take that from me, which I value more than my life, my reputation, she would make an impression in thy judgement, O King, that I am wicked, and that I am unjust: Not, no Sir, I think not of it, for not having committed a crime to preserve my life, I will not to pursue my revenge. Be thou than judge what is to be done, thou whose prudence in all times, and in all places, and in all things knows so clearly to distinguish equity from iniquity, and innocence from guilt, whether she did eat of my son's flesh for cruelty or necessity? ask her, herself, whether a woman so enfeebled by famine, could go rambling abroad to seek for relief, and than consider whether it be likely she was in that extremity that being in an affright for the danger of her son, she had yet strength enough to tear it from the bosom of that Fury who devoured it with her eyes; yes, demand of her, herself, if she be impudent enough to maintain that hunger had rendered her feeble, and languishing? After she hath confessed her son to be fat, and thriving, demand of her (I say) whether a Woman in the condition she hath depainted herself, could have milk enough to preserve him in such well-liking; this pretended foundation being demolished, where was that necessity? such a necessity as in my case hath been evinced by the testimony of my fiercest Enemy, I know not, but I believe you see the Rampires, whereby she believed her impiety assured, to fail and fall; what wilt thou do Sir? wilt thou suffer a woman so impious, so barbarous, so detestable, to live under thy protection? Great Prince, what dost thou resolve? for my part. I make no supplications to be revenged, though this Monster shames not only her Country, but the whole Age; if she fall, I would rather have it to be merely by thy justice, than by my solicitation; yes, let her outrage to me be pardoned, provided it wound not thy Justice, neither do I demand the murder of her child, but I demand something, even any thing, to sustain my life, which is even now expiring, if I have not presently some food to relieve me; if she hath any other thing for my nourishment, and to disengage her from the conditions to which she is obliged, it shall satisfy, whatever i● be, but if she cannot perform it otherwise, than Sir, I demand Justice, that child is none of hers, since I have bought it with mine own bowels, she hath sold it, and sworn to observe conditions, she hath not only received, but eaten the price agreed of between us. That every one have what belongs to him, is a Rule thought to be most just in all Kingdoms, and especially here where the King is so just, that rather than to abandon him, his subjects resolve to eat their own children. Well, what is there more expected? the Examination is had, she hath confessed, and I demand immediate sentence; for by this little delay thou O King! wilt be guilty of my death: the most cruel hangman that the wickedness of this woman can fear, is that which I feel in my ; Sir, Hunger tears me, if thou forbear to do me justice, because this kind of justice carrieth with it I know not what, of prodigious, it is to do an injury to thy Kingly Office, which ordains thee to do as thou oughtest, though it overthrew the whole World. That which I demand is a life; but it is true, a life unprofitable, a life full of misery, alive that I have purchased with mine own child's life; to be merciful to a child, wilt thou be cruel to a Mother, who desires to survive her child only for thy service, and that doth not find life supportable for love of it, but that it may be useful for thy service? indeed for whom could I have prolonged a life, which Widowhood, and the loss of a child, old Age and Famine, makes a living Hell, if it had not been to serve thee with that little strength which remains to carry earth to fill the Bulwarks, and Hot-water to the Soldiers to defend the liberty; the Sceptre, and the life of my King? Resolve than wise Prince, resolve (I say) than dear Master; what dost thou expect, that I also perish to become food for this wicked Woman, whom I could not oblige by giving her, her life? it is lesle dangerous to do her injury, than favours, I have preserved her, and she would destroy me, if thou dost preserve her; she will certainly be mischievous also to thee; of this truth I am a sad example, seeing I have torn out mine own bowels to feed her, she brings it to a question, whether that which I have bought, and paid for, be mine own; resolve than Noble Prince, according to thy generosity resolve, I am so withered with Famine, that my very eyes will afford me no more tears, to move thee to pity, for these few moments that thou delayest me I dare tell thee, yes I dare tell thee, thou shalt be not more my K●ng, but my Hangman. I confess this discourse is bold, but it imports little, whether I die by a Halter, or Hunger, if I must loose my life; I perceive my end, famine tears my entrailss, languishment overwhelms me, and my own supplications assist time, and famine to consume me; either relieve me living, or thou shalt be obliged to defend me dead, for she who hath eaten the child, will not be nice to devour the Mother also? Ah Sir! I can not more, I faint, I fall, I die. The effect of this Oration. NEither * That is, the second of Chronicles. the fourth Book of Kings, nor josephus tells us what King joram ordained upon this dispute, but it is easy to be conjectured, that he ordered nothing unjust, since the Scripture notes, that he was so extremely afflicted, that they saw a garment of humiliation under the ●oyall Mantle, and that the next day the City was miraraculously delivered by a Panic fear which seized the Army of the Assyrians; and made them raise the siege; therefore we aught to believe, that the Prince gave that Innocent to the tears of his Mother: as for the other, that would not have killed hers, but to prevent her own death threatened by famine, she had no need of a repast so detestable; for the day after, there was abundance in Samatia, by the plenty of Provision, which was found in the Enemies Campe. The Sports of the Carnival. The Argument. The Cardinal proposed the Argument of this Discourse to the Acadedemy of the night, for in a fair and large Assembly of Knights and Ladies, some having maintained, that a Masque was only fit for ill-favoured faces; others as confidently affirming, that Beauty, as the more dangerous thing, was only fit to be masqued: in this diversity of opinions, Manzine declares his, after this manner. I Have not so advantageous an opinion of myself (most illustrious Auditors) as to believe I have a liberty allowed me to hold an opinion contrary to your judgement; that judgement I mean, which was pleased to think me capable of an enterprise, which I thought far above my strength; 'tis a thing nevertheless not a little strange, that a person bred under the shade of night, should be put to discourse of beauty, that is a bright Sun; and that those eyes should be chosen to judge of deformity, which have been accustomed to abide the most lively, and penetrating beams of this beauty. And thence it comes to pass, that in spite of my endeavours, my sense gets the Mastery of my understanding, offering to my imagination what traverses a miserable weak Cockboat may justly apprehended, that undertakes to struggle against the large waves of the vast Ocean. But hap what will, by his authority, who hath commanded me, I am engaged in the main Sea; & those stars (which upon another occasion I should call suns) make me hope for a safe harbour, and give me assurance, that their favourable beams seconding the Art of the Pilot, will bring me safe to shore. And although that lively Alabaster, which sparkles round about me, like the beating of the Sea threatens me with quicksands, I shall nevertheless esteem that shipwreck happy where the waves are of milk, and the field is so fair, as 'twould prove an honour to procure a grove in it. But to loose no time, which of itself runs so fast, away, with which part of the dispute aught I to begin my discourse? The question proposed is, whether a Masque do more properly belong to a handsome, or an ill-favoured face? I know that those who consider things but slightly by the outward appearance, will conclude, that a Masque infallibly belongs to the worst face; that they will believe, 'twas invented only to secure ill faces from the injuries men's eyes might do them; so that they will be ready to say, that no shape in the world can derive so much advantage by being hid as deformity, which, buried under a Masque, is not only protected from injuries, and contempt, but which is more, under that favourable shadow she marches upon such equal terms with Beauty, that the visage of Hocuba and Helen are the same thing, whilst they both continued so covered. This happy Misque adds so much to an ill-favoured face, that it not only hides an object that displeases the eye, corrects a default in Nature, and rectifies a sin of the Times, but besides, places it in the same condition with Beauties, and makes it equal with that which hath been adored even by the Heathen gods. All this is well, (may some one say) but if we hid our ugliness, what shall put us in mind, that the defects of the body aught to be repaired by the excellency of the soul. Socrates exhorted youth to view their faces in a glass, that those that were ill-favoured might endeavour to mend themselves, and those that had beauty might take care not to deform it by the imperfections of Vice. And indeed when a noble soul shall perceive itself imprisoned in an unhandsome and contemptible body, the more will it endeavour to make itself visible to become worthy of esteem: For my part I have always looked upon unhandsomness as a very considerable gift of Heaven, and a deep design of the Divinity; for having resolve to impart to the world one beam of its own brightness in human beauty, made use of deformity as her opposite, that the eye by comparing contraries, might fully, and entirely discover the excellence of beauty. And is't not evident, that if all Women were handsome, beauty would grow so common, that no man would admire it; and that 'twould be impossible to have any strong desires for so ordinary a thing? Amongst the greatest advantages which belong to Beauty, one of the most considerable is, that it serves the mind as a light, to guide and help it to ascend to the knowledge of the intelligible world. But to demonstrate how much more deformity contributes to that than beauty; it will suffice to compare them together: What Lover is there, whose judgement is not distracted, and that, in his Idolatry does not believe, that nothing but what he adores can justly pretend to the title of beauty? what Lover can be found, which calls not that his Sun, which is his fire; which invocates not her, as his tutelary Angel, who in conclusion proves his evil spirit? and looks not upon that house as a Heaven, or a Temple, which preserves his Goddess from the injuries of men, and weather? O miserable Deity! whose divinity hath need of human help? that were indeed to tie the soul to earth, and not to lift it up to heaven. But as the shadow makes the light appear the clearer, and cold weather makes the Sunbeams the more welcome: even so deformity not at all furnished with any thing that might delight the soul, does put the mind into such a loathing of all these frail and transitory vanities of the world, that raising it to the contemplation and knowledge of the only true happiness, it is forced to resolve to quit these perishable beauties, and wholly to fix itself upon him, who only is perfect and desirable: so than ugliness is a gift of Heaven, and by so much more precious than beauty, as 'tis lesle obnoxious to the injuries of time, from whose severity it apprehends not the lest danger of being made worse. Unhandsomness, the sure and infallible guide of the mind; the certain mark of Divinity, shall that be covered under a dark Veil, or imprisoned, and buried under a troublesome cloud? and what shall than become of that unchaste vestal beauty, that does so much mischief, if she that is the very quintessence of chastity must be buried amongst the living? she that is a Virgin so pure, and unspotted? 'twill be as great an injury to Virtue, as ill-favour'dness, if she be contemned, for thereby we declare that even Virtue herself is not every where amiable: as if the Sun were only operative upon the purest matter, and Jewels derived their value from the Casket, wherein they are enclosed. Olympia the Wife of Philip was much in the right, when she told a Courtier, who had made choice of a handsome, but unchaste Mistress, that 'twas not fit to choose a Wife, only, by the outside; and indeed, what more is beauty (for whose sake we would bury the precious treasure of deformity) but a single stroke of Nature's Pencil? a Cheat of the times, a good thing that flies away, a glorious Sun that soon sets, a possession that's always troublesome, because ever envied, kept with too great subjection, and adored with too much Idolatry? If she be pitiful, she's dishonest, cruel, if she resist. To conclude, an ingenious soul must needs say of outward handsomeness, as Lisander spoke of certain fine gowns, that were sent him for his daughters; I will not have these fine make my daughters seem lesle handsome: From these Reasons opposed to the former, the result will be, that this Tomb of the face (if you will give me leave to give a Masque that name) is more proper for nothing, than Beauty; and I very well perceive by some languishing eyes, that I see about me, that more than one in this company could wish, that this dangerous thing called Beauty had never walked but in her Masque. I am of opinion, that the famous Painter Thimantes, had done sacrifice to the god of Counsel, when having made a Picture of Venus excellently handsome in all the parts of her body, he drew a Veil over her face; not as the weaker sort believed, because he despaired of finishing what he had begun, with the like perfection; but that this discreet Painter knew, that her beauty was so great, that had he given it the last degree of perfection, she must have proved as dangerous, to the soul, as pleasing to the Eye; and thereby taught us, that 'tis no lesle prudence to hid beauty, than to suppress a great fire. And this was Alexander's opinion, when, having taken the Wife and Daughters of Darius' prisoners, he declared that the Persian Beauties were very hurtful to the Eyesight. Lucian, who detested beauty, called it the Enemy of Nature, by whom man being created free and courageous, was (like a poor slave) reduced to serve that Idol with more satisfaction, than he was capable of receiving by the command of the whole world. Let us than cover this Inchantress, which seduces our Reason, and so blinds the eyes of our understanding, that 'tis not able to distinguish those objects, which deserve to be contemned, from such as merit adoration. Phidias, who painted Venus upon a Torteys, (to teach the Graecian people 'twas fit to shut up Beauty in a house) would never have put himself to that trouble, had he known the use of a Masque; which is only sufficient to preserve chastity, to keep men's hearts at liberty; to defend beauty from violence, and secure the eyes from treachery, and deceit. I confess 'tis true, should we mask Beauty, we should be deprived of some kind of sweetness, which this pleasing Witch suffers us to taste: But whilst we receive this wound, 'tis like that Enemy of Prometheus the Thessalian, who cured him with a wound: happy Prometheus, whose very wounds prove his good Fortune. Hid than, O hid this Beauty which is so criminal, that having more of Heaven in it than any other thing, is by so much the more guilty for having so ungratefully abused those great advantages: Hid that thing which imperfect, that it can never give a man entire satisfaction, whose poison is very like that of the Serpent, which the naturalists mention, which when a man hath once taken, the more he drinks, the more he shall thirst. But if the effects of this Beauty be such as these, let every one consult with his own heart, and not trust his eyes, which are but like foolish Gnats dazzled with the lest glimmering; who to enjoy the brightness of the light, fear not to perish in the heat of the flame. Hid that enchanting Siren, which never shows herself, but to ruin us; who Siren-like destroyed Orpheus, the ornament of his age, the soul of Music, and son of harmony. Hid, O hid this perfidious flatteress, this proud vanity, which triumphs over the world, this unseperable companion of pride, this impudent Mother of unchaste desires; whose triumph is the ashes of those that run after her, whose Trophies are distracted souls; in whose Temples we only sacrifice to vanity, and her oracles are only given to make us. Let us bury this ruin of the Universe, and at length revenge so many Provinces made desolate, and quite brought to nothing for her, or rather by her: Let the famous City of Troy tell you, what she can do, that Troy, whereof there are not now the lest footsteps extant, but in men's memories; though 'twas formerly the wonder of all the Earth. But if any too passionate Lover should persist, and tell me, it cannot be fit to cloud Beauty under a Masque, since it is the delight of the eyes, and the choicest piece of Nature's workmanship; I shall be forced to answer him, that for that very reason, it aught to be hid, because so precious a Jewel cannot be too carefully preserved. How often hath the lovely Rose growing upon its own stock (or rather upon its Throne of beauty) forced the hand of the Beholder to do it a mortal outrage? how often hath the falling Lily in perfumed tears bewailed her beauty, which perished only by being too much shown? In fine, a Masque is so proper for beauty, that, no doubt, she herself found out the invention: She found she was a fire dangerous to the heart; a treasure too much exposed to the desires of such as endeavoured to enjoy her; so that at length wearied with so many sighs, and complaints; and resolved to free herself from the importunity of her Lovers; resolved to be delivered from the slavery of a Looking-glass, that mercenary Counsellor, which, as a reward of her flatteries, takes away from the Ladies above half the time of their lives; resolved to set herself at liberty from the troublesome subjection to pride, and vanity, the inseparable companions of her Majesty; she devised this covering for her face, or rather this Buckler for her chastity, that, hiding her beauty, which is the seed of Love, she might secure her honesty, the chief ornament of a virtuous and wellborn soul. Who shall than for ever hereafter dispute Beauties title to the Masque? Not, no! it must be yielded her, and if we will not have her hid, because she is innocent, let her be covered because she deserves it, as being divine. Sacred things are covered to stir up our reverence; Majesty, jest it should grow common; Beauty to prevent satiety; all to make themselves desirable. But, me thinks I hear some impatient man complaining, that I am celebrating the funerals of Beauty; and, that, burying her under a Masque, I leave the world in such a miserable condition, that their eyes are of no farther use: for to what purpose should we open those useless doors of the understanding, if beauty be hid, which is the rare, and only object of the heart, the delight of the soul, the light of the mind, and the greatest grace that ever was sent from Heaven to the Earth? But this angry man is mistaken, who without knowing my meaning, reproves me too sharply, whose whole study, and all the actions both of my body, and soul, have never had other object than beauty, of which I am and ever shall be an Adorer: My eyes serve me to no other purpose, but to behold her; my mouth opens not, but to praise her; I walk not, but to do her service; nor stand still, but to admire her; I sleep not, but to dream of her; nor wake, but to see her again; and in a word, I kneel not, but to adore her, as the purest beam of the Divinity, which gently conducting the mind to its original, forces it, in the midst of earthly things to reverence the heavenly. Shall I, that hold from this Beauty the small merit my soul can pretend to, which guided, and enlightened by her hath often attempted, if not with great success, at lest with great desire to attain to the highest degrees of Virtue? Shall I bury mine own glory, and frame that darkness, and deprive my eyes of the sight of that brightness, which they so highly delight in? And can you believe I should have been made choice of amongst so many eminent wits, to speak out of this Chair, or rather this Capitol, where so many great men have triumphed, if I had not within me inclination proportionable to the matter I am to treat of? We resolved to treat (as you have heard) of the high perfections of beauty; and because he best deserves to speak of beauty (not that hath most eloquence, but) that hath most affection for her, I was advanced to the honour of being heard in such a place, where 'tis a favour to be admitted as an Auditor. Than judge if I, who am indebted to Beauty for so many favours, and have so many several ways had experience of her power, can ever endeavour to obscure this Sunshine, or endeavour to imprison her, which, like fire, burns with the more violence, when 'tis restrained. I am not so ignorant, like Aesop's Cock to undervalue jewels; nor so ill advised to attempt the death of that beauty, who, being heretofore injured in words only, deserved so well, that Jupiter himself revenged her quarrel: Stesicores is a sufficient testimony of this, who having by his ill-language endeavoured to obscure Helen's beauty, was stricken blind; 'tis true, that when he had shown his repentance, by advancing her praises, whom before he had injured, the gods restored him to his sight, thereby leaving us an assurance, that Nature hath nothing more worthy of respect, nothing more precious, nothing more divine in all her stores, than beauty; that beauty which is the salt and light of all things; the Theatre of the infinite power, the object of all our desires; the Epitome of all perfection; the chief ray of the uncreated Sun; and the Image of the only God of the whole World. Is not Beauty (according to the Platonists) the only thing which the soul owns to be divine in this lower World? So that whosoever shall veil her, may it not be justly said of him, that he envies the soul its felicity, and God the honour of the favours he has done us? Is he not a rebel to Nature, who hath decreed us beauty for our chief object? and is he not an Enemy to Reason, which hath so fixed itself upon the consideration of that delight, which pleaseth the heart, informs the understanding, and elevates the soul? Whence should we find Arguments to condemn the impiety of Diagoras, if this beauty should not more appear, which carries with her so great a splendour, that 'tis impossible her original can be derived from any thing, but such a Sun, whose light is eternal? In fine, what would become of all the stars of Heaven, and all the fair flowers of the Earth, if all their beauties must be hid? and what kind of Oration must mine be, if nothing of Beauty dare appear in it? But if any of this Auditory desire to know exactly, what this beauty is? let him hear the witty Lucian's opinion thereupon: Beauty (saith he) is the intrinsic value of all things, which are only esteemed precious so far forth as they are adorned with beauty; and Isocrates adds, that Virtue herself is therefore more valuable, than all other things, because more beautiful. 'Twas a pretty Question in Plutarch, why the Ancients gave order, that the Temple of the Goddess Horta should always stand open? Labeon answers, that 'twas for no other Reason, but that this Goddess had her very name from the word, to exhort and encourage men to handsome actions: But what is so likely to do that work, as beauty, being herself, not only the Theatre, but object of virtuous actions? Shall than the Temples of this Divinity be shut up, which not only exhorts to noble actions, but represents them before our eyes? Shall her Images be covered with Veils? I am not able to endure it. I am not ignorant that Beauty doth so powerfully captivated the heart, that some have thought her an Inchantress: But Olympias, the Wife of Philip King of Macedon, hath made her Apology: For her Husband being so strangely in love with a Thessaliau Lady, that all the World swore he was bewitched; this Queen never left, till she had procured the sight of her; and seeing her so admirable beautiful, she cried out, let no man accuse her any longer of Witchcraft, since she hath so many charms in her eyes. What shall I say more? Beauty was called by Bias a good thing, which belongs not to the person, that hath it, but to him that beholds it, as indeed none enjoy it, but those that see it. So that if this be true by concealing this admirable Scene, we deprive ourselves of a glorious spectacle of a most pleasing object, of a benefit which of right belongs to us. To conclude, (Gentlemen) Beauty hath so many advantages over all other things, that Hell itself doth reverence, and adore it; but what did I say reverence, and adore? those are effects, which may spring from fear in a poor spirit; but Hell itself doth cherish, and desire beauty: The Devils themselves have often been in love with beauty; whereof the Heathen Stories will furnish us with plenty of Examples. Envy, the most mischievous Monster in Hell, from which nothing is free under the Sun, humbles herself before Beauty, which she fears and respects: So that Melancomes had reason for what he said, that all things are envied but Beauty, which is adored. And 'tis an infallible mark, that 'tis a divine quality, to which Nature acknowledging herself inferior, hath not the boldness to envy it. Shall we than be more rigorous than Hell? and would we willingly eclipse that light, which the fair Ladies extract from the Stars; in the brightness of her eyes, the whiteness of her bosom, the beams of their hair, and the warmth they bring to Lovers? Let beauty live, let her live uncovered, since not just to be too sparing of the favours of Heaven: let Beauty be visible to the eyes of such as delight in't; but if any be of a contrary opinion, let it be for ever concealed from him; for 'tis not just he should enjoy the light of the Stars, who desires to see the sky always clouded; let him than rejoice in the unpleasant rarity of deformed objects, that desires to be deprived of the pleasing sight of beauty. For my part, I have little reason to condemn it to a Masque, who should thereby pluck a Thunderbolt upon my head, that would destroy me in an instant, in obedience to those that had power to command me: I could do no lesle than discourse the matter they had appointed me; but 'tis none of my part to decide the question. They that wish I should give sentence against beauty, are ignorant of my apprehensions; and he that would have me pronounce against deformity, knoweth as little of my Interest; how much of myself must I (upon that account) keep for ever from the view of the World, and particularly this Discourse, which hath nothing beautiful in it, but the matter? But if nevertheless (most illustrious Auditors) you desire to receive the sentence of an Oracle in the point, to come to Delphos, 'twill not be necessary to sacrifice to Neptune, nor to implore mercy of that god, that commands in Aetolia; for that severe Apollo, who did not heretofore afford his Oracles, but with much ado, to the devoutest of men, is now become prodigal of them, and by an extraordinary miracle makes his beams shine in the Academy of the night. Behold! view these fair Ladies, and judge whether we need seek after any other Sunshine; and whether our night can ever expect more glorious stars: you will guests by considering them, if it be just to conceal beauty: whether love can possibly permit it, since 'twill prove destructive to his Kingdom; whether Nature will endure it, since it injures her workmanship; whether 'twill not provoke God to rank his Image amongst such things, as are either hurtful, or unprofitable; for indeed Beauty masqued is but as a Sun eclipsed, or a treasure buried under ground. But to what purpose are so many uncertain words? I have done, and have not more left, but to turn myself to you, fair Ladies, whom I would call the Graces, if 'twere not an injury to your Beauty to allow a Venus above you. I have no more to say (fair Ladies) but to beg your pardon for our Academy, that was so blind to make a question in your bright presence, whether it might be fit to hid beauty; for when she proposed this Question amidst the darkness of her night, she had never seen the splendour of so many Suns; nor hath she compared beauty, and deformity to injure your fair eyes, but, as a mark of her affection, weighed the one, and the other, to the end, that having exalted that Beauty, we might lift up our eyes to admire it, and bend our knees to give it reverence. The Effect of this Oration. EXcept those Ladies, that thought of preserving their complexions, the Masque had not one of its party; every one wished it might be sent back to the other side of the mountains, and that the French custom might gain no footing in Italy. They said that the Beauties of Greece and Rome would not have been inferior to those of France, though they had had no Masques to preserve them. In conclusion, the first part of this speech was utterly cried down, and the latter had all the Votes; and it was the general wish, that no fair Ladies might ever make use of any covering, but against the Sun, or the Wind. Stesicrates the Rash. The Argument. Apelles, and Lysippus were only permitted to paint, or make a Statue of Alexander, because this generous Prince was unwilling to be put in condition to be undervalved, even in a Picture. Stesicrates as much beyond the other Statuaries, as a Mountain is above a Statue, proposes a design of higher consideration; 'twas of Mountains contiguous to Heaven. He will make an Alexander of the Mount Athos to the glory of Alexander: who ever saw an Alexander mounted higher? He will place him a City in one hand, and a River in the other, and yet still reserve in this prodigious Colossus the resemblance of Alexander. This is the subject of this Discourse. ALexander, the time is now come, that thou must perceive, that either Alexander needs no Statue to eternize him in the memories of men, since he is so deeply graven in their hearts, or that Stesicrates alone is worthy to leave to posterity the Image of that generous Prince, which can no way resemble him, unless it be fancied of greater things, than the understanding is able to conceive. What? can it be possible, that, that Alexander, whom I have heard bewail, that he was too straight confined within the vast compass of the Universe, should esteem a little cloth, or a few plates of Brass a Theatre worthy his Majesty? And how? can I leave Alexander in so pitiful a condition? he whose only smiles or frowns created the felicity, or terror of a hundred Kingdoms? But what did I say? pardon me Great Prince, if I spoke (before I was ware) of a hundred distinct Kingdoms, since we now see no body reign in the World, but Jupiter and Alexander. To paint Alexander to make his memory live the longer, were a rash error: If Alexander be borne mortal, and perishable, as other men (which I will not undertake to prove) that were to increase not his glory, and eternity, but his shame, and frailty: He makes thee last but for a short time, that wishes no more, and such a thing as thy Apelles framed thee. That very thing wherein he hath established to future ages the greatest glory of ours is no stronger, than a poor cloth; and what can less resemble our Alexander, than one composed of so much weakness? If he have framed thee of so feeble materials to take away the violence of that Thunderbolt he hath placed in thy hand, I excuse the kindness he shows to the world; but if he did it out of a belief to answer the qualities of the original, he is a Liar, a Traitor, a Blasphemer, even with his Pencil. Alexander the delight of Mankind, shall he put in a capacity to last but one age? Alexander borne for the good of the World, aught he to be trusted with a Thunderbolt, but one hundred of years? What? shall those that carry thunder be not only subject to the injuries of time, but worms? Do we multiply Alexander's to the end more than one may be destroyed? and who can secure us, that the lest wind shall not carry away our Jupiter, as well as his Ingle? but how comes it to pass, that Lysippus hath not been ashamed to make thee of brass? thee, who deservest Statues more precious than that of Artaxcrxes? Brass is too hard and rude to represent an Alexander so clement; who is never brass, but when he fights against an Enemy. When thy hand (that hath been ever liberal) shall be implored to relieve all other men's necessities, wilt thou not complain, though insensible, that thy hands are of brass? Alas! he that makes not thy hands always doing good, knows thee not. By imitating the features and proportions of the body, we may well copy a Darius, but not an Alexander: Alexander was never buried in the superficies of his Motherswomb; he hath a soul which reaches farther than himself; and he must have something in him larger, than the greatest of things, who will picture that Alexander for whom the world was too little. 'Tis I. Great Prince, who will frame an Alexander which shall borrow some of the Virtues of the Original: Hear, consider, and by the nature of my design judge, what an esteem I have of thy worth. The large extent of the high and lofty Mount Athos, appears in the confines of Thrace, whose top mounts up even to the very stars, and the foot reaches very far into the Sea. This is the only matter I find worthy to receive from Art the form of that Alexander, who even in Effigies is fit to command the whole Earth: Yes Alexander, thy courage hath made thee head of all the Earth, and I am resolved to establish thee so. This is that Athos, whose foot was divided from the Continent by Xerxes his rashness, who to leave a monument of his power would make it possible to sail over Mountains, and to march on foot in the midst of the Sea. What higher thoughts did ever enter into the heart of man? and yet I will bring it to pass, that the World shall see the highest Fancy of this ambitious Monarch, shall for ever lie prostrate at the feet of my Alexander. This Image shall have a City in the right hand; for even in a Statue the hand of Alexander aught not to be without command. From the left a River shall pour down; for, what can better resemble Alexander's liberality, than a River? My intention is, that even in Statue Alexander's hand should be a Fountain of goodness. This is the Alexander Stesicrates hath designed: The worth of my Heros will not agreed with a trail Statue. 'Tis to do Alexander an in jury to employ any thing lesle than the Mount Athos to represent such a Greatness, under whose shadow so many Nations fly for shelter. Wouldst not thou complain of an Artist, who thinking of Alexander, could fancy any thing lower, than a high Mountain? Every Apelles, every Lysippus can counterfeit an Alexander; 'tis Stesicrates only can draw his true Copy, Every Apelles, every Lysippus can make an Alexander; bu● 'tis Stesitrates only can frame an Alexander the Great. For indeed who can look upon my Alexander without admiration? who will not presently know it to be Alexander, that hath always a City in his hands? Is't any new glory to this hand to give away Cities, even for Alms? Pictures aught, if it be possible, to have not only the are of those Heroes they represent; but something to denote their principal inclinations, to the end they leave as well their glory as their Countenance to posterity. Now 'tis impossible better to represent Alexander, or more lively to express his liberal inclination, than by placing a City in his hand, as if he were giving it away. 'Tis in this manner we aught to make Copies of Alexander, and not with a Pencil, which draws nothing but the shadow of the Body it pretends to imitate, and that but imperfectly. In that manner, which I design thy Statue, if to the misfortune of the world, it should ever fall out, that thou shouldst find thyself mortal, I dare promise, it shall never come to pass, that Alexander shall be left without a soul: if thou loose the reasonable, thou shalt not part with the vegetative soul; and so long as the Earth brings forth Trees, shall Alexander flourish. The World cannot contain an Alexander greater than mine: He that desires a greater must find a World, that hath more space betwixt Earth and Heaven: He that would fancy him more liberal, must find out a Liberality more profuse, than such a one as overflows, more profitable; than that which nourishes mankind, more constant and durable, than that which belongs to my Alexander, whose spring shall never dry up. To make Alexander an ordinary thing, though 'twere but only in an Image, is a crime in that understanding, that can stoop to such a thought: We must either find out some place where 'tis impossible to erect any other Statue, but thine, or find out some matter capable of no other form: otherwise how should we distinguish thy worth from some ambitious rich person, that had a mind to be equal with, and perhaps greater, than Alexander? That Hercules, which lived before thee, knowing that without a rough draught 'twas impossible to design an Alexander, fixed the bounds which he prescribed to his courage, in the middle of the vast extent of the Ocean, to put thee in mind that Hercules and Alexander aught not to erect Trophies to their memories in such a place, where the meanest Citizen may lay the foundation of his. Wilt thou suffer the Image of so great a King, promiscuously to be made an ornament to every House? Divine Alexander, canst thou (though but in Effigies) endure to have a Master? Pardon what I have said; though I am so much concerned in the honour of thy name, I could yet approve of the outrage done to thee, if for the general good of the Universe, they could find out a man worthy, that Alexander should serve for an ornament to his Palace. But who shall that man be? If I were to adorn a house with Alexander's Picture, Jupiter forbidden! it should honour any other, but his own. I will frame an Alexander which shall be an Ornament to the World, a Burden to Hell, and profitable to all men; I will make an Alexander, who shall have the centre of the Earth for his foundation, the Sea for his Looking-glass, the Earth for his Theatre, and Heaven for his Pavilion: Stesicrates his Alexander shall be subject to no misadventure but the fall of Heaven, which is so near him. If nevertheless it be possible for him to perish under those Ruins, who hath shoulders strong enough to prop up Heaven, which is the only part of Nature, which hath not yet been partaker of the good thou hast done to the Universe. To conclude Alexander, I did intent my boldness should imagine things for thy honour, which even timerity herself durst not have thought on. The Giants, to lift themselves up to Heaven, Fancied not a higher Ladder, than I have made for Alexander; and yet I fear not Thunder bolts, unless Heaven shall prove envious of thy Virtues. Thou seest, most generous Prince, what kind of Statue I am preparing for thee; God only can make a greater: I know not whether 'twill please thee, but I should be very unfortunate, if Alexander (the King of all that are magnanimous, as well as of the Macedonians) should undervalue a Statue, which Stesicrates to the wonder of the World intends to set up to the eternity of his Master. The Heavens, the Sea, and the Earth have all sworn their assistance to the completing of so marvellous a work. The Sea, as his Tributary will be ever at his feet; the Earth will embroider his garments with Trees, Herbs, and Flowers; and the Heaven will crown the forehead of Stesicrates his Alexander with Stars eternally. What more legitimate Prince can the Earth obey, than him that shall be crowned by Heaven? In brief, nothing aught to be above my Alexander, but that which can make an Alexander greater than mine. That rash person who should dare to attempt to overtop my Alexander, cannot possibly rise higher without knocking his head against the Region of Thunderbolts, which would soon punish his ambition. Hercules, had no Stesicrates, had he had one, he would never have contented himself with two poor Pillars, which were (to say truth) too low a thought for so high a Spirit. I will let all the World see, that Jupiter and Alexander are two neighbouring Monarches, and that the bounds of their Empires are very near one another. In effect, if it come not near Heaven, what Kingdom is left in the World, to which Alexander's extreme courage may further aspire? Thus probably Stesicrates spoke to Alexander, but his Rhetoric could make no use of Hyperboles, since the Heavens and Mountains were his most ordinary conceptions. The effect of this Oration. ALexander was about to answer Stesicrates, when he was hindered by Apelles, who spoke to him as you shall hear in the next. Apelles' Revengeful. The Argument. Because Stesicrates boasts, he is able to frame the Effigies of a man, out of a Mountain, we aught not from thence conclude him, worthy to triumph over Apelles that had deified a mortal Man. Apelles was willing to revenge himself upon Stesicrates, and I find Stesicrates had reason to tremble before a Man, that could not only represent the Thunderbolts, but him that made them. The Reader is only desired (as Alexander did) to hear the Answer to this Rash Person. BEhold at thy feet, O great King, Apollo's, whom they accuse upon pretence, that he hath offended Alexander; canst thou believe it? thou who knowest that I have always had my soul, mine eye, and my hand employed near an Alexander, who holds the Thunder in his hand; thou, I say, must not expect that I will now employ my hands to petition thee, to be favourable in my cause; for those hands which know how to make an Alexander, cannot put themselves into the posture of petitioning, neither aught I to do it, for if I have erred, that I have it either by intention, or action; my action hath deified thee, and for my intention I need not discover that to a Jupiter, he knows the heart; in a word, the same I have made thee, the same I implore thee. O how unfortunate should Apelles be, if to be cleared he were forced to offer his vows in any other place but at thy feet? indeed whither should he go else? should he go to the feet of that Jupiter, from whose hand he hath taken the Thunder, to give it to his Alexander? it is not very likely for him to find protection there? My Accuser is Stesicrates, that rash Stesicrates, who envying thy valour, and not knowing how to oblige all the Divinity of Heaven to conspire against Alexander, would oblige Alexander to remove Mountains that he might be taken for a Giant, and have the same punishment. I will defend myself, not that I think this accusation can lessen me in the opinion of that Alexander whom I have made a Jupiter, but that they may see that none can be near Alexander without being ennobled with frankness of spirit, being unjustly debased to return due reproach to an insolent depraver: I have made a Picture of Alexander in matter facile, and gentle, to make it resemble Alexander, even in facility, and gentleness to comply with the love of his subjects, who each of them burn, with ardent desire, to have him their Alexander, and to offer their oblations of vows to him; Alexander is not only the head, but the heart of all his Subjects. If I had framed an ALEXANDER of a stupendious fierceness, I should have defaced that sweetness, which of an ALEXANDER hath made him esteemed a God, through all his Dominions: I have made him common, but not vulgar, and if by chance the meanness of the matter tender him lesle valuable, he hath his weapon of terror in his hand, the Thunderbolt will ever procure him reverence; in very being ALEXANDER he is valuable; and being depainted in cloth, he is the more communicable, hereby he shall reign in every house, as he doth in every Kingdom, it will be my glory to have multiplied so many ALEXANDERS in the world; I might have provided a figure of gold, lesle precious, for all that, than this my object, if I had designed to have my ALEXANDER esteemed for the matter; but in this, ALEXANDER is the ornament of ALEXANDER. Let him covet glory from without, who hath none essential within him: but the Beauty and Majesty of ALEXANDER hath lustre enough of themselves; I will have all the world bow their knees before this poor piece of cloth, that mean and contemptible thing, which thou strivest to trample on, O Stesicrates, shall reign over all the Mountains thou designest! The wise Lycurgus, thinking it not fit to distinguish the poor from the rich, at lest in the service of the gods, ordained by a decree that they should offer no sacrifice but of things of low price; even so, have I facilitated the means for all persons to be owners of an ALEXANDER, to whom they may pay their daily reverence; the gods accept the will, and not the Expense; let the winds carry my ALEXANDER whither they can, they shall never carry him beyond his Empire; wheresoever he shall come, he shall find Subjects and Altars. I have made him of Linen, to make known to the World, the merit of a man who knows how to make himself adored even in a Picture drawn upon a piece of Canvas: but the envy of this insolent man, stopped not there, he would have me guilty of treason because I have placed a Thunderbolt in the hand of that ALEXANDER, which he would have made of Earth: I have placed a Thunder bolt in his hand, that the world might know that ALEXANDER is my Jupiter, that my Jupiter shoots no Thunderbolts, and thereby may learn that ALEXANDER deserves Incense. If I had intended to make him as terrible as amiable, I would have placed his sword in his hand, which is a Thunder bolt which never falls in vain; what? dost thou wish his Thunderbolt had been thrown? and dost not perceive, impertinent fool, that if ever it go out of his hand, it will hurt no other ALEXANDER but thine? it will rend Mountains: it was an effect of my gratitude, not my invention, O great Prince, to place a Thunderbolt in thy hand; for who hath given me Campasbe, the fair Venus that reigns in my heart, but ALEXANDER? why should not he, that hath received a Venus from him, furnish his Jupiter with Thunderbolts? and why? can any but Jupiter give a Venus? but I wonder not at this man's extravagant undertaking, his wit is perverted, he is an enemy to Nature, and to shame her would in spite of her teeth, transform Men into Mountains, and Mountains into Men. O ALEXANDER! he doth not complain, that I have made thee a Thunderer, but that I have made thee a Jupiter; if it were for the world's safety that made him complain, to see the number of the Thunderers increase, he would not frame an ALEXANDER that should with his own hands carry Cities to ruin: this monstrous Giant deserves a more severe punishment than those of Phlegra; for if they rashly endeavoured to climb up to Heaven, they were content to leave the Cities at lest quiet upon Earth; but I hope there will be no need of Thunderbolts to ruin this Colossus, since he carries a River in his hand, sufficient to overwhelm his pride, and to drown himself, as a just punishment of his crime that undertook to overturn-Mountaines, and to precipitate Rivers; behold what a kind of ALEXANDER this Stesicrates fancies, who is a greater Enemy, and more injurious to the fame of ALEXANDER than to that of Apelles. Behold, but not without vengeance, how he lessens thine honour, to advance thy statua, he would make an ALEXANDER as heavy as the Earth, an ALEXANDER that inhabits the Air, and troubles the Sea; his ALEXANDER shall have his forehead crowned with Tempests, and his sides with Precipices, so that it shall be impossible to approach his feet, washed with the Sea, without Shipwreck. Who ever saw a lesle considerable, a more pernicious contemptible ALEXANDER, than that which Stesicrates hath form? Sir, he exposes you to the Thunderbolts, and reproaches me for putting one in your hand; I humbly submit the cause to your judgement. Thus Apelles opposeth Stesicrates and these two flatterers, would make this Prince believe, that the one could make a Mountain to be ALEXANDER, and the other make him a Jupiter. The Effect of this Oration. THE Painter got the better of the Carver, and Apelles Pencil triumphed over Stesicrates Chissell: Alexander was content to be thought the wonder of all Ages, without being a Monster; in conclusion be heaped honours upon Apelles, and put not Stesicrates to despair, for he found good reason to be satisfied with the magnificence of a Prince, who knew how to recompense a good inclination, as if it had been a desert. The Apology for Marriage The Argument. A Question was proposed by one in the Academy of Sleepers to be debated, which of the two, either a Wife or a Suit in Law, was the greatest diversion from study: One, who having a Lawsuit, and no Wife, and so by consequence, better knew the pain of pleading, the the pleasure of Love; seemed to disclaim against Marriage, Manzinie stopped himon this manner. I Have always heard with submission, and respect (O noble Academics) ●ll the discourses you have raised, and I never had the lest inclination to condradict the opinions of those exalted spirits, who, with such facility (as one may say even in their slumberings) accomplish all their undertake with honour, and applause; none of my opinions have been inconcurrent with yours, and I have never had but a high value for you, I have made it my honour, and esteemed myself happy in the conformity I have had with so many excellent men. But if I have followed your tenants hitherto by reason, I must abandon them at this t●me by duty, finding I am too sensibly provoked by a Problem, which by treating women ill, gives me occasion to manifest to her (the Loadstone of my heart) that in what place soever I am in, I will always enter the Lists, not only for the Interest of her person in particular, but to defend the honour of the Sex in general: I am demanded (if I rightly understand the Question) which is the greatest hindrance to study, a Wife, or a Suit in Law? but can there be a heart, insensible enough, to doubt the advantages which men receive from Wives, and compare them to a thing so contrary? What! (my Lords) Marriage, which we may call the only love Lawful, the bond which unites the Universe, and the last felicity of unreasonable man, shall that be reckoned amongst the greatest misfortunes of human tranquillity? I pretend not (my Lords) to prove to you that a Lawsuit is a greater hindrance to study, than a Wife, not seeing how I can do it, without sacrilege; for if I say, that a Wife is a less obstacle to study than a Process in Law, I should yield that a Wife is a hindrance to study, which I will never do, I must not be so unjust or ungrateful to admit of a blame in that essence, from whence I have mine, and by whom I expect the felicity of my days. What obstacle can she be to study, who brings to our houses wealth, beauty, modesty, and Virtue, who comforts us in all the misadventures of our life, who partakes our happiness, and who becoming an inseparable companion of our fortunes, diminisheth our displeasures, and increaseth our satisfaction, by the share she hath in it? no, it is impossible that she should be a hindrance to study. On the contrary we may say, that she is not only a means to make us study, but an ease, and consolation of the weariness which followeth it; and to say in a word, a subject, herself fit to be studied; and to evidence the truth of what I say, we must have recourse to experience, all the world knows that there is no person exempt from the care of business, but those only who have Wives, their wisdom and industry supplies the men's places, and gives them leisure to employ, in study, that time, which otherwise they would own to the necessities of domestic affairs, and this being true, why should we call that our hindrance to study, which furnisheth us with means to give ourselves absolutely to it? and why should we not own to be indebted, for this good, to so perfect a Sex? that a Wife is a consolation of the Labours, and travels of study, is not to be doubted. A Husband, in coming out of his Closet, meets with a Person, whose complacency cheers him after his solitude, whose conversation gives new lights to his understanding, and who, by the sweetness of her Eyes, makes him forget the pains, which the tediousness of study gave him, and prevents the irksomeness, and lassitude of spirit, caused by long reading; but if she be a help for study, and an ease to the anxieties which it leaves? she is also (as I have said) a subject proper for us to study, and, I think, it will not be hard to prove to you, if a Wife be good and virtuous, she produceth in our souls an emulation, which inclining us to imitate her, is more profitable to us, and draws us nearer to the way of Virtue, than Philosophy itself. If on the contrary she hath wicked inclinations, instead of being an obslacle to study, she constrains us to study, with care, the way to change and mend her, or to endure her evil customs with patience; not, no! a Wife is not a hindrance to temperate study, but she is a hindrance to the debauch of study, that is to say, to the excessive labour, since she rules and moderates it. Those, who seek for true knowledge, learn it, and not only in Books, but find it in all things which come in their way; study itself hath need of moderation, for he which studies, as if he had nothing else to do in all his life, but to turn over the leaves of Books, and to load the Memory with the doctrine of all Ages, cannot say he studies reasonably, but we can assure him he loses the occasion to show in effect, by some great, and generous actions, the fruits which he learned from Philosophy, with so much pains, study, and time. He that supposeth his Wife a hindrance to study, hath without doubt, his spirits depraved; he searches not for knowledge, but satisfies his curiosity; he studies not to become either more able, or more virtuous, but only for his divertisement: it is no wonder (my Lords) if he that is intemperate, even in good things, and loves not Virtue itself, but, by the voluptuousness of his spirit, maintains that a Wife is a hindrance to study the first disorder of the soul causes the second, and (I think) I aught to say that he, that sindes a Wife an obstacle to learning, and would banish her from the society of reasonable men, is himself a hindrance to Virtue, and to the felicity of mankind. Socrates, the wisest of all antiquity, and so acknowleded by the Oracles themselves, lived a long time married unto Xantippe, whose humour was so unquiet and devilish, that we may say she was possessed with a Devil rather than a soul; and yet to show that Socrates believed not that a Wife was an enemy to Philosophy, though she whom he had was very troublesome, and that she made his life unto him such, as all the world called a continual Hell, yet she was not sooner dead, but he espoused Mirro, sister to Aristides, and, by this second Marriage, gave an illustrious example to approve my Tenent; not only a Philosopher, a Socrates to take a Wife after Xantippe, but a Philosopher that knew by experience what belonged to a wicked Wife; yet for all that he took one, and so much for the advantage of my Argument, that he was a Philosopher, and a Philosopher, whom other Philosophers acknowledged for their Master. A virtuous Wife invites thee to Virtue, and a wicked one makes thee exercise it, said that Master of knowledge, who suffered, with a marvellous tranquillity, all the outrages his Wife did him; if I were not afraid to anger those of a contrary opinion to mine, I should say, that a Wife is not only, not an obstacle to study, but she is more advantageous than study itself, if we will consider the utility of domestic affairs; how much labour and time might we expend in study, before we should gain so much as our Marriage ordinarily affords us? We are borne in an age wherein we may say, the Muse's field is the barrenest ground we could undertake to manure; if we value profit by the satisfaction of the mind, what sublunary blessing can raise us to more felicity, than the affection of a lovely person, who in giving us children, gives us the pleasure of being feared, obeyed, and loved? if we will consider the consolation in point of Virtue, we shall found it sublime; by the sweetness of her eyes, we may observe a Ray of the Divinity, and lift up our thoughts by beholding the marvels in his creature, to the contemplation, and admiration of the Creator; what Books, what Philosophy can teach us so perfectly temperance, moderation, piety, devotion, and continence, as the example of a virtuous Wife? But if any, in reproving me, say that all Women are not fair, and that all Women are not good, I should answer him, that there is no Woman so ugly, but custom and conversation rendereth fair; nor none so wicked, but his Virtue may make good. If I would maintain my tenant by a multitude of Reasons, the justice of my cause would furnish me with enough; but shunning tediousness, what I have said is sufficient to clear to you, that this Question is a Problem, without Problem, not doubting but you perfectly know, manger the eloquent discourse of my Adversary, that it is impossible for a Wife to be a hindrance to study, but that I may entirely destroy a problem, which so uncivilly endeavours to disparage a Sex, for whose sakes I declare myself partial, and of whom I am an Adorer, if not an Idolater. It will be necessary to add something, and to maintain also, that a Process in Law is no hindrance to study; for on the contrary, it may advance it: but if any oppose my opinion, I will give him for example the dispute now agitated between us, for the judging whereof, this noble Assembly are met. I have observed in the souls of every one in particular, a redoubling of light, and knowledge, which makes me confident, that it is impossible, but that a Lawsuit itself helps study. Alas! what do I do? little judicious that I am! whilst I enter to discourse of troubles in Law, I hinder you from going home to give thankss to those amiable Creatures your Wives, whom I have proved to be so great an advantage to the study of knowledge. The Effect of this Oration. EVery one agreed that a Suit in Law, and Study could not devil together; but in respect the Academy was composed of Men that were married, and of others that were not, this reply for Marriage did not pass without dispute; in the end, the plurality of voices carried it, and they entreated Manzinie to remember, that Apollo was never married, nor was Minerva, and that the Muses are Virgins, Antiquity having a mind to teach us, that Study, and the cares of Marriage are almost incompatible, and that we may say this without offending the beauty of Ladies, that the Muses often devil with love, and the Graces very rarely with Hymen, but never with Discord, who causes all Law Suits; so that without determining which was most contrary to men of Learning, Marriage, or a Suit in Law, they concluded that Men, that addicted themselves to study, aught not to have the one, or the other. The Philosophy of Love. The Argument. All Ages have made a Dispute, whether the Body were the Prison of the Soul? and Manzinie was forced to revive this Philosophical question, at Gennes in the Academy of Sleepers. This serves for the Argument of the following discourse. THE greater the Question is, (most illustrious Auditors) the lesle proportionable is it to my abilities: It is to be enquired, whether the soul be Prisoner in the body, but which is fit to determine it, the soul or the body? The body cannot discourse it, without being informed by the soul, and than it follows, that the body is governed by the soul; but, if the soul be to discourse the matter, 'tis necessary that the body afford it not only the liberty, but the means, in representing the species of those objects, which it conceives not only to help the understanding, but to direct her in point of election; and from thence it may seem that the soul is ruled by the body. For my part, whatsoever others may say, who have more knowledge, I esteem it a very hard question to resolve: And as I find myself unable to determine it, so I think 'twill be superfluous to discourse of it, since I shall be able to do nothing but multiply difficulties, and contradictions. Nevertheless, to the end my obedience may supply the place of merit, and my will amend the defects of my judgement, I am resolved to acquaint you with an adventure which hath happened to me; which though it may seem a story too far distant from the stile of an Oration, it will not be impertinent to the business proposed by the Academy. Do me the favour to hear; for since I speak only to obey, I may boldly say, I deserve to be heard: I was last night in my study drawing some few lines to demonstrate (according to your orders) that the Body is the Prison of the Soul; when a friend of mine came in, and asked me what I was doing, and whether I had nothing to read? I told him I was transcribing something which I had composed to speak to the Academy, and that I would be glad to show it him, and to be governed by his judgement: He expressed a great desire to hear it, so that (as if I had been before this Assembly) I began in this manner. That the Body (most excellent Auditors) is the Prison of the Soul, the ancient Philosophers have born Witness; the Divine prophets have proved it, and our own souls make it evident every day; which, being oppressed with the burden of the mortality of the body, (which is worse) so fettered in this Earthly abode, that they have wholly lost the use of their liberty, which would soon conduct them (could they act freely) to that place to which they aspire, as to their Centre. Bring my soul out of Prison, saith David, wearied, and disgusted with the unfortunate, painful, and miserable condition of our life, into which no man enters, but weeping, nor leaves it▪ but he is reduced to nothing. Seneca wrote, that his Body was the burden of his mind, which was ready to sink under the weight, and was kept in continual chains. And Proclus under the name of confinement seem●s to enlarge (not mend) this Prison; for he always declared, that God had confined the soul to the body, as to a pestilential and miserable place. This body is a Prison in which the soul is obliged to answer before the supreme Judge, with what gratitude she hath resented her creation; and from thence must she expect the sentence, which declaring her innocent, must disengage her from those bonds, which hinder her from mounting up to Heaven. It seemed strange to some of the Ancients, who were ignorant of this truth, that God should make the Planets and the Stars of Fire, (for so they believed) the Winds of Air, Fishes and Birds of Water, and Man of Earth, an Element inferior to all the rest, and that Man was thereby obliged (at lest in the worthiness of his matter) to give place to the lest Bird that flies, and the meanest Fish that swims. But they considered not, that 'twas not probable God would have rather made choice of the Earth, than any other Element to frame a Body to the Soul, if he had designed to build her a Palace. He made the body of Earth, because he meant it for a Prison: when he resolved afterwards to build them a Royal Palace, he made use of the light, and not of the Earth, and allowed them the Sun for a cloth of estate, and a Throne embroidered with Stars. Plato affirms in his Timens, that after God had created Souls, he lodged them in the Stars, as in their proper Sphere; as in a place proportionate to their natural qualities; and that there was their abode before man was created; but that afterwards (by a strange madness) they grew so ingratefully in love with Earthly things, and so weary of Heavenly, that the Divinity, being infinitely displeased at their error, and ingratitude, threw them headlong, from Heaven, and confined them to the Body, which is the Prison where they are tortured, and do penance for their crime: But if any man will reject other men's Authorities, and desire a clearer demonstration to assure him, that the soul is indeed a Prisoner to the Body, the Argument may be framed in this manner. In relation to its place, the soul hath no liberty, for although it be a spirit, like an Angel, nevertheless it cannot, like an Angel, remove itself from place to place, so much is it tied to the body. It hath no liberty in relation to its objects, because being a Prisoner she absolutely depends upon the will of her Jailor. She can think nothing without those Ideas the Body represents, nor doth any thing enter into the understanding, which passeth not through the senses: Nor hath this poor P●is'ner any more light to her mind, nor liberty to her will, but what it pleaseth her Keeper to grant. If this severe Guardian sleep, it is than, that, contrary to the Nature of other Prisoners, she is so closely locked up, and so totally deprived of liberty, that although it be most certain, that the Soul wakes, whilst the Body sleeps, yet is it as undoubted an Axiom (which cannot be questioned in our Church without a crime) that what operation soever the Soul may have during sleep, it can neither merit nor offend. Judge than, whether the soul be free, when it hath not so much as the liberty to sin: The Soul hath no liberty to operate, unless the Body give it; nor hath it leave to refuse those employments, which that commands. In what than can the Soul be free in the Body? And truly (to pass from intellectuals to manners) if the Soul were not fastened to the Body, how is it probable it could be pleased in so unlucky a Mansion, which all Ages have confessed to be only a place of complaint, and misery? O miserable man! one cannot so much as name thee, without treading thee under foot; thy Body being composed of Earth, thou art thrown to the ground, as soon as thou art named; thou art imprisoned in a Body made of Earth, conceived in sin, borne in pain, and exposed to all the tyranny of fortune, to whom all seasons are troublesome, all the Elements dangerous: Thy Soul is placed in a body, which derives its diseases from its proper nourishment, and perils from its own wealth, which loves not without grief, hates not without trouble, and possesseth nothing without torment: in a body to which the influence of Heaven designs disasters, the Earth brings forth death, and hell prepares torments. Judge than whether a soul created to be partaker of eternal felicity can willingly make that her habitation? But why do I speak of Heaven and Hell? those are things too great to be named in a discourse of so mean a subject. This unfortunate man is obnoxious (both dead and alive) to such things as scarce have a being, which may (almost) be called nothing. An atom animated, a flea devours his blood; a Worm of the Earth will gnaw him, if he be a Giant: and after all this cannot be thought, that the Soul (which is but little inferour to the Angels, which may and aught to aspire to eternal glory) should willingly and without constraint, devil in a body subject to these conditions? sure 'tis impossible. The ancient Philosophers, who were men of great wisdom, did very rightly say, that a dying man was set at liberty, and laid to rest, when he was dead. But if some men should doubt this truth, by seeing with what an affection the soul is tied to the body, and when 'tis forced to leave it, with what extraordinary expressions of sorrow it sighs, to part with a place, which it would never grieve at, had it not been pleased with it: let them remember, that it sighs and laments, not for love of the place she is to leave, but fear of that, to which she is going: for, who can assure her she is not to dye with the body, said Themistius, who had not learned a better Doctrine from the School of the Gospel? The life the gods have given is a hidden thing, saith Hesiod. If the Soul than fears not to die, as to its being, it may, as to it's well being. No man knows whether he be worthy of love or hate, and therefore the Soul of a just person will part with less grief, and more assurance, than a wicked man, because the goodness of a man's life makes him reasonably hope for happiness at his death. Most noble Auditors, I was scarce advanced thus far in my discourse, or to speak truth, I had scarcely begun to read him my Reasons, when my friend (who had before expressed by his wry-mouths and gaping at me, how little satisfaction he received by my Arguments) interupted me in an instant; hold your peace, said he: for (by the fair Eyes that I adore) I am no longer able to endure this impertinence. I speak with that sincerity which a Soul aught to have, that loves truly: and how is it possible, that such a man as you, who have always delighted in the beauty of Learning, should suffer himself to be thrown down headlong into such low conceptions? In what condition are you? what? the Body the Prison of the Soul? he spoke this in such a manner, with such a kind of scorn in his Eyes, that instead of angering me, he made me laugh; and presently drawing a golden Case out of his pocket, he drew near the Lights, and showed me the Picture of a Lady extremely beautiful: I confess the sight surprised me, and that my soul was fixed upon't with delight, and that I turned not mine eyes of from it, but to have the content to return. I had continued longer in this ecstasy, had not my friend catched his Picture out of my hands: And now (said he) what do you resolve? can you still continued in your false opinion? I, who by this admirable Vision was not only disturbed in the course of my blood, but of my reason; assured him, that I knew not, what he meant to infer upon his Proposition: He answered me on a sudden; If thou be not stark blind, Judge whether such Bodies as this represents, are fit to be called horrid prisons, or objects of felicity? I presently apprehended the subtlety of his amorous Philosophy, and made him answer, that I acknowledged myself vanquished, and would presently tear my papers, that they might not remain as testimonies against me of my former error: But he would not suffer me to do it, but spoke to me in this manner: That thou mayest not believe, that the blindness of love rather than the strength of Reason invites me to oppose thy Arguments, do me the favour to hear me a little. 'Tis the property of the form to contain, of the matter to be containned: If than thou wilt not say the form is contained by the matter, thou canst not more affirm, that the Body is the Prison of the Soul, since the Soul is the true essential form of the Body. Nothing can be beloved but what is good, and beautiful: The Soul, which is all spirit●, and light, loves the Body; Therefore the Body is the good, and not the Prison of the Soul. Aristotle hath proved the mayor, and the Soul proves the minor (as thou thyself hast confessed) when being forced to part with the Body it complains and afflicts itself at this separation. Now, that the Body is the good of the Soul, and that consequently it loves the Body out of its own interest, and affection (and not for fear of being buried with it, as Themistius said; nor by the violence of a forced necessity, as Seneca did almost believe) I think I shall have no hard task to prove, having Reason and Thomas Aquimas on my side: What difference (said this Angelical Doctor, who had a greater privilege than any other to treat of Angels) what difference can be found betwixt an Angel and the reasonable soul? The difference is, (saith he) that although both the one, and the other are spiritual substances, which may exist without a Body, the Angel nevertheless is perfect without the Body, but the Soul without the Body is imperfect. The reason of this imperfection is, because the Soul (being the very essential form of the Body, and so essentially but a part) when it is destitute of that part which concurs with it in the constitution of the whole, must needs remain imperfect. From hence is risen that opinion of some Divines, who it is possible in some measure to prove the resurrection of the Body, even from the natural sight of Reason: because the Soul, being naturally imperfect without the Body (as the form without the matter) & having a continued desire of being reunited; it is a thing which appears not conformable to Nature (which cannot endure perpetual violence) that the Soul should be for ever imperfect, and be continually agitated with an uncessant desire, and longing after accomplishment of its natural inclination: And therefore many believe that the happiness of the Soul in Heaven shall not be in its full perfection, until the Body be likewise glorified. So wonderfully are we made, (saith Gregory) that Reason possesseth the Soul, and the Soul possesseth the Body: and Aristotle gave this sentence, that the Soul might govern the Body, as the Master commands the Soul. But not to trouble you with so much Philosophy, behold (and than to my great content he opened the Box again) behold this face, that proves it better than all the Arguments in the World: I know thou look'st upon it with joy, and I very willing to contribute any thing to thy delight: Behold it, take it, and draw your Arguments. I replied, I was satisfied, and wished him all content, who had showed me a face, that pleased me so much. In conclusion, I see that Love is a Musician, a Philosopher, a Poet, a Divine, and what you will, and he that is not in Love is nothing; so that, my dear friend, it is not without Reason, that thou admirst a face, which hath taught thee so many sciences. I have reason indeed (answered he) so to do, for should I do otherwise, I must acknowledge myself both ungrateful, and stupid; for, to conclude (and than he took up his Poetic Vain) who would not adore a Face, whose Eyes are Stars, or rather Suns; whose hair are threads of purest gold, & her complexion fairer than Aurora in her brightest lustre? who would not adore a person, whose lips were of Coral, her teeth of pure Ivory, and her voice equal to that Goddess, which the ancient Poets called HARMONY? Who would not adore such a face as appears so beautiful, that 'twould do the Sun an honour to be compared to it? To this sparkling Beauty only I can compare the Stars, when I would flatter them: But let neither the Sun nor Stars grow proud of this comparison; for certainly they must both yield, as well in power, as beauty to this incomparable. If the Sun can boast of being the Author of life; this face hath the power of life, and death. If the Stars glory of the power of their influence, those Eyes determine our destinies at their own pleasure; I will not say as it pleaseth their tyranny; for I will not place tyranny in Heaven. How than? shall this Body, which is so accomplished, be believed to be a Prison, and not a Paradise to the soul, that inhabits it? O Heavens! for what reason can that be? 'Tis I confess, a Prison of the Soul, but 'tis of mine. Well than in these days, either such places as resemble Paradise are Prisons; or the bosom of a fair Lady is no Prison; or at lest such Prisons are desirable, as Paradise. So concluded this Poet in propose (sighing and going from me) who had framed his Paradise in a Picture. My Noble Auditors, you have heard him, and me; be you the Judges. I have said. The effect of this Oration. THE Academy took the Lovers pa●t; every one believed the Soul was too perfect, and too innocent to be condemned to Prison as soon as 'twas created. One amongst the Throng cried out, that if the Body were a Prison, there were some bodies (at lest) which falsified the old Proverb, that no Prison is beautiful: This Carahine recoiled as soon as 'twas short, and Manzinie was forced to yield to the general opinion. The Pusillanimity of Seleucus. The Argument. I did never wonder much, that a Man composed of ambitious desires, after the goods of fortune might bring himself to complain, that a single World was not sufficient to satisfy his desire of glory: but I have not a little marveled that any heart could possibly grieve at that power, which all others so vehemently desire. Seleucus sighed at his being borne a King, and esteemed himself buried under (not adorned with) that Diadem, which others accounted a Character of Divinity. I have often thought to have sacrificed to Fame to incline her to silence this fact; but finding it impossible to stop her mouth, I am resolved to oppose this Discourse, which cannot be heard without indignation, nor aught to be passed by without punishment. Thus Manzinie designed the Argument of the ensuing Oration. THE desire of Command hath always been the strongest passionamongst men; so that considering often the extreme impetuosity of this generous affection, which hath so often overturned the World, I could not choose but search into the Cause which hath produced this painful longing in Mankind. But reading in Genesis, where the Creator considering his own excellence in that of his last piece of Workmanship: I observed, that he not sooner saw that this work was good (as the Scripture saith) but by a Divine impatience, (if it be lawful so to speak) he instantly began to bless him, called him to the government of all things upon Earth, & gave him the command over all living Creatures; as if God had said that power was the accomplishment of all blessings, and that whosoever had obtained it, might, and aught to esteem himself happy. I protest to you (my Noble Auditors) I was something exalted with this conceit, whereof I thought myself the Author: But I happened on a passage, which made me know that, in truth, it was a Divine Conception, lively expressed by God himself; since that Esau complaining that Jacob had stolen away the blessing from him, (that is to say, the government of his Father's Inheritance) seems likewise to infer, that the blessing is no other thing, but only the right to command. Who will he than be, that considering those eminent prerogatives of dominion, will not (as I do) pity those famous unhappy persons, who have unfortunately, rather than wickedly, lost their lives in pursuit of their desire of advancing themselves to government? I shall wonder not more that some men have had so high thoughts of themselves, that they have endeavoured to have Altars, and Incense devoted to them, as if they were gods indeed. This excellent condition of Ruling is so great, and accompanied with a train of so many eminent additions, that 'tis no strange thing, that a man (proud in his own Nature) should straggle out of the way, and suffer himself to be cozened by this honour, which certainly hath something of Divine in it, if the matter in which it resides, corrupt it not. This man considering himself adorned with a soul, whose noble and divine qualities have brought forth so much admiration, that many (with Plato) have persuaded themselves, that 'twas coeternal with God, and others (as Lactantius) that 'twas of the same substance with God: This man (I say) seeing himself in so eminent a degree, if he cannot say with Job (when he went about to contest with God) Now that mine Eyes have seen thee, I abhor myself in dust and ashes, may easily be brought to such a degree of presumption, as was represented by Ovid in the Fable of the Giants; and indeed if those favours be rightly weighed, by which God hath exalted the excellency of Human Nature; they will appear so admirable, that not only the Saracene Abdala (who had nothing of the knowledge of God) called it the Miracle of Miracles. But David himself (not able to suppress his astonishment of such a multitude of mercies) cried out, What is Man, that thou hast so exalted him? thou hast made him little less than the Angels, with glory and honour hast thou crowned him. So than if unto Man, who is by Nature so great, and in his own esteem much greater, there be the addition of a Kingdom, whose power renders him formidable and omnipotent, there is no cause to wonder, if he pretend to Altars, and Incense, since he may than say, that the destiny of the People depend upon his will, and the good or ill of all his Subjects; which may pull down or erect Cities, as he please, who is above Laws and dispenses Fortune at his pleasure; on whom depend both war, and peace; death, and life; and in conclusion, than whom nothing appears higher, but Heaven itself. Alexander, that great Prince, who made one Kingdom of the whole World, after having viewed the vast extent of his Dominion, that it even bordered with Heaven, seeing himself placed so near Divinity, resolved to believe himself a God. And truly power is a thing too great, and too Divine not to be desired; and he must be a mad man, that knows not the value of such a thing, as is so vehemently pursued by all Mankind. When than I found a man, and him a King that not only despised Royalty, but complained of it, and affirmed, that whosoever did truly know the weight of a crown, would not so much as stoop to the ground to take it up, I could not but be infinitely astonished. For how is it possible a man's heart should be capable of so much weakness, to esteem Command a Servitude, and a Kingdom a misery? I have chosen this poor apprehension of Seleucus for the subject of my Discourse, to the end, that, examining the lowness of his Spirit, we might likewise find out (most Noble Auditors) the unhappiness of Tyranny, which affords nothing but bitterness amidst the sweetness of a Kingdom. This Kinglike Act of Ruling is nothing else but the government of a lawful King, as the only object of a virtuous Prince is the public good; so that, I must confess, if to labour for the good of the Commonwealth be a thing to make Royalty be thought odious; it is most certain a man may loathe it upon that score, since 'tis impossible it should be free from troubles, and cares; and which do so necessarily take up a King's time, that he can never be idle, but the Commonwealth is the loser. But who perceives not, that to complain of being obliged to watch for the Public safety, to look after the integrity of his Ministers; to provide for the necessities of the poor, and to prevent the extortions of the Rich, and the designs of Neighbour Princes, is to grieve at a continuill necessity, imposed upon him of exercising his Prudence, Justice, Charity, Magnanimity, and all other the most perfect acts of Virtue; or rather 'tis to be sorry to be obliged to tend to his own centre, which is nothing else, but to complain of being tied to his own happiness? Royalty is without doubt accompanied with some trouble; but whosoever will like Moses have the Tables of the Law in his power, must (not more than he did) eat the pains of getting up to the top of the Mountain. He that will appear upon the throne, with the sword of Justice in his right hand, must not be unwilling to lift the Billance of Equity in his left: Labour, and a Kingdom are Relatives, but that which we call labour, is a duty, an operation, not a disquiet, a calamity: that motion which tends to its own centre is never painful; the fire mounts to its own sphere without any pain, and the water which runs towards the Sea, suffers no violence. If all things, which are inseparable from humanity, were painful, it would be so not only to be a King, but to be a Man; nay, our very being would be a trouble to us, there being nothing in Nature, which is not liable to these conditions. A Pelican parts willingly with her life to preserve her young ones, and shall we think it painful and irksome to be obliged to think, to watch, and take pains for the good of our People? but why do I call it taking pains? the body is out of temper, when 'tis a pain to it to perform its natural operations. He that finds difficulty in a Kingdom, betrays the weakness of his constitution, and that his inclination is not Royal: but whether it proceed from the ignorance, laziness, or malice of those poor spirits; many there be, who change the true names of things, who take the Mask for the Face, who esteem care, simple thoughts, and business, foolish operations, and after that rate 'tis no strange thing, that to him (who accounts the actions of Sovereignty a pain, and the thoughts troubles) Royalty itself should appear a slavery. He that calls the lest motions of care and business, labour and trouble, is not to be thought to be of a Nature that's quiet, and peaceable, but feeble and useless: and how? shall we accounted those employments burden, some, which are our duties, as Fathers, and as Christians? Not, not, he that complains of business, and action, is grieved, that he cannot be idle, negligent, and lazy. Was it not (O illustrious Auditors) an unjust complaint of that Prince, who not finding forage ready in a quarter for the Horse of his Army, much bewailed the unhappiness of Kings, that were bound to take care even of the very Beasts: And who cannot easily discern, that to be the misery of men, but the mere condition of Humanity? Nature who hath linked all things together, as with a chain, hath well ordered, that one thing should be necessary to another, but not insupportable: To complain of being obliged to take care of Horses, is to repined, that we are not able to walk without feet, that we were not created Angels, which can operate with the intellect alone. 'tis the duty, not the misery of a General to take care of his Baggage Horses, if he expects service from them, that they should remove him from Egypt into Lybia, & give him the Water of Nilus to drink upon the most inaccessible heights of Caucasus, and the Pirenean Mountains. The sails of a Vessel are made to conduct it, and not to burden, or overset it; and yet those are they, which these lazy persons call burdens or intolerable weight. But these things which thou complainest of, are but the exercises of life, and not the troubles of a Kingdom: where wilt thou find the ease which thou desirest, if every thing have the power to disquiet thee? A poor fly did more disturb Domitian in his Chamber, than an Army of an hundred thousand Men could trouble Alexander, when he was in the field ready to assault them. But what thing will these poor spirits find out to wish for, that is wholly free from trouble? The Garden requires sweeting with a Mattock: Rest and Labour are the entertainments of Nature, not the destruction. One man scorches under the heat of the African Sun to catch a few Birds; another freezes upon the Ice of Scythia to kill Venison: This labour and pains they think well employed for so small a matter, and wilt thou think much to take a little care for the public good, and that in the view of the whole world? Me thinks thou shouldst be ashamed of the thought; as I am to speak it. If Labour were an ill thing, whereof had man greater cause to complain, than of Virtue? whose actions for the most part consist in the encounter of difficulties, which to overcome the means, is by taking pains, as the end is procured by constancy, and magnanimity. Behold a spectacle worthy of the sight of God himself, Jacob wrestling with an Angel. Amongst all the Virtues which have their faculties, either act ve or passive, those actions are always the most excellent, which labour after matters of greatest difficulty: and consequently they are most proportionable to a Prince, by reason of the greatness of his power. A great soul cannot desire but great things, and cannot but emulate those, that have done great actions; which made Themistocles say, that the Victories of Milciades would never let him sleep. What a difference was there betwixt two souls? Seleucus complains of the pain of commanding, and Alexander is grieved, that his Father's Victories had not left him work enough. Nothing is sweeter, than glory, nor is there any straighter way to it, than Virtue, and the way to Virtue is not without pain. Ask Hercules, whether he was deified for any thing, but his Labours? Alexander said, that business was the nourishment of generous spirits: A noble courage cannot endure, that operative Virtue should consume in idleness, as a Sword is spoiled with rust. In the end, I should conclude labour a gift from Heaven, did I not incline to their opinion, that esteem it no pain to a Noble soul. He is only in pain, that is inferior to the work he undertakes, which a generous person cannot be. Corolianus, being invited to rest after a Battle, answered, that the Conqueror was never weary: And Canus that played upon the Flute, told those that heard him, that if they knew how great a pleasure he took in his own Music, they might justly pretend to a reward for harkening to him: so true is it, that Nature facilitates, and sweetens all things, to which the will inclines. Thou sayest, this Sceptre weighs heavy; I tell thee thou wantest as Royal strength: Poison can do no hurt, when it meets with a temper hot enough to resists its cold, whereof Mithridates was a testimony. He that groans under a burden, aught not to accuse the weight, but his own weakness: an Ox is not too heavy for a man that dares compare his strength with Mile. But perhaps, you will say, that to Reign is a word that implies Tyranny, a troublesome and dangerous thing, and I must answer that no man is afraid, but he that has an ill conscience; he that fears confesses, he has cause so to do; and that which we call Evils in things, are rather Vices in men. That Prince (who, out of love to his pleasures, neglects the care he owes to his People,) cannot be ignorant of his crime, even whilst he is in the act, and in that sense may truly say, he feels the weight of a crown. In truth, he that hath cause to fear, in his Kingdom, is no King, but a Tyrant; and he that complains of Constancy, Fortitude, Justice, and Prudence, is grieved to see himself bound to act constantly, valiantly, justly, and wisely; what can be more just and pleasing than the performance of good, honourable and virtuous actions? and where can they be acted with more honour and advantage, than upon the Royal throne? Is it possible for us to believe that thing detestable, which is always accompanied with justice, and power? which always proposeth the public good for its end, and whose principal employment is, to exalt Virtue, and suppress Vice? 'tis true, a Kingdom is a matter of great consequence, and requires the whole Man: But the greatness of this Engine aught to provoke his care, that is to move it, not his fear. How many times have we seen Masses of sione of a vast bigness lifted up into the air by a small Vice, which giving motion to a wheel, and that communicating it to other lesser wheels have been able (if I may so say) to remove mountains. Seleucus might have said with much more justice, that he was unworthy of a crown, than that a Kingdom was of no value. The King is the head of the State, and it aught not to be troublesome to him to act for such a Body, whereof all the Members combine to do him service. The King is the tye by which the Commonwealth is united, and that very breath of life which is sucked in by so many persons: The Throne is the Theatre of glory, and those Virtues, which in a private man were but simply Virtues, when they are in a King, they are a light and splendour, by whose beams other men are warmed, enlightened, and guided. Who would have known the virtues of Cyrus, and Alexander, if they had been buried under a private fortune? As a Kingdom is a large field, where Virtue hath room enough to exercise herself: so doth the Throne by its Eminence, tender all good qualities the more visible, and makes Kings appear like mortal gods, encompassed with magnificence, justice, and power, attributes sit for adoration and only proper to Divinity. I observe (with great admiration) that God having resolved the Creation of the World from all eternity, and framed the Idea thereof in that most pure intellect, which hath only itself for intelligence, and itself for intelligible: I (observe I say) in the sacred Writ, that God having resolved the Creation of man, and desiring to let all things take notice of his great inclination, to make that Creature wholly like himself, he cries out, Let us make Man after our own image: and as if that expression had been short of that so much desired resemblance, he adds, and after our likeness. I must confess the vehemence and earnestness, wherewith God was pleased to publish his desire, astonished me: so that enquiring further, to find out how those words were put into actions, I discovered, that, after that the Divine Majesty had created this man, and given him a reasonable soul, worthy this noble resemblance, immediately thereupon he made him Master of all things, saying unto him, Have dominion over the Fish of the Sea, and over the Fowl of the Air, and over every living thing that moveth upon the Earth: as if he should say, the understanding as reasonable shall be the Image of God in operation: But because I think that too little for my Creature, I will have him likewise resemble me in power, and therefore bids him, have dominion, etc. that I may truly say, ye are gods, and the sons of the most high. Who than sees not (most noble Auditors) that Royalty and Sovereign power are acknowledged by God himself for the last, and most excellent strokes of his Pencil, by which the all powerful hand of the Creator did intent to mark Mankind with a most eminent, and indelible Character of Divinity. And for this we find a man, who repines at this excellent condition, which in truth is rather worthy of that desire, with which the Angels burn incessantly in love to God, than of this earthly man, who hath so little generosity, that he had rather enjoy his solitude in a Wood, like wild Beasts, than the splendid throne of a King to operate like a God: For indeed to be a King, what is it else, but to be the object of all men, the rule of all desires, the Looking-glass for all eyes, and the example for all inferior persons? He is the soul of the Republic, the living Law of the People, the light of his Kingdom, and the Image of God upon his Throne. He that accounts this condition unhappy, esteems it a misfortune to have the honour to partake of divinity, and thinketh it a misery to be able to make his people prosperous: He's a Monster, borne only for himself, and unuseful to all Mankind, unless it be to such, as, considering his errors, resolve not to be like him. Alexander though himself poor, because he was master but of one World; and this Coward repmes at one Kingdom only, as if Atlas had placed all his burden upon his shoulders. All earthly things are so imperfect, that the soul which aspires to infinity, not being content with any thing that is corruptible, is as easily cloyed with every particular, as it can desire all. 'tis very true, there is a vast difference betwixt one man's heart, and another's; for to Alexanders (which was great in all things) a Crown seemed not so burdensome, as to Seleucus; because the Magnanimity of Alexander rejoiced in so ample a field to exercise his Virtue, whereas the other was so weak, that the lest weight suppressed it. And upon this Reason that famous Conqueror was angry at Senocrates, because when he offered him fifty talents, he refused it, as not needing so much. This generous Prince cried out (all amazed) why than Senocrates has no need of a friend; to Senocates fifty Talents are a supersluity, and to me all the wealth of Darius was too little? But the true reason was, not, that this Treasure was too great for Senocrates, or Seleucus, but that Senocrates, and Seleucus were of such poor spirits, that wanting magnanimity, friendship, magnificence, and liberality, they thought those richeses burdensome, which they had not the hearts either to spend or give away. How is it possible this Crown should seem a burden to thee, which furnisheth thee with opportunity to do good to the people, which gives thee power to relieve the oppressed, to punish wickedness, and uphold Virtue, and to make thyself reverenced as a divine Power? For indeed were it not for death, which as a tribute upon all Mankind, makes no distinction, by what Argument could we prove, that a King were not a God, and the Throne Heaven? But if a wicked Prince perceive a sword hanging by a slender thread over his head, ready to fall, and punish him for his crimes, let him find fault with himself, and not his Kingdom, with himself (I say) who making Royalty degenerate into Tyranny, exposeth himself to the dangers that follow it. But to speak the truth, I am not so much delighted with the occasion of exclaiming against the baseness of Seleucus, who could not be pleased with being a King, as I am satisfied with the opportunity of speaking of Alexander, whose very memory fills me with joy: That Alexander, whose liberality emptied all the Treasures of Asia, and tired out the fertility of the Erythraean Sea, by the abundance of precious things, which he gave away: of that generous Alexander, for whom the whole world was too little: of that brave courage, whose greatest labours were his chiefest pleasures: of that brave, Lion I would call him, but that I remember, Lions are to derive honour from him by the Comparison, since he showed himself braver than a Lion by killing one hand to hand. But what consequence can we possibly draw from the opinion of Seleucus? If we consider Alexander, complaining that he was not able to be confined within the limits of one World from a parallel of their different conceptions, we might give judgement and determine, which of them is most to be esteemed. But 'twill be sufficient to say only, that Seleucus had so much gallantry, as to contemn a Crown, as supposing himself burdened, and buried under it; but that Alexander was so weak, and unsatisfied, that he endeavoured to fancy new Worlds, believing himself too straight imprisoned within the compass of the whole Earth. But should they hear Seleucus, what would Caesar, Anthony, and Pompey say, and so many others, who have ventured to ruin the World, to obtain what he despiseth? I will conclude, and leave you to judge, being willing to spare you the remiander of this day, that you may employ it in the praise of Alexander's generosity, whose glorious memory will cleanse your souls from all those base Ideas, which your conversation, with the Pusillanimity of Seleucus might have imprinted in them. The effect of this Oration. ALL the Academy inclined to Manzinies judgement: they thought it a great weakness to repined at so glorious a trouble; and the miserable Seleucus moved so much compassion, that there was not one man amongst the Auditory, who would not have been content to have taken his heavy burden, and laid it upon his own shoulders. The Funerals of Beauty. The Argument. All the Swans of Liguria wept for the death of Emilia Adorn, who was the Venus of Lyguria, but! what do I say the Venus? pardon me chaste soul, if I have injured thee by this comparison. Reader, this fair one died because she would not be like Venus, not not in immortality; the doleful Orisons which followed were, the Torch, the dismal Bough, and the Crown, which you seem here carry to the Funeral of Beauty, this is the Argument that Manzinie hath placed before his Discourse. IS it than true (O illustrious Auditors) that you are resolved I shall speak to you of Emilia? O god! of Emilia? that fair Emilia, for whom heretofore this place (alas! my tears already begin to hinder my Speech) served as a pompous Theatre; the wound is too great, and too sensible to be touched without extreme pain; a regular Disccurse, and passions irregular are not consistent. What? must I speak of Emilia? of fair Emilia? but who can deny any thing to those to whom they are so much obliged as I to you? be it so than, since you will have it so; yet you must not expect an Oration in her praise from a man, who is fit for nothing but weeping; there is nothing more ha●d ●hen to find words proportional to an extreme passion, and what passion is it? O god! an unbridled, an irregular, and an imperious passion, but withal a reasonable one; but I imagine that yourselves, being infinitely afflicted, for so great a loss, ha● made your Election of me, for no other reason, but to ease your own griefs by seeing mine; for if you had intended only the praises of Emilia, you would have thought of some other person, than me, who am altogether uncabable of so high an undertaking; yes, yes! this Discourse aught to be all grief, the subject requires it; is it not a Panegyrics above all Panegericks for this fair soul, to see in so honourable an Assembly a thousand Cato's melt into tears at the only remembrance of her rare beauty? but what do I say of her Beauty? no, it is thus (me thinks you interrupt me) for I know, my Lords, that if you that were Associates, Admirers, and, I dare say, Adorers of the Virtues of Emilia, should hear me declare, that I intent only to be wail the loss of Emilia, for regard to her Beauty, you would be very ill satisfied, or to say better, scandalised. But what would you have me do? dare I undertake to speak of that piety, which rendered her an Example of Devotion? of that Modesty which was never equalised? of that Chastity which not only exceeded Lucretia's, but would have frighted Tarquin from attempting her? of such a sweetness as charmed her inferiors? of such an obedience as satisfied her superiors? of such a courtesy as gained the hearts of her equals? Would you have my Exordium to be of the sublimity of her spirit, which rendered her knowing in all studies, made her speak all, and raised her above all, in quickness of apprehension, solidity of Judgement, and eloquence? would you have me call to your remembrance, how excellent she was at giving life to her Designs with her Needle, and in sorting her colours? with what a grace she danced? and when she sung, how she ravished the souls of the hearers, with the harmony of her Voice? when shall I make an end? or how can I? and who already knows not these things? No! not, my Lords, it must be tears, it must be tears only, I am capable of no other thing, and no other thing but tears can suit with your grief; yes, it must be only tears, and tears for her beauty, which being the lest of the perfections of this excellent person, will make known to posterity, what that exalted creature Emilia was, since so transcendent a Beauty was the lest accomplishment which rendered her considerable. If I am not worthy to put the Crown upon her head, it sufficeth me, that I have power to lay it at her feet; if I speak poorly, the violence of my grief must excuse me; for he that grieves indeed, is not obliged to grieve by Rule; the more weak and languishing my Eloquence is, the more strong will my affection appear; if I speak like an Orator, it must be attributed to my subject. Those Nightingales, that made their Nests nearest the Tomb of Orpheus sung sweetest, as Pansonius saith, and what (my Lords) do you think it easy for a person of my mean faculties to speak of a Sun? never believe (I beseech you) the comparison which I make with the Sun, and this fair Creature to be a vulgar one, I use it because certain Platonics held, that the Sun was the soul of the World, and in that manner naming her Sun, I have found the way to describe to you, that Beauty which was truly the soul of the World, I mean the reasonable World, and how can I better oblige you to bewail her departure, than in styling her the Sun? the Sun is no sooner set, but the earth is bedewed all over with tears: lament than! lament, the Rocks themselves lament, yea, and the Statua's of Memnon; it is no new thing to see Marble weep for the departure of the Sun; Ah Sun! Ah departure! Ah Emilia! Ah dear Auditors! in what place, just Heaven! in what place shall we ever behold this Beauty which elevated our spirits, and which left in us impressions of light? that Beauty, whose Idea served as a Rule to our souls, which reigned without Tyranny, which charmed the eyes and the soul, and which never raised rebellion in the senses, that Beauty which produced Reverence, and not Love, because not having in it any other proportion, than that which is between Inferiors, and superiors; it could not be beloved upon Earth, where we love not good, as good, if we did, all that is good would be beloved; but every one loves as good, that which he believes suitable to himself. If that which we call Beauty be not a Deity, it is at lest adored as such, as the Pythagoreans said Wealth, Strength, Wisdom, Greatness of Courage, and all other adornments which may tender a person remarkable, are objects of the ambition and Envy of men; but Beauty alone, the Devils themselves have not only reverence, but affection for: The Histories and Traditions of our Fathers have often told us, the veneration they had for beauty. And what stronger Argument have you, that Beauty is Divine, than to say, the Devil who is nothing but a Spirit, and a Spirit, that hath enjoyed the sight of all the eternal Beauties, is for all that capable of being pleased and astonished at that Beauty which we call mortal? For my part, I am forced to believe, that this precious advantage, is a mark of predestination to those who possess it; and to what other place than Heaven can that person be destined, who carries so much light and splendour in her eyes, that some one (as I have already said) hath called them Suns? Sure if it be than true that God hath dispensed that celestial light to a mortal, can it be than believed, that he will deny it admittance into Heaven? You know (my Lords) in what degree of perfection our incomparable Emilia was heightened with this Beauty, and not only you, but the very streets (if I may be allowed to speak thus) are not ignorant, seeing they were more filled by the confluence of People, who thronged to see Emilia, than of these, whom their necessary affairs enforeed abroad, there was never found a heart so rebellious, which was not proud to be constrained by the force of her Eyes to tender themselves Vassals to those though Tyrants (yet worthy of adoration) their power was too great to be resisted, we must submit to the mercy of such Conquerors, and yield when there is no possibility of longer dispute; the Zenocratii, and the Aristarchi, the most severe, celebrated her Beauty, and by the universal homage, which all men yielded unto her, it was easy to know, that it appertained to none, but the Emilia's to triumph. Her Eyes were not such cruel Tyrants, that we drew from thence fear, and servitude only, and not love: on the contrary, all their Slaves were their Adorers, and all their Captives became their Captives willingly, and the cause of their thraldom was the object of their veneration. O fair eyes eternally to be desired! O tyrants to be adored! Into what place are you retired? and why have you so soon left us? and yet for all that we aught not to wonder, for since they were tyrants, they could not be long endured in a Commonwealth; but what do we say of that fair mouth, where all graces were assembled, her smiles and our ravishments were inseparable, she was the delight of our eyes, and the charm to all our senses, and that which is not common the pleasingness of her discourse was, in the length of it, she spoke always with a grace and in such a manner, that we apprehended nothing like her silence, eloquence and persuasions were always in that fair mouth, insomuch as we may style it the Temple of the God of the Lydians, where we ever found consolation for all our griefs, and to borrow a little from the liberty of Poesy, since the sincerity of prose, is not full enough to express it, I can assure you that the graces were the lest Deity, that resyded in that cave of pearls, this lovely Emilia had a certain way of expression, that made so powerful an impression upon the soul, that it could never be razed out; her discourse imprinted itself in the memory, without design to Emilia's conversation could not be lost, though no care were used to preserve it, there remained always something in our souls, and by that marvellous effect, we may collect, she was a creature all divine: Cicero said that the mouth of Aristotle was a stream of Gold, I will not say so of Emilia, for it would too poorly express her excellence; O God what charms? what allurements? What astonishments are left me to describe? call to remembrance that angelical voice which ravished all the hearers; not, no! divine voice I remember thee not, retire from my memory, go! come not more near me, for if thou dost I shall never arrive to the end, which I propose to myself in this Oration. The Corinthian Demeratus weeping, exclaimed out of an excusse of affection, what pleasure have they missed who are dead and never saw Alexander; But O my Lords! I may well say how unhappy are those who never saw nor heard of the incomparable Emilia, I can assure them they never knew perfect felicity, she died too soon: not that the Heavens thought her deserving a precipitated death, but because they esteemed her too dear, to let her continue any long time mortal; let me be condemned after this for bewailing her departure and loss, but what have I to do but to make her Elegy? aught I to describe her as she was? that will but increase your tears the more, if't present her perfect, and accomplished, the more subject we have of affliction, to be for ever deprived of so unparallelled a creature, and since the lest of her rare endowments enforceth me to confess I am not able to describe it, how do you think so numerous a stock of Marvayles, which surmount not only all I can say, but all I can comprehend, can according to their dignity be treated of by me? If I were to give you but a slight Idea of Emilia, or present you with a first draught only of a picture, I might peradventure undertake it, but you must expect not more; for an hour is not an age, and * a Kind of Ballad Poet. Cherillus is not Homer, the Cradle, and the Seru'cher of Emilia, were even upon the Verge of the Sea, that she might h●ve the nearer * in this I understand not his meaning. conformity with the Sun, and enjoy the same prerogatius; & as Genova for many ages ha●h had precedence, & stitled the treasure of the world, it was it Genova that the Heavens diposited this inestimable treasure; he that can doubt that Emilia should not be called a treasure, shows he never had the honour to see that invaluable person, whose beauty, wit, and virtue, were more worth than all the Treasures of the Universe, and who knows not that cur Poets have so celebrated her? they have given her a bosom of Alabaster, lips of Coral, teeth of Pearl, and for hair, a deluge of animated Gold; but to turn to my discourse Emilia was borne, not only in that City, which is the miracle of the world, but in that street, which is the miracle of that City, to the intent that even the place, wherein she first saw the Light, should not be unworthy of her; she lived as one that was to be responsable for the obligations she received from Heaven, for giving her so many glorious advantages: she was borne in the house of the Adorns, whose lest ornaments & smallest honours was the command of kingdoms; she was also born in the House of an Anthony, who hath enlarged the limits of his Country, who hath received humble supplications from the chief of Christendom, and not without the success of an Anthony, whose Virtue and courage being seconded by England, and France, have forced the Saracenes to yield us Victory, together with their Kingdoms: she was borne in the house, where sometimes lived one Raphiel, who after the triumph over the whole Nation, triumphed over himself; and in what other house than in that of Adorns, was there ever found a man who willingly resigned the supreme power, and with as much joy as others received it? but these are not all the illustrious persons that this house hath furnished us with. Who is there that remembreth not the Eloquence of Dominique? the Prudence of Gabriel? the Valour of Prospere? Renown speaks of nothing more than of their Virtue, and our Histories are full of their generous actions. And thus now, ye see (my Lords) where our fair Emilia had her birth, and lived until her nineteenth year, beloved of her kindred, upon so just ground, that the name of Daughter, Wife, and Sister, was the lest motive that induced their affection to her: but (my Lords) she was not sooner of the age, that by custom ye marry your Daughters, but they thought of choosing her a Husband, worthy to be the Son in Law of John Baptista Adorn, of Baptista, I say, whose wisdom is uncontrollable in Counsel, whose courage is undefatigable in execution, whose magnificence is supreme, who sacrificed to the public good, as if he were the Son of his Country, and treated private persons, as if he were their Father, who is regarded by all the World, as if he were the splendour of the Commonwealth, and as a man, whose honour effaced all the glory of his Predecessors. I dare say not more, as not being ignorant, that this illustrious person is living, if he may be said to live, who hath lost the most dear part of himself, however I believed it no indecorum to speak something of him; for I thought, if I should be altogether silent in expressing the excellent endowments of the Father of Emilia, I should deprive her of one of the remarkable Causes, which rendered her considerable (if I may be permitted to speak thus) even before she was borne. In fine, Emilia was married, more by the public vows, than by the diligence of her parents, but who ever saw the like disaster? her Marriage was but as a flash of happiness, it was soon extinguished: Alas! who could believe it? Emilia passed, from her Nuptials, to her Funeral, from her Bridal bed, to her grave; yes (my Lords) that fair person, whose youth, health, and beauty, seemed to be immortal, is shut up in a Tomb, and with her all the glories of her time. What rigour of destinies, or what malignant influence of the stars have caused this loss? I know not I vow, but I think it pertinent to say, that this was a beauty too Celestial to remain upon the Earth, our Age is too depraved to enjoy any long time such a donative from Heaven: for to speak truth, the Age wherein we live, is full of too much enoimity, to deserve the fruition of the incomparable Emilia. Who amongst you hath not observed the discomposure of these times, by the transversion which we see in all parts of the World? at this day, Spain, is in Flanders, Almain, is found in Mount Ferrat, and the North, in Germany: We live in days, where there is nothing spoken but insurrections of the people, an innundation of Barbarians, and the destruction of Kingdoms, which are made infamous by the ruin of so many Kings: And no, not, Emilia could not live long, in a place, where the afflicted found no compassion, where none opposeth impiety, where the sole desire of men is to subdue one another, where gains and crime are inseparable; she was too religious, too wise, too just, too modest, and too accomplished to stay in a place where Virtue was so little reverenced. Who can loose the remembrance of that sweeping plague, which making one sepulchre of a hundred. Provinces, hath sacrificed to death (if I may say so) one Hecatomb inure of Kingdoms? and who is there amongst you that yet remains with a Soul 〈◊〉 unaffrighted at the apprehension of those prodigious flames of Vesuvia, which no long ago threatened to come and burn us, though on this side that great extent of Sea that parts us; peradventure it was never heard before this time, that the Earth angry with herself, did ever undertake to burn the whole World, beginning with the Sea; and yet (Sirs) it is true, that it is our Fortune to be borne in such an Age. Can we say after this, that it was an abode sit for that Person, in whom sweetness, goodness, humility, and Majesty of soul equally resided? what Province can boast to be exempted from the effects, that the malignant stars have so universally dispersed? only Liguria seemed to be privileged, when unexpectedly the death of Emilia hath rendered us more miserable than all others; that fair, chaste, and wise Emilia dying, carried with her a treasure which cannot be sufficiently expressed, but by those that consider we have suffered this loss in the same time, when all the world receives chastisements from an Almighty, and an incensed power, to show to us that of Emilia, being our only misfortune, the loss of whom is more considerable than either plague, war, or flames which we have seen devour our Neighbours territories; O unhappiness! O calamity worthy to have been presaged by the revolution of half the Universe; if all our lives are sometimes compared but to one day? we may say of the fair Emilia, that the world saw but the first dawning of her morning, perhaps the Heavens (foreseeing that if she arrived but to her Noon, the Rays of her bright beauty might have burned all the Earth) had pity of the World. Not, no! I mistake, I rather believe the Heaven's jealous of the Honours, which were rendered to the fair Emilia, took from men the object of the Veneration due to themselves: for what aught not those Eyes expect, carrying more splendour than imagination can comprehend? those Eyes of a lustre which certainly was not deemed mortal? wonder not (my Lords) if after we have seen the marvellous Emilia die, contrary to our expectation, or desires, I dare assure you, she was not mortal; pardon this bold expression and impute it to my grief, and permit me to speak to you what, that suggests to me. We have lost Emilia, but what Arms hath death made use of, to conquer her? of all the violent Diseases, most mortal to mankind, none ever attatched her; for the time she l●v'd in the world, she enjoyed a perfect health, her temper was never altered, and death, accustomed to overcome all things, could not with that subtlety that gives him entrance into all places, give him means to assault Emilia, she is ravished from us by a sickness which never killed before, by a sickness, so without symptoms, that the Physicians never searched for a remedy, and in such a manner, that it visibly appears that the loss of Emilia is not arrived to us by the hand of death; she hath been taken hence, but for all that she is not dead; we have lost her but by that supreme power from whom death borrows his. Let us than conclude, that this beauty hath not yielded to the power of sickness, but she was lifted up to Heaven, and yet for all this we must confess, that it is a misfortune to us that ever we had a sight of this Lady, if b●th living and dead she was appointed for a disturbance to the quiet of our souls. The eleventh of May was the day destined for this sad Catastrophe, and as if the Heavens would not enforce Aurora to assist at the death of this new borne Sun, before she had blanched the Clouds in the East, Emilia, the fair Emilia departed, yet though she hath not been the booty of death, as I have already expressed, her last minutes had for all that, all the marks of mortality, deformity took place of her Graces and beauties: and sure the Heavens ordained it thus, for the honour and merit of Emilia, to show to the world, that Emilia without Graces, and without Beauty, was yet desirable, and desired. O strange revolution of things upon earth! O vain hopes of the world! unhappy to those who trust in you; who would ever have thought, that this day whereon heretofore Manna (incomparable for sweetness) fell from Heaven in the wilderness, that this very same day, we should cast a bitterness able to make us detest the Sun, and curse his return? who ever saw a rigour, and cruelty more dierful? Emilia in the most serene season of her days, and in the sweetest season of the year is vanished from our eyes, let us than for consolation say with these Poets that the Sun was in the sign of Taurus, fatal in ravishing from us the beauty of Europe. I see my Lords, you also support yourselves with much impatience, for the loss of so precious a Treasure, and certainly it is not without reason, we have need to live many ages, ere we shall see Heaven give to the Earth a person so accomplished, we have lost more than we can bewail, but the instability of earthly things will have it so; this accident justifies, but too well, the discourses of those who preach to us daily the continual vicissitude of all sublunary things, for who would have thought that one so fair, so adored, who received the vows, and the acclamations of all the world, should have been so quickly, and so equally unhappy, as we to loose her light, and leave us in so great an obscurity? yes my Lords, those eyes are extinct, those eyes so radiant, that, but one of their regards, dissipated the clouds of sadness, and consolated the most sharp griefs; those eyes, which we may call the glory of their age, and the miracles of nature; but without aggravating their beauty. You my Lords, know what they were; in the mean time they are extinguished, in the midst of their triumphs, but I feel my heart rebel against my judgement, and say that it betrays its affections, it desires that I not only lament Emilia, but that I make imprecations, against the rigour of the stars, whose mallignant influences have so hastily ravished from us Emilia; what say you my Lords, do you consent to this motion of my grief? will you that I follow it? if you will permit it? I will begin, but I see your prudence corrects this sentiment, and certainly not without reason, we must not permit passion, which measures all things by itself, to hurry us out of the bounds of reason, to change the name of things, and to envy the felicity of another; for indeed to speak truly, it is not an unhappiness, but a high beatitude to Emilia, that she finished her days in the supreme degree of her felicities, she hath ceased to live without knowing either grief, misfortune, or old age; and Nature would not, that the marvellous Emilia, (whom she might allow to be her most exquisite workmanship) should herself be constrained if she had lived, to be wail the change that tim● might have wrought upon her person. Indeed my Lords, I suppose the death of Emilia, to be the accomplishment of Emily's felicity. I repeat this once more to accustom your griefs to hear truths she could not die more advantageously, than in the midst of her flourishing prosperity, and conquests, what was there left for her to expect further? when things are arrived to their highest, they must of necessity, either be established for ever there, or descend, and fall, if it may be said of him who hath lived long and glorious that he lived but a short time who can be said to have lived long enough. Not no! my Lords, death hath not terminated the glories of Emilia, but confirmed them, she hath been 19 years the delight of our eyes, for her supreme beauty, and the object of admiration, to all men, for the vivacity of her spirit; when she sung, she charmed not only our ears, but our hearts also, all tongues spoke to the advantage of Emilia, all pens cellebrated her large endowments; if works in silk, and Gold (at which she was unimitable) retained her in her house, being desired in all assemblies, she was searched for through the streets, and her absence complained of by the whole world; we may say that Virtue placed her above the ordinary rules of nature, and custom; for she was reverenced by her Parents, she reigned over our Citizens, and that which is more strange, all our women yielded to her without murmur, and without envy, what was there left to desire more, but a husband? which, Fortune gave her young, sprightly, courageous, rich, and by his family illustrious; what could she pretend too, or wish beyond this? certainly nothing, who can than doubt that since she could be exalted not higher she must (as I have already said) either return the same way, or fall? there was nothing more, left for her, of glory, there might be of vexation, which being begun by the loss of her liberty (by matrimony) would quickly have been followed, with the loss of her beauty, and than acclamations, and applauses ceasing, sadness, sorrow, and melancholy must have succeeded; these changes were not far of; the cares of marriage began to busy her mind, the incommodities of child bearing would perhaps have made her pensive, and amongst what sort of inquietudes of soul (dear Auditors) do you accounted the instability of Fortune, and the inclination of children? are these incidents new? have I invented them? where can we live without feeling them? but if there were no other discomposures in this life than the whole term of it, except only that part (which in considerations of youth covers us, as 'twere with flowers, and seems to us what indeed it is not) would it not be a felicity to be freed early from this prison of life? and when did a Pilot complain for arriving sooner into his Port than he expected. Quem amat Deus moritur Javenis. Saith Menander, and Saint Basil holds that it is a mark of the perfection of the soul, to go out betimes from the body which she animates, for (to use his own words) if men proportion the durance of the prison, to the greatness of the crimes of the guilty, and that according to the value, and merit of the operations of the soul, it is more, or less shut up in that corporal prison to enjoy a life which we would never so much esteem, if we perfectly knew it in the effects; what thing is that life whose infancy is almost without reason, whose youth is nothing but folly; old age but infirmity, Richeses but perturbation, Poverty but anxiety, and whose whole business is but pain, and travail? and yet for all this, man who is borne for heaven, inclines himself to this life, as to his sovereign good; and if by chance we find some one, that knows how to employ his time in acting noble, and glorious things, he is than the Butt for all the darts of envy, fallhood, and wickedness; and if we see another, who spends his days in idleness, without doing either good, or hurt, he fills up the room of a brave man, and is but an unprofitable burden to the earth, and no other thing (as I may say) but only a name; let us examine a little, what are the Consolations of this life, which can get a desire in the soul (th●t can fear nothing after this life, if it hath done well) to continued in this prison, and complain of being set free, it may be they are those souls that inhabit in those persons, who can betray in the same moment, when they make most protestations of faith, who value not Friendships, but for their profits, who regard nothing but their own ends, who leave us with our fortunes, and who, many times, hate us for having too much obliged them; behold (my Lords) the blessings which Emilia is deprived of; whereas now (he enjoys the happiness she deservs, being gone betimes to the enjoyment of the supreme felicity: Not, no! I neither care, nor wish for the honour of her society, with the condition that should suspend her from the joys of Heaven, and the light of a Sun which never sets, and which never was eclipsed, and of an abode in a place where death never enters, there are no complaints heard, where there are no griefs, where pains, and cares afflict no body, where hunger and thirst, and the rigour of the seasons have no power, and where blessed Rhaptures are so incomprehensible, that eyes cannot see, nor ears hear, nor have ever entered into the soul of Man. Let us therefore endeavour (O dear Auditors) to raise ou● thoughts to consider our Emilia in a felicity, which can never end, in the enjoyment of a good, which hath eternity for bound, infinity for measure, and God himself for the end; those, who are partakers of the happiness with Emilia, are Seraphins, burning with Love, and Charity, and Angels, those very Angels, whom she so much heretofore resembled; those, who now make a harmonious Consort, chanting together incessantly the praises of the very sacred, the very high, and the very powerful divinity, which by an excess of infinite charity, being all at a time Lovers, and beloved, completes the fullness of joy, and of felicity, assisted by the eternal Love, which he beats to them, and which they have for him, and this makes this eternity so desirable, that if it were true, that they could hope to possess it but one hour only, scules would rather expose themselves to all the torments of Hell, than not enjoy it. After this, would you that I lament the happiness of Emilia, as the greatest misfortune that could betid her? if I should, the Heavens would be angry, and that fair Soul itself, which draws so many advantages from so hasty a death, would complain of my complaints, why than do you shed tears? I will tell you, at lest I imagine I can! but indeed, who knows not? have not I said to you in the beginning of this discourse, that you prepare to follow one desperate, who pressed with the violence of his passion, runs blindly whither an unbridled grief conducts him? It is certain, that it is a happiness for Emilia to go so quickly out of so troublesome an abode, as this Life, as this Age, as this World, but it is an infelicity for our Eyes, not more to see Emilia: Alas! that Emilia, of whom all that I have yet said, is but a small R●ver to a bottomless Ocean. Alas! when shall we see again that Beauty worthy our adoration, of whom we may say, that she was a Sun too soon eclipsed? When shall we hear again that charming tongue, whose eloquence reigned over our hearts? Alas! in depriving us of her, death hath ravished from us the sweetest harmony that ever charmed the Senses; and were it possible for my voice to speak over again the words of her that I admire, I should inflame not only the hearts of men alone, but of very Tigers and Bears with her sweet discourse. But we shall never more see that fair and desirable Emilia; all supply that is left us in this case, is to say, happy those Eyes that saw her living. To conclude, it is just, we bewail our less in lasting sighs, we should be too ungrateful if we could forget her; what will that Academy do now, it is deprived of her, where she so often hath been rather an agreeable spectacle to the eyes of the Assembly, than a Spectatrix, though she came to be a Hearer, can it ever forget the light it hath received from her enlightening Eyes? O sad adventure! able to make the very stones melt with grief; go my Lords! go, if affliction will give you leave, search for that conversation whereof Emilia was the whole delight, Emilia which we may say was either the cause or object of all pleasure. But what do you here languishing and sad, deprived not only of contentments, but of souls; you shall confess your loss, when what you have lost, makes you see it was a thing, which a whole Empire cannot redeem, nor all the Gold and Pearl of the East. Can it be possible not to lament this loss? if at the death of Caesar the Sun was darkened for some Months; as to testify his grief? why not at the death of Emilia, who hath triumphed over more Caesars, than Caesar overcame Enemies? is it not than just to shed tears? assist me (dear Auditors) to bewail this misfortune, and remember you have lost the richest treasure of your Country, and that not only you wear mourning garments, but the very walls are yet hung with black; it being just, that the eclipse of a Sun should 'cause a Universal darkness. What? my Lords▪ we are depriv●d of a Sun which enlightened our souls, inflamed our hearts with the love of honour, and may be said to be the cause of all the learned works, since it appeared: Who shall be any more the subject of our praises? who shall entry us to noble Actions? who shall be from henceforth the occasion and the recompense of our Studies? Ah Death! thou hast destroyed all the World with this unparalled loss; deprived of its Sun, the whole Universe is in darkness, and by this ravishment of her from the World, thou hast totally disarmed the Quiver of Love: when this fair one died, Beauty and Virtue died with her. Let us weep than, (my Lords) let us weep, and never be comforted, and to continued our griefs, I will say no new thing, but only repeat these sad words, Emilia is dead: do you expect (my dear Auditors) that I give you any consolation? I vow for my part, I am not capable of giving you any other consolation, than that, which is to be found in persons, who bemoan as much as yourselves the loss which we sustain hereby; and what loss is it, but that of the marvellous Emilia? but as none can weep and speak any long time together, so I must stop my words, and let my tears flow. THE effect of this sad Oration was Sighs and Tears; and as an Orator being himself persuaded, easily persuades others▪ so the Grief, and Eloquence of Manzinie moved them all to weep with him: there was never seen so many Tears shed, and if to Urns and ancient Vessels which the ancient Romans called Lacrimines had been yet in use, it had been no hard matter to have filled them; In fine, everyone that looked on the Grave of Emilia, looked upon it as the Grave of Virtue and Beauty, all unanimouss aggravated the unimitable perfections of Emilia; every tongue spoke of Emilia, the name of Emilia founded in all Ears; and to follow the Sentiments of that illustrious Assembly, and those of Manzinie, I will finish this Volume with the fair name of Emilia. FINIS.